The Evolutionary Void

Inigo’s Thirty-third Dream

“We can visit any place on your world where we sense those who are fulfilled gathering in readiness for our guidance to the Heart,” the Skylord had said in answer to Edeard’s question.

“So the towers of this city where you have come today play no part in guidance?”

“Those who inhabited this world before you built them to bid their kind farewell. They are where we came before; therefore, they are where we come now. You use them as they did.”

“Then we can call you to gather us from anywhere?”

“Of course. My kindred welcome all those who have reached fulfillment. It is our purpose.”

Edeard kept dreaming that single crucial event over and over. It was one of the few natural dreams he ever had. Though even that faded after a few years in his personal time scale.

The two Skylords had been visible on the horizon every morning for eight days, moving slowly across the pantheon of the Void’s nebulae as they approached Querencia. Edeard stood on the highest balcony in the Orchard Palace, staring up into the pale sky as a cool breeze wafted in off the Lyot Sea. If he really stretched his farsight, he could just sense the placid thoughts of the massive creatures.

Two, where every time before it has been four. Why? Why should that be? The whole city is a unified society. I have made sure we’ve achieved contentment within ourselves this time. That makes us better people. So why have only two come?

He didn’t like how much that disturbed him. Even on the occasion two times past, when Oberford’s Great Tower of Guidance was being built and the whole economy was falling apart as if Honious were establishing its very own kingdom of bedlam across Querencia, four Skylords had come. It was the start of autumn on the fifth year after Finitan’s death. One of the few constants linking his attempts to change the world for the better.

Ladydamnit, four always come now!

The breeze played over his bare skin, and he rubbed his arms absently at the chill. Those two gauzy stars were still too far away for him to talk with them directly. But when they were within his range, he would be asking. Yes, indeed.

High above the compact streets and pointed roofs of Jeavons, a couple of ge-eagles were floating lazily on the updrafts. They weren’t any he was familiar with, and their long circling flight meant that one of them was always turned toward the palace. He scowled up at them but resisted hauling them down out of the sky. Someone was interested in him. Hardly news. Though none of the independent provinces were a direct threat to Makkathran. That I know of. Perhaps they’re just running scared and want to spy on me to satisfy their paranoia. Knowing the provinces and the trouble they’d caused this time around, it wouldn’t surprise him. But still, the brazenness: watching the Waterwalker, the absolute Mayor of Makkathran, in his own city. That took some gall. That in itself narrowed it down to three provinces-or, rather, their governors: Mallux in Obershire, Kiborne in Plaxshire, or more likely Devroul in Licshills. Yes, any one of them would dare; they were all busy establishing their claims as unifiers to rival him. Each was fierce in his independence, greedy in his desire to absorb his neighbor. Exactly the opposite of what the world should be, what he was trying to make it.

He went back into the master bedchamber. Kanseen had always enjoyed the Orchard Palace’s state rooms. It was what all the city buildings should be like, she’d claimed, a blend of old Makkathran architecture and more practical human adaptations. Theirs had been a pleasant two years together, though in truth, after Kristabel’s increasing sourness, anyone else would have been a relief. But in parallel to the breakdown of his own marriage, Macsen had become intolerable for Kanseen, so the two of them finally winding up with each other was almost inevitable.

Since he’d moved out of the Sampalok mansion, Macsen’s downfall had continued at a rate that upset even Edeard. Not that there was anything he could do to help-not yet. Macsen cut himself off from everyone: his old friends, his children, political allies, anyone who might stand between him and his food and drink and miserable self-pity. He also completely rejected Edeard’s unity. Not for him the growing solidarity of the city, an extended family whose open minds would sympathize and care for him and help him regain his dignity and purpose in life.

The last time Edeard had farsighted him three weeks ago, the former master of Sampalok made a woeful figure, living in some squalid room in a Cobara household by himself, spending his coinage in nearby taverns whose forte was cheap beer and cheaper food. His reaction to the intrusion had been a viciously personal diatribe that went on for almost an hour before it finally sputtered away when he succumbed to a drunken slumber.

Edeard had withdrawn then, guilty and angry in equal measure. Macsen was one of his oldest friends; he ought to have been able to do something. Yet he despised the way Macsen had just let go and given in to whatever Honious-born spirits that now possessed him; he was stronger than that, Edeard knew. Yet Macsen in his alcohol-and-kestric-derived state blamed Edeard for the way his life had tumbled into the abyss, with his rejection of unification at the heart of it. Edeard knew that the trust and understanding he’d brought to Makkathran was the true way forward. He couldn’t stop now, not for one person, no matter how much his friendship used to mean.

Edeard’s relationship with Kanseen hadn’t helped Macsen’s condition. That was just the most personal way to wound Macsen there could be. It ensured there would be no reconciliation now, Edeard knew, no last-minute mellowing and putting aside of pride-not on either side. So his own triumph in establishing the unification of the city had come at the cost of his friend and, if he wasn’t careful, his friend’s soul, for in the end what Skylord would ever guide Macsen’s embittered, unfulfilled soul to the Heart? He had no choice, he knew. Each day now was simply spent putting off the inevitable. Soon a subtle domination would have to be applied, gently guiding Macsen back into the embrace of those who loved him.

Edeard padded over to the wide circular bed and pushed aside the gauzy curtains that surrounded it. A hazy patch on the ceiling above the soft mattress radiated a warm copper light, its dusky illumination just enough to reveal the outlines of her body as she slept. The sheet had slipped down past her shoulders, exposing skin that still gleamed from the oils the two younger girls had massaged in at the start of the evening. It was a pleasurable entertainment, variants of which he enjoyed most nights now. Proof, as if he needed it, that the city was now on the right course to provide fulfillment for everyone. Nobody censured anymore, nobody criticized or fought or complained. They cooperated and helped one another succeed in their individual endeavors. He had brought them liberation of themselves, the sure route to the kind of fulfillment the Skylords sought.

Edeard bent over and kissed her gently on the lips. Hilitte stirred, stretching herself with indolent grace, not fully awake yet smiling when she saw him. “What time is it?” she mumbled.

“Early.”

“Poor Edeard, couldn’t you sleep?” Her gathering thoughts were tinged with genuine concern.

“There are things I worry about,” he admitted with voice and mind. Honesty with each other; that is the key to true unity.

“Even now? That’s so wrong. So unfair.” Her arms rose up to twine around his neck. “Let’s think of something else for you to occupy yourself with.”

For a second he resisted, then allowed her to pull him down so he could lose himself in simple physical delights and forget all about the rebel provinces and Macsen and the others who struggled against the city’s unity. For a while at least.

Not surprisingly, Edeard didn’t wake again until the sun was well above the horizon. He and Hilitte bathed together in the oval pool in the bathroom, where water gurgled in along a long raised chute he’d crafted to resemble a small stream. It also showered down on them from a bulge in the curving ceiling when they asked; since he’d moved into the palace state rooms after the election, he’d been modifying things so he could have any kind of spray from a heavy jet to a light mist. He lounged in a sculpted seat at the side of the pool, watching Hilitte rinse herself off under the fast rain of droplets, deliberately stretching and twisting so he might appreciate her lithe figure. Which he did, but … Kanseen had enjoyed the new improved shower, he recalled with a touch of melancholia. That wasn’t the problem that ultimately had come between them. They’d differed over Makkathran’s unification. How he wanted to go about creating an atmosphere of trust, how to use family and political supporters and those who eagerly sought the Waterwalker’s patronage, building so many allies and seeding the districts with unity groups so that the outcome would be inevitable. She never fully agreed with the concept, regarding it as a form of domination.

What Kanseen did not understand and he could never explain was just how badly wrong the nice and open and honest approach had gone-twice in a row. How the time before, the one after the whole Oberford tower disaster, the method of inclusion, which he’d so carefully crafted from his horrendous experience with the nest and had given freely so Querencia might live as one, had been warped and subverted by the malcontents of the emerging generation of strong psychics (and Ranalee, of course) to build new, small versions of the nest centered on themselves in what was almost a reprise of Tathal’s time. Bitter struggles ensued, tipping the world yet again into chaos and hurt, leaving him with no choice this time around but to launch the unification in a way that enabled his governance to be paramount. Restricting dissent was a small price to pay for such an achievement. Even now, strong psychics in eight provinces had managed to subvert the gift, declaring independence from Makkathran’s benign governorship-the Waterwalker’s menacing empire, as they called it. Their own petty little fiefdoms were hardly beacons of enlightenment. He was still considering if and how he should move against them; as with the original nest, they wouldn’t allow anyone to leave of his or her own free will.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Hilitte asked, suffused with concern.

“I’m fine.”

She struck a sultry pose under the shower. “You want me to bring the girls in?”

“We did enough of that last night, and we will again tonight. I’m going to get breakfast now.” He stepped out of the bath and snagged a big towel with his third hand. Behind him Hilitte gave a small pout and ordered the shower off.

That was the one trouble with her, he realized: She really was too young to be anything but a bedmate. He couldn’t talk to her about anything, exchange ideas, argue problems through, reminisce about events. They never went to the Opera House together, and she swiftly grew bored at the more formal dinner parties he was constantly invited to-so much so that she rarely went to any these days, which was just as well. But she did have a delectably dirty mind and a complete lack of inhibition. It all came as something of a revelation after being married for so long. However unfair that was to Kristabel, Hilitte’s bedroom antics provided a grand way of getting his mind off the troubles of the day.

Which makes her more convenient than visiting the House of Blue Petals. Not necessarily cheaper, though.

Breakfast was taken in the huge state dining room with its long roof forever showing intense orange images of the sun’s corona from the vantage point of some endless orbit a million miles above the seething surface. Underneath the fluctuating glare, the long polished black ash table was capable of hosting city banquets for a hundred fifty guests. This morning it had been set for the two of them. The kitchen staff had laid out big silver ice-bed platters on one of the dozen bolnut veneer sideboards, laden with an array of cold smoked meats cut as thin as parchment. Petal-pattern segments of fruit, cheeses, and glass jugs of yogurt were laid out next to them like small works of art. Warm dishes contained scrambled eggs, poached eggs, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon and sausages, and crisped mashed potatoes. Five earthenware pots contained the mixes of cereal, and a small charcoal grill was ready to toast any of the five different types of bread or warm his croissants for him.

Edeard sat down and stared over at the ridiculously extravagant spread of food without really registering any of it. He directed a ge-chimp to bring him a tall glass of apple juice and a bowl of cereal. Hilitte sat next to him, dressed in a thick toweling robe with fluffy pink house socks. She gave him a warm smile before issuing a whole batch of instructions to the ge-chimps.

They ate in silence for a few minutes as Edeard considered what he was going to ask the Skylords. He was sure they’d be in range by the following morning or a day later at the least.

What could possibly have upset their pattern? Change originated from him; he’d traveled back to start again enough times to know that by now. Everyone else would just carry on as before unless he did something to alter their paths through life. It was influence that mattered the most: He did something different, so the lives of the people interacting with him altered to varying degrees, and so the effect spread out like a sluggish ripple. The major difference he’d made each time since the epic voyage around the world was to explain how the Skylords didn’t need the towers of Eyrie to accept people for guidance, which out in the provinces always led to a rush to build some kind of homage tower in every town and city, to the detriment of the economy. His repeated clarification that it didn’t need to be a tower, just a broad open space for people to gather, was always blithely ignored (witness the tax revolt following the Great Tower of Guidance fiasco).

For all the change he brought, it was only lives he affected; he couldn’t change the weather or make the planets orbit any differently. So why are there only two this time?

The only possible answer was one he simply couldn’t accept.

Dinlay arrived soon after Edeard started munching away on his second slice of toast. The Chief Constable’s humor was as pleasant as always. Dinlay had joined the unification almost unknowingly and certainly very willingly; the acceptance of such a gentle universal communion was after all the thing his subconscious had yearned for all these years. Even then, some things about Dinlay had never altered.

Edeard watched closely for any sign of envy or jealousy from his old friend regarding Hilitte (he’d made very sure that this time he was the first to meet her as soon as she arrived in Makkathran armed with her mother’s lists of contacts). That old Ashwell optimism just never dies, does it? But no, Dinlay was unconcerned by Edeard’s latest girl; after all, he’d just married Folopa, who was a lofty catch even by his standards.

Dinlay sat next to Edeard and placed his smart uniform hat on the table, aligning it with the edge. His open mind revealed how satisfying that was, how it fit in with the view that the world should be an ordered place.

“Help yourself,” Edeard said, gesturing to the sideboard. He couldn’t help the wistful memories of when he and Dinlay had moved into the constable tenement after they’d finished their probation. Nearly every morning until he’d married they’d had breakfast together. The best days. No! The easiest.

A ge-chimp brought Dinlay a cup of coffee and a croissant. “You need to watch what you eat,” Dinlay said, eyeing the huge spread of food. “You’ll wind up Macsen’s size if you’re not careful.”

“No, I won’t,” Edeard assured him softly. Dinlay and Macsen hadn’t spoken for over a year now, which pained him. Maybe I should go right back to the beginning? Except he knew that was the most pitiful wishful thinking. This was the time when he’d gotten everything so close to being right. All that was left for him now was to bring those remaining provinces into the unification, along with a few recalcitrants left over in the city. When that was done, he could truly, finally, relax.

“Some news came in last night that you’re going to enjoy,” Dinlay said. “It would seem the Fandine militia is on the march.”

Edeard endured a nasty chill of deja vu at the claim. The Fandine militia had last marched when he was voyaging on the Lady’s Light, but that was for another reason altogether. “Against Makkathran?” he asked sharply.

Dinlay’s thoughts were happy at providing his friend with a surprise and being able to reassure him. “Against Licshills. It would seem Devroul’s expansionist ambitions were too great for Manel.”

“I see.” Edeard didn’t allow anyone to know his own dismay that this time around Manel had fallen to the bad again and had set himself up as the Lord President of Licshills. “When did this happen?”

“Five days ago. Larose’s fast scouts brought the news as quickly as they could.” Dinlay sipped at his coffee, waiting for Edeard’s response.

“Five days. Which means they’ll be a fifth of the way there by now.”

“Are you going to try and stop them?”

“Oh, Edeard,” Hilitte exclaimed. “You have to stop them. There would be so many people killed if you don’t. The Skylords would never come again.”

Edeard gave Dinlay a shrug. “She has a point.”

“Yes, but … who would the city’s militia regiments side with?”

“Neither. We oppose both, of course.” Edeard was trying to work out what course of events they could play out. Clearly, the city forces would have to stall the provincial regiments while domination was used against the individual militiamen, pulling them into Makkathran’s unification. But ultimately there would be a showdown with the strong psychics at the core of each independent province. It was a situation he’d been avoiding for two years, hating the idea of yet more confrontation. But the only alternative was traveling back for yet another restart, making good the mistakes and problems before they emerged, and that was something he simply could not contemplate. Not again. I can’t do it. Living those same years yet again would be a death for me.

Dinlay nodded sagely. “Shall I tell Larose to prepare?”

People were going to die; Edeard knew that. The number would depend on him. Riding the city militia into the conflict was the only way to keep the number of deaths to a minimum. “Yes. I’ll ride with them myself.”

“Edeard-”

He held a hand up. “I have to. You know this.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“The Chief Constable has no business riding with the militia.”

“Nor does the Mayor.”

“I know. Nonetheless, it is my responsibility, so I will be there to do what I can. But someone with authority must remain in the city.”

“The Grand Council …”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Dinlay admitted. “I do.”

“Besides, we don’t want to make Gealee a widow, now, do we?”

Dinlay glanced up from his croissant. “Gealee? Who’s Gealee?”

Edeard grimaced as he silently cursed his stupidity. “Sorry. My mind wanders these days. I mean Folopa. You can’t take the risk. You’re barely back from your honeymoon.”

“There’s an equal risk.”

“No, Dinlay, there isn’t. We both know that.” He pushed ever so slightly, sending his longtalk whisper slithering into Dinlay’s thoughts to soothe the agitated peaks of thought. Dinlay’s reluctance faded away.

“Aye, I suppose so.”

“Thank you,” Edeard said, hoping his guilt wasn’t showing. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“You normally know what you’re doing.”

It was all he could do not to bark a bitter laugh. “One day I will. Now come on.” He rose and gave Hilitte a quick kiss. “We have to get to the sanctum. Argain and Marcol are the first meeting. They seem pleased with themselves.”

“It’s nothing,” Dinlay said, finishing his coffee before getting to his feet. “Information on the criminals resisting our city’s embrace. They have some new names for you.”

“They’re not criminals.” Not yet, he added silently, wondering where all his guilt was coming from this morning. As if I don’t know: those Ladydamned Skylords.

“They should be,” Dinlay muttered darkly.

– -

It was the way of his days now, meeting with people who were at odds with the city’s unity. Acting as moderator, smoothing the way for understanding between everyone. A version of being Mayor he’d never quite envisioned during the caravan trip to Makkathran too many decades ago. He’d always thought he’d be elected in a free vote, arguing with his opponents and winning people over. Instead, he’d been the only candidate in a city where everyone’s mind was attuned to his. Well, not everyone, he admitted, and that’s a big part of the problem. Some people knew how to resist or deflect dominance. But they still gave the appearance of sharing, of unity with everybody else. Everything would be running along smoothly for weeks, then one morning the constables would be called to premises that had been smashed up or a gondolier yard where boats had been broken. More worrying were the warehouses where fruit and meat had been ruined, chopped open or doused in cartloads of genistar excrement. That was happening too often for his liking, and it was always performed by genistars, leaving no trace of the perpetrator even in the city’s memory.

So Argian and Marcol and Felax tracked down those resisting the unification one by one, but their true numbers were unknown. Rumor had it in the thousands. Edeard suspected a few hundred, which left him content that his dedicated team would gradually wear down the resistance. It was almost like the good old days of the Grand Council committee on organized crime. Except even that was an illusion, a memory that when examined properly wasn’t so joyful. It was just another achingly long time spent shuffling reports and dossiers.

If anything was becoming a true constant in his life, it was the mountains of paperwork and those endless boring meetings. Can that really lead to my fulfillment? And if not, what?

The evening didn’t start well. One of the girls Hilitte brought to the bedchamber wasn’t used to so much food being available and ate too much during the meal beforehand, which led to her feeling sick when they all retired to the master bedchamber. With unity came minds wide open to each other. That meant the sensations of her nausea spread like a contagion.

After she’d hurried out, leaving those left behind to take deep breaths and calm their queasy stomachs, Edeard decided a quiet night spent by himself might be preferable to the usual frenetic physical performance. Sure enough, his day had been long, uneventful, and ultimately thankless. His one attempt to longtalk Jiska had resulted in the usual quick rebuff. His children had all taken their mother’s side. It was probably the main reason he’d turned to Hilitte and the others; their cheap adoration was an easy way of easing the pain of loss, no matter how shallow and flimsy the act. His one genuine thread of comfort amid the estrangement came from knowing that a unified world would provide them with fulfillment. He hadn’t failed them even though they would never acknowledge it.

He asked Hilitte and the remaining girl to leave him. Hilitte stomped out in a wake of hurt feelings and sourness with just an undercurrent of worry that her time as the favorite was drawing to a close. Such was his languor, he couldn’t be bothered to reassure her. He wove a thick shield around his feelings, cutting himself off from the mellow reassuring contentment of the unified minds glowing around him, and fell asleep.

He was woken out of his outlandish dream by the strength of worry from the approaching mind. For a second he had been back in the forest with the other Ashwell apprentices on their galby hunt, beset with fear without knowing why. But it was only Argian, breezing his way past staff with cool purpose, ignoring any requests to wait for the sleeping Waterwalker to be formally woken and informed of his presence.

“It’s all right,” Edeard longtalked through the bedchamber’s closed door. “Come in.” His third hand hauled a robe over as Argian strode in. Now that Edeard was shaking off the sleep, he became aware of just how deep the currents of anxiety were running in the man’s mind. Bitter regret was like the burn of bile. “What is it?” Edeard asked in trepidation.

“We caught them,” Argian said, but there wasn’t a trace of elation in the tone. That morning he and Marcol had been excited at the new leads they’d gathered, the information that that night there would be a raid on a shipyard in the Port district, where two half-built trading schooners would be burned.

“And?” Edeard asked.

“They fought back.” There were tears glinting in Argian’s eyes now. “I’m so sorry, Edeard. Her concealment was good; we didn’t even know she was there.”

Edeard became still, the hot blood pounding around his body suddenly turning to ice as he perceived the picture forming amid Argian’s thoughts. “No,” he moaned.

“We didn’t know. I swear on the Lady. Marcol hauled her out of the flames as soon as we farsighted her.”

“Where is she?”

“The hospital on Half Bracelet Lane in Neph; it was the closest.”

Edeard flung his farsight into the district, pushing through the thick walls of the hospital. As always, the sense revealed only gauzy radiant shadows, but he could perceive the body that lay on a cot in the ground-floor ward; he knew the signature anywhere. It was ablaze with pain. “Oh, great Lady,” he groaned in horror.

The travel tunnels took him down to Neph in minutes. As he passed under Abad, he sensed someone else flying along ahead of him. Two girls, holding hands as they hurtled headfirst, radiated fear and concern as their long dark skirts flapped wildly in the slipstream.

“Marilee? Analee?” he called. He had no idea they knew of the travel tunnels. Their thoughts vanished behind an astonishingly strong shield. The rejection was as shocking as it was absolute.

He rose up through the floor of the hospital a few seconds behind the twins. They were already hurrying toward the ward, glimpsed as shadows in the dark corridors, their heels clattering on the floor. He followed, every step slower than the last. The farsight of his whole family was converging on the hospital, their presence like malign souls.

Jiska was lying on a cot, a terrible reedy wail bubbling out of her throat. The level of pain filling the long room was enough to make Edeard’s legs falter. He was crying as he approached. Three doctors were bent over his daughter, trying to remove the burned cloth from her ruined skin. Potions and ointments were poured over the blackened, crisping flesh, doing little to alleviate the awful thudding pain.

He took another step forward. Marilee and Analee moved quickly to form a barrier between him and the bed, minds fiercely steadfast. They were clad in robes similar to his own signature black cloak, hoods thrown over their heads leaving their faces in shadow. Steely guardians of their mortally injured sister, determined to prevent any last violation of her sanctity.

“She has suffered enough, Father.”

“She doesn’t need you here to make it worse.”

“Jiska,” he pleaded. “Why?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Not here.”

“Not now.”

“Don’t pretend your ignorance is some kind of innocence.”

“You’re not ignorant. Nor innocent.”

“You are evil.”

“A monster.”

“We will do whatever we can to ruin your empire.”

“And destroy you.”

The two black-clad figures wavered in his vision, and he saw them on the tropical beach as it had never happened so many years ago, both in long cotton rainbow skirts, bare feet on the hot sand, both clinging adoringly to Marvane, rapturously happy as Natran performed the marriage ceremony.

“I do this for all of you,” Edeard wept. “I am bringing you fulfillment. The Lady knows I try to bring fulfillment to the whole world. Why do you reject me?”

“Your evil would enslave everyone on Querencia, and you ask us why.”

“Evil. Evil. Evil man. Honious will take you.”

Jiska convulsed. Edeard groaned through clenched teeth as he forced himself to share every aspect of her agony. He deserved nothing less. His legs gave way.

“We will bring you down.”

“We are still free.”

“We have taught others how to liberate themselves.”

“Your slaves will rise up against you.”

“Domination does not deliver eternal loyalty.”

“Already your hold on the provinces crumbles away.”

“You?” he asked through the sickening pain. “You are the resistance?”

Then the longtalk he dreaded most spoke. “Who else was left?” Kristabel asked. “Whose mind has your megalomania left unbroken?”

Jiska’s head turned slightly.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” the doctors chorused in concern.

Red scabbed eyelids fluttered, sending a yellow fluid seeping out of freshly opened cracks. The remaining good eye stared right at him. “We will beat you,” Jiska’s weak longtalk told him determinedly. “My soul will wander the Void, but I will die knowing this. I am fulfilled, Father, but not how you desired me to be, thank the Lady.”

Edeard fell to his knees. “You’re not to be lost. I can stop this,” he told her with a whisper. “I can.” Two hours, that’s all. Just go back two hours and stop the fire from ever happening. I’ll talk reason to them. We will find common ground.

“If you try-”

“-you will have to kill us first.”

“All of us,” Kristabel longtalked.

Edeard raised his head to the shadowed ceiling. “You do not die. Not again. Not ever while I live. I have suffered too much for that to be allowed.”

In the streets outside the hospital, minds were emerging from their concealment. Their presence shocked him. Rolar, Dylorn, Marakas, even Taralee. The oldest five grandchildren, all emboldened and resolute. But not Burlal-he at least is spared this. And they weren’t alone. Macsen and Kanseen emerged with them, as did their children. Then at the last Kristabel came forth.

“You can rule this world,” they told him with a loving unity whose nobility was infinitely more beautiful than any he had ever imposed. “But we will not be a part of it. One way or another.”

“But we must be one,” he shouted back frantically. “One-” Nation. With that he crumpled to the ground and cried out in anguish as the shock of what he now believed in hit him with a physical impact. Oh, my great Lady, I have become my enemies: Bise, Owain, Buate, the Gilmorn, Tathal, all the others I struggled to overcome. How was I so weak to let them win, to adopt their methods? This cannot stand. This is why fewer Skylords have come. Fulfillment is slipping away from me, from all of us. I knew that. Lady, I always knew that.

He had sworn not to go back again, but that was an irrelevance now-he was going back to save Jiska. Not two hours. That would not be salvation. There was only one option left.

“You are right,” he told them, and opened his mind so they could see whatever love and humility he had left. “I have fallen to arrogance and sin, but I swear to the Lady I will show no more weakness.” And reached for that wretched moment-

– to land on the ground at the foot of the Eyrie tower. His ankles gave way, and he stumbled, falling forward. Strong third hands reached out to steady him. A blaze of concern and adoration bathed his bruised thoughts.

The crowd drew its collective breath in a loud “Ohoooo” at his dangerous landing. Then, as he straightened up, they began to applaud the ostentatious resurgence of their old Waterwalker.

For a moment he feared his jumbled recollections and shaky emotions meant he’d completely misjudged the twisting passage through the Void’s memory. But there was no powerful farsight following him, no Tathal, no nest. This was the time immediately after he had vanquished that foe, when events were so close to what they had been the first time, the genuine life he’d forgone so long ago.

Macsen gave him a derisory sneer, while Dinlay’s hardened thoughts registered his disapproval at the madcap jump from the tower. As they always do, thank you, Lady.

Kristabel’s expression was one of unwavering anger. He looked at her and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered inaudibly. “I’m so sorry.”

Her fury subsided as she measured the confusion and sadness filling his mind. He held his arms out to her. After the briefest hesitation, she walked over.

“Daddy,” Marilee scolded.

“That was so bad.”

“Teach us how to do that.”

Edeard nodded slowly. “One day I might just do that. But for now there’s a young man I want you to meet, a sailor.”

“Which one of us?” Analee asked, playfully mistrustful.

“Both of you. Both of you should meet him. I think you all might be very happy together.”

The twins turned to give each other a look of complete astonishment.

Kristabel moved into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Edeard took a long time to answer. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been lately. I’m going to stop that now.”

She shrugged awkwardly inside his embrace. “I can’t be the easiest person to live with.”

He pointed out across the city to the Lyot Sea. “The Skylord comes.”

“Really?” Like everyone in Makkathran, she extended her farsight to the horizon as the astounded residents of Myco and Neph gifted their sight of the giant creature.

“It will bring such change to our lives,” Edeard said quietly. “I think I know how to moderate any difficulties. But I don’t know everything, I truly don’t. I will need help. It will not be easy.”

“I’m here,” she said with a soft reassuring hug. “As are all your friends, and together we will live through this. So just banish that horrible old Ashwell optimism, Edeard Waterwalker. This is the life you were made for.”

“Yes.” And this is the last one; whatever happens, this is what I will live with. Sweet Lady, please, in your infinite wisdom, give me the strength to get it right.