‘It’s a damned rats’ maze,’ the mage continued, pausing at a branching.
‘Just take us south,’ Iron Bars said in a low growl.
‘Fine, but which way is that?’
The soldiers crowded round, muttering and cursing in their strange language.
Corlo faced Seren, his expression strangely taut. ‘Any suggestions, Acquitor?’
‘What?’
The mage said something in their native tongue to Iron Bars, who scowled and replied, ‘That’s enough, all of you. In Letherii. Since when was rudeness in the creed of the Crimson Guard? Acquitor, this is the Hold of Darkness—’
‘There is no Hold of Darkness.’
‘Well, I’m trying to say it in a way that makes sense to you.’
‘All right.’
Corlo said, ‘But, you see, Acquitor, it shouldn’t be.’
She simply looked at him in the gloom.
The mage rubbed the back of his neck, and she saw the hand come away glistening with sweat. ‘These are Tiste Edur, right? Not Tiste Andii. The Hold of Darkness, that’s Tiste Andii. The Edur, they were from the, uh, Hold of Shadow. So, it was natural, you see, to expect that the warren would be Kurald Emurlahn. But it isn’t. It’s Kurald Galain, only it’s breached. Over-run. Thick with spirits – Tiste Andii spirits—’
‘They’re not here,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen them. Those spirits. They’re not here.’
‘They are, Acquitor. I’m just keeping them away. For now…’
‘But it’s proving difficult.’
The mage nodded reluctantly.
‘And you’re lost.’
Another nod.
She tried to think, cut through the numbness – which seemed to be the only thing keeping away the pain of her battered flesh. ‘You said the spirits are not Edur.’
‘That’s right. Tiste Andii.’
‘What is the relationship between the two? Are they allied?’
Corlo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Allied?’
‘Those wraiths,’ Iron Bars said.
The mage’s gaze darted to his commander, then back again to Seren Pedac. ‘Those wraiths are bound. Compelled to fight alongside the Edur. Are they Andii spirits? Hood’s breath, this is starting to make sense. What else would they be? Not Edur spirits, since no binding magic would be needed, would it?’
Iron Bars stepped in front of Seren. ‘What are you suggesting?’
She remembered back to her only contact with the spirits, their hunger. ‘Mage Corlo, you say you’re keeping them away. Are they trying to attack us?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Let one through. Maybe we can talk to it, maybe we can get help.’
‘Why would it be interested in helping us?’
‘Make a bargain.’
‘With what?’
She shrugged. ‘Think of something.’
He muttered a string of foreign words that she guessed were curses.
‘Let one through,’ Iron Bars said.
More curses, then Corlo walked a few steps ahead to clear some space. ‘Ready weapons,’ he said. ‘In case it ain’t interested in talking.’
A moment later, the gloom in front of the mage wavered, and something black spread outward like spilled ink. A figure emerged, halting, uncertain.
A woman, tall as an Edur but midnight-skinned, a reddish glint to her long, unbound hair. Green eyes, tilted and large, a face softer and rounder than Seren would have expected given her height and long limbs. She was wearing a leather harness and leggings, and on her shoulders rode the skin of some white-furred beast. She was unarmed.
Her eyes hardened. She spoke, and in her words Seren heard a resemblance to Edur.
‘I hate it when that happens,’ Corlo said.
Seren tried Edur. ‘Hello. We apologize for intruding on your world. We do not intend to stay long.’
The woman’s expression did not change. ‘The Betrayers never do.’
‘I may speak in the language of the Edur, but they are no allies of ours. Perhaps in that, we share something.’
‘I was among the first to die in the war,’ the woman said, ‘and so not at the hands of an Edur. They cannot take me, cannot force me to fight for them. I and those like me are beyond their grasp.’
‘Yet your spirit remains trapped,’ Seren said. ‘Here, in this place.’
‘What do you want?’
Seren turned to Iron Bars. ‘She asks what we want of her.’
‘Corlo?’
The mage shrugged, then said, ‘We need to escape the influence of the Edur. We need to get beyond their reach. Then to return to our world.’
Seren relayed Corlo’s statements to the woman.
‘You are mortal,’ she replied. ‘You can pass through when we cannot.’
‘Can you guide us?’
‘And what is to be my reward for this service?’
‘What do you seek?’
She considered, then shook her head. ‘No. An unfair bargain. My service is not worth the payment I would ask. You require a guide to lead you to the border’s edge. I will not deceive. It is not far. You would find it yourselves before too long.’
Seren translated the exchange for the Crimson Guardsmen, then added, ‘This is odd…’
Iron Bars smiled. ‘An honest broker?’
She nodded wryly. ‘I am Letherii, after all. Honesty makes me suspicious.’
‘Ask her what she would have us do for her,’ Iron Bars said.
Seren Pedac did, and the woman held up her right hand, and in it was a small object, encrusted and corroded and unrecognizable. ‘The K’Chain Che’Malle counter-attack drove a number of us down to the shoreline, then into the waves. I am a poor fighter. I died on that sea’s foaming edge, and my corpse rolled out, drawn by the tide, along the muddy sands, where the mud swallowed it.’ She looked down at the object in her palm. ‘This was a ring I wore. Returned to me by a wraith – many wraiths have done this for those of us beyond the reach of the Edur. I would ask that you return me to my bones, to what little of me remains. So that I can find oblivion. But this is too vast a gift, for offering you so little—’
‘How would we go about doing as you ask?’
‘I would join with the substance of this ring. You would see me no more. And you would need to travel to the shoreline, then cast this into the sea.’
‘That does not seem difficult.’
‘Perhaps it isn’t. The inequity lies in the exchange of values.’
Seren shook her head. ‘We see no inequity. Our desire is of equal value as far as we are concerned. We accept your bargain.’
‘How do I know you will not betray me?’
The Letherii turned to Iron Bars. ‘She doesn’t trust us.’
The man strode to halt directly before the Tiste Andii woman. ‘Acquitor, tell her I am an Avowed, of the Crimson Guard. If she would, she can seek the meaning of that. By laying her hand on my chest. Tell her I shall honour our pact.’
‘I’ve not told you what it is yet. She wants us to throw the thing she’s holding into the sea.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Doing so will end her existence. Which seems to be what she wants.’
‘Tell her to seek the cast of my soul.’
‘Very well.’
The suspicious look in the woman’s eyes grew more pronounced, but she stepped forward and set her left hand on the man’s chest.
The hand flinched away and the woman staggered back a step, shock then horror, writ on her face. ‘How – how could you do – why?’
Seren said, ‘Not the response you sought, I think, Iron Bars. She is… appalled.’
‘That is of no concern,’ the man replied. ‘Does she accept my word?’
The woman straightened, then, to Seren’s question, she nodded and said ‘I cannot do otherwise. But… I had forgotten… this feeling.’
‘What feeling?’
‘Sorrow.’
‘Iron Bars,’ Seren said, ‘w
hatever this “Avowed” means, she is overwhelmed with… pity.’
‘Yes well’ he said, turning away, ‘we all make mistakes.’
The woman said, ‘I will lead you now.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Sandalath Drukorlat.’
‘Thank you, Sandalath. It grieves me to know that our gift to you is oblivion.’
She shrugged. ‘Those who I once loved and who loved me believe I am gone in truth. There is no need for grief.’
No need for grief. Where, then, does the pity lie?
‘Stand up, lads,’ Iron Bars said, ‘she’s making ready to go.’
****
Mape lay on the knoll like something dead, but the Nacht’s head slowly turned as Withal and Rhulad strode into view. She had stolen a hammer from the smithy some time back, to better facilitate her destruction of Pule’s nests and now carried it with her everywhere. Withal watched askance as the gnarled, black-skinned creature lifted the hammer into view eyes still fixed on him and the Tiste Edur, as if contemplating murder.
Of the three Nachts, Mape made him the most nervous. Too much intelligence glittered in her small black eyes, too often she watched with something like a smile on her apish face. And the strength the creatures had displayed was sufficient to make any man worried. He knew Mape could tear his arms from his shoulders, were she so inclined.
Perhaps the Crippled God had bound them, as demons could be bound, and it was this and this alone that kept the beasts from Withal’s throat. An unpleasant notion.
‘What’s to stop me,’ Rhulad asked in a growl, ‘from driving the sword right through his scrawny chest?’
‘Do not ask that question of me, Edur. Only the Crippled God can answer it. But I don’t think it could ever be that easy. He’s a clever bastard, and there in that tent his power is probably absolute.’
‘The vastness of his realm,’ Rhulad said, sneering.
Yes. Now why do those words, said in that way, interest me?
The ragged canvas shelter was directly ahead, smoke drifting from the side that had been drawn open. As they approached, the air grew hotter, drier, the grasses withered and bleached underfoot. The earth seemed strangely blighted.
They came opposite the entrance. Within, the god’s huddled form in the gloom. Tendrils of smoke rising from the brazier.
A cough, then, ‘Such anger. Unreasonable, I think, given the efficacy of my gift.’
‘I don’t want to go back,’ Rhulad said. ‘Leave me here. Choose someone else.’
‘Unwitting servants to our cause appear… from unexpected sources. Imagine, an Avowed of the Crimson Guard. Be glad it was not Skinner, or indeed Cowl. They would have taken more notice of you, and that would not have been a good thing. We’re not yet ready for that.’ A hacking cough. ‘Not yet ready.’
‘I’m not going back.’
‘You detest the flesh given you. I understand. But, Rhulad Sengar, the gold is your payment. For the power you seek.’
‘I want nothing more of that power.’
‘But you do,’ the Crippled God said, clearly amused. ‘Consider the rewards already reaped. The throne of the Tiste Edur, the woman after whom you lusted for years – now in your possession, to do with as you please. Your brothers, bowing one and all before you. And a burgeoning prowess with the sword—’
‘It’s not mine, though, is it? It is all I can do to hold on! The skill does not belong to me – and all can see that! I have earned nothing!’
‘And what value is all that pride you seek, Rhulad Sengar? You mortals baffle me. It is a fool’s curse, to measure oneself in endless dissatisfaction. It is not for me to guide you in the rule of your empire. That task belongs to you and you alone. There, make that your place of pride. Besides, has not your strength grown? You have muscles now surpassing your brother Fear’s. Cease your whimpering, Edur.’
‘You are using me!’
The Crippled God laughed. ‘And Scabandari Bloodeye did not? Oh, I know the tale now. All of it. The seas whisper old truths, Rhulad Sengar. Revered Father Shadow, oh, such an absurd conceit. Murderer, knife-wielder, betrayer—’
‘Lies!’
‘—who then led you into your own betrayal. Of your once-allies, the Tiste Andii. You fell upon them at Scabandari’s command. You killed those who had fought alongside you. That is the legacy of the Tiste Edur, Rhulad Sengar. Ask Hannan Mosag. He knows. Ask your brother, Fear. Your mother – the women know. Their memory has been far less… selective.’
‘No more of this,’ the Edur pleaded, clawing at his face. ‘You would poison me with dishonour. That is your purpose… for all you say.’
‘Perhaps what I offer,’ the Crippled God murmured, ‘is absolution. The opportunity to make amends. It is within you, Rhulad Sengar. The power is yours to shape as you will. The empire shall cast your reflection, no-one else’s. Will you flee from that? If that is your choice, then indeed I shall be forced to choose another. One who will prove, perhaps, less honourable.’
The sword clattered at Rhulad’s feet.
‘Choose.’
Withal watched, saw the Edur’s expression change.
With a scream, Rhulad snatched up the weapon and lunged—
—and was gone.
Rasping laughter. ‘There is so little, withal, that surprises me any more.’
Disgusted, the Meckros turned away.
‘A moment, Withal. I see your weariness, your displeasure. What is it that plagues you so? That is what I ask myself.’
‘The lad doesn’t deserve it—’
‘Oh, but he does. They all do.’
‘Aye,’ Withal said, eyes level as he stared at the Crippled God, ‘that does seem to be the sole judgement you possess. But it’s hardly clean, is it?’
‘Careful. My gratitude for what you have done for me wears thin.’
‘Gratitude?’ Withal’s laugh was harsh. ‘You are thankful after compelling me into doing your bidding. That’s a good one. May you be as generous of thought after I force you into killing me.’ He studied the hooded figure. ‘I see your problem, you know. I see it now, and curse myself for having missed it before. You have no realm to command, as do other gods. So you sit there, alone, in your tent, and that is the extent of your realm, isn’t it? Broken flesh and foul, stifling air. Skin-thin walls and the heat the old and lame desire. Your world, and you alone in it, and the irony is, you cannot even command your own body.’
A wretched cough, then, ‘Spare me your sympathy, Meckros. I have given the problem of you considerable thought, and have found a solution, as you shall soon discover. When you do, think on what you have said to me. Now, go.’
‘You still don’t understand, do you? The more pain you deliver to others, god, the more shall be visited upon you. You sow your own misery, and because of that whatever sympathy you might rightly receive is swept away.’
‘I said go, Withal. Build yourself a nest. Mape’s waiting.’
****
They emerged onto a windswept sward with the crashing waves of the sea on their right and before them the delta of a broad river. On the river’s other side stood a walled city.
Seren Pedac studied the distant buildings, the tall, thin towers that seemed to lean seaward. ‘Old Katter,’ she said. ‘We’re thirty leagues south of Trate. How is that possible?’
‘Warrens,’ Corlo muttered, sagging until he sat on the ground. ‘Rotted. Septic, but still, a warren.’
The Acquitor made her way down to the beach. The sun was high and hot overhead. I must wash. Get clean. The sea…
Iron Bars followed, in one hand the encrusted object where the spirit of a Tiste Andii woman now resided.
She strode into the water, the foaming waves thrashing round her shins.
The Avowed flung the object past her – a small splash not far ahead.
Thighs, then hips.
Clean. Get clean.
To her chest. A wave rolled, lifted her from the bottom, spun and flung her t
owards the shore. She clawed herself round until she could push forward once again. Cold salty water rising over her face. Bright, sunlit, silty water, washing sight from her eyes. Water biting at scabbed wounds, stinging her broken lips, water filling her mouth and begging to be drawn inside.
Like this.
Hands grasped her, pulled her back. She fought, but could not break loose.
Clean!
Her face swept by cold wind, eyes blinking in painful light. Coughing, weeping, she struggled, but the hands dragged her remorselessly onto the beach, flung her onto the sand. Then, as she tried to claw free, arms wrapped tight about her, pinning her own arms, and a voice gasped close to her ear, ‘I know, lass. I know what it’s about. But it ain’t the way.’
Heaving, helpless sobs, now.
And he held her still.
‘Heal her, Corlo.’
‘I’m damn near done—’
‘Now. And sleep. Make her sleep—’
****
No, you can’t die. Not again. I have need of you.
So many layers, pressing down upon these indurative remnants, a moment of vast pressure, the thick, so thick skin tracing innumerable small deaths. And life was voice, not words, but sound, motion. Where all else was still, silent. Oblivion waited when the last echo faded.
Dying the first time should have been enough. This world was foreign, after all. The gate sealed, swept away. Her husband – if he still lived – was long past his grief. Her daughter, perhaps a mother herself by now, a grandmother. She had fed on draconic blood, there in the wake of Anomander. Somewhere, she persisted, and lived free of sorrow.
It had been important to think that way. Her only weapon against insanity.
No gifts in death but one.
But something held her back.
Something with a voice. These are restless seas indeed. I had not thought my questing would prove so… easy. True, you are not human, but you will do. You will do.
These remnants, suddenly in motion, grating motion. Fragments, particles too small to see, drawing together. As if remembering to what they had once belonged. And, within the sea, within the silts, waited all that was needed. For flesh, for bone and blood. All these echoes, resurrected, finding shape. She looked on in horror.