Thien nodded and reached for his sword. She had told him what he wanted to know, thought Oenone, and now she was no more use to him. She could not help squeezing her bruised eyes shut. She heard the ringing rasp of the long blade sliding from its scabbard. She heard the chink of metal against stone. She opened one eye, then the other. Thien was kneeling in front of her, laying his sword on the pavement at her feet. Down in the courtyard everyone else was kneeling too. Soldiers bowed their heads, saluting her, fist-to-palm.
“What are they doing?” she asked, bewildered. “What are you doing?”
“Our armies are smashed,” said Thien. “The barbarians’ cities are broken. The world is in turmoil. We need someone to lead us down new roads. I’m not the man for that.”
He rose and took Oenone by the arm, bringing her gently to the front of the balcony so that all the people waiting below could see their new leader.
The engines of the air yacht failed a few miles from Batmunkh Gompa, and Fishcake abandoned her there and set off walking, leaving Pennyroyal behind. Pennyroyal spent a while trying to restart the yacht, but ash had clogged its air intakes, and it would not work. Reluctantly, finding his way by the light of the meteor showers streaking across the northern sky, he set off on foot through the ash drifts to the nearest Green Storm base. There he attempted to surrender, but the Storm were in such a state of confusion that nobody wanted to be saddled with a townie prisoner. “At least send ships to Erdene Tezh!” he begged. “My friends may still be there! It was the ground station! The Stalker Fang was controlling the weapon from there…”
“No one was controlling the weapon,” said the base commander, waving a communique she’d just received from Batmunkh Gompa. “Naga’s widow says that one of the Ancients’ orbital devices malfunctioned, and it destroyed targets at random.”
“But …”
“You are free to go, Professor.”
It was months before Pennyroyal found his way back to Murnau. He used the time well, making use of the long waits at provincial air harbors and caravanserais to write his greatest work, Ignorant Armies. It was surprisingly truthful by Pennyroyal’s standards. He confessed all his previous lies in Chapter One, and kept as close as he could to the facts when he described what he had seen and done at Erdene Tezh.
But when he finally reached the Hunting Ground, he found himself in a world that was changing quickly. The predators were growing so savage and the prey so scarce that even the staunchest of Municipal Darwinists were starting to wonder how much longer the system could keep going. People were looking for new ways to live, and Murnau had shocked everyone by settling down on a hilltop west of the Rustwater and going static. Refugees from Zhan Shan were moving there, helping the Murnauers lay out fields and plant crops. Old von Kobold had kept on a few of his harvester suburbs, and an air force, led by Orla Twombley, that whizzed around the margins of his pale tract of farmland and scared off any predator that came too close.
Undaunted, Pennyroyal went in search of his publishers, but Werederobe and Spoor wouldn’t touch his new book. After Spiney’s expose, said those gentlemen, nobody would believe any more wild yarns from Nimrod Pennyroyal. Least of all them. Anyway, the Mossies were friendly now; had he not heard about the treaty von Kobold had signed with the Widow Naga? And, incidentally, what had happened to the advance they’d paid him for his previous book?
Pennyroyal spent ten months in debtors’ prison, boring his fellow inmates with endless stories of his wonderful adventures. When some of his old friends from Moon’s clubbed together and paid his debts, he slunk away to Peripatetiapolis, where one of his former girlfriends, Minty Bapsnack, still had a soft spot for him. He lived out his final years in her house, and they were not unhappy. But even Minty took his story with a pinch of salt, and she never lent him the money he needed to publish Ignorant Armies.
Fishcake did not see the shooting stars. By the time the wreckage from ODIN began to streak across the sky he was beneath the lid of smoke from Zhan Shan. He bypassed Batmunkh Gompa in the dark and walked on for days, up roads clogged with ash and refugees.
He was the only person traveling toward the volcano, not away. The eastern flank of the mountain had been ripped open, and the people who had lived beneath it were fleeing in ragged columns, with tales of whole towns being buried, whole cities swept away. But the western slopes, though shaken and dusted with ash, had not suffered so badly. When Fishcake came over the ridge above the hermitage, he saw the little house still standing, the cattle in their pasture eating bales of hay brought up from the lowlands, fresh prayer flags flapping on the shrine at the head of the pass. He shuffled toward the door on bare, bloody feet and collapsed on the step, where Sathya found him next morning when she came out to milk the cow. In his frostbitten hand he was still clutching the little horse that his Stalker had made for him.
He would stay there with Sathya for many years, growing into a strong, handsome young man of the mountain kingdoms. He would come to forget a lot of the awful things he had been through, but he never forgot what he had done at Erdene Tezh. That was his secret, and at first it made him feel strong and proud, because he’d carried out his promise to the gods and sent Hester Natsworthy and her husband to the Sunless Country. But later, when he was grown up and married, watching his own children play with Anna’s little horse in the dust outside his foster mother’s hermitage, he came to feel less certain about it. Those were the years when the Widow Naga was pushing hard for peace, preaching her policy of forgiveness toward old enemies. Sometimes Fishcake wished he had shown a little more forgiveness himself, and let the Natsworthys aboard that sky yacht after all. But at least (he told himself) he hadn’t killed Hester and Tom; he’d just taught them a lesson by abandoning them as they’d once abandoned him. They were tough and resourceful, and he was sure they had survived.
Zagwa
25th April 1027 te
Dear Angie,
It’s hard to believe that it’s four whole months since we left you at that cluster in the Frost Barrens! And that it’s nearly a year since New London was born!! I wish Theo and I could be there with you to join in the birthday celebrations, but we shan’t be ready to leave Zagwa for a few weeks yet. I hope trade is going well up there in the Ice Wastes; that you are selling lots of levitating armchairs to the people of the ice cities, and the Childermass engines are keeping you out of the jaws of predators!
I’m writing this in the garden at Theo’s parents’ house, sitting on a lovely terrace overlooking the gorge, in the afterglow of sunset. It’s beautiful here, and Mr. and Mrs. Ngoni and Kaelo and Miriam are all very sweet and welcoming, and seem to have gotten used to the idea that their Theo is going to marry a townie girl and live in the sky.
The merchantman that brought us here put in at Airhaven on the way south for fuel and gas. When I dropped in to the bank there, I found that—guess what?—I’m rich! I had quite forgotten the five thousand that Wolf Kobold had paid us for his trip to London, but there it all was, still safe in the Jenny Haniver’s account. I felt a little bit guilty about keeping it, but I suppose we earned it fairly; after all, we took Wolf to London as he asked, and it’s no fault of ours he tried to eat it. Anyway, I have spent some of the money already, on an airship of my own, and she is being overhauled at Zagwa harbor as I write. She’s a converted Achebe 1000, and we plan to call her Jenny Haniver II. So when we come home, we shall be traders in our own right; Ngoni Natsworthy of New London, purveyors of Mag-Lev furniture to the gentry… Trade is opening up again with the east now that the Green Storm has gone and the new League has made peace with the cities. We may even cross the ocean to America, and see my old friends and my old home at Anchorage-in-Vineland, and tell them about everything that’s happened. And of course we shall often come to Zagwa.