He fought to remind himself of his purpose, of all that his vow demanded, and the horrifying things it could make him do.
Icarium lives. Remember that. Focus on it. He waits for me. I will find him. I will make it all right once again. Our small world, closed up and impervious to everything outside it. A world where none will challenge us, where none will question our deeds, the hateful decisions we once made.
Give me this world, please, I beg you.
My most precious lies – she stole them all. They saw.
Setoc, dear gods, the betrayal in your face!
No. I will find him. I will protect him from the world. I will protect the world from him. And from everything else, from hurt eyes and broken hearts, I will protect myself. And you all called it my sacrifice, my heartbreaking loyalty – there on the Path of Hands, I took your breaths away.
Bonecaster, you stole my lies. See me now.
He knew his ancestors were far, far away. Their bones crumbled to dust in chambers beneath heaped mounds of stone and earth. He knew he had forsaken them long ago.
Then why could he hear their howls?
Mappo clapped his hands over his ears, but that did not help. The howling went on, and on. And on this vast empty plain, he suddenly felt small, shrinking still further with each step. My heart. My honour … shrinking, withering down … with each step. He’s only a child. They all are. He curled up in Gruntle’s arms. The girls, they held on to Setoc’s hands and sang songs.
Is it not the one inescapable responsibility of an adult to protect and defend a child?
I am not as I once was. What have I done?
Memories. The past. All so precious – I want it back, I want it all back. Icarium, I will find you.
Icarium, please, save me.
Torrent climbed into his saddle. He looked down and met Setoc’s eyes, and then nodded.
He could see the fear and the doubt in her face, and wished he had more words worth saying, but he’d used them all up. Was it not enough that he was doing this? The question, asked so boldly and self-righteously in his own mind, almost made him laugh out loud. Still, he had to do this. He had to try. ‘I will ward them, I promise.’
‘You owe them nothing,’ she said, hugging herself with such severity he thought her ribs might crack. ‘Not your charge, but mine. Why do you do this?’
‘I knew Toc.’
‘Yes.’
‘I think: what would he do? That is my answer, Setoc.’
Tears ran down her face. She held her lips tight, as if to speak would be to loose her grief, a wailing demon that would never again be chained, or beaten down.
‘I left children to die once,’ he continued. ‘I let Toc down. But this time,’ he shrugged, ‘I hope to do better. Besides, she knows me. She will use me, she’s done it before.’ He glanced over at the others. The camp was packed up. Faint and Sweetest Sufferance had already begun walking, like two broken refugees. Precious Thimble trailed them by a few steps, like a child uncertain of her welcome in their company. Amby walked on his own, off to the right of the others, staring straight ahead, his stride stiff, brittle. And Gruntle, after a few words with Cartographer who once more sat on Jula’s barrow, had set off, shoulders rounded as if in visceral pain. Cartographer, it seemed, was staying behind. It comes together only to fall apart. ‘Setoc, your wolf ghosts were frightened of her.’
‘Terrified.’
‘You could do nothing.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Is that supposed to help? Words like that just dig big holes and invite us to jump.’
He glanced away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Go, catch up to them.’
He collected his reins, swung his mount round and tapped its flanks with his heels.
Did you gamble on this, too, Olar Ethil? How smug will you sound in your greeting?
Well now, enjoy your time, because it won’t last for ever. Not if I have any say in the matter. Do not worry, Toc, I’ve not forgotten. For you, I will do this, or die in the effort.
He rode at a canter across the empty land, until he drew within sight of the Bonecaster and her three charges. When the twins turned and cried out in relief, it very nearly broke him.
Setoc had watched the young Awl warrior ride after Olar Ethil, saw when he reached them. An exchange of words, and then they set out once more, walking until the deceptive folds of the landscape swallowed them all. Then she turned, studied Cartographer. ‘The boy was crying in grief. Over his dead dog. You told him to stop. Why? Why should that have so bothered you?’
‘How is it,’ the undead man said, rising from the barrow and shuffling closer, ‘that the weakest among us is the only one so willing to give up his life protecting those children? I do not mean to wound you with my words, Setoc. I but struggle to understand this.’ The withered face tilted to one side, pitted eye sockets seeming to study her. ‘Is it, perhaps, because he has the least to lose?’ He continued on in his awkward steps, to stand over the carcass of the ay.
‘Of course he has,’ she snapped. ‘As you said, just his life.’
Cartographer looked down at the corpse of Baaljagg. ‘And this one had even less.’
‘Go back to your dead world, will you? It’s so much simpler there, I’m sure. You can stop wondering about the things us pathetic mortals get up to.’
‘I am a knower of maps, Setoc. Listen to my words. You cannot cross the Glass Desert. When you reach it, turn southward, on to the South Elan. It is not much better, but there should be enough, at least to give you a chance.’
Enough what? Food? Water? Hope? ‘You are remaining here. Why?’
‘In this place,’ Cartographer gestured, ‘the world of the dead has arrived. Here, you are the unwelcome stranger.’
Suddenly shaken, inexplicably distraught, Setoc shook her head. ‘Gruntle said you were with them almost from the very beginning. Now you’re just stopping. Here?’
‘Must we all have a purpose?’ Cartographer asked. ‘I did, once, but that is done with.’ His head turned, faced northward. ‘Your company was … admirable. But I’d forgotten.’ He hesitated, and she was about to ask what he’d forgotten when he said, ‘Things break.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. She reached down and collected the bundle of her gear. Straightening, she set out. Then paused and glanced back at him. ‘Cartographer, what did Gruntle say to you, at the barrow?’
‘“The past is a demon that not even death can shake.”’
‘What did he mean by that?’
He shrugged, still studying Baaljagg’s carcass. ‘I told him this: I have found the living in my dreams, and they are not well.’
She turned away, began walking.
Dust devils spun and raced along, tracking her on either side. Masan Gilani knew all about this. She’d heard all the old stories of the Seven Cities campaign, how the Logros T’lan Imass had a way of just vanishing, whispering on the winds or twisting along on the currents of some river. Easy for them. Rising from the ground at the end of it all not even out of breath.
She snorted. Breath, that was a good one.
Her horse was reluctant this morning. Not enough water, not enough forage, hadn’t crapped or pissed in a day and a night. Wouldn’t last much longer, she suspected, unless her companions could conjure up a spring and a heap of hay or a bag or two of oats. Could they do things like that? She had no idea.