“And through the fog of memory I saw it; the boy’s cruelty to all around him, the time I had found him with a strangled pup, the older boy who had fallen to his death when they climbed together, the lies I deafened myself to as he told of an accident, a missed handhold that led to a broken neck. I saw it all.”
Alturk’s head slumped in shame, his craggy features so steeped in sorrow even Kiral seemed discomforted by it, wincing and averting her gaze. “Instead of accepting this gift,” Alturk went on, “I raged at Nishak, finding the strength to stand. ‘My son has greatness in him!’ I cried. ‘He will sweep the Merim Her into the sea.’ And Nishak laughed, long and hard. ‘Think on that when you kill him,’ he said. ‘Now go.’
“All became silent save the roiling of the water. I lingered a while longer, calling for Nishak to return and take back his lies, but he had no more words for such an ungrateful bug. I found another passage from the cavern, narrow and winding, but also lit with the same green glow. After hours uncounted it brought me back to the world above, which now seemed so very cold.”
Alturk fell silent, looking towards the distant fires with the eyes of a tired man soon to confront the twilight of his life. He didn’t turn when he spoke again, though it was obvious to whom he addressed his question, “That thing the Mahlessa freed you from. Did it find him or did he find it?”
“The Sentar had already been reborn before I was . . . taken,” Kiral said. “Your son had been one of those who remade it, finding others of similar mind, hungry for blood and seeking to justify their cruelty. He hated the Mahlessa for his disgrace, claiming he could have killed the greatest of the Merim Her but for her weakness, for she was old, and corrupted by the ages. But they were few in number and their plans chaotic, being possessed of a shared madness. To fulfil their mission the Sentar needed leadership, and found it in me.” She grimaced, her voice taking on a note of apology, “You would always have had to kill him, Tahlessa. Only truth can be heard from the gods.”
? ? ?
He was roused by one of the wolves, a huge male with an insistent tongue and foul-smelling breath. It jumped back a little as Vaelin jerked awake, dagger in hand, angling its head at him in curiosity before voicing an impatient yelp.
“What is it?” Dahrena groaned at his side, her pale and bleary-eyed face appearing above the furs.
“I think someone has finally come to welcome us,” he said, reaching for his boots.
Astorek, Kiral and Wise Bear waited at the foot of the south-facing slope, a line of wolves spread out before them and a cluster of spear-hawks overhead. “How many?” Vaelin asked, coming to Kiral’s side.
“Just one.”
Vaelin peered into the distance, picking out a single figure, hooded and cloaked, striding towards them without any apparent alarm at the cloud of spear-hawks descending to circle him at head height. Vaelin went forward to welcome him as he came to a halt before the line of wolves, a man of average height, broad but not overly muscular, drawing his hood back to reveal lean but deeply lined features, and eyes that spoke of a depth of experience Vaelin now knew to be vast.
“Ah,” said Erlin. “I thought it might be you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Reva
She awoke to pain, a fierce, piercing ache in her right hand, banishing the blackness with a persistent, pulsing agony. She groaned, shaking her hand, but the pain flared rather than faded. She winced as her eyes opened, sunlight sending a bolt of white fire into her brain. For a time all she could see was a faint yellow blur, her ears constantly assaulted by a roaring hiss. Forcing herself to blink, she managed to focus, the yellow blur resolving into a beach, the roar the rushing waves that jostled her, and the pain in her hand the result of a small red crab attempting to eat her thumb.
She pinched its claw and tugged it free, tossing it into the surf, gritting her teeth against the sting of salt in the wound but finding herself oddly grateful for the sensation; it confirmed she was, much to her surprise, alive. Barely able to move and lying prostrate on a beach whilst waves pounded her, but still undeniably alive.
Why? she asked the Father, more curious than angry. You cannot think I deserve to live. You cannot reward one whose lie has killed so many.
The voice was so unexpected, and shocking in its volume, she thought for an instant the Father had actually deigned to respond. Her heart calmed when she realised the voice called out words she couldn’t understand, her still-cloudy vision finding the owner, a hulking shape in black labouring through the surf towards her. The details of his garb became clear as he neared, a black leather jerkin, a silver medallion worn around the neck, and a whip on his belt. Overseer.