It made no sense.
Singletary had been sending her those pictures for days but he didn't have an explanation for them. He had received them from the last ghost that happened to pass by and somehow, she wouldn't understand but really, he knew he was supposed to pass them on to her. Because she had some duty, some sacred mission to perform relating to those mountains, those animals, that fire. Nilla had no idea what they meant, not even a frame of reference to begin to piece together their significance, if they had any.
'Stop that! You tell me what I want to know and then we can play any game you want. Stop mucking about in my head and concentrate on finding my name!'
His suffering leached into her and she felt her body shiver in the eighty degree heat. She could see him through the wall, or rather, she was so connected to him she could imagine him there perfectly. He was twisted on his plank floor, one arm constricted under his body, the circulation cut off. His back arched, drool spilled from between his lips. The pain was awful.
Then stop it, lass. Stop it forever if you find it so distasteful.
'Singletary, shut the fuck up already!' she screamed. The psychic was beyond understanding her, though. In his pain he didn't even hear her.
I hear you just fine, love. Look up here.
She turned, slowly, beginning to understand, and shaded her eyes. On top of a ridge, not two hundred yards away, Mael Mag Och sat with his long hair blowing in a breeze she couldn't feel. He raised one hand and waggled his fingers at her.
Nilla crossed the bottom of the canyon and clambered up the rock face beyond. She kicked off her shoes and used her bare toes to dig for footholds, clawed at the weathered sandstone. She didn't sweat, nor did she pant for breath as she climbed upwards, always upwards, but she felt the strain in her dead muscles, the pull in her back as she hoisted herself bodily to where the naked man sat waiting for her, not moving an inch to close the distance between them.
'So brutal you can be.' He tsked her, looking like he had just dropped by for a social chat. She clambered up to him on her stomach, crawling like an insect, and just collapsed. 'So angry. I suppose it's understandable. The living have been so cruel to you, haven't they? And now you're willing to torture them just to find out a name that doesn't mean anything anymore.'
She stared at him for a moment, unsure what to think. She was pretty sure that Mael was not at all what he appeared to be. 'You have a better plan?'
'I do, lass. Would you like to hear it?'
She rolled over onto her back and lay staring up at the intensely blue sky, so rich in color it nearly turned to black at the zenith. 'Your English has improved,' she told him.
He took it as a yes. 'End all the anguish, finish all the sadness. Wipe out the violence and the depravity and the suffering in one fell swoop. It is a tall order, I'll admit. Perhaps we can go one better: get them to do it for themselves.'
She hadn't cared for Singletary's nebulous refusals. She liked even less when Mael talked in riddles. 'What are you?' she asked, sitting up, facing away from him. He wasn't really there, of course. He was pushing himself into her head just like the psychic. It didn't matter if she looked at him or not.
'A musician, once upon a time. And a politician. I was a sorcerer and a hunter, too. I wrestled with monsters in my day. I conversed with what you would call gods.'
She smiled weakly. Great. A Jesus freak. Or no, he had said gods, plural. A Hare Krishna. 'Oh, I see. And what did they tell you?'
His voice softened. 'Shall I be plain? They whispered to me in the dark and stillness of the forest that humanity is wicked. That men are born with evil in their hearts, and must expiate their corruption by deeds."