If Winter was killed, or the Beast gave up the chase, it would be able to devote its full attention to the south. Once the core came close enough, the red-?eyes would be unleashed on the densely populated Vordanai countryside, enslaving everyone they could reach. That was to be avoided, if possible. For the moment, Janus was satisfied with his progress—?by convincing the Beast to use his own body as a figurehead, he had advanced its timetable for the southern war and brought about this split. I need to take advantage of it while it lasts.
He was looking for something—?if looking was a word that applied to a disembodied mind wandering an entirely metaphorical space—?the echo of a voice. He’d “heard” it before, briefly, but the Beast’s attention had been on him and he hadn’t been in a position to investigate. Now he crossed and recrossed the area in which he’d been hovering, hunting for the elusive sound. Just finding the “same” place had been an extremely nontrivial exercise, but now he was sure he had it right. Consider how fast the threads readjusted, expand the search radius, keep moving—
Got it. Down at the very edge of hearing, a woman’s voice. Different, somehow, from the non-?sound by which the minds in here communicated—?real sound, coming in from the outside. He moved in circles, following it when it got louder, homing in on the source.
“...don’t think that’s possible.” He recognized the speaker. “You know that...”
It faded into unintelligibility, still barely audible. Janus cast about for the source of the sound. He found another mind, visible in the mindscape of the Beast as a tiny whirl of cloud and movement, like a miniature storm. It was smaller than himself, and felt incomplete, as though it were only a part of a whole person. But—?unlike every other mind he’d encountered here—?it had some kind of connection, visible as a hair-?thin thread of brilliant crimson, snaking away into the depths of non-?space.
He’d made a good guess about what that connection might be. Now, examining the mind, he could see that guess had been right. But can I use it?
Manipulating other minds, here in the mindscape, was a matter of exerting pure will. This was a quality that Janus had never lacked, which probably explained his continued survival. He pushed his attention into the smaller mind and found it composed of a chaotic whirl of thoughts and impressions. At the center, that familiar voice. Janus grabbed hold of the connection, twisted it into reverse. He could feel something happen at the other end.
“If you’re there,” he said, pushing his words down the link like a memory of human speech, “please answer quickly. I don’t think I have long.”
“...who is speaking?” Very faint, but understandable.
“This is Janus bet Vhalnich, and there isn’t time to explain everything—”
*
Later, Janus approached the enormous, black-?walled hurricane that was the primary personality of the Beast. It was still directing its bodies in their pursuit of Winter, though Janus could see at a glance that it would be some time before an assault was practicable. She’ll get through. He had every confidence in Winter.
“Vhalnich.” The mental voice was similar to the Beast’s, but not quite the same. More feminine, more singular, where the Beast was a choral roar of many blended into one. “Still fighting the inevitable.”
“Jane Verity,” Janus said. “I thought you had long ago been subsumed.”
“I think I have.” There was no visible structure to her mind separate from the Beast itself. Just one whirling cloud among a hurricane. “But I kept a little of myself apart. Just to enjoy this.”
“Hunting Winter?”
“No. Seeing you trapped at last.” Jane’s voice was bitter. “It won’t be long. Winter will join me, and we can finally be free. Free of the world. Free of you. How does it feel, monster?”
“One of us is a monster,” Janus said. “I invite you to consider which.”
Jane fell silent as the Beast’s primary attention shifted, noticing Janus’ presence. The hurricane bulged and spun, producing a pull on Janus’ mind-?stuff he could feel like a strong wind.
“You venture close, for one who wants to remain whole,” the Beast said.
“I had a thought,” Janus said. “I have been observing the progress of the army accompanying my former body, and I can’t help but notice it is decidedly unsatisfactory. From your point of view, of course.”
“Winter is more important. I have time to deal with Vordan and the Names.”
“Of course. But Vordan will have dispatched an army to intercept, and Marcus d’Ivoire will be with it. He is a fine soldier, and without strong leadership he might well be successful. That would delay our project considerably.”
“Our project, is it?”
Janus would have shrugged, if he’d had shoulders. “My existence is contingent on your continued pleasure. All of your projects are by definition mine as well.”
“I cannot leave Winter to escape.”
“I know. Hence my suggestion—?allow me to control my former body, and the others with the army. Those yet to be converted will be expecting ‘Janus’ to issue commands.”
“None of the other minds have attempted to control a body.” The Beast sounded fascinated. “You can do it?”
“I believe so. I have studied the mechanism. I would not proceed without your permission, of course.”
“That could be useful.” The Beast had every bit of knowledge and skill of all of its continuants, and it could see the advantages immediately. For all that it was in some ways limited, it was still terrifyingly capable. “But I cannot help but think you find some advantage for yourself.”
“What advantage could I gain, in here?”
“Misplaced loyalty to former friends, perhaps?” The Beast’s voice was a roar. “I should tear you apart and find out.”
“You can do so, of course. But then I will be unable to assist.”
There was a long pause.
“Go,” the Beast said. “If you can. But I will be watching.”
9
Marcus
“They were six years apart,” Gravya said. “Janus’ mother never recovered from his birth, and the old count followed her a year later. She was always his strength, I think. He was a kind man, but not a hardy one.”
The old woman stood at an iron stove in the dusty sitting room, expertly building the fire. Marcus, sitting in a tattered but comfortable chair, felt a bit awkward letting her wait on them, and Cyte apparently had the same thought, because she said, “Can I help at all, Mistress Gravya?”
“Oh, no, dear. It’s just something to do with my hands. Helps me think. Habit, you know?”
Cyte, frowning, settled down into the chair opposite Marcus. Marcus said, “So Janus never knew his parents?”
Gravya shook her head. “He had us—?the house servants—?and he had Mya. That was all. They were inseparable from the time he could walk. I called myself his tutor, but it was Mya who taught him to read and write. I just filled in what she couldn’t be bothered with. Not talking with your mouth full and the like.” She laughed and poked the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. “Most days it was just the two of them, going wherever they wanted, all over the estate.”
“What was Mya like?” Marcus said. “Was she as smart as Janus?”