by Kerstin Hall
Eris coaxed him to eat. She seldom spoke, and her body was tight with anger. Although he could not understand her, she frightened him. He tried not to flinch when she moved.
Memories returned to him, arriving in sudden flashes of illumination. He lay awake in Eris’s bed and waited for all the pieces to accumulate and fit together. Night fell. The low growling, crunching sound of the Ageless pressed against the window panes. When they left, all was quiet. The moonlight had gathered in a quicksilver river in the doorway.
Vasethe rose.
Eris stood in the yard. She did not say anything when Vasethe passed, but her eyes tracked him as he staggered from the front door to the fence. His fingers struggled with the latch on the gate; the hinges protested, and it swung open.
Salt glittered like rain against the sand; the coarse crystals bit into the soles of his bare feet. He walked past the train tracks, away from the house and the shadowline and everything else. His breathing was laboured; his blunt fingernails dug crescents into his scar on his neck.
Although the sand was level and smooth, Vasethe stumbled. His legs folded and he fell to his knees. Every loss he had ever suffered cut into him like glass, every cruelty and mistake, every failure. He began to get up, then stopped and sank back to the ground.
Eris disappeared into her house, leaving the gate unlatched.
In the morning, Vasethe was back beside the table in the yard, carving. The sounds of chipping and scratching began just before sunrise. When Eris emerged, he appeared calm. He worked with his usual methodical precision.
Eris set a teacup within his reach. Her shift was torn and a welt was visible across her right shoulder.
“A long night,” she said.
Vasethe smiled. His expression was all wrong; too bright, lips stretched too far. Eris studied him, her own face blank. Tiba had not cured him; the demon’s efforts had warped something inside him, or perhaps brought an old injury nearer to the surface.
“Do you have all your memories back?” she asked.
He nodded, face still twisted.
“Continue to eat and drink.” She turned to go back inside.
“Will you still serve as my guide?” he asked.
She snorted.
“Will you?” He stood up.
She said nothing.
“Will you still kill me when all of this is done?”
For a few seconds, Eris did not move. Then, quick as a snake, she whipped around and slapped him. Vasethe’s head snapped sideways. He froze, eyes wide. Something about his stillness made Eris step backwards, her hand still raised.
Then his smile faltered, and he rubbed his cheek where she had struck him.
“Ow,” he said, eyes downcast.
“You think that if you tell me everything, I’ll refuse to be your guide.” She crossed her arms. “Is that right?”
He hesitated. It was enough of an answer.
“Do you know what I believe?”
There was a challenge in her voice and in the set of her jaw. Vasethe could not meet her eyes.
“You aren’t trying to bring Raisha back. You came to me to destroy her.” Eris continued before he could interrupt. “Or whatever is left of her. And it seems to me that there is a good chance she’s the one who left you that scar.”
Her word seemed to hit him like a physical force. He shook his head. The imprint of her hand stood out against his skin.
“I think you killed her.”
“Stop it.”
“But she had a trick up her sleeve, and in her dying breath she cursed you.”
“Eris, please stop.”
“And yet killing her still wasn’t enough for you.”
“I loved her.” Vasethe’s voice cracked.
Eris paused.
“I loved her,” he croaked. He shook his head again, his eyes shining and haunted. “She got sick. Don’t you dare . . . You don’t . . .”
Eris watched him.
“You have no idea what she was like,” he whispered.
“This is ridiculous. Even if you want to destroy her, it’s nothing to me.”
“Then let’s go. Right now.”
“You need to recover.”
“I don’t care,” he said.
There was a brief silence.
“I don’t,” he repeated, more quietly.
Eris let out a long, irritated breath but softened. “Vasethe, you’re going to end up permanently damaging your soul. Crossing again so soon borders on suicidal. Tiba managed to loosen the hex’s hold, but she couldn’t unravel it. If anything goes wrong, I won’t be able to absorb the malice.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t shrug at me,” she snapped.
“I already know what you’re telling me.”
“Then you have a funny way of showing it. If you must kill yourself, at least do it in a way that allows your soul to cross to Mkalis.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“Look, much as I want you gone, I don’t want to see you annihilated.” Eris ran her hands over her hair, crushing it down. “It’s your choice, but we could give it time. She can wait. She would want you to wait.”
The ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, but I’ve inconvenienced you for too long already.”
Her face closed off. “Yes. I suppose you have.”
“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked quietly.
“A ward shattered.”
“Last night?” He frowned. “How many are there now?”
“Five. Five out of the eight.”
“Why do they keep coming?”
She looked up at him.
“It’s not my place to ask,” he said. “Sorry.”
“He hates me,” she said. “That’s all. He wants to destroy me and won’t stop until he has succeeded.”
Vasethe touched her arm lightly. The deadness was fading from his face, the shadows losing hold. Eris gazed at his hand, then shrugged him off.
“If you won’t wait,” she said, “then we’ll go.”
Chapter Eleven
THE ROOM WAS COOL and dark. Through the window, Vasethe could see a flat plane of pale grey clouds. Early morning, judging by the light. He sat up and pushed aside the deerskin throw covering him.
The maggots were gone. He probed the raw flesh of his throat. The wound no longer felt feverishly hot and the surrounding skin had calmed, the inflammation negligible. Numb to the touch; it seemed that Eris was still absorbing the malice. Guilt twisted in his gut.
A circular rug of interwoven feathers covered the floor. The down was ticklish beneath his bare feet. He had no memory of this place, but it looked like it might be part of Tiba’s realm. Water percolated along the moss-covered walls and collected in the gutters at their base, channelled to a drain in the corner. Apart from the bed, the room held no furniture.
Vasethe walked to the window. Outside, the trees cast shadowy reflections across the surface of the lake. He was inside one of the ribs, in a room carved from bone. Voices and far-off laughter floated up to him; the inhabitants of Tiba’s realm going about their business. In the distance, he could see smoke rising from other settlements along the lake. Strange shapes protruded from the undulating hills. Skulls and femurs, the scattered remains of Tiba’s adversaries.
A tap on the door. When Vasethe opened it, Lanesh stood outside.
“Honoured guest, the border keeper and Res Tiba await your presence at the gateway to Buyak’s realm.” He bowed. “I would also like to convey my sincere apologies for the discomfort you experienced during this detour.”
“No need to apologise.” Vasethe glanced back into the room. “Would you happen to know where I can find clothes?”
Lanesh scuttled past Vasethe’s legs. He flattened himself against the ground, squeezed under the bed and emerged holding a folded bundle between his pincers.
“Your shoes are outside. Covering one’s feet inside the ribs is prohibited.” He held up the clothes.
“Thanks.” Vasethe took his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Anything exciting happen while we were in Ahri?”
“To the best of my knowledge, no. In fairness, I spent most of the time keeping watch outside the border keeper’s door. That corridor was probably not representative of Mkalis as a whole.”
Vasethe laughed. “Probably not.”
He followed Lanesh out of the door. A spiralling metal stairway ran down the heart of the rib, lit by round jars of slow-burning resin. Water droplets echoed all around. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Vasethe found his boots standing beside the crescent-shaped entrance to the rib. He pulled them on.
Their rowboat was docked outside, swaying in the stream. Tiba’s dwellers had vanished again. Apart from the sounds of cicadas and frogs, the settlement was quiet. Vasethe untied the rope and stepped down into the boat. Lanesh hopped aboard behind him.
“You seem better,” the crab said.
Vasethe picked up the oars. “Which way?”
“Through there.”
He angled one oar against the side of the rib and used it to propel the craft forward. “I feel cleaner.”
Lanesh shifted. “The border keeper appeared better too, although I would not presume to know her that well.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“You will have to judge for yourself. You do know her well, I take it?”
Lanesh was not looking at Vasethe, instead watching the thatch-roofed houses slide by. But for the first time since returning to Mkalis, Vasethe noticed the change to the crab’s carapace. Lanesh’s shell rippled and bulged, like the child had tried to claw its way free.
“Not that well,” he replied.
“What is your relationship to her?”
Lanesh’s tone was too casual.
“I asked her for help in finding someone. She agreed.”
“She seems to be expending a great deal of effort in helping you.”
Vasethe did not respond, which appeared to frustrate Lanesh. The crab’s pincers clenched and relaxed; he stepped from foot to foot.
“I must admit, I am curious—” he began.
“I don’t want to talk about Eris. If you wouldn’t mind.” Vasethe smiled pleasantly.
Lanesh flinched, his eyes darting to the entrances of shadowy dwellings and slender alleys. The clouds above the trees were tinted salmon pink, the sun rising.
“Lanesh, are you okay?”
He did not reply.
Vasethe rowed the boat into the wider channel and allowed the current to steer it towards a slab of dark stone, where Eris and Tiba stood waiting. Tiba looked calmer than before, and tired. Her braids were bunched into a bun and she was talking to Eris. Their conversation ended when he climbed ashore.
“Thank you for healing me,” Vasethe said.
The demon inclined her head. “I did as much as I could. Don’t let my efforts go to waste.” She glanced at Lanesh, still in the boat, and then looked back to Vasethe. “Be careful.”
He nodded.
“Creature of Buyak,” she called. “You may move.”
Lanesh bowed and clambered ashore, hurrying over to Vasethe’s side.
“This gateway leads to the Leshato Steppe of Buyak’s realm,” Tiba said, gesturing towards stairs cut down into the rock slab. “From there, it is two days’ walk to Demi Anath, the heart of his realm. May the benevolence of the First shelter you.”
Eris’s smile was wry. “How archaic. Try to stay out of trouble, Tiba.”
“Of course,” the demon murmured. “Remember our agreement.”
The stairs were damp and their base obscured by shadow. Vasethe sighed and found his way to the wall, using it to guide him forward. Lanesh passed him, more at home in the dark. Daylight faded.
“All-powerful border keeper?” Vasethe called.
“What?”
“A torch would be helpful.”
She grunted. A moment later, the stairs became visible. There was no discernible source of light, but Vasethe could now see through the gloom. He let go of the lichen-coated wall.
“Thanks.” He moved forward. “What agreement was Tiba talking about?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m worried. A little curious, though. And who is the First?”
She made a noise of exasperation. “I agreed to take custody of Tiba’s realm if anything happened to her.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone might not approve of her talking to me. If she dies, I’ll find the individual responsible and claim the realm back from them. By force.” She reached the base of the stairs and ran her fingers over the wall. “Tiba is very protective of her dwellers.”
“Wouldn’t that make you a ruler?”
“I already am.” She turned, her tone a little defensive.
“Oh.”
“Well, I’m more of a caretaker, I suppose.” She still looked edgy. “I operate as the custodian of a number of realms, but there are also two that I have claimed. Not with a public declaration or anything. But they’re still mine.”
“Is that, well, allowed? For a border keeper?”
“It isn’t technically forbidden.”
Vasethe laughed.
“Oh, shut up.”
“How do you claim a realm?”
“Murder whoever rules it. Or inherit, but that’s more complicated. And there are rare occasions where a ruler dies of natural causes and leaves their realm unclaimed.” She shrugged. “Then it’s the same as setting a rule. You speak through blood. ‘This is mine now; begone, fools.’”
“I’d like to see your realms someday.”
“Am I your tour guide?”
He smiled. “So, who is the First, then?”
“The First is the ruler of the first realm. She’s been . . .” Eris trailed off, looking past him. “Lanesh?”
The child’s hand had cracked the surface of the carapace. The crab was shaking even as he walked, his eyestalks shuddering.
“Stop,” Lanesh whispered. “Don’t cross. You don’t understand.”
“What’s happening?” Vasethe demanded.
Lanesh made an odd keening noise and came to a halt. Vasethe took a step towards him.
“Stop,” Lanesh repeated. His carapace rippled and shivered, the child writhing beneath the shell. The crack widened.
“Vasethe, get Tiba. Now,” Eris said.
“They have a God Compass already,” Lanesh hissed. “Buyak wants you to think—” He convulsed and liquid seeped from his mouth. “Forge . . . God Sword . . . to cut—”
“Who is ‘they’?” Eris demanded.
Lanesh stopped speaking and froze. Eris snarled and lunged towards him, but it was useless. With a crunching, grinding sound, Lanesh began to shrink. Bright red blood leaked from the joints between his carapace and his legs, bubbled out from his eyes and antennae.
Vasethe was rooted to the spot.
Lanesh never made a sound. He just continued to shrink, down, down, down, till his shell was no larger than a child’s toy, and the floor was awash with gore. Only then did he lower his pincers.
They both stood and stared at the crab.
“Lanesh?” Vasethe whispered.
Eris knelt. The crab ran in a circle before scuttling towards her palm. She picked it up. “In a way, this is a mercy,” she muttered. She pressed a single finger to the creature’s buckled carapace and it dissolved into dust. “Rulers have almost absolute control over their subjects,” she said. “To abuse or to care for, to love or to slaughter.” She opened her hands and the dust drifted away. “But they cannot control what resides within their hearts.”
Vasethe balled his hands into fists. “Buyak did this?”
“Of course.” She stood up and gazed down the tunnel. “And Lanesh expected no less. Welcome to Mkalis. I suppose it is true after all; I have been gone for far too long.”
“We should have done something.”
“
Done what?” She turned. “Come on.”
He could not see her face, only the stiffness of her narrow shoulders. she started walking.
He followed her.
Chapter Twelve
THE BEACH SLOPED UPWARDS to merge with pale dunes, the sand dotted with grass and clusters of fat blue aloes. Behind them, the ocean continued its heavy sway. The high tide lapped at the entrance to the Hollow Way, water draining into the passages with each wave.
Vasethe shivered. The sun was just rising over the golden water, and the damp sand crunched beneath his feet. After walking so long in the close, stale tunnels, the air felt raw in his mouth. He tucked his hands into his armpits to keep them warm.
Eris had hardly spoken since Lanesh’s death, but the way that she moved was different. Driven. Vasethe walked a little way behind her, studying the lines of her shoulders as she strode up the dune. Her feet did not sink into the fine sand and left only shallow imprints in her wake. Even in the half-light, her crystalline freckles shone against the darkness of her skin. It was strange, the way she seemed to exude a light of her own. As she reached the top of the last dune, the sunrise caught her hair and it blazed orange. She turned to check on him. Vasethe quickly looked away.
The dunes gave way to dusty scrubland. Coral-pink proteas rustled in the breeze. All across the plain, the sun-scorched prows of sunken ships jutted up from the hard-baked earth. A few still had masts and tattered sails, the yellowed canvas flapping in the wind.
“So, this is the Leshato Steppe.” Vasethe shaded his eyes against the sun. “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
The closest ship was only around fifty paces from the dunes. Skulls lined the gunwales, grinning sightlessly. As they neared the vessel, Vasethe heard the faint sound of jovial fiddling.
“Stay close,” called Eris. Vasethe hurried to catch up with her.
Bright-scaled lizards sat atop rocks, drinking in the early sun. They scattered as he passed. With each step, the orange dust of the steppe stained his boots.
“Eris?”
She kept walking.
“What did he mean by ‘God Compass’?”
She was silent for so long that he thought she would not answer.