Sylas walked over the pleasing carpet of leaves to the giant opening. This view was almost as striking as the other, but it was quite different. Below, the beautiful canopy of trees stretched away over to a range of lower hills, where it thinned and darkened. His eyes followed the glistening trail of the river as it snaked through this forest, following the course that he and the Windrush had taken only the day before. The further his gaze travelled, the more he felt a creeping dread and then, sure enough, he saw the dying fringes of the forest bleeding into a vast grey expanse. Parched and hungry, the Barrens sucked the light from the sky so that the entire horizon was a giant, senseless strip of drabness, showing no breaks, no features, no promise of anything beyond.
But then Sylas squinted and leaned forward, peering into the nothingness. There was something. Its sharp peak was just visible through the sickly atmosphere of dust and ash. A perfect triangle of shadow: the apex of a pyramid.
He felt a chill run down his spine. The Dirgheon.
Paiscion sat down in the chair at his side. “‘The hope of the world through one window’, she would say, ‘and its despair through the other’.” He looked grimly towards the horizon. “I hate that view. A wasteland of lives and souls … the place where Merimaat herself would finally lose her life in the Reckoning … and beyond, just there through the endless grey, Gheroth, Thoth’s city.” He glanced at Sylas. “He never used to show it such interest, you know – this city he calls his own and has turned to darkness. Until recent years, he was far more interested in other parts of his Empire. He’s only blighted Gheroth with his presence since the Reckoning, gloating on all he has won, all he has destroyed. Making sure that he finishes the job. I sometimes think he’ll be there in that hideous Dirgheon of his until the last of the Suhl draws their final breath.”
As he listened Sylas found himself back in the stinking dungeons and dank passageways of the Dirgheon, the filth and stench of the thousands of cells, the warren of corridors and staircases leading only into darkness. And he thought of the moment when he and Naeo had reached the pinnacle of the pyramid, when they had seen Bowe reaching up to wave them away while above him, that diabolical figure in crimson robes gazed out at them, peered into them with a blank and empty face …
He swallowed and drew himself back to the present. He walked around the chair and sat down.
“So, why did you bring me here?”
Paiscion glanced across at him. “It’s what she would have done,” he said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his robe. “Merimaat said this place helped her to see more clearly.”
“See what?”
The Magruman placed the spectacles back on his nose. “To see what was important, and to remind herself that those important things –” he nodded towards the Valley of Outs – “those things we most treasure – that they come at a price. They always come at a price.” He looked back at the Barrens.
Sylas gazed out over the blanket of grey. He could sense where this conversation was going. “You’re not just talking about the valley and the Barrens, are you?” he said. “You’re talking about what was decided in the Say-So. You’re saying that my mum comes at a price too.”
The Magruman inclined his head. “Perhaps my point is rather obvious, Sylas, but it is important.” He turned back to the wastes. “On a clearer day, you know, even this view improves. When the light is just right, when the Dirgheon casts no shadow, you can see the Temple of Isia, glowing in all the grimness.”
“You mean, the place I’m supposed to go,” said Sylas irritably. “The place I have to go instead of finding my mother.”
“Quite a price to pay, you are thinking, aren’t you?” asked Paiscion.
Sylas nodded.
“Well it is a sacrifice – that is for certain – but it may not be quite as heavy a price as you may think. Did you see it on your way through the city? The temple?”
“Yes,” said Sylas trying to lose the edge in his voice. “A white tower – it was strange – sloping sides and two platforms at the top.”
“Strange, and beautiful,” said the Magruman. “It’s modelled on the Djed Pillar, an ancient symbol of stability. Only right, because Isia is perhaps the only stable thing in this world of ours. Many have dreamed of going inside, of meeting Isia. But she rarely shows herself and even then, only on the platform at the top of the temple.”
“So … who is she?” asked Sylas, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Well, now we’re getting to it!” said Paiscion with a smile. “No one really knows where she hails from, but she’s been around at least as long as Thoth himself. They say she’s young and beautiful in appearance – and kind, unwaveringly kind – Thoth’s nemesis, if you like. Although she never takes sides – she doesn’t involve herself in the ugliness of the world.”
Sylas frowned. “If she doesn’t get involved, how can she be so good? Why’s she so important?”
“She may not interfere, but that’s not to say that she isn’t at the centre of our lives. There’s something that has always drawn people to Isia – something deeper and more important than our daily lives, than our skirmishes and battles, even the Undoing.”
“So she’s a leader or … what, some kind of … god?”
Paiscion shrugged. “Some people believe that, yes. She certainly has unique insights into the human soul. Much has been made of her teachings, her predictions, her pronouncements. I daresay you will find many of them in the Samarok. She has extraordinary vision.”
“So she sees … like a Scryer sees?”
Paiscion shook his head. “Like a thousand Scryers who never sleep. They say she sees further than the four horizons and deeper than thought or feeling.”
“And you think she knows about the Glimmer Myth?”
“Well, you read the song in that book of yours,” said Paiscion, nodding to Sylas’s bag. “She knows about the Glimmer Myth, certainly. And about your place in it? Quite probably.”
“And you think she’ll speak to me?”
Paiscion laughed. “Sylas, you’re a boy from another world, one half of a reunited soul and the fulfilment of the Glimmer Myth. She won’t be able to resist you.”
“Twelve priests bound by duty to their king, and to each of them, three indentured Magrumen. This is all it took to bring the world to ruin.”
FILIMAYA’S EYES SPARKLED LIKE jewels of the forest.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
Naeo climbed the bank and stepped up to Filimaya’s side. Below, scores of little streams and rivulets wove their way across the forest floor, twisting and turning, rolling and leaping. At the base of the slope they joined the still waters of the lake amidst a great muddle of bubbles and spray, which sent a pleasant mist back up the bank and laced everything in a glistening dew.
“This is what we tried to recreate at the Meander Mill,” said Filimaya. “Did you hear of our Water Gardens?”
Naeo shook her head. They sounded familiar, but she had no idea why.
“Ah well,” said Filimaya, “they’re gone now, like so much else. And so this is it: our last retreat, our patch of things.”
“There are still plenty of us in the slums,” said Naeo, picking up a stick and poking at the bank. “And in the Dirgheon.”
“Yes, there are, but that’s no way to live,” said Filimaya with a sigh. “It sometimes feels as though we are clinging on to this world, doesn’t it? As if we might lose our place in it altogether.”
“Well, that’s just what he wants, isn’t it?” muttered Naeo, swiping the tip of the stick into the nearest stream.
“Yes. Indeed,” said Filimaya wistfully.
She stepped over the torrent and began making her way across the labyrinth of rivulets. After a few steps she stopped and looked back at Naeo. “But that’s part of what makes Sylas so exciting, so hopeful, isn’t it? Like the Bringers before him, he brings us a promise of a world without Thoth, without the Undoing, without all the suffering our people h
ave endured.”
Naeo stepped out to follow. She sensed where this conversation was heading. “I suppose, but that still doesn’t make me want to go to his world.”
“Really? You’re not the least bit curious? A world without Thoth, where you’re entirely free? Like everyone else?”
Naeo shrugged.
“A place without Essenfayle or the Three Ways, where summer is winter and night is day? Where people drive carriages without horses and light torches without flames; where they fly—”
“No! I’m not interested!” snapped Naeo, drawing up sharply. “I don’t care about any of that! My father is still here! And – and worse than that – he’s in the Dirgheon, probably half dead or … or worse.” She paused, her heart thumping and her eyes burning. “And it’s my fault!”
It was a huge relief to say it. She had thought about little else since her escape.
It was her fault. Her fault.
The memories came in flashes: stark and clear. There he was, chained to a stone table, covered in sweat and blood, arching with pain whenever his tormentor drew near, screaming until his voice trailed away. She remembered the few quiet moments, those precious moments of reprieve when Thoth would write, or take up his cello, or even leave the room, when her father would turn to her with those large green eyes.
How she loved those eyes.
And in that generous gaze she had felt him saying it would all be all right, felt his strength, his warmth. But she had seen the tears trickling on to the stone. And she had known their meaning. She had seen the despair in those tears.
And what had she done? She had left him behind, she had taken flight, rising on the magical winds above the pyramid. She had seen him there, on the pinnacle. Her beautiful, strong father, raising his bloodied hand to wave them away. And above him, that murderous figure in crimson robes, that empty, merciless face.
Then she had turned in the night sky, and fled.
She pressed her eyes closed and tried to hold that final moment in her mind. When it became too much, a sob escaped her lips.
An arm curled around her shoulders and drew her close. She pushed away at first: she didn’t want to give in to it – she had to be strong. And she didn’t deserve comfort – where was her father’s comfort? But there was something about Filimaya’s presence that caught her off guard, that made her feel safe. It was almost as though, in some small way, Filimaya brought her father closer.
So she didn’t fight any more.
They stood for some time surrounded by the streams, neither of them speaking: Filimaya holding her, Naeo with her arms at her sides.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” said Filimaya, finally.
Naeo shook her head. “Thoth wouldn’t even care about my father if it wasn’t for me. I should be trying to find him.” She pulled away and looked up at Filimaya. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, not to anyone else. I mean, Espasian and I brought Sylas here so that we could change things, so that he and I might do something important. But the thing is –” her voice broke but she forced herself to finish – “the thing is, whenever I pictured a better world, a world after the Undoing – a world without Thoth – I always pictured seeing it with my dad. I think I did some of this – all of it, maybe – for him. To be with him – safe and free.”
Filimaya drew some strands of blonde hair from Naeo’s face. “I do understand,” she said. “We often say that we would move mountains for those we love. In your case, you have the chance to do exactly that: you have the chance to change the world.” She held out her hand to lead Naeo across the next stream. “Tell me, what do you know about Sylas and his mother?”
Naeo shrugged. “I know she’s in hospital – a place run by the Merisi. And I know that she has something to do with this world.”
“That’s all true,” said Filimaya, stepping on a stone in the middle of a stream. “But you are talking about Sylas’s mother. My question is, what do you know of her and Sylas?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, do you know that Sylas thought her dead for many years, just as your father thought he had lost you?”
Naeo shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Did you know that she suffered the most appalling dreams and nightmares, so that people thought she was mad? That Sylas had to watch her suffering, and that finally he saw her drugged and taken away?”
Naeo winced and slowed her step. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Did you know that the last time I saw your anguish, the last time I saw that kind of devotion, was when Sylas told me about his mother? When he told me that the only thing that mattered to him was finding her?”
Naeo shifted uncomfortably. “No, I didn’t,” she said. “What are you trying to say?”
Filimaya turned and looked earnestly into her eyes. “I’m trying to say that his love for his mother is your love for your father, that his search is your search, that your lives are the same life.” She took both of Naeo’s hands in hers. “I’m saying, Naeo, that if you find Sylas’s mother, he will find her; and if Sylas—”
“… if Sylas finds my father, I’ll find him too,” said Naeo, shaking her head. “But how? I’ll be in the Other and my father will be here!”
Filimaya placed a hand on Naeo’s cheek and smiled sympathetically. “I don’t quite know, Naeo. These are the things the Glimmer Myth doesn’t tell us.” She paused, considering her words. “What I do know is that you are both one wonderful whole. Your lives are entwined, and if it is not safe for you to go to your father – as it is not – then Sylas may go in your place.”
Naeo looked deep into her eyes. She wanted to argue, to say that she owed it to her father whatever the risks, and that no one, not even Sylas, could take her place in this. But as she opened her mouth to speak the words failed her. Any way she tried to say it, it just sounded hollow and selfish.
Just then she saw a movement ahead. She peered beyond Filimaya and saw Ash’s lithe figure sprawled on the grassy bank on the far side of the waterways. He grinned at her and waved.
“Do you know,” he shouted, getting to his feet, “it’s taken you two longer to cross this dribble than it took Moses to part the seas!”
Filimaya laughed. “Well, we had the saving of worlds to talk about.” She set out over the last of the streams, drawing Naeo alongside her.
“Funny you should say that,” said Ash, rummaging uneasily in his crop of curls, “because I have something I want to talk to you about. Both of you.”
Filimaya narrowed her eyes. “Really?”
Ash beamed. “Really. I just wondered if you had decided who’s going to go with Naeo? Into the Other, I mean?”
“I don’t need anyone to come with me,” said Naeo sharply. “I’ll be fine alone.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you both,” said Filimaya, “because—”
“Uh-uh! I’m going. And that’s final!” cried Ash, wagging his finger in protest. “Naeo, where you’re going, you’ll need someone with … resources, someone who knows their way aroun—”
“But you don’t know your way around, Ash,” said Naeo. “You’ve never even been to the Other, have you?”
“Well, no,” said Ash, grinning and crossing his arms, “but where my kind of cunning is concerned, one world is quite the same as another. And anyway, Filimaya, haven’t I shown myself a worthy travelling companion? Didn’t I get Sylas safely across the Barrens? And I know him – and Naeo – better than anyone else here. Yes,” he said, with a finality that suggested the decision was his own, “if anyone’s going to go to the Other, it has to be me!”
Filimaya sighed and looked down at Naeo, who shook her head imploringly.
Ash leaned between them. “If you coop me up here, Filimaya, I’ll make an unbearable nuisance of myself. I’m already planning to set up a pub on the Windrush. ‘Two Sheets to the Wind’ I’ll call it. And that’s just—”
Filimaya raised her hands in surrender. �
��OK, OK, Ash,” she said. “I’ll talk to Paiscion. Not because of your bluster or because I owe it to you, but because,” she turned and looked at Naeo earnestly, “you really do need some help, and Ash has proven himself a very useful companion to Sylas.”
Naeo groaned, then glared at Ash. “Well, he’d better not get in my way! I’m used to being on my own!”
“Yes, we can all tell that,” said Ash out of the side of his mouth.
“Really?” she said, defiantly.
“Yes, really.”
Filimaya gazed out over the tranquil waterways and sighed. “What have I done?”
“So you see,” said Paiscion, leaning forward and gesturing out of the window, “your journeys are not separate. As you seek Bowe, you must know that Naeo will be in search of your mother – your efforts are her efforts – your travels are entwined.”
The Magruman stood, leaving Sylas staring over the forest to the dark horizon, trying to make sense of his emotions.
“But there is one thing that will set your journeys apart,” said Paiscion, returning to his seat.
“You mean, other than that we’ll be in different worlds?”
“Well, yes, there’s that,” said the Magruman with a shrug. “But there’s also this.” He held out the wooden box that Sylas had seen on the table. “Take it. It’s a gift.”
Sylas glanced up at the Magruman, then reached out and took it. “Thank you,” he said. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Sylas turned the box between his fingers. It was made of driftwood so worn by its watery travels that all of its surfaces were perfectly smooth and its corners rounded, making it pleasant to the touch. The lid had been beautifully crafted so that at first Sylas could not see the join, but after a few attempts, he managed to position his thumb in the right place and prise it up. It came away with a slight hiss of air and revealed a cushion covered with rumpled green satin.
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