Dust of Dreams

by Erikson, Steven

… impossible.

  But Gunth Mach had altered her course, was closing directly upon the waiting warriors. Sag’Churok fell in beside her, still shocked, still confused, uncomprehending—

  And then he and Gunth Mach caught the stench wafting from the Jaghut, gusting out from the frozen ground encircling them.

  Destriant, beware! They are undead!

  ‘I know what they are,’ snapped Kalyth. ‘Stop, Gunth Mach—stop retreating—right here, don’t move.’ And then she slipped down from the Daughter’s back.

  Destriant, we do not have time—

  ‘We do. Tell me, how many pursue us? Tell me!’

  A Caste. Fifty. Forty-nine now. Four wield Kep’rah, weapons of sorcery. A Crown commands them, they flow as one.

  She looked to the northwest. ‘How far away?’

  Your eyes shall find them shortly. They are … mounted.

  ‘On what?’

  Sag’Churok would have sent her an image, but she was beyond such things now. She was closed and closing. Wrought … legs. To match our own. Tireless.

  He watched as the Destriant absorbed this information, and then she faced the Jaghut.

  ‘Guardians. I thought to see … familiar faces.’

  One of the spear-wielders stepped forward. ‘Hood would not want us.’

  ‘If he had,’ said the swordswoman beside him, ‘he would have summoned us.’

  ‘He would not choose that,’ resumed the first Jaghut, ‘for he knew we would not likely accede.’

  ‘Hood abused our goodwill,’ the swordswoman said, tusks gleaming with frost, ‘at the first chaining. He knew enough to face away from us at the next one.’ An iron-sheathed finger pointed at the Destriant. ‘Instead, he abused you, child of the Imass. And made of one his deadliest enemy. We yield him no sorrow.’

  ‘No commiseration,’ said the spear-wielder.

  ‘No sympathy,’ added one of the slingers.

  ‘He will stand alone,’ the swordswoman said in a rasp. ‘A Jaghut in solitude.’

  Sag’Churok twisted round, studied the glint of metal to the northwest. Not long now.

  The swordswoman continued. ‘Human, you keep strange company. They will teach you nothing of value, these Che’Malle. It is their curse to repeat their mistakes, again and again, until they have destroyed themselves and everyone else. They have no gifts for you.’

  ‘It seems,’ said Kalyth of the Elan, ‘we humans have already learned all they could teach us, whether we ever knew it or not.’

  A chilling sound, the rattling laughter of fourteen undead Jaghut.

  Then the spear-wielder spoke. ‘Flee. Your hunters shall know the privilege of meeting the last soldiers of the only army the Jaghut ever possessed.’

  ‘The last to die,’ one added in a growl.

  ‘And should you see Hood,’ said the swordswoman, ‘remind him of how his soldiers never faltered. Even in his moment of betrayal. We never faltered.’

  More laughter.

  Pale, trembling, the Destriant returned to Gunth Mach. ‘We go. Leave them to this.’

  Sag’Churok hesitated. They are too few, Destriant. I will stay with them.

  Fourteen pairs of cold, lifeless eyes fixed on the K’ell Hunter, and, smiling, the swordswoman spoke. ‘There are enough of us. Kep’rah never amounted to much of a threat against Omtose Phellack. Still, you may stay. We appreciate an audience, because we are an arrogant people.’ The ghastly grin broadened. ‘Almost as arrogant as you, Che’Malle.’

  ‘I think,’ observed the spear-wielder, ‘this one is … humbled.’

  His companion shrugged. ‘Into the twilight of a species comes humility, like an old woman who has just remembered she’s still a virgin. Too late to count for anything. I am not impressed.’ And the swordswoman attempted to spit, failed, and quietly cursed.

  ‘Sag’Churok,’ said the Destriant from Gunth Mach’s saddled back, ‘do not die here. Do you understand me? I need you still. Watch, if you must. See what there is to be seen, and then return to us.’

  Very well, Kalyth of the Elan.

  The K’ell Hunter watched his beloved carry the human away.

  Battered armour rustled and clanked as the Jaghut warriors readied themselves, fanning out along the crest of the hill. As they did so, the frigid air crackled around them.

  Sag’Churok spoke: Proud soldiers, do not fear they will pass you by. They pass by nothing they believe they can slay, or destroy.

  ‘We have observed your folly countless times,’ replied the swordswoman. ‘Nothing of what we are about to face will catch us unawares.’ She turned to her companions. ‘Is not Iskar Jarak a worthy leader?’

  ‘He is,’ answered a chorus of rough voices.

  ‘And what did he say to us, before he sent us here?’

  And thirteen Jaghut voices answered: “ ‘Pretend they are T’lan Imass.’ ”

  The last survivors of the only army of the Jaghut, who had not survived at all, then laughed once more. And that laughter clattered on, to greet the Caste, and on, through the entire vicious, stunning battle that followed.

  Sag’Churok, watching from a hundred paces away, felt the oil sheathing his hide thicken in the bitter gusts of Omtose Phellack, as the ancient Hold of Ice trembled to the impacts of Kep’rah, as it in turn lashed out—bursting flesh, sending frozen pieces and fragments flying.

  In the midst of the conflagration, iron spoke with iron in that oldest of tongues.

  Sag’Churok watched. And listened. And when he had seen and heard enough, he did as the Destriant commanded. He left the battle behind. Knowing the outcome, knowing a yet deeper, still sharper bite of humility.

  Jaghut. Though we shared your world, we never saw you as our foe. Jaghut, the T’lan Imass never understood—some people are simply too noble to be rivals. But then, perhaps it was that very nobility they so despised.

  Iskar Jarak, you who commanded them … what manner of thing are you? And how did you know? I wish you could answer me that one question. How did you know precisely what to say to your soldiers?

  Sag’Churok would never forget that laughter. The sound was carved into his very hide; it rode the swirls of his soul, danced light on the heady flavours of his relief and wonder. Such knowing amusement, both wry and sweet, such a cruel, breathtaking sound.

  I have heard the dead laugh.

  He knew he would ride that laughter through the course of his life. It would hold him up. Give him strength.

  Now I understand, Kalyth of the Elan, what made your eyes so bright on this day.

  Behind him, the earth shook. And the song of laughter went on and on.

  The swollen trunks of segmented trees rose from the shallows of the swamp, so bloated that Grub thought they might split open at any moment, disgorging … what? He had no idea, but considering the horrific creatures they had seen thus far—mercifully from a distance—it was likely to be so ghastly it would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. He swatted at a gnat chewing on his knee and crouched further down behind the bushes.

  The buzz and whine of insects, the slow lap of water on the sodden shoreline, and the deep, even breathing of something massive, each exhalation a sharp whistle that went on … and on.

  Grub licked sweat from his lips. ‘It’s big,’ he whispered.

  Kneeling at his side, Sinn had found a black leech and let each of its two suckers fasten on to the tip of a finger. She spread the fingers and watched how the slimy thing stretched. But it was getting fatter. ‘It’s a lizard,’ she said.

  ‘A dragon.’

  ‘Dragons don’t breathe, not like we do, anyway. That’s why they can travel between worlds. No, it’s a lizard.’

  ‘We lost the path—’

  ‘There never was a path, Grub,’ Sinn replied. ‘There was a trail, and we’re still on it.’

  ‘I preferred the desert.’

  ‘Times change,’ she said, and then grinned. ‘That’s a joke, by the way.’

  ‘I don’t get it.
’

  She made a face. ‘Time doesn’t change, Grub, just the things in it.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘This trail, of course. It’s as if we’re walking the track of someone’s life, and it was a long life.’ She waved with her free hand. ‘All this, it’s what’s given shape to the mess at the far end—which was where we started from.’

  ‘Then we’re going back in time?’

  ‘No. That would be the wrong direction, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Get that thing off your fingers before it sucks you dry.’

  She held it out and he tugged it loose, which wasn’t as easy as he would have liked. The puckered wounds at the ends of Sinn’s fingers bled freely. Grub tossed the creature away.

  ‘Think he’ll smell it?’ Sinn asked.

  ‘He who?’

  ‘The lizard. My blood.’

  ‘Gods below!’

  Her eyes were bright. ‘Do you like this place? The air, it makes you drunk, doesn’t it? We’re back in the age when everything was raw. Unsettled. But maybe not, maybe we’re from the raw times. But here, I think, you could stay for ten thousand years and nothing would change, nothing at all. Long ago, time was slower.’

  ‘I thought you said—’

  ‘All right, change was slower. Not that anything living would sense that. Everything living just knows what it knows, and that never changes.’

  She was easier when she never said anything, Grub decided, but he kept that thought to himself. Something was stirring, out in the swamp, and Grub’s eyes widened when he studied the waterline and realized that it had crept up by a full hand’s span. Whatever it was, it had just displaced a whole lot of water. ‘It’s coming,’ he said.

  ‘Which flickering eye,’ Sinn mused, ‘is us?’

  ‘Sinn—we got to get out of here—’

  ‘If we’re not even here,’ she continued, ‘where did we come from, except from something that is here? You can’t just say, “Oh, we come through a gate,” because, then, the question just shows up all over again.’

  The breathing had stopped.

  ‘It’s coming!’

  ‘But you can breed horses—and you can see how they change—longer legs, even a different gait. Like turning a desert wolf into a hunting dog—it doesn’t take as long as you’d think. Did someone breed us to make us like we are?’

  ‘If they did,’ hissed Grub, ‘they should’ve given one of us more brains!’ Snatching her by the arm, he pulled her upright.

  She laughed as they ran.

  Behind them, water exploded, enormous jaws snapped on empty air, breath shrieking, and the ground trembled.

  Grub did not look behind them—he could hear the monstrous thrash and whip of the huge lizard as it surged through the undergrowth, closing fast.

  Then Sinn tore herself free.

  His heels skidded on wet clay. Spinning round, he caught an instant’s glimpse of Sinn—her back to him—facing a lizard big as a Quon galley, its elongated jaws bristling with dagger-sized fangs. Opening wide and wider still.

  Fire erupted. A conflagration that blinded Grub, made him reel away as a solid wall of heat struck him. He stumbled to his knees. It was raining—no, that was hail—no, bits of flesh, hide and bone. Blinking, gasping, he slowly lifted his head.

  A crater gaped before Sinn, steaming.

  He climbed to his feet and walked unevenly to her side. The pit was twenty or more paces across, deep as a man was tall. Murky water gurgled, filling the basin. In that basin, a piece of the lizard’s tail thrashed and twitched. Mouth dry, Grub asked, ‘Did you enjoy that, Sinn?’

  ‘None of it’s real, Grub.’

  ‘Looked real enough to me!’

  She snorted. ‘Just a memory.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Maybe mine.’ Sinn shrugged. ‘Maybe yours. Something buried so deep inside us, we would never have ever known about it, if we weren’t here.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  Sinn held up her hands. The one that had been streaming blood looked scorched. ‘My blood,’ she whispered, ‘is on fire.’

  They skirted the swamp, watched by a herd of scaly, long-necked beasts with flattened snouts. Bigger than any bhederin, but with the same dull, bovine eyes. Tiny winged lizards patrolled their ridged backs, picking at ticks and lice.

  Beyond the swamp the land sloped upward, festooned with snake-leafed trees with pebbled boles and feathery crowns. There was no obvious way around the strange forest, so they entered it. In the humid shade beneath the canopy, iridescent-winged moths fluttered about like bats, and the soft, damp ground was crawling with toads that could swallow a man’s fist and seemed disinclined to move aside, forcing Grub to step carefully and Sinn to lash out with her bare feet, laughing with every meaty impact.

  The slope levelled out and the trees grew denser, gloom closing in like a shroud. ‘This was a mistake,’ muttered Grub.

  ‘What was?’

  ‘All of it. The Azath House, the portal—Keneb must be worried sick. It wasn’t fair, us just leaving like that, telling no one. If I’d known it was going to take this long to find whatever it was you think we need to find, I’d probably have said “no” to the whole idea.’ He eyed the girl beside him. ‘You knew from the very start, didn’t you?’

  ‘We’re on the trail—we can’t leave it now. Besides, I need an ally. I need someone who can guard my back.’

  ‘With what, this stupid eat-knife in my belt?’

  She made a face. ‘Tell me the truth. Where did you come from?’

  ‘I was a foundling in the Chain of Dogs. The Imperial Historian Duiker saved me. He picked me up outside Aren’s gate and put me into Keneb’s arms.’

  ‘Do you actually remember all of that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Her eyes had sharpened their study. ‘You remember walking in the Chain of Dogs?’

  He nodded. ‘Walking, running. Being scared, hungry, thirsty. Seeing so many people die. I even remember seeing Coltaine once, although the only thing I can see in my head now, when I think of him, is crow-feathers. At least,’ he added, ‘I didn’t see him die.’

  ‘What city did you come from?’

  ‘That I can’t remember.’ He shrugged. ‘Anything before the Chain … is gone, like it never existed.’

  ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Chain of Dogs made you, Grub. It built you up out of dirt and sticks and rocks, and then it filled you with everything that happened. The heroes who fought and then died, the people who loved, then lost. The ones that starved and died of thirst. The ones whose hearts burst with terror. The ones that drowned, the ones that swallowed an arrow or a sword. The ones who rode spears. It took all of that and that became your soul.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. There were lots of orphans. Some of us made it, some of us didn’t. That’s all.’

  ‘You were what, three years old? Four? Nobody remembers much from when they were that young. A handful of scenes, maybe. That’s it. But you remember the Chain of Dogs, Grub, because you’re its get.’

  ‘I had parents. A real father, a real mother!’

  ‘But you can’t remember them.’

  ‘Because they died before the Chain even started!’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because what you’re saying makes no sense!’

  ‘Grub, I know because you’re just like me.’

  ‘What? You got a real family—you even got a brother!’

  ‘Who looks at me and doesn’t know who or what he’s looking at. I’ll tell you who made me. An assassin named Kalam. He found me hiding with a bunch of bandits who were pretending to be rebels. He carved things on to my soul, and then he left. And then I was made a second time—I was added on to. At Y’Ghatan, where I found the fire that I took inside me, that now burns on and on like my very own sun. And after, there was Captain Faradan Sort, because she knew that I knew they were still alive—and I knew because the fi
re never went out—it was under the city, burning and burning. I knew—I could feel it.’ She stopped then, panting to catch her breath, her eyes wild as a wasp-stung cat’s.

  Grub stared at her, not knowing whether he wanted to hug her or hit her. ‘You were born to a mother, just like I was.’

  ‘Then why are we so different?’

  Moths fled at her shout, and sounds fell away on all sides.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied in a soft voice. ‘Maybe … maybe you did find something in Y’Ghatan. But nothing like that ever happened to me—’

  ‘Malaz City. You jumped ship. You went to find the Nachts. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  She leapt away from him, rushed off into the wood. In moments he had lost sight of her. ‘Sinn? What are you doing? Where are you going?’

  The gloom vanished. Fifty paces away a seething sphere of flames blossomed. Trees exploded in its path as it rolled straight towards Grub.

  He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

  The blistering ball of fire heaved closer, huge, bristling—

  Grub gestured. The ground lifted suddenly into the fire’s path, in a mass of roots, humus and mud, surging upward, toppling trees to the sides. A thousand twisted brown arms snaked out from the churning earth. The writhing wall engulfed the rolling sphere of fire, slapped it down as would a booted heel crush the life from a wayward ember. Thunder shook. The earth subsided, the arms vanishing, leaving nothing more than a slowly settling, chewed-up mound. Clouds of steam billowed and then drifted, thinning as the darkness returned once more.

  He saw her walking calmly towards him, stepping over shattered trunks, brushing dirt from her plain tunic.

  Sinn halted directly before him. ‘It doesn’t matter, Grub,’ she said. ‘You and me—we’re different.’

  She set off, and after a moment he stumbled after her.

  Never argue with a girl.

  It was a day for strangers. One was beyond his reach, the other he knew well. Taxilian and Rautos had prised loose a panel to reveal a confused mass of metal coils, tubes and wire-wrapped cables. Muttering about finding the necessary hinge spells needed to unleash sorcerous power, thus awakening the city’s brain, Taxilian began poking and prodding the workings. Crowding behind him, sweat beading his brow, Rautos ran through a litany of cautions, none of which Taxilian heeded.