“A what?”
“Never mind. We understand, that's all. And we're as lost as you.”
Sal sat down on a rock, feeling unutterably weary.
“Why now?” he asked again—but the meaning of the question was different this time. “Why has this Yod thing chosen this time to attack? What's so special about here and now?”
“That was something Kail never asked.”
“Well, I'm asking. Do you know the answer?”
The Homunculus's hesitation was hard to interpret. Were the twins talking among themselves again or were they genuinely uncertain?
“I think it's because we're here,” said one of them. “Our presence outside Bardo—outside the Void Beneath, as you call it—has disrupted the balance, given it a way out.”
“But you're here because it's here.”
“No. We're here because Highson Sparre showed us the way out.”
“Highson?” With a sinking feeling, Sal considered what the twins were saying. He didn't like the direction his thoughts led. “What happened in the Void? When Highson was looking for my mother.”
“We were waiting,” said the twins, their double stare intense, almost hypnotic. “There was nothing else for us to do. You've been there. You remember the hum, don't you? The drone of infinity, pressing down on you, grinding your mind flat, leaving you nothing.”
Sal nodded. He didn't remember anything that had happened to him inside the Void, but he had definitely experienced the hum before when overextending himself through the Change. “Go on.”
“We were lost,” said the twins. “We only knew vaguely what we were supposed to do, and the Lost Ones were no help. They came; they faded away; they were gone. And so on, forever. We lived nineteen years in our world; in the Void Beneath we spent at least fifty times as long, with no one real to talk to but each other.”
Nineteen years, thought Sal with a rush of compassion. That was just over his age. He'd had no idea.
“Then you came, with your friends Skender and Kemp. You jolted us out of the trance we'd fallen into. ‘The Oldest One,’ the Lost called us, but we were really two fused into something resembling one, like this world. Skender eased us apart by listening to our story. We remembered that we had a job to do. The Void Beneath would never be the death of us, but it could be something worse: an endless non-life. Just because the Ogdoad had protected us from forgetfulness didn't mean we weren't still at risk. We began to look in earnest for a way out, not just to complete our mission but for our own sake too.
“The Void Beneath is very different from Bardo as we knew it. The space between Realms was never a cage. Souls could cross from the First to the Second Realm any time they wanted, if they knew how. Now it's surrounded by walls that can't be broken. It wraps itself in a knot with the Lost Minds, the hum, and—for an eternity—us trapped inside. We couldn't get out, no matter how we tried.
“Finally, a new mind appeared in the Void Beneath. He wasn't Lost, and he didn't stay long. He came and went five times, as though testing the Void, measuring the route to and from it, preparing the way. We watched, distracted from our problems and thinking we might learn something from him.
“This was Highson Sparre, of course, getting ready to rescue your mother. We didn't know that until the attempt itself. Time passed, then he burst into the Void Beneath like a bomb going off, asking all the Lost Ones about your mother, looking everywhere for her.”
“Her name was Seirian,” Sal said.
“So we learned later, when we emerged, but in the Void you can only use heart-names. Do you know why?”
“No,” Sal admitted. He knew neither of his parents' heart-names and felt uncomfortable at the thought of asking. “What happened next?”
“Your mother wasn't there, of course. Maybe she had been, once, but she must have faded away long ago. We introduced ourselves to Highson, wondering if we could help. Barely had we started talking to him when he disappeared. The charm connecting him to the real world had pulled him back. It was programmed to activate after a certain amount of time. He'd taken Skender's warning to heart, you see. Stay in the Void Beneath too long and you might never return; the hum will destroy you. At that point, we're certain, he was determined not to lose himself in there.”
“He told Shilly he tried four times that night,” Sal said, “and on the last he swore not to return unless he had my mother with him. He must've dismantled the return part of the charm to be sure of that.”
The twins nodded. “We talked to him the second time, explained that he'd failed to find your mother the first time. He didn't believe us, of course, and insisted on looking again. The Lost Ones had gathered around him like moths to a flame; none of them was the one he wanted, but they could smell the chance of escape. They learned that he had a body out in the real world ready to take the mind of your mother, so she could live again. They realised immediately that it didn't just have to hold the woman he had loved. It could be anyone, anyone at all.
“His charm pulled him back again. He returned a moment later, his memory wiped once more, but aware this time that something was going wrong in the Void Beneath. If your mother hadn't returned with him, that could be for only one of three reasons: she was dead, she was being held captive, or she didn't want to be saved. All three appalled him, but he was determined to find out which was true. His desperation was awful, his failure inevitable—for no matter what he learned in the Void Beneath, he wouldn't remember it outside.
“The fourth time, we could tell that he had had enough. The uncertainty of not knowing, the futility of it all, was getting to him. If your mother was lost, then he would be lost too. Naturally, the Lost Ones clamoured for him to bring them out instead. They didn't care what happened to him. He would have none of that, but he couldn't stop their pleas, their begging for salvation. They would have hounded him to eternity, crushed him, had we let them.
“We rescued him, and we told him our story from beginning to end. We convinced him to let us take the body—the Homunculus—that he had intended for your mother. We turned his death wish into a sacrifice that might have some meaning to the rest of the world. If he couldn't bring your mother back to you, couldn't he guarantee you a future instead? That was how he came to see it. One love for another. It was a noble decision, at the end.
“You know the rest. Highson didn't remember anything when he awoke. He followed us in our quest, thinking that we had somehow stolen your mother's place in the world. He was too weak to hear the truth when he caught up to us, and perhaps he wouldn't have believed it anyway. In the Void Beneath, our presence had some authority; here we are a monster. But you need to believe us, if only to understand that your father did what he did with full access to the facts and nothing but the best intentions. It is we who are responsible, we who are to blame.
“But what other end could there be? We had to emerge. We have to lay Yod permanently to rest or it'll devour the world. We can't sit by and let everyone die.”
“No, we can't, none of us.” Sal felt drained by the story. He knew, now, what had plagued Highson for weeks: how his intention to save the woman he loved had turned into a monstrous quest taking him and others halfway across the world. But that wasn't the end of it. There was much more left to hear. “I think you'd better fill me in on this Yod thing.”
The twins sagged. “Kail said the same, and we've been trying for days to make him understand. How can you understand the end of my world without understanding the world itself?”
“I don't know,” said Sal. “But I know one thing. You think Yod will destroy my world, given half a chance. Let's start with that and work backwards. Afterwards, when we've stopped it, we can talk about what your world was like. How does that sound?”
To his surprise, one of the twins laughed. “That sounds like a philosophy I can relate to.”
“No doubt,” said the other, “but we're going to need more than philosophy on our side.”
“Still, it's a start. All this skulkin
g around has been getting on my nerves. Let's get moving again, eh, Sal. We have a date with destiny!”
Sal folded his arms and shook his head. “Maybe, but I'm waiting right here for Shilly to come back, just like I promised I would.” He thought of Tom's disappearance and how she would react if he wasn't there when she returned. He wasn't going to put her through that. “I'd rather face this Yod thing with everyone behind me, rather than on my own.”
The twins froze. How they resolved arguments about when to go and where Sal didn't know. Perhaps until now they had never had any real alternative. He wondered what Kail had told them about wardens like Marmion and the world beyond—or if the tracker, a loner himself, had ever seriously considered bringing the Homunculus into the fold. The idea of an underdog taking on and beating impossible odds had appealed to Sal, too, once, but with the entire world at stake, risking all on such a gambit seemed foolish. He had learned the value of cooperation in the Haunted City five years earlier. There were always alternatives to acting alone.
An echo of the crown's vision of a united world returned to him, this time combined with Griel's grand plan. Sky Wardens and Stone Mages plus kingsfolk and foresters and yadachi—was that too grand a vision? He didn't know—but he did know that Yod, whatever it was, would have to think twice if confronted with such an alliance.
“We'll wait,” the twins finally said, “one day, and no longer.”
Sal nodded. That was something. If, at the end of that day, the situation in the forest wasn't resolved, he doubted it ever would be.
Preferring not to think along those lines, he picked up a stick from the debris and began scratching well-practised signs in the dirt.
“After the Cataclysm, when Babel's curse was finally
lifted, the ills of humanity did not vanish overnight.
To hear is not to understand;
to understand is not to sympathise;
to sympathise is not to obey.”
THE BOOK OF TOWERS, FRAGMENT 333
“War or truce?” declared the Guardian, pacing a well-worn path across the lawn of her open-air citadel. “Truth or lies? This position is untenable. There is no possible course of action that does not put the future of my people and the forest at risk—and that I simply will not allow. Daughter, do you agree?”
Skender waited breathlessly as Lidia Delfine bowed to her mother. The grassy chamber wasn't full, but it contained more people than he had seen in there before. Together with the Guardian and her daughter, Heuve, Seneschal Schuet and three other high-ranking foresters, the Sky Wardens Marmion and Banner, Stone Mage Kelloman, and he were gathered beneath the open sky. Before them stood the Panic female Jao, historian and former assistant to a deposed Heptarch and close ally of the Panic rebel Griel. She faced them with head held high. Her beaded hair tinkled softly when she turned to answer questions fired at her from all quarters. Skender watched her, hypnotised by the way she moved and talked. She was the first Panic he had seen since the explosive attack on the humans in the Divide, three days earlier.
For now Jao was silent, waiting as the Guardian cast judgment on her testimony.
More than a dozen guards blocked the exits from the chamber. The same number of archers crouched above, watching the skies as much as the people below. The atmosphere felt so tense Skender was amazed the fog could move so weightlessly through it.
“Forgive me, Mother,” said Lidia Delfine, kneeling, “but I do not agree.”
“Explain,” said the Guardian without indicating that she should stand.
“When Seneschal Schuet first taught me the art of the sword, many years ago, he bade me remember one thing: that it is much easier to lower a blade in the practice hall than on the battleground. A fight is over not when the enemy is dead, but when all weapons—theirs and ours—are sheathed once more. A wise warrior is therefore determined not to win the battle, but to end it.”
The young woman's gaze flicked briefly at Schuet, who stood silently to one side. His expression betrayed neither approval nor disapproval.
“The Seneschal has sent us word of war from the Panic Heptarchy—from one called Oriel, specifically, who styles himself ruler of his people in an ivory tower far from the battlefield. Meanwhile, a seasoned soldier—one prepared to fight his own people in defence of his principles—sends us an offer of peace. I think we would be foolhardy indeed to take the word of the former over the latter.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Even when that word comes via outsiders and a kingswoman of unknown allegiance?”
“One of our own, Mikia, can offer testimony supporting their word when she returns to Milang. She was found not long ago, exactly where our guests indicated she should be. A runner confirmed her safety.”
“Stand.” It was as hard to read the Guardian's expression as that of the Seneschal. Her hands lay hidden in the folds of her heavy gown, but Skender could see her fingers working. “I've heard Seneschal Schuet's advice many times. Do you think I would not remember it now? I'm no dotard, not yet. But it is good to hear that you agree with my old friend. My heart counsels this too, even if my head rebels.
“How am I to protect my people from the possibility that we are wrong?” she asked the room, sweeping everyone with her gaze. “What can I do to safeguard the city from treachery? I am persuaded that kingsman Griel's intentions are honourable—” Jao bowed slightly at this “—but no guarantee exists that he will not be defeated by this Oriel. What if Oriel takes Griel's tactic and uses it against us? What if the approach of the floating city is turned from a peaceful gesture to one of aggression?”
“I suggest a middle ground, Guardian,” said Marmion, stepping forward. “A meeting.”
“With whom?” she asked him. “Where?”
“You, Griel, Oriel—and us, if you will grant us that privilege. As to where—perhaps in a place that benefits all parties, and none of them at the same time. Perhaps a dirigible of some kind, in easy range of your archers.”
The Guardian eyed him sceptically. “And how would we arrange such a thing?”
“I could carry word to Oriel and Griel,” said Jao. “My safe return would prove to both of them that your intentions are honourable.”
“It proves no such thing,” said the Guardian, “except that I expect them to believe that. No. I granted you safe passage. I instructed the archers not to fire when you approached Milang. That was trust enough, I think. You are not a hostage, but you are not free to go either; not yet.” She paced for a moment, thinking deeply.
When she came to a halt, she was facing Lidia Delfine. “Daughter, would you carry this message for me?”
“I would, Mother.”
At this, one of the three high-ranking foresters spoke up. An elegant, high-cheeked woman of middle height with her hair tied back in a dense bun, Minister Sousoura had been the most outspoken against the presence of Jao in the Guardian's open-air audience chamber. Only a sharp rebuke from the Guardian herself had stayed her tongue. Now, after waiting patiently through the ensuing conversation, she had clearly had enough.
“Please, Guardian, I beg you to reconsider.” Her tone belied her submissive posture. “Sending the Eminent Delfine into the heartland of the enemy is madness.”
“How so?” The Guardian turned to face her, eyes narrowing even further than their natural state.
“The Panic bear us nothing but ill will. They have never liked us being here, and would spare no effort in getting rid of us forever. What they will do when they have your daughter and heir in their clutches, I dare not think.”
“You've heard the testimony of those who tell us otherwise—that the kingsfolk are as much a victim of these evil intelligences as we here in Milang.” Skender noted the Guardian's careful use of the respectful term “kingsfolk” over the foresters' usual, more derogatory term.
“The word of outsiders?” Minister Sousoura cast a sneering glance at Marmion and the others, including Skender. “Wouldn't it b
e better to place one's trust in those who have earned it?”
“That, I suppose, is the question, Minister.” The Guardian sighed and turned away. “The flood eating away at our forest continues. Our city is attacked by creatures unknown. Visitors come with news of calamities abroad. Neighbour fights neighbour, and everything we have taken for granted is overturned.”
She looked up at the sky. “Warden Marmion, I will take your advice, and you will stand beside me when I meet with my enemy. Should any harm befall me or those dear to me, to this city or the forest, the last thing you feel will be Seneschal Schuet's blade between your ribs. Do you understand?”
Marmion bowed. “I understand. I will stand proudly beside you, and I will earn the trust of your people.”
Minister Sousoura sniffed, as unimpressed by the declaration as she was by the Guardian's decision. “All our heads will be on the chopping block, then. We can but hope for a miracle.”
“We can do better than that,” said the Guardian. “Every able-bodied archer and guard will be at the ready. This city will not fall without a fight, should it come to that. But understand this.” Once again, her gaze took in the gathering. Her right hand emerged from her robes to point at each of her ministers in turn. “We will not start that fight. The first person to fire or to shout a battle taunt will be exiled from the forest along with their family. That is my edict. Be certain all hear it. Go now, and see about your duties.”
She gestured, and the ministers hurried away, muttering among themselves. The threat of expulsion had shocked them. That much was obvious to Skender, who watched them go with no small sense of misgiving. He knew how serious they were about Outcasts.
The Guardian ran her hand over the greying stubble on her scalp. “There,” she said. “It is done. I am committed—and to what? With one hand I throw away my daughter, with the other my home. But that's how it must be, and I will face the consequences. I will…”
The Guardian stopped and pressed her palm to her temple.
“You're weary, Mother. You should rest.” Lidia Delfine was instantly at her side, followed shortly by Seneschal Schuet.
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