Ian Esslemont - Assail

Pran Chole gave them a nod, dipping his deer headdress. ‘Farewell. Or not. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

‘Perhaps,’ Kyle acknowledged.

Last came Kilava. The short powerful woman now carried a half-smile on her lips. ‘That went far better than I had hoped or expected. Well done, Whiteblade.’ She faced Fisher. ‘Bard. Good to see you again.’

‘And you, Kilava.’

She leaned forward and planted a light brush of a kiss on Fisher’s cheek, then walked off. Kyle watched her go, astonished, then returned his wondering gaze to the bard.

‘You were once …’

Fisher sat once more, sighing, his hands hanging loose over his knees. ‘Another time, Kyle.’

They were alone now with the moaning, gusting wind. The thick deck of clouds churned below, effectively cutting off the world beneath. It seemed to Kyle that here among the frigid peaks they were in the realm of the gods. The day was cooling: the sun had descended behind the cloud cover to the west.

He blew upon his hands to warm them and knew that without his Iceblood, his Jaghut heritage, he would be frozen stiff.

Fisher opened the satchel at his side and withdrew the stringed box, the kantele of the Losts. He examined it to make certain it hadn’t been harmed.

‘Will you play?’ Kyle asked.

He shook his head. ‘No. Too cold.’ He wrapped the instrument and gently returned it to its case.

‘What tale will you tell of what has occurred here?’ Kyle asked.

The bard nodded profoundly. ‘Ah yes. That is the question.’ He extended his legs straight out before himself and crossed them at the ankle, meshed his fingers over his chest. ‘One mustn’t feel constrained by the facts.’ He shot Kyle a sideways glance. ‘Poetic truth is a higher truth, you know. Names and events must be changed to disguise the mundane — and invariably disappointing — truth behind.’

Kyle smoothed his now long and drooping moustache, smiling. ‘Of course. In other words, you’ll make up what you want and claim that’s what happened.’

‘Of course. Now, tell me the tale of your finding of this stone.’

Kyle eased back among the rocks as best he could. He shot a glance high above, searching for any sign of Jethiss, then pulled his cloak tighter against the wind. ‘Well … I didn’t find it. It was given to me. Left behind by a friend.’

Shimmer opened her eyes to find herself once more standing among the grassy hills and broad ring of canted stone menhirs mottled orange and olive-green by lichens. It was chill, the day was bright, the sky blue and dotted with wispy clouds, yet she could not see the sun. Now she understood why she was here, and she sighed, hugged herself, and started walking a circuit of the stones.

Soon she discovered she was not alone. Smoky, the dead mage — who was not dead in truth — walked with her. His sandalled feet kicked the frayed and scorched edges of his brown woollen robes. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, resolutely not looking to her … waiting.

After a time, she asked: ‘How long have you known?’

‘We didn’t really know ,’ he answered while he scratched at his patchy beard. ‘We suspected.’

‘Yet you said nothing.’

‘We would not burden the living.’

‘In which I no longer number,’ she observed, and was surprised by the lack of bitterness in her voice.

‘Yet you could return, as before. The option remains for you.’ She halted. ‘Why just me? Why not any of you?’

He stopped with her, rubbed his chin ferociously, his gaze lowered. ‘Not just you, Shimmer. K’azz was the first to discover this.’

Though she understood that she was not breathing in this place, Shimmer felt her breath catch and her chest tighten in dread — old habits. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, slowly.

Still unable to match her gaze, he said, ‘He died long ago, Shimmer. When Skinner and Cowl buried him alive — he died. Yet he did not die. He discovered the truth of the Vow then. Eventually, he clawed his way free.’

He drew a heavy breath — perhaps merely in a gesture to put her at ease. ‘I’m sorry. Anyway,’ and he shrugged, ‘had to happen some time. And we are coming back. Slowly. Eventually, we will return.’

She nodded her understanding. ‘I see. Like the T’lan Imass.’

He answered her nod, his hand at his beard. ‘Yes. Somehow, our Vow echoed theirs. Perhaps it was the location — the physical source of this spirit realm. Or K’azz’s words. Or the spirit of our intent and conviction.’ He lifted his bony shoulders once more. ‘Who knows?’

‘But we can never … leave.’

‘Yes.’

She faced him. ‘So … everyone is here? All the fallen? Petal? Sept? Cole? Even … Skinner?’

‘Yes. All the Brethren.’

She peered round, seeing no one. ‘Well? Where are they?’

‘We’ve found it best not to overwhelm. First things first.’

She studied him, her gaze narrowing. ‘Such as?’

‘As before. Do you wish to return?’

‘Return? You mean … I may? I can?’

‘Yes.’

For some reason she felt terribly unworthy of this gift. Unwilling to pursue it, as if it would be an insult to all the Brethren who had come here before her. ‘Why me? Why not the others?’

He raised a hand as if to calm her. ‘I understand, Shimmer. Do not worry yourself. Some choose not to. Some do. In time, they will.’

She took another steadying breath, though she knew it for a deceit. ‘Very well. Then yes, I choose to return.’

He nodded at this and smiled crookedly. ‘We all knew you would.’ He held out his hand. ‘Farewell … for now.’

She reached for his hand but somehow her fingers passed through his and she blinked, the world growing dim, then she blinked again to glowing brightness that made her flinch and cover her eyes. Someone held her hand and she saw that it was K’azz.

‘Welcome back, Shimmer.’

‘I wasn’t really gone, was I?’ she said in wonder.

‘No. Not really.’ He and Blues helped her up and steadied her. They still stood upon the ice-field.

‘Did you know?’ she asked of Blues.

He scowled his dismay and amazement. ‘I knew something wasn’t adding up, but …’ he took a shuddering breath, ‘I still can’t believe it.’

Cal-Brinn offered his hand and she took it, squeezing.

‘You knew, yes?’

The old mage nodded. ‘I suspected. Omens and hints from Rashan told me to wait. That answers would come here. And so I waited.’

‘I see. What now, then?’

‘Now we wait a little more,’ and he gestured to the gathered Ice-bloods. They were peering up towards the cloud-obscured heights. Even the Imass faced the north. The wind sighed and hummed as it whipped between their bones.

‘And what of us?’ she asked K’azz.

‘We return to Stratem — all of us.’

She nodded her heartfelt agreement. ‘Yes. All of us.’

They waited in silence then. Shimmer now understood their long shared silences. They were Avowed. They could wait. A thought struck her, and she asked, ‘And what of Cowl?’

K’azz had been gazing off down the mountain slope and the immense vista beyond of snow and twisting spine-like ridges of black stone. He lowered that gaze to his feet, his brow clouding. ‘Yes. Cowl. He blames me still. He would kill me if he could, I think.’

‘I see that now. He thought I would share his rage.’

He shot her a brief, wary glance. ‘And … do you?’

She shook her head, sighed, and crossed her arms. ‘No. It was not deliberate. We all chose to swear. No. I am not angry.’

She felt the tension uncoil within him, saw his shoulders ease. He murmured, his voice thick, ‘Thank you, Shimmer.’