K Parker - Memory

'My pleasure,' Monach said. 'But if you didn't actually want to get hold of the Flutes for yourself-'

'Well, of course I didn't,' Cleapho said indulgently. 'Don't get me wrong, they're fine weapons. But how many of them did you finally manage to get made? Half a dozen? We'd have needed hundreds to be any use against any sort of large army. Far better to get shot of them for good-and do useful work at the same time, as an added bonus.'

Monach closed his good eye. 'I don't follow,' he said.

'Don't you? Then maybe I was right after all. Your part in the adventure was a bit like Tazencius and the raiders-I'm not too proud to learn from the enemy, you see. I needed the Flutes to fail. I also needed an enemy to overcome, a terrible threat to save the Empire from. That's why I created you: the Mad Monk. You were a bit out of the loop down there in Tulice, but in the city you're very famous. People have been terrified to death of you, ever since we told them about you. We exaggerated, of course; to hear us talk, you had hundreds of thousands of fanatical supporters, all the malcontents and criminals and crazies in the south. And then when you got hold of Tazencius's secret weapon, the dreaded Poldarn's Flutes… I wish you could've seen the riots in the streets, Earwig. I nearly injured myself laughing, listening to them howling curses on the most evil man in the Empire, and knowing all along it was just you.'

And that, Monach realised, would explain why I'm tied to the bed. 'I see,' he said quietly.

'And now you've been defeated, and the weapons have been proved to be useless; and it was me who defeated you and saved the Empire, while Tazencius's Flutes have been turned against him, far more effectively than if we'd lugged them into the Square and pointed them at the palace gates. First, people were furious at him for letting those hell-burners fall into the hands of our most dangerous enemy-that's you, I'm afraid; and now they're even more angry at him because the things were never going to work after all. His days are numbered, Earwig, and to a certain extent we've got you to thank. Well, you and Xipho. I think you can reassure yourself that you've done your whack for religion. Father Tutor would've been proud, rest his soul.'

Monach didn't say anything for a moment. Then: 'You killed him, didn't you?'

'Not me personally,' Cleapho replied. 'I didn't kill Elaos Tanwar either. I liked them both,' he added, 'a lot. And Xipho, and you too. Not Ciartan, though. I was never comfortable around him.'

Monach couldn't look at him. 'I'm going to die, then?' he said.

Cleapho sighed. 'I'm afraid so, Earwig. You and Xipho too-after all, she's the Mad Monk's priestess and what have you, so she's got to go as well. She took it well,' he added, 'as I'd have expected of her. I'm proud of her. I hope I'll be able to be proud of you, too.'

There had been many times when Monach had known he was probably going to die; but this was the first time he'd known it for a certainty. The ropes, and the pain all over his body, confirmed it absolutely. 'This is for religion, then,' he said.

'Of course.'

'Fine. Am I allowed to know how it helps?'

'Sorry,' Cleapho replied. 'Just have faith.'

'Like Xipho?'

Cleapho shook his head sadly. 'I've always envied Xipho her faith,' he said. 'I guess it's because she was the only one of our little gang who never actually managed to achieve a moment of religion, not in the draw, like you're supposed to. Yes, she was as fast as any of us, but it was just good reactions and coordination-she never made the moment go away. I think that's why she believes; the rest of us got there and realised it was no big deal. I've always assumed your faith was rather more intellectual, what with you being the only other one of us to carry on in the Order after graduation. You must've seen past the mysticism and so forth quite early.'

'Must I?' Monach said quietly. 'I don't remember that.'

'Oh.' Cleapho frowned. 'Oh, I see. I'm sorry. I hope I haven't-disillusioned you. That'd be a rotten trick to play on a man who's about to-'

But Monach shook his head. 'You couldn't,' he said. 'You see, I believe because I've seen. Because I once drew against a god. And I know it's real, because of that.'

Cleapho couldn't hide the grin. 'A god? Good heavens, Earwig, how fascinating. You never mentioned it to us.'

'I didn't know at the time.' He paused; something had just struck him. 'You still don't know, do you?'

'What's so funny, Earwig? I mean, I'm delighted that you can laugh at a time like this-'

Monach was grinning now, and Cleapho wasn't. 'Ciartan,' he said. 'Ciartan really is the god in the cart, Poldarn, whatever his name is. You see, I found out all about him-when Father Tutor sent me to investigate, and then afterwards, after Deymeson was destroyed and I was finally able to get at the truth that the Order's been suppressing all these years. Everything that Poldarn's supposed to do, Ciartan's done. It really is him, Cordo; and that means religion really is true. All of it.'

Cleapho shook his head. 'Everything except destroy the world,' he said gently. 'He hasn't done that, has he?'

'Yes,' Monach replied. 'He must have-it just hasn't taken effect yet.'

'That's easy to say,' Cleapho replied, rather less gently. 'I'm glad you have your faith, Earwig, I'm glad I haven't taken that away from you, too.'

'I saw it,' Monach insisted. 'There was a moment-when we fought, in the year-end. We both drew at the same time-'

– Because at that moment in time there's only been enough room in the world for one of them, and yet both of them had still been there, illegally sharing it, like a shadow or a mirror image being soaked up into the body that cast it; two circles superimposed, becoming one -Which wasn't supposed to happen. And if it did-nobody had known the details, at the time, but it was widely supposed to mean that something really bad was on the way: the end of the world, Poldarn's second coming 'It's true,' Monach said, relaxing back onto the hard ropes of the bed. 'Ever since then, Ciartan and me, we've really been one person, or one man and his shadow, something like that. Which means,' he added, as his head began to swim, 'that-Did you say we're going to Torcea?'

'Yes. So what?'

Monach smiled. 'Then it's happening after all,' he said. 'Like in the prophecies and everything. I'm bringing the end of the world to Torcea. I'm bringing you.'

Cleapho sighed. 'Whatever,' he said. 'I'm sorry, Earwig, and I'm grateful, too. And I'm glad if you're-well, resigned, or content, thanks to your faith-'

'Happy,' Monach said. 'Not resigned or content. Happy.'

Tazencius had changed little since the day Poldarn had first met him, on the road in the Bohec valley: an injured stranger he'd stopped to help, back when he'd been a courier for the Falx house. Tazencius still looked young for his age, distinguished without being intimidating, a pleasant man who turned out to be a prince, and was now the Emperor.

'Hello, Daddy,' she'd said, trotting up to him and giving him a peck on the cheek, as though she'd just come in from riding her new pony in the park. He smiled at her, then turned to look at Poldarn.

'Hello,' Tazencius said. 'I must say, I never expected to see you again. I heard you went away.'

Poldarn shrugged. 'I did,' he said. 'But I came back.'

'Evidently.' Tazencius sighed and sat down on a straight-backed wooden chair next to the fire. He'd been limping-the first time Poldarn had come across him, he'd broken his leg. 'Here you are again, and I suppose we've got to make the best of it.'

'Daddy,' she warned him. He nodded.

'I know,' he said, 'be nice.' He frowned, then looked up. 'You got your memory back yet?' he said, as though asking after an errant falcon or a mislaid book.