'It's already too late,' Crokus muttered, but he clambered to his feet nonetheless.
'There is too much mystery in this path to be certain of anything,' Icarium replied. 'Twice we have travelled warrens – their aspects I cannot say. They felt ancient and fragmented, woven into the very rock of Raraku. At one point I smelled the sea...'
'As did I,' Mappo said, shrugging his broad shoulders.
'More and more,' Crokus said, 'her journey takes a tack where such things as rebirth become more probable. I am right in that, aren't I?'
'Perhaps,' Icarium conceded. 'Yet, this pensive air hints at uncertainty as well, Crokus. Be mindful of that.'
'Apsalar is not seeking to flee us,' Mappo said. 'She is lead' ing us. What significance should we place in that? With her godly gifts she could easily mask her trail – that shadow-wrought residue that, to Icarium and to myself, is as plain and undisguised as an Imperial road.'
'There might be something else besides,' Fiddler muttered. Faces swung his way. He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. 'The lass knows our intent, Crokus – what Kalam and I had planned and what is still – as far as I know – being followed. She could well have taken the notion that by assuming the guise of Sha'ik, she can... indirectly... support our efforts. In a manner wholly her own rather than that of the god who once possessed her.'
Mappo smiled wryly. 'There is much you've held from myself and Icarium, soldier.'
'An Imperial matter,' the sapper said, not meeting the Trell's eyes.
'Yet one that sees advantage in this land's rebellion.'
'Only in the short run, Mappo.'
'In becoming Sha'ik reborn, Apsalar will not simply be engaging in a change of costume, Fiddler. The cause of the goddess will take hold of Apsalar's mind, her soul. Such visions and visitations will change her.'
'She may not realize that particular possibility, I'm afraid.'
'She's not a fool,' Crokus snapped.
'I'm not saying she is,' Fiddler replied. 'Like it or not, Apsalar possesses something of a god's arrogance – I was witness to the full force of that back on Genabackis, and I can see that its stain still resides within her. Consider her present decision to leave Iskaral's temple, alone, in pursuit of her father.'
'In other words,' Mappo said, 'you think she might believe she can withstand the influence of the goddess, even as she assumes the role of prophetess and warleader.'
Crokus scowled. 'My mind's tumbling from one thing to the next. What if the patron god of assassins has reclaimed her? What will it mean if the rebellion is suddenly led by Cotillion – and, by extension, Ammanas? The dead Emperor returns to wreak vengeance.'
There was silence. Fiddler had been gnawing on that possibility like an obsessed hound since it had occurred to him days earlier. The notion of a murdered Emperor turned Ascendant suddenly reaching out from the shadows to reclaim the Imperial throne was anything but a pleasant prospect. It was one thing seeking to assassinate Laseen – that was, in the end, a mortal affair. Gods ruling a mortal Empire, on the other hand, would draw other Ascendants, and in such a contest entire civilizations would be destroyed.
They finished their meal without another word spoken.
The dust filling the air refused to settle; it simply hung motionless, hot and lifeless. Icarium repacked the supplies. Fiddler strode over to Crokus.
'No value in fretting, lad. She's found her father, after all these years – there's something to be said for that, don't you think?'
The Daru's smile was wry. 'Oh, I've thought on that, Fid. And yes, I am happy for her, yet mistrustful. What should have been a wondrous reunion has been compromised. By Iskaral Pust. By Shadow's manipulation. It's soured everything—'
'However you may have envisioned it, Crokus, it belongs to Apsalar.'
The lad was silent for a long minute, then he nodded.
Fiddler retrieved his crossbow and slung it over one shoulder. 'At the very least, we've had a respite from Sha'ik's soldiers and the D'ivers and Soletaken.'
'Where is she leading us, Fid?'
The sapper shrugged. 'I suspect we'll find that out soon enough.'
The weathered man stood on the hump of rock, facing Raraku. The shroud of silence was absolute; he could hear his own heart, a steady, mindless rhythm in his chest. It had begun to haunt him.
Rocks skittered at his back, and a moment later the Toblakai appeared, dropping a brace of arm-long lizards onto the bleached bedrock. 'Everything's come out for a look around,' the giant youth rumbled. 'For once, a meal worth eating.'