Stormy’s voice rumbled through his mind, ‘Same for me, Matron. We can find our friends on our own-you need a city to build, or maybe some other Rooted you can find. Besides, we got Grub and Sinn, and Bent here-gods, he’s almost wagging that stub of a tail and I ain’t never seen that before. Must be all the gore on his face.’
Kalyth laughed, even as tears streamed down her lined cheeks. ‘You two-you cannot shed your titles. They are branded upon your souls-will you just leave me here?’
‘You’re welcome to come with us,’ said Gesler.
‘Where?’
‘East, I think.’
The woman flinched.
‘You’re from there, aren’t you? Kalyth?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Elan. But the Elan are no more. I am the last. Mortal Sword, you must not choose that direction. You will die-all of you.’ She pointed at Grub and Sinn. ‘Even them.’
The Matron said, ‘Then we see the path before us. We shall guard you all. Ve’Gath. K’ell. J’an. Gu’Rull who still lives, still serves. We shall be your guardians. It is the new way our mother foresaw. The path of our rebirth.
‘Humans, welcome us. The K’Chain Che’Malle have returned to the world.’
Sulkit heard her words and something stirred within her. She had been a J’an Sentinel in the time of her master’s need, but her master was gone, and now she was a Matron in her own right.
The time had not yet come when she would make herself known. Old seeds grew within her: the first born would be weak, but that could not be helped. In time, vigour would return.
Her master was gone. The throne was empty, barring a lone eye, embedded in the headrest. She was alone within Kalse.
Life was bleeding into the Rooted’s stone. Strange, alien life. Its flesh and bone was rock. Its mind and soul was the singular imposition of belief. But then, what else are any of us? She would think on this matter.
He was gone. She was alone. But all was well.
‘I have lost him. Again. We were so close, but now… gone.’
With these words the trek staggered to a halt, as if in Mappo’s private loss all other desires had withered, blown away.
The twins had closed on the undead wolf. Faint had a fear that death had somehow addicted them to its hoary promise. They spoke of Toc. They closed small fingers tight in the ratty fur of Baaljagg. The boy slept in Gruntle’s arms-now who could have predicted that bond? No matter, there was something in that huge man that made her think he should have been a father a hundred times by now-to the world’s regret, since he was not anything of the sort.
No, Gruntle had broken loves behind him. Hardly unique, of course, but in that man the loss belonged to everyone.
Ah, I think I just yearn for his shadow. Me and half the lasses here. Oh well. Silly Faint.
Setoc, who had been conversing with Cartographer, now walked over.
‘The storm to the south’s not getting any closer-we have that, at least.’
Faint rubbed the back of her neck and winced at the pressure. ‘Could have done with the rain.’
‘If there was rain.’
She glanced at the girl. ‘Saw you meet Gruntle’s eyes a while back. A look passed between you when we were talking about that storm. So, out with it.’
‘It was a battle, not a storm. Sorcery, and worse. But now it’s over.’
‘Who was fighting, Setoc?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s far away. We don’t have to go there.’
‘Seems like we’re not going anywhere right now.’
‘We will. For now, let’s leave him be,’ she said, eyes on Mappo, who stood a short distance away, motionless as a statue-as he had been for some time.
Amby had been walking alongside the horse-drawn travois carrying his brother-Jula was still close to death. Precious Thimble’s healing was a paltry thing. The Wastelands could not feed her magic, she said. There was still the chance that Jula would die. Amby knelt, shading his brother’s face with one hand. He suddenly looked very young.
Setoc walked back to the horse.
Sighing, Faint looked around.
And saw a rider approaching. ‘Company,’ she said, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. All but Mappo reacted, turning or rising and following her gaze.
From Setoc: ‘I know him! That’s Torrent!’
More lost souls to this pathetic party. Welcome.
A single flickering fire marked the camp, and occasionally a figure passed in front of it. The wind carried no sound from those gathered there. Among the travellers, sorrow and joy, grief and the soft warmth of newborn love. So few mortals, and yet all of life was there, ringing the fire.