of a man's face to appear in Isak's mind. He could perceive features etched in a white mist – a thin jaw, deep-set eyes, hair receding from a smooth forehead: the first things the shade could remember of itself. As with Seliasei, identity was the first concern. Once they had a face, a name, a memory, it helped bring the Land back into focus for them. Until a sense of self could be produced, desires and emotions couldn't matter because there was no reference for them. As the shade struggled in vain, Isak felt a moment of pity. There was no malice in its desire for the warmth and strength of his body, only a desperation that Isak found achingly sad. Once he had cradled it for a while, Isak realised he understood enough and ushered the spirit back to Mor-ghien. As he did so he sent a thought to it, almost an apology, as it fought his grip. Let go. Life is for the living.
As the misty shape faded away, a blackness leapt up from nowhere and enveloped Isak's mind. A stab of pain flashed through his head as the invading spirit took him in its numbing grip and fed savagely at his throat. This was no half'forgotten Aspect: Isak felt as if he had fallen into an icy stream. Each time he moved he felt his strength being sucked out of him. The cold kept flowing over his skin, drawing
out heat, drawing out life.
Isak began to panic as each breath grew harder, as his body faded away into a deadened memory. Images of hungry eyes and long thin fangs flashed before his eyes. He felt the Finntrail's desire, its anger and loss fuelling the enveloping strength. He was afraid of becoming
that hollow.
Then Morghien's words came back to him: such creatures were hoi-low; their strength was partly what you gave them. This suppressed the alarm clouding his mind. He looked again at the feeding spirit and saw it was insubstantial. He saw the mist of its form and how easily he
could push through.
The numbing ceased as Isak reached out with his mind, ignoring the desperate, but now feather-light, retaliation. He reached out all around him and gathered the inky strands in tight. The Finntrau struggled and raged, but it was powerless. With a furious scream the shadow was expelled back to Morghien and the wanderer withdrew his hand and smiled weakly.
The Krann didn't meet Morghien's eye. Looking round to his corn' panions he saw Mihn, Carel and Tila watching as before. Nothing ap- peared to have changed, but Isak shivered slightly. The air felt cooler
than before, as if the night's frost had returned. He rose and began to walk the ten yards to retrieve Eolis before stopping short suddenly. He whirled around, but he could see nothing different – but it felt as if they had been joined by another. Beyond the road the trees were empty and quiet. The sky above held only a few birds, too distant to recognise, but still Isak felt uneasy. He wrenched the blade from its resting place but didn't sheathe it. The others gave him uncomfortable looks, but Isak ignored them, glad of the security Eolis lent.
An unheard chuckle crept out from the overhanging branches of a yew. The birds nearby were startled into flight as they sensed malevolence all around. Only the wind heard and it swept away after the birds, dead leaves and damp crumbs of earth skittering away in its wake.
'Life is for the living? Sometimes 1 think you say these things solely for my pleasure. Will you remember those words, I wonder?'
CHAPTER 25
Isak opened his eyes and looked around in alarm. The last thing he remembered was huddling close to the others in front of the fire, Tila curled into the warm lee of his body and a skin of wine snug in his hand. Now he was here – wherever here was. The clouded sky swirled uncertainly above a rolling plain of long grass. A few moments ago, he'd been surrounded by trees.
Dawn shadows covered the ground, but Isak couldn't see the sun anywhere. He couldn't even tell which direction was north – and he'd always been able to do that. It was as if he wasn't in the Land any longer… and that thought chilled him more than the cool air. He watched as a breeze rippled through the grass, but he felt nothing on his skin. It reminded him of the palace he used to dream about, otherworldly and uncomfortable.
'With all your ability – all your potential – and it just takes a skin of wine to open your mind. Typical.'
Isak jumped: behind him stood a girl, her beauty taking Isak's breath away almost more than the shock at her sudden appearance. Her skin was as Morghien had described, as smooth and radiant as polished walnut wood, darker than anyone Isak had seen before, darker even than the Chetse desert clans.
While the Yeetatchen were their neighbours, living off the Parian coast, there was almost no contact between the two tribes: most face' to-face meetings had been on the battlefield – and those rivalled the Great War for savagery.
Isak was mesmerised just by the sight of her: with such rich brown skin, her white eyes were even more astonishing. 'You're Xeliath? 'And you're the cause of all my troubles.'
Isak narrowed his eyes, one hand moving instinctively to his sioe before he realised he was wearing just the rags from his life on the
wagon-train. Eolis was still hanging from his belt, but Siulents and his fine clothes were nowhere to be seen.
'Just a reminder, of who you once were,' Xeliath explained. She gave him a stern look, studying his reaction at the torn, dirty clothes. Suddenly she broke out in a girlish smile and skipped over to plant a kiss on his lips. Isak gasped in surprise. The sweet scent of her skin was almost overwhelming. Instinctively he reached out and slipped his hands around her waist, but she skipped back and the smooth skin of her hips slid out of his fragile grip. Now her face bore a look of pure delight.
'Ah, it's been a while since I could do that.' She danced over to a mossy rise and sat. Isak scarcely noticed that he'd not seen the rise earlier.
'What- Ah, why?'
'Why has it been a while? Well that's your fault, but the story is a long one.' From her manner, Isak realised that Morghien had been correct in her age. She was tall as any white-eye, with a healthy strength in those long slender limbs, but hardly past girlhood, for all her remarkable beauty.
'But I've never met you,' Isak protested as he struggled past the memory of her lips.
'No excuse.' Her tone was playful, but she clearly meant it. 'I had kissed quite a number of pretty young men before someone decided to make you the Saviour-'
'Now wait,' Isak snapped. 'I'm no Saviour and I don't intend to be.'
'What you intend has nothing to do with it!' With the snap in her voice came a distant rumble of thunder. Isak immediately realised that the two were linked, and that they both could rage much closer. Even female white-eyes had a temper bubbling under the surface.
Xeliath ignored the interruption. 'What others intend is the matter at hand. Unfortunately for all of us, you've become a nexus for those intentions.'
‘What are you talking about? I've been given no quest by the Gods.
Carel always says I've got the piety of a dead ice-cobra. Just why do people think I've been chosen to lead a crusade, or whatever other damn stupid idea they have?'
‘And therein lies the problem.'
Isak cocked his head at the strange girl. For such a young woman she was amazingly confident and assured. 'How did you learn Farlan anyway?' That was one of the things nagging at him about this girl: her accent was not just excellent, but native.
'Can we please keep to the matter at hand? If you need an answer, I didn't, I can't. I'm speaking directly to your thoughts. Whatever you hear is how your mind chooses to represent those thoughts. This is just a dream, Isak, your dream. The conversation is happening, but this place doesn't exist.'