‘Demons in the water,’ Lenk replied.

‘But-’

‘Shen, Akaneed, longfaces, Deepshrieks …’ He shook his head. ‘Every time we seek comfort, every time we flee danger, it finds us.’ His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, lingered there for a moment too long to be considered casual. ‘This time, we go find it. We finish what we came to do.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘We kill those who try to stop us.’

She stared at him searchingly.

‘We?’

He turned to her, eyes hard.

‘We.’

He stared out over the sea, then glanced to Togu.

‘We’ll need a boat,’ he said. ‘Supplies, too, and as much information as you can give us about Jaga and the Shen.’

‘Asking a lot,’ Togu mused, ‘considering what I’ve already done for you.’

‘Considering what we could have done toyou, it’s not unreasonable,’ Lenk replied, his stare harsh. ‘You betrayed us. We could have done worse.’

Togu nodded glumly, waving a hand as he turned and stalked towards the forest, towards his village.

‘Take what you want, then,’ he said. ‘We were born in death. We will survive.’ He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Lenk. ‘If you don’t, though, I won’t mourn.’

‘No one has yet,’ Lenk replied.

Togu’s eye ridges furrowed briefly as he glanced past the two companions. An errant ripple blossomed across the waves.

For a moment, he thought he had seen a flash of hair, green as the sea, pale flesh and long, frilled ears that had heard everything. For a moment, he thought he had heard a lyrical voice whispering on the wind. For a moment, he thought of telling the companions this.

But only for a moment.

Togu nodded again before disappearing into the brush. Lenk turned and stared out over the sea, either not noticing or ignoring Kataria as she turned an intent gaze upon him.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m always all right,’ he said.

‘I mean, are you well?’ she asked. ‘You’ve said barely a word since we got off the ship.’

‘I’m trying not to waste my breath so much.’

‘Look, about what happened …’

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Can you really think of any way to end that sentence that will change anything?’

She stared at him, frowned and shook her head.

‘Then maybe you can save some breath, too.’

He turned to go, felt a hand on his shoulder. Something within him urged him to break away. The thought occurred to him to turn and strike her. Something within him did not disagree with that. He did neither, but nor did he turn to face her.

Not until she seized him by the shoulders and forced him around, anyway.

Her stare was intense, far too much for searching, for prying, for anything but conveying a raw, animal need that was reflected in her grip, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her mouth quivered, wanting desperately to say something but finding nothing. Her teeth were bared, her ears flat against her head, her body tensed and rigid with trembling muscle.

He stared back at her, wary, his own body tightening up, blood freezing as something within him told him what was happening. This was it, it told him, the betrayal he was waiting for. She had done it before; she would do it again. The aggression was plain on her face. She was going to finish the job now. He should strike before she did so. Strike now, it told him, seize the sword and hack off her head. Strike.

Strike.

Kill-

And then, there was no more thought, no more action. He had neither the mind nor the will for either as she pulled him close. There was only his body, feeling every ridge and contour of muscle on her naked midsection, each one brimming with nervous energy. There were only her eyes, shut tight as though she feared to open them and see anything in his.

There were only their lips pressed together, their tongues tasting each other, their hands, off weapons, on each other.

And the unending sigh of the ocean.

She pulled back, just as swiftly as she had embraced him. Her body still shook, her fingers still dug into his skin, her ears were still flat against her head. But her eyes were steady, fixed on his, unblinking.

‘I can’t change,’ she whispered, ‘anything.’

And she turned.

And she walked away.

And he stared after her, long into the night.

Forty-Two

Island of Teji

The Aeons’ Gate

Time is irrelevant

I lived on a farm before I became an adventurer. I had a mother, a father, a grandfather and a cow. None of those are important. What is important is that I don’t remember much about them.

Not much … but a little.

I remember that time seemed to stand still on a farm. We lived, we ate, we planted, we harvested, we watched births, we watched deaths. The same thing happened the next year … for as long as I was there.

This I remember. I remember it too well. Granted, the adventuring life was not too different: we lived, mostly; we ate things that we probably shouldn’t have; we stabbed; we burned; we once force-fed a man his own foot …

Some part of me, I think, still suspected life was that way, still thought that the world would never change.

But I’m learning all kinds of things lately.

Things change.

Weeks ago … gold seemed everything. Goldwas everything. It would lead me back to the farm, back to living, planting, harvesting, birthing, dying. That part of me that thought the world would continue as it always had wanted me to go back, to prove it right.

That part of me is gone, though. It was cast out. It was a blanket, something thick and warm that kept me sleeping. I’m awake now.

The cave … I remember it. I remember it too well. I don’t know his name. I don’t know if he had family, if he ever planted anything or saw a child born. I don’t know how he lived.

But I know who he was. And I know how he died.

He fought the demons, back during the war with the Aeons in which the mortals triumphed against Ulbecetonth. He inspired fear in his enemies and the House of the Vanquishing Trinity that he marched with, even as they called him ally. He killed many. His purpose was to kill.

His companions feared him: what he said, what he knew, what he was. They went into that cave. They killed him. They died with him. I stared into his eyes. I knew this. Some part of me remembered it, some part that I’ve been trying to ignore. I knew him.

And he knew me. And he spoke to me. And I listened.

And it all began to make sense. I’ve seen the way they look at me, the way they look away when I stare at them. When they need order, when they need direction, they turn to me. When I needed them, they abandoned me, betrayed me.

Maybe it was stupidity on the surface. Maybe it was their selfishness, as I had suspected. Those might have been the shallows, but not the purpose. They had been waiting for that moment, the moment in which they could watch me die without retaliation.

They wanted me to die. They wanted to kill me. To kill us, but they couldn’t.

The voice told me this. It’s speaking so clearly now. It doesn’t command me. I talk to it; it talks back. We discuss. We learn. We reason. It told me everything about them, about their purpose. It made sense.

Things change.

They don’t.

I learned this too well tonight.

The voice was speaking clearly, but I was still doubting it. I didn’t see how they could hate me … well, no, I could see how they could hate me, sure. They’re assholes. But her … I didn’t believe it, not after that day.