Bleys was curious about the domain of the unbeings in the far north. Apparently it was a fragment of this world that they had managed to sever free, redrawing the borders of the sky so that it would not be tainted with light and life. So it persisted, a fragment of a world drifting alongside its former home in the Sea of Worlds.

A thought came to Bleys that shocked even him. But he tested it over and over, and there was no flaw that he could see.

He asked the unbeing if it could teach him the skills to redraw the border of the sky and separate a part of the world into its own world.

The unbeing knew part of that knowledge and shared that with him, but the knowledge was too great for any single element of the unbeings to contain its entirety.

Bleys told the unbeing that if he and his fellow beings could know those skills, they would no longer resist, would even assist the project of the unbeings.

That was when the great collaboration began. Bleys and the unbeing fashioned an un-object of many dimensions. With it, he could communicate with the unbeing wherever he was, wherever it was.

Aloê never found the words to explain the un-object to anyone else, but she didn’t need it explained to her: it hung in lightless luminescence at the center of her own mind.

With shock, Aloê realized that Bleys had incorporated the un-object into the Witness Stone itself. Even now, even now. . . .

As she let her awareness expand she became aware of many listeners, the class of unbeings in the far north beyond the wide world’s end, the Sunkillers.

And over the years Bleys, with increasing single-mindedness, pursued his collaboration with the unbeings. His plan was simple: the ultimate protection for the Wardlands was to remove the adjoining lands from existence entirely. Then the Wardlands could persist as an island in the Sea of Worlds, perhaps with an artificial sun and other conveniences, and the Sunkillers could have the rest of their world to themselves.

Of course that meant that everyone and everything in the world that lived and felt and was a being would die. That was what had shocked Bleys about his own plan . . . at first.

But only at first. He was not a purveyor of justice or an avatar of mercy. He did not judge; he defended, and this was the ultimate defense, a final solution to the problem of the unguarded lands.

He enlisted others in his project: Lernaion, who took a long time to convince. Lernaion took upon himself the task of enlisting Earno, but he had bungled it somehow. Aloê sensed Bleys’ rage more clearly than the details of the failure. But probably Earno was hopeless anyway. He had travelled too much in the world to sacrifice it willingly. He seemed to think he had some obligation to it, or to the people in it, that rivalled his obligation to the Guarded.

Lernaion and Bleys enlisted Naevros to do their knifework. Bleys had long ago noted Naevros’ susceptibility, and the whirlwind of thoughts surrounding the vocate’s seduction were tinged with cold pleasure in Bleys’ mind.

Now the unbeings, the Sunkillers, were concerned. They knew from their allies in the Wardlands that beings had been sent to investigate the sun’s death and that some of them were those who had destroyed the Two Powers. The unbeings did not understand and would not understand independent agency and free will. They looked on the actions of the beings approaching them as a betrayal by their allies. The unbeings would be angry, extremely resentful, if those others were not stopped somehow.

To save the Wardlands they must recall their colleagues from the edge of the world and make plans for life after the death of the sun.

Aloê felt the insidious, inevitable pull of the logic. It vibrated in her mind—in the pattern of the un-object that was party to and basis of their rapport. Aloê resisted it, rejected it. Suddenly she became aware of others doing the same. She fought harder, fought free, was alone in her own mind at last, not subject to rapport.

She descended from the visionary state.

As soon as she had pulled the world of matter and energy around her like a blanket, she shouted at Bleys: “Bleys! Break the rapport and let the vocates go or I’ll smash your Stone for you again!”

“If you like, my dear,” said Bleys warmly, and the light in his eyes died. His smile, however, lived on. The vocates, as they returned to full awareness, began to shout and question and argue, and that went on for hours. But Bleys had already won: he knew it, and Aloê did, too. The vocates were frightened, and the way to drive frightened people was with more fear.

CHAPTER EIGHT

News from Home

The four companions stood at the edge of the world and looked down at the letter.

“A trap, you think?” Morlock asked.

“Certainly,” whispered Deor in mock terror. “If you pick that up, a thousand Sunkillers will rush out from underneath it and begin biting us on the toes!”

“I suppose our friend and harven-kin here,” Ambrosia said, “is not aware that many magical traps are set with a kind of bait, and that picking up or accepting the bait activates the trap.”

“Not his kind of magic,” Morlock agreed.

“Oh,” Deor said, chastened. “Sorry, Ambrosii. How can we tell?”

The Ambrosii looked at the glimmering page, the dark writing on it.

“You’re sure that it’s Aloê’s hand?” Ambrosia said.

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know, brother. She’s never written me a mash note.”

Morlock shouldered off his pack and went through it, pulling out a tablet and stylus. “Show me what you see,” he said.

On the malleable surface, Ambrosia deftly sketched an image of the letter, including the script on its first page.

“That’s what I see,” Morlock said. “It is not an illusion. I see no sign of a physical trigger. Is there a talic presence?”

“The whole bridge is a talic presence, brother.”

“Eh. I’m going to open it.”

“Go ahead. I’ll remember you as you were.”

Morlock crouched down. Pulling his knife from its sheath on his belt, he used its blade to flip over the first crystalline sheet.

Beloved, the letter began, good morning, or whatever time it is when you read this. I have had a bad dream. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind I get to wake up from.

“Aloê wrote this,” Morlock said.

“Good,” Ambrosia said.

“Not really,” Morlock said, and continued reading.

I write you through the agency of the unbeings beyond the northern edge of the world, and at the request of the Graith of Guardians. They ask you to return without attempting the passage of the Soul Bridge or the rescue of the sun.

I’m going to paint you the whole picture. This is going to take a while.

It did. Aloê told him about the conspiracy to murder Earno, and how she had uncovered it, and about Bleys’ defense of himself and his colleagues before the Graith.

The Graith acquitted him, I am ashamed to say, Aloê wrote. At least it was not unanimous: Jordel spoke at length, which is perfectly usual, and quite seriously, which is perfectly unusual and was doubly impressive because of that. Illion pointed out that the Graith has the obligation to defend and avenge its members, and that it is a tactical as well as moral mistake to allow our murders to go unpunished. Gyrla made a powerful case against trusting Bleys under any circumstances whatever. But, in the end, the Guardians were relieved that something was being done, that something could be done, to protect the Wardlands from the impending death of the world, even if it made them complicit in that death. Bleys and Lernaion are summoners again; Naevros and Bavro have sworn off the Graith. The alliance with the unbeings beyond the world has been affirmed, and Noreê and others from New Moorhope are already working on the magics needed to redraw the border of the sky and separate the Wardlands from the dying world.