A small man in a robe of coarse brown wool was moving back through the river of souls. He saw Druss and smiled. ‘Keep moving, my son,’ he said, patting Druss’s shoulder.
‘Wait!’ called the axeman as the man moved past him. Brown Robe swung back, surprised. Stepping to Druss, he gestured him to the side of the road.
‘Let me see your hand, brother,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Your hand, your right hand. Show me the palm!’ The little man was insistent. Druss held out his hand and Brown Robe grasped it, peering intently at the calloused palm. ‘But you are not ready to pass over, brother. Why are you here?’
‘I am looking for someone.’
‘Ah,’ said the man, apparently relieved. ‘You are the despairing heart. Many of you try to pass through. Did your loved one die? Has the world treated you savagely? Whatever the answer, brother, you must return whence you came. There is nothing for you here – unless you stray from the path. And then there is only an eternity of suffering. Go back!’
‘I cannot. My wife is here. And she is alive – just like me.’
‘If she is alive, brother, then she will not have passed the portals before you. No living soul can enter. You do not have the coin.’ He held out his own hand. Nestling there was a black shadow, circular and insubstantial. ‘For the Ferryman,’ he said, ‘and the road to Paradise.’
‘If she could not pass the tunnels, then where could she be?’ asked Druss.
7 don’t know, brother. I have never left the path and I know not what lies beyond, save that it is inhabited by the souls of the damned. Go to the Fourth Gateway. Ask for Brother Domitori. He is the Keeper.’
Brown Robe smiled, then moved away to be swallowed up by the multitude. Druss joined the flow and eased his way through to the Fourth Gateway where another man in a brown, hooded robe stood silently by the entrance. He was tall and round-shouldered, with sad, solemn eyes. ‘Are you Brother Domitori?’ asked Druss.
The man nodded, but did not speak.
‘I am looking for my wife.’
‘Pass on, brother. If her soul lives you will find her.’
‘She had no coin,’ said Druss. The man nodded and pointed to a narrow, winding path that led up and around a low hill.
‘There are many such,’ said Domitori, ‘beyond the hill. There they flicker and fade, and rejoin the road when they are ready, when their bodies give up the fight, when the heart ceases.’
Druss turned away, but Domitori called out to him. ‘Beyond the hill the road is no more. You will be in the Valley of the Dead. Best you arm yourself.’
‘I have no weapons here.’
Domitori raised his hand and the flow of souls ceased to move through the Gateway. He stepped alongside Druss. ‘Bronze and steel have no place here, though you will see what appear to be swords and lances. This is a place of Spirit, and a man’s spirit can be steel or water, wood or fire. To cross the hill – and return – will require courage, and so much more. Do you have faith?’
‘In what?’
The man sighed. ‘In the Source? In yourself? What do you hold most dear?’
‘Rowena – my wife.’
‘Then holdfast to your love, my friend. No matter what assails you. What do you fear most?’
‘Losing her.’
‘What else?’
‘I fear nothing.’
‘All men fear something. And that is your weakness. This place of the Damned and the Dead has an uncanny talent for bringing a man face to face with what he fears. I pray that the Source will guide you. Go in peace, brother.’
Returning to the Gateway he lifted his hand once more, and the entrance opened, the grim, silent flow of souls continuing without pause.
*
‘You gutless whoreson!’ stormed Sieben. ‘I should kill you!’
The surgeon Shalitar stepped between Sieben and the priest of Pashtar Sen. ‘Be calm,’ he urged. The man has admitted to lacking courage and has no need to apologise for it. Some men are tall, some short, some brave, others not so brave.’