Axis looked to where StarDrifter pointed, and all his happiness faded.
There was a dark streak spreading across the floor.
A crack.
As he watched, the floor began to break wide open, and everyone hastened for the stairs.
The Dark Spire was ascending.
Chapter 3
Aqhat
They sat on the river bank in the morning light, a fire blazing, eating a meal. Their mood was jovial and there was much shared laughter. Every so often one or the other would turn their head to look across the river to the great emptiness where once DarkGlass Mountain had stood.
Avaldamon watched Ishbel turn and look one more time, and he smiled.
“Boaz and Tirzah would be proud of you,” he said. “That was one almighty achievement, Ishbel.”
Maximilian smiled, reaching to squeeze his wife’s hand. “Indeed it was.”
“Did Josia say anything about Axis?” Ishbel said. Earlier, Maximilian had spent a little time in the Twisted Tower, talking with Josia.
“No news,” Maximilian said. “All Josia wanted to talk about was how you had managed the destruction of the pyramid and the One, Ishbel. But I imagine that this news will lighten Axis’ heart.”
The mood sobered. “Mayhap the One is gone, and the pyramid,” said Serge, “but the Lealfast and the Skraelings still thrive. I wish I were there to help.” He grinned. “I came down here expecting a decent fight . . . and look what I got. Nothing!”
Again they laughed together.
“Ishbel,” Avaldamon said as the laughter died, “what did you find in the Infinity Chamber?”
Ishbel told them about the Book of the Soulenai, and the rat. “He was my courage, the courage taken from Josia as he died so many years ago. Has anyone set eyes on this rat since the pyramid collapsed?”
“He surfaced just before you,” said Maximilian, “but I have not seen him since.”
Avaldamon nodded at the book lying by Ishbel’s side. “What does it say now, Ishbel?”
She picked it up and opened it, turning over the pages, a frown deepening. “Nothing, Avaldamon. Its pages are blank. It tells me nothing.”
“Then perhaps its task is done,” Avaldamon said. “We should not worry.”
“Is there something to worry about?” Ishbel said. “You have appeared sombre at times .”
Avaldamon studied his hands, fiddling with a piece of uneaten bread. “I worry about the One,” he said finally, looking up.
“That he is not dead?” Maximilian said.
Avaldamon nodded. “I cannot sense him —”
“As neither can I,” Maximilian said.
“Nor I,” Ishbel said.
“— but,” Avaldamon continued, “yes, I do fret about it. The One touched the power of Infinity. That is immensely strong. Immensely durable. Infinitely so. Would the mere collapse of a building, even one so immense and arcane as DarkGlass Mountain,” he waved a hand across the river, “actually destroy him? I don’t know. Yes, it may have destroyed his body . . . but the One himself? He had already learned the trick of jumping into a new existence, and once learned that trick is not easily forgotten. Ishbel, tell me again what happened when you say he crumbled.”
Ishbel described once more how the One had disintegrated before her eyes. “He was terrified, Avaldamon. I am sure I could see knowledge of his own doom written in his expression. He was so frightened he brought the power of Infinity to bear where previously he had been too cautious. He —”
Ishbel suddenly stopped.
“What?” Maximilian and Avaldamon said together.
“He said . . . he said that I should not think that this was the end to it.”
Avaldamon and Maximilian exchanged a glance.
“If he only used the power of Infinity at the very end,” Maximilian said, “then perhaps he was using it to do something other than try and save DarkGlass Mountain. Perhaps he had been saving it to . . . ”
“Move elsewhere,” said Avaldamon. “Into another existence.”
“Where’s that rat now?” said Doyle, drawing his sword.
There was a long silence.
“Into what existence?” Ishbel finally said.
“Where least we expect it,” Avaldamon said. “We should rest here for today, but tomorrow we must be prepared to move north as fast as possible. I think the One is no longer in Isembaard . . . he will have gone back to Elcho Falling, or as close to it as he could manage.”
“You don’t think it is the rat?” Doyle said.
“The rat would be too easy,” Avaldamon said. “Unfortunately.”
“Nonetheless,” Doyle said, “I might kill that rat if it strays across my path.”
They spent the morning searching through what remained of Aqhat to see what they could find to aid them in their journey north. Everyone now wanted to return to Elcho Falling as fast as possible.
“Fast”, unfortunately, was going to be difficult to accomplish. There were no horses left to ride, and little in the way of stores (apart from some mouldy grain the Skraelings hadn’t wanted to touch, and some hard cheese that had been so thoroughly wrapped, and sealed inside pots, that the Skraelings had not discovered it).
“There will be fish in the river,” Avaldamon said, and Maximilian grinned at him.
“And giant river lizards,” Maximilian said. “We shall have to keep a leash on you.”
The one item of real use that Serge discovered in the mid-afternoon was a nearly completed reed boat sitting in one of the boat sheds close to the river. It was not very large, and still lacked seating and the final installation of its rudder, left lying nearby, but it was a welcome find and everyone clapped Serge on the shoulder in relief.
“Serge and I will have this ready within a day,” Doyle said. “If the rest of you find whatever stores you can, then we should be able to leave tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
“The Lord of Elcho Falling has many skills,” Maximilian said, “but boating isn’t one of them. I don’t suppose .”
Avaldamon gave him a smile. “I became well acquainted with the art of river boating while I lived in Ashdod, my friend.”
“Until you fell off one,” Serge muttered.
“And the art and craft of sailing a reed boat are simple enough that within a day of sailing all of you shall have become experts as well,” Avaldamon continued. “Come now, Ishbel, Maxel, let us find a prodigious quantity of stores still secreted about, so that Serge and Doyle may not look down their noses at us.”
Chapter 4
Elcho Falling
Inardle sat on the railing of a balcony high in Elcho Falling. It had been some days now since Eleanon’s attack on the Citadel and her level of wretchedness had not abated in any degree.
What else could she have done?
Told Axis beforehand? Even now Inardle closed her eyes momentarily in horror at the thought. She simply could not have gone to Axis.
Fled to Eleanon?
No, not that, either. Inardle hated what he and the rest of her brethren had become, and she knew she had no place with them.
And now they would kill her if she went back. She was not at one with the One, and they would not trust her.
Her only option lay within herself. Inardle looked out to the country stretching beyond Elcho Falling. Could she survive on her own? Oh, she would be able to find enough sustenance, and shelter too, if it came to that, but could she survive the utter isolation? She had no kin left, no brethren.
Axis had been her lifeline, and now that lifeline was irreparably frayed and the ends lost to opposite shores of a vast ocean.
Inardle had healed her wings in the heat and panic of the moment on the night of Eleanon’s attack, but still she had to fly. Now she looked into the air, wondering, yearning. It would take but a moment to launch herself from the balcony, and then she could soar to her heart’s content.
Until she was cut down either by one of the Lealfast or a member of the Strike Force who, never having trusted her, now outright loathed her.
Still . . . Inardle unconsciously edged further into the space beyond the railing, her wings lifting fractionally from her back, her eyes gleaming as she stared upward.
Perhaps, if she took her chances, if she cloaked herself in invisibility, even the Lealfast would miss her slipping between their number.
“Inardle?”
She teetered on the railing, almost overbalancing into the air, until a hand grabbed her by the elbow.
For a heartbeat Inardle could not look. Thus had Axis, in concern and love, once grabbed for her, believing she would die if she had fallen.
“Inardle?”
It was not Axis. Inardle turned her head. It was the Outlander general, Georgdi.
“Don’t, Inardle,” he said, and his voice was gentle, and his eyes full of understanding.
She sighed, blinked, then readjusted her weight so that she was once more balanced within the balcony rather than out of it.