“Everyone who dies comes here,” said the Queen. “How long they stay, and what
they make of this place while they’re here, is their business. But very few are
the mortals who don’t have something to expiate before they move on. Still …”
She pondered for a moment, looking interested. Mriga thought back to that look
of weary interest on Ischade’s face, and hope woke in her. “There is only one
other possibility.”
Tyr leaped up, barking excitedly, and ran a little way toward the great door:
then turned and barked again, louder, dancing from foot to foot where she stood.
“Burial enables one to pass the frontier,” said the Queen. “It does not compel
one to pass …”
Tyr ran for the door, yipping. Mriga looked in shock at Siveni, remembering how
Tyr hadn’t wanted to get into the boat …
The Queen rose from her throne. “Skotadi! My Lord’s chariot.” Siveni abruptly
found herself holding her spear: It was working again, but seemed much subdued.
“Madam, goddesses,” said the Queen, “let us see where the little one leads us.”
Somehow or other the door was only a few steps away this time. Outside it stood
a great iron chariot with four coalblack chargers already harnessed, and Skotadi
stood on the driver’s side, holding the reins. They climbed in and Skotadi
whipped up the horses.
The chariot rolled through the courtyard and out the gates in utter silence.
Outside in the streets, the cries and lamentation became muted too, and finally
ceased in astonishment and dread-for not in many a decade, Mriga’s omniscience