“It’s but one of our words for your people,” the Eithlisch said. “Others are not so kind. Although in your case, Alwyn Scribe, I think it most fitting.”

  Juhlina raised an eyebrow at me. “This is the great shaman whose favour you so enjoy?”

  “Well, he hasn’t killed me yet.” Glancing at the Caerith’s features, impassive except for a very slight curving of the mouth that might have been amusement, I said, “How long until we reach this Mirror City of yours?”

  “Time,” the Eithlisch sighed, his lips forming the first smile I had seen on his face. “Why are your kind so obsessed with it? Numbers too. In your lands everything must be counted, portioned, labelled. I’d forgotten how tedious it could be.”

  I gritted my teeth against a retort, forcing a neutral tone. “If this is going to take weeks, we’ll need to stop and hunt at some point. Since you neglected to provide sustenance for your fellow travellers.”

  “Do you still imagine this to be a barren wasteland, shorn of all but a handful of savages? The Caerith do not suffer their own to starve. That we leave to you. As for the journey, it will be long.” I saw a small frown crease his overly smooth brow as he turned to survey the depths of the forest. “But,” he added, voice fading to a whisper, “there are other dangers than hunger.”

  “Dangers?” I asked, but he said no more. Rising, the Eithlisch wandered away from the fire, his gaze still preoccupied by something I couldn’t see.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him, but he gave no response, his bulky form disappearing into the gathering gloom.

  “What do we do if he doesn’t come back?” Juhlina asked.

  I forced a shrug to mask my concern and turned my attention to the simmering contents of the skillet. “Find a village and ask directions to the Mirror City, I suppose.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Eithlisch failed to return that night and, after a fitful sleep in the shadow of the fallen tree, I began to harbour a half-hopeful, half-trepidatious suspicion that he might have abandoned us completely. However, upon walking a dozen paces off to relieve my nagging bladder I found him perched atop the overgrown mass of the great pine’s stump. He appeared intent on paying me scant heed, so I continued my business, piss-steam billowing as I watched him standing in preoccupied concentration. His head was tilted, one ear cocked to the south as he strained to hear something. For my part, I heard only the creaking branches and birdsong typical to all forests.

  “Werleth?” I asked him, using the Caerith word for trouble.

  He ignored the question and maintained his vigil a while longer before jumping down from the stump. “Rouse her or leave her,” he grunted, gesturing to a still slumbering Juhlina before striding off at an even more rapid pace than before.

  “No breakfast?” Juhlina groaned at being shaken awake.

  “Nor much of anything else until we get where he’s taking us.” I reached for her warhammer, pressing it into her hands. “Keep this ready. He’s nervous about something. And anything that could make him nervous is enough to scare the shits out of me.”

  We spent another three days in the forest before it began to change. Gradually, gullies and ravines broke the ground while the trees lost their tallness. Oak, yew and ash became more prevalent, and the sky dwindled to an occasional flicker of blue through the canopy. The Eithlisch never faltered in the rapidity of his stride, maintaining a southerly march through the hours of daylight. When we stopped for the night, he would disappear while Juhlina and I made camp and tried to ration our remaining supplies. I don’t know if our hulking guide had need of sleep, but I never saw him at slumber throughout the entire journey. Also, his wariness increased as the days wore on. Come morning, I would see him prowling among the trees, ear cocked for the threat he refused to voice.

  We came upon the settlement on the evening of the fourth day, a far larger version of the Caerith village I had wintered in the year before. The slope-roofed dwellings had the same way of blending with the landscape, and the people who clustered to greet the Eithlisch were similarly varied in colouring and facial markings. A group of toalisch were at the forefront of the crowd. They were led by a tall dark-skinned man with long, braided grey hair that belied a lean and athletic frame. Given what I knew about how Caerith age, I could only guess at his span of years, but the cautious respect with which he greeted the Eithlisch told of considerable experience.

  “Torfaer,” the Eithlisch said, returning the old warrior’s nod before surveying the dozen or so toalisch at his back. “This is all? I hoped for more.”

  “We await those from the hill camps,” Torfaer replied. “We will head north when they arrive.”

  “Don’t tarry too long. And prevail upon your veilisch to join you. Every bow and blade will be needed for what lies ahead.” The Eithlisch paused, stepping closer to speak on in a quieter voice. “Have you sighted Paelith recently? I smell them on the wind.”

  “I also, though none have been seen. We found tracks a day’s march west. A large group to range so far from the plains.”

  The Eithlisch gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement before sparing a brief glance in our direction. “These Ishlichen need shelter for the night. And enough food for a lengthy march.”

  “It will be provided.” Torfaer paused, his lean features tensed in reluctance. “There are some here who would welcome the touch of the Eithlisch. If you can spare it.”

  “Always.”

  The Eithlisch was duly led away among a throng of Caerith, a few lingering to gawp at Juhlina and I until a young warrior came forward. She had the copper hair common to many here, her freckled face curious rather than hostile as she spent a moment carefully looking us over.

  “You… come,” she said finally in laboured Albermaine-ish, turning away and beckoning us to follow. She led us through the winding leaf-covered lanes of the settlement to the banks of a narrow river running through its centre.

  “Sleep there,” the copper-haired woman said, pointing to a mill house. It was the first such structure I had seen in Caerith lands, smaller than its Albermaine equivalent, the blades of its waterwheel broader and turning at a blurringly fast rate.

  “What do you mill here?” I asked her in Albermaine-ish, since I knew of no corresponding term in Caerith. “I thought your people grew no wheat.”

  “We grow… many things,” she said, brow furrowed as she concentrated on the correct form of words. “As the land… allows.”

  Pushing open the mill house door, she revealed an interior bare of furniture but half-filled with barrels of corn. “I bring… furs,” our host said. “To make sleep on.”

  “That would be nice,” Juhlina said, grimacing as she surveyed our temporary home.

  “I am Alwyn,” I told the woman in Caerith before nodding to my companion. “She is Juhlina.”

  “I know your name,” the toalisch said. I detected a curious shyness in her bearing and realised she felt herself to be in the presence of someone important. When she spoke again, it was in her own language, the tone tinged with a youthful eagerness for potentially forbidden knowledge.

  “You have met her,” she said. “The Doenlisch. She put her touch upon you.”

  “She did,” I said, forcing a bland smile.

  “Yes.” She came closer, eyes wider now. “I sense it.”

  I felt Juhlina tense as the woman extended a hand, pressing her palm to my chest. “Her touch runs deep in you,” she continued in a reverent murmur. “Not since my grandfather’s passing have I met another who bore her mark.”

  “You have vaerith?” I ventured, discomforted by her gesture, but reluctant to cause offence by pulling away.

  She smiled and nodded. “A small seed, but it may grow, so the Eithlisch says.” Removing her hand, she straightened into brisk purposefulness, switching back to Albermaine-ish. “My name is… Pathera. I will bring furs now… and food.”

  “What is a Paelith?” I asked as she started towards the door. “I have not heard of such a beast.”

  “No beast,” Pathera said. “Paelith are Caerith, those who ride the paelah and keep mostly to the southern plains.”

  I discerned a certain distaste in her bearing, even a slight hostility. “They are your enemies?”

  This brought a frown of deep puzzlement to her brow, as if she couldn’t fathom how one who bore the mark of the Doenlisch could ask such a foolish question. “Caerith do not war with each other,” she told me before departing the mill house.

  Feeling the weight of Juhlina’s eyes on me, I spent a moment carefully inspecting the mill’s workings. The gearing that drove the wheel seemed far more complex than those I had seen before, an intricate arrangement of toothed wooden wheels. The reason for such elaborate construction became apparent when I noticed a smaller stone spinning alongside the cylindrical slab of the grindstone. It spun at a faster rate and appeared to be fashioned from a dense, glittering material, whereas its larger companion was a hunk of pitted limestone. Drawing my dagger, I held the edge to the second stone, birthing an instant flurry of sparks.

  “Ingenious,” I said. “Never seen the like.”

  Juhlina, however, was not to be distracted. “She looked at you like folk looked at her,” she said, and I didn’t need to ask who she meant. Her tone bore the same demand for clarity I had heard after killing Arnabus in the Athiltor cathedral.

  “The Caerith have many beliefs that seem strange to us,” I replied, moving the dagger’s blade along the stone.

  “No.” Juhlina moved to my side, her stare intent enough to command I meet it. “No more secrets, Alwyn Scribe. I left, but I came back, and I think you know why. I’ve followed you all this way, but I won’t take another step without answers. Who is the Doenlisch? What is her mark? And most of all, whatever possessed you to fuck that mad bitch we were daft enough to serve?”

  Fortunately, Juhlina soon found a lever that could unhook the spinning stones from the gears, sparing us the constant whirring trundle. I thought about refusing her demand, reasoning it would be a kindness of sorts. Denied answers, I had no doubt she would be true to her word, leaving me to face this journey with only the Eithlisch for company. But it wasn’t this doleful prospect that loosened my tongue. Honesty was the very least of what I owed her.

  So we sat in the increasing gloom of the mill house, only partially alleviated by the small candle Pathera brought along with the furs we huddled in, and I told the Widow my tale. I left nothing out, not even the stranger episodes that a rational mind would either scorn or decry as fanciful nonsense. Some of it flowed easily. Some was more difficult to parse from the parade of confusion and self-deceit we term as memory. But, of course, the portion of my life that defied true explanation, even to me, was the answer to her principal question.

  “She killed Luminant Durehl?” Juhlina asked when I at last approached the crux of the matter, faltering over a description of the events following our escape from the Dire Keep.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “In front of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was the first time you fucked? Right next to the corpse of a murdered Luminant?”

  I could think of no better response than another muttered, “Yes.”

  Risking a glance at her face, I failed to find the disgusted judgement I expected. Instead, I saw only bafflement. Sighing, she gathered her furs more tightly about her, asking, “When did you know she was with child?”

  “Not until the day the cathedral burned, along with most of Couravel. I tried to kill her. I was going to do it, but…” My words died in a helpless sigh, head filled with the memory of the terrible night. Would you kill the child we made? “Delric confirmed it when he came to my cell to tend my wounds. I don’t know if she killed him for that, or for his part in her false resurrection. I doubt she needs a reason for killing any more.”

  “Delric was a good man, always happy to provide a sleeping draught when I asked. And the cuts he stitched left the smallest scars.” She settled a steady gaze upon me. “But, he died a guilty man, Alwyn. Because we’re all guilty. All of us who followed her, fought her battles and made her what she is. You’re a fool, right enough, but so am I. So are Tiler and Ayin. We all have scales to be balanced.”

  I replied with a nod, but couldn’t quite accept the fairness of her reasoning. Yes, we had all been fools, but I was the king of fools. “So, now you know why I killed Arnabus,” I said. “And why she turned on me. I wonder if finding out her resurrection was nothing of the sort tipped her into madness, or the fact that it was done by Caerith hands.”

  Juhlina shook her head. “She was always mad. We just didn’t see it. Or perhaps we were mad too and sanity dawned only when we beheld what she is.” She shifted closer to me, hands emerging from her furs to clasp mine. “The child cannot be left in her hands. You know this.”

  “I do.”

  “To take it from her, you will have to kill her. You know that too.”

  I looked away, unsettled by the hard, unblinking purpose in her eyes.

  “You know this, Alwyn!” Her grip tightened. “Love doesn’t just vanish. I see it still lingers in you like a sickness you can’t shake. But, love her or not, there is no end to this as long as she lives. I know you tried before, but how hard? Next time, you can’t fail.”

  She moved closer still, pressing a kiss to my lips. I wanted to return it, pull her to me, yet I didn’t. Juhlina rested her head on my chest for a second, murmuring, “Still it lingers.” Turning away, she settled on to her bed of piled furs. “Like a sickness.”

  We departed the village with the dawn, roused by the Eithlisch kicking the mill house door open. No ceremony marked our leaving, which surprised me. I also noted his stride was slower this day, and he walked with a slight hunch to his broad shoulders.

  “Those who require the touch of the Eithlisch,” I commented as I enjoyed the novelty of actually walking alongside him for once. “You healed them, didn’t you? As you healed me.”

  As was his way, he said nothing, replying with only a small, annoyed shift of his eyes.

  “It tires you, doesn’t it?” I went on, my curiosity stirred. I had thought him a being of perhaps inexhaustible strength, as well as arcane gifts. Now it appeared even he had limits.

  “Yes,” he grunted, forcing a more rapid stride in order to pull ahead. “And in your case, Alwyn Scribe, don’t expect me to do it twice.”

  By my reckoning, we followed a south-westerly course for the next few days. The wooded hill country persisted with its occasionally steep slopes that did much to negate any enjoyment of the undeniable beauty of this land. The Eithlisch soon recovered his prior vitality and irksomely fast pace, though he did consent to a daily noontime rest of short duration. Pathera had provided us a sack of salted meat, flat bread and nuts, most of it consumed by the time we came upon another settlement. This was even larger than Pathera’s village, a sprawl of dwellings atop a ridge overlooking a tall waterfall. Once again, the Eithlisch was greeted with grave respect by the gathered toalisch, many of whom had plainly travelled considerable distances to get here. His words to them were short but urgent. “Head north and do not linger. The Vahlisch awaits you. Trust his word as you trust mine.”

  He wouldn’t permit us to rest here overnight, insisting we move on once supplies had been provided. The forest thinned considerably when we descended the ridge, broad clearings soon giving way to open fields. Juhlina and I gawped at unfamiliar herds of cattle roaming the undulating grasslands, tall beasts with huge curving horns and shaggy pelts. They bellowed warnings if we passed too close, their aggression and the absence of walls making it clear they were wild.

  “The Caerith have no farmers to tend their lands or livestock?” Juhlina observed to the Eithlisch during one of our all too brief rest stops.

  “My people keep some beasts for milk and wool,” he responded. “But for the most part, we find that land and beast require no tending. When my people require meat, they hunt. Everything else can be grown, gathered and stored in accordance with the seasons. We take only what we need, not what we want.” He spoke with a preoccupied air, gaze constantly roving the landscape.

  “Paelith?” I asked, provoking an irritated tightening of the mouth, but no words. “Caerith do not war with each other, yet you fear them. Why?”

  “Even the mightiest stone has cracks,” he said. “And it is not me they wish to war with.”

  “Me, then? They object to my presence, even though I bear the Doenlisch’s mark?”

  “Her mark is not like the metal you clad yourself in for battle. And her words are not heard by all. The Paelith have their own meilah, and those whose vaerith guides them along different paths.”

  “Will they try to kill me if they find us?”

  The Eithlisch said nothing, which I took as a yes.

  “Will you stop them?”

  He resumed his rapid stride, soon disappearing into the long grass. This I took as a no.

  The following weeks assumed a loose routine of sorts. Every two or three days we would arrive at a settlement, some large enough to be termed a town, others just a small hamlet nestled among the hills. Typically, a group of warriors, often joined by the local hunters, would greet the Eithlisch, whereupon he would urge them to begin their northward march. I soon realised that this southward trek had a dual purpose for our guide. Not only was he conveying me to his Mirror City, and the location of the as yet unexplained stone feather, he was also convincing reluctant Caerith to answer the call to war. The toalisch gathered along our line of march were awaiting his coming, requiring his blessing before heading north.

  “This hasn’t happened before,” I said to him one night. It was the fifteenth day of our journey, and my voice was soured with a growing weariness. “War,” I added when the observation drew a sharp glance. “Or the threat of a war on such a scale. Lilat said the toalisch often fight raiders on the southern coast, but never have the Caerith faced an invasion.”