They meant to stay but a single night in Dreamholding and depart the next day. But one night turned into a week, which turned into four more. A moon had waved and waned, and still they had not left.

  There were many reasons for lingering. At first, they had made a promise to help with the repairs to the town. Telos felt in part responsible for what had happened. Had Danyil and Beltanus been alive, they would have said to blame the Daimons, of course, and that as true. But Telos had chosen Dreamholding under Ylia’s advisement, and so they had brought the enemy to the gates.

  They had no money whatsoever, so they made themselves useful. Jubal and Telos spent many days carrying timber—which was being freighted to the town via Engine—and hauling it into place. Ylia had some experience in construction, having made many alterations to her inn, and so she helped with putting things together. Even Urgal helped, mainly by playing with the children, who were desperate to stroke his turquoise fur and impressive mane. The cat begrudgingly allowed them to do this for many hours each day, before finally shooing them away with a hiss.

  Xheng, understandably, was less involved in the repairs. His arm clearly pained him greatly, although he never said a word. He and Qala had many whispered conversations. Telos began to suspect they had some kind of plan, and his suspicions were confirmed one night as they sat around eating a bowl of soup—which seemed the only food available, the grainhouses and much of the farmland having been trampled in the attack.

  “I am going to leave,” Xheng said.

  They all looked at each other in surprise—all save Qala.

  “You are free to go,” Telos said. “Always have been. But can I ask why?”

  Xheng smirked. Something of his old self was in that derisive smile.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he pointed to his missing arm, elegantly concealed by the cape he wore until one looked more closely. “I am not going to be much use to you in Memory.”

  “That’s not true—” Ylia began, but Xheng held up his good hand, and she fell silent.

  “It is true. Some things just have to be accepted. But all is not doom and gloom. I am going to embark on a new errand.”

  They waited, and Xheng cleared his throat.

  “I am going to sail from here, up and down the coastline. There is a ship, the White Snake, manned by Qi’shathians. Qala has secured me passage aboard. If I cannot use my sword, I can still use my tongue. I shall spread the word of the heiress, and what she means to do.”

  Telos nodded. He should have seen this coming. Xheng was never here for the Fate of the world. Could anyone really say they were? Human minds always had to localise, had to find some sensible talisman to grip on to, lest they go mad trying to grasp the larger picture. He was here for the Fate of Qi’shath. He could not stop the Daimons, but he could still put Qala Jin on the throne.

  “I understand,” Telos said.

  “You do not,” Xheng said, smiling sadly. “Because you do not love Yarruk.”

  “I do. In my own way. But not as much as you love Qi’shath.”

  Xheng nodded, accepting the compliment.

  “We must not forget that when the Daimons are banished, the problems of the world will not go away,” Qala said. “And while you are fighting that war, a noble and selfless war, but a war nonetheless, others will be fighting for less noble causes, and making advancements.”

  Telos reached out and clasped Xheng’s good hand. The sailor’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “God with the gods, Xheng. And may the winds ever be in your favour.”

  Xheng smiled.

  “And to you as well. For the Fate of us all, I hope you succeed. Come visit me, when it is done. We shall drink grog together in some dismal tavern.”

  “More dismal than this one?” Telos said, eyeing their surroundings. The crumbling House, The Hopeful Venture, was anything but its namesake.

  All laughed at that. At last, Xheng sobered.

  “I set out tomorrow.” He frowned. “And you should too.”

  “We have done enough,” Jubal rumbled. “We cannot let guilt stop us anymore.”

  Heaviness hung on them at his words. There was a double meaning. Guilt that the town had been destroyed, but guilt also that they had failed to meet Beltanus. Though none had spoken it openly or clearly, each knew that was what was really keeping them at bay. The god had died here. How could they move on from that? Should they move on? What hope was there, now that Beltanus had fallen?

  There is still a chance. There is always a chance, Telos thought. Is that not why he made me?

  The burden felt doubly heavy, knowing now the secret Danyil had imparted: that he bore within him the life-essence of Beltanus’s lover. He owed it to the god to live, to fulfill his duty, because of that. But what could they do without his guidance? Scouring Memory was a rather more daunting feat without the sky-ship.

  Over the last few weeks, that question had been a constant in Telos’s mind. What happened to Beltanus’s ship? If the god had landed to fight the Dragon Warrior—some form of Daimon, possibly—then where was the ship now? He had set out from Dreamholding many times, with Jubal in tow, searching for the ship. But even with god-sight and the skills of a former hunter, they had been unable to locate it. Telos suspected the ship had some kind of automatic function whereby if the pilot was killed, it removed itself from Erethian soil. This would explain why no mortal had ever got their hands on one without the gods’ permission. But the mechanics of this were mind-boggling to him.

  Another question had been bothering him. As they contemplated their trip across the Winedark Sea to Memory, and time slipped further and further away from them, the question loomed larger.

  What had Danyil tried to tell him about The Nergal?

  There had been a second secret, one Danyil hadn’t had the time to impart. What could it be? Was it a warning? If so, why didn’t he speak of it before? Perhaps so as to not overwhelm you, Telos thought. You have learned more in the last three moons of life than in the years that preceded them.

  Ylia broke him from his reverie.

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  “Qala, are you coming with us?”

  The princess nodded.

  “You will need my skills, I think. And I feel that this is my Path. But it is not Xheng’s, not anymore.”

  “I’m glad you’re with us,” Telos said, smiling.

  Qala smiled in return.

  “It will be pointless to rule Qi’shath if there is no Qi’shath left to rule.”

  ***

  Dawn broke, casting golden light over what little remained of the wharves of Dreamholding. It was not a large town, more a stopping off point, haunted by that hunger for ardent glory that creates so many ghosts. Many explorers had set sail from Dreamholding, but precious few had returned. Ylia’s father was one of the lucky ones, although given what had happened to him subsequently, perhaps luck was not the right word.

  A single jetty remained, and a ship waited. It was a medium-sized vessel, designed to be crewed by perhaps fifty sailors, and predominantly for the transport of foodstuffs up and down the Aurelian coast. The crew were a mixture of Aurelians, Qi’shathians, and Yarulians. The Captain, a portly man with a black beard and the tattoo of a white serpent running from his hand all the way up to the shoulder, stood on the prow, scanning the conditions, listening to the wind. Xheng would fit right in.

  Xheng looked like a prince as he walked up the gangplank on deck. His cape fluttered in the wind. His face was resolute. It clearly caused him great pain to part from Qala, but he would do his duty. And he was right, after all: Memory was no place for a one-armed man.

  The Qi’shathain stood proudly on the ship’s stern, chest puffed out. Telos realised then just how sorry he would be to see him go. For all their mock rivalry, Xheng was a level head in difficult situations. He’d saved Telos’s life. Telos owed him that drink in a dingy tavern.

  Telos smiled sadly, raising his palm forward in goodbye.

  “Farewell! And may the Sea Winds bless you, Xheng!”

  Xheng grinned in return. As if in answer to Telos’s prayer, the winds gusted and whistled. Xheng’s cape stirred and for just a second Telos caught sight of something gleaming there. He frowned. Could it have been… He dismissed the thought as wild madness.

  But then two villagers came running up to the throng of teary-eyed well-wishers. They rudely pushed through the families of those who threw themselves to the mercy of the Winedark Sea, voyaging for months and sometimes even years before returning home. The messengers were white-faced with panic, gasping for breath.

  “Beltanus!” the first one cried. “Beltanus!”

  “The body… Someone…”

  “A crime!”

  “Hideous!”

  They were incoherent with fear and rage too. The families baulked, muttering dark oaths, outraged that the sad parting had been intruded upon. A bearded man stepped forward and tried to usher them away. But they would not be deterred. The first messenger pushed past the bearded man and staggered towards the wharf. He pointed at Xheng.

  “Beltanus’s hand!” he shrieked. “The hand of Creation!”

  Xheng’s smile widened still. Then, with the flourish of a trickster, he threw back his cape.

  Ylia gasped.

  Jubal gave a roar that seemed consternation and admiration both.

  A single tear streaked Qala’s cheek.

  There, gleaming, was the arm of black iron, now attached to Xheng’s shoulder. Slowly, like a flag rising over a bloody battlefield, he lifted a dark fist into the air, so that it rose gleaming in the morning light. Cries of shock and horror went up from the crowd. The tattooed Captain of the ship staggered in awe. Then he laughed, as though this were the greatest joke ever played.

  Telos could not suppress a cry of jubilation leaving his lips. To his mind, this was no desecration of a corpse, but the continuation of the god’s will. This was Fate, divine planning, a little break in the chain of darkness. Beltanus lived on, in his hand, and the wit and will of a brave man. What was taken away was given back. Telos finally felt like he understood a little bit of what Qala meant when she talked about balance.

  Telos knew not what magics Qala must have worked to unite Xheng’s flesh with the technological wonder, but it must have cost her dearly indeed. Perhaps, because she was better rested, it had not been such a strain. Still, when he looked at her now, he thought he saw new lines of age, more white in the hair.

  The ship was well on its way now, steering away from the coastline and towards deeper tides. But still Xheng held the iron fist aloft—a symbol of defiance, and hope, meant not just for Telos and his party, but for all. They might not understand it, yet. But they would, in time.

  “They will hunt him once they know of that arm’s provenance,” Jubal said.

  Qala nodded.

  “Yes. Like all gifts, it is also a curse. But I could not let him go, not without doing this last thing for him.”

  “It was a kingly gift, Qala,” Telos said.

  Qala laughed at that, which surprised Telos.

  “It was. But I am an Empress, and an Empress must have many kings and many queens in her service, those who can be trusted to rule states and cities with the utmost loyalty. With that arm, people will listen to him. They will believe in my story. They will believe…”

  “That the gods are on your side?” Telos teased.

  Qala smiled again.

  “Perhaps. The particulars of the truth need not be made known to all.”

  “You know, as much as I hate to say it, I think I finally understand something of The Warden, too.” Telos surprised himself with his own words. Ylia looked at him with outright alarm.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “I am not saying I agree with him. But a world without gods: it is a simpler world, is it not? I can see why someone would want to believe in that, even if I disagree.”

  Jubal snorted.

  “The man can hardly agree. He has gazed upon Nereth naked in the spring.”

  Telos laughed.

  “Yes. It was a rather rude religious awakening.”

  Ylia rolled her eyes.

  “It sounds so terrible.”

  Telos’s smiled was a pained one.

  “You know what? It actually was.”

  Silence fell upon them. The day was darkening as mist rolled in from the sea. Grey fog obscured the endless waves, and caused Xheng’s ship to vanish in opacity. The other families were beginning to head back to their homes, muttering about what had happened. The children asked a thousand and one questions, about the ship, the black hand, the runners and their panicked cries, and the parents answered cagily. A few clearly thought about approaching Telos and the others, knowing they were friends of Xheng, but then thought better of it when they saw the hammer of Beltanus resting on Jubal’s mighty shoulder. He had not parted with the weapon since raising it out the ground, and had become something of a local legend.

  The group stared out at the mist—an emblem of the thickening unknown into which they would soon step. Their own ship was scheduled to depart later that day. They could delay no longer. Not only because they were losing time, but because word of their presence had no doubt spread—they had hardly been inconspicuous—and the authorities would be here soon to see if the rumours of a theront and other ne'er-do-wells were true. They had one last chance to attempt to recover The Nergal, and indeed, they might already be too late, having languished in Dreamholding, weighed down by grief.

  “What comes next will be a hard trial,” Jubal said. “I was a hunter by trade. I know the ways of woods. But Memory… that is no forest. It is a labyrinth.”

  “Memory changed my father,” Ylia said. “But he came back. We can, too.”

  Telos reached out and took Ylia’s hand. She smiled at him.

  “I’ve said it before, but… I’m so grateful you’re all coming with me.”

  “To the end, Telos,” Jubal said. “To the very, very end.”