by Jen Williams
My dear friend Wydrin Threefellows, the Copper Cat of Crosshaven,
Let me say first of all that your mother sends her regards. She travels with us and seems to enjoy it. I think she enjoys looking out for us. She calls this being ‘our muscle’. We have visited many places and I have read many books. Ede is an extraordinary place. I am glad I am getting to see it, and not just destroy parts of it. Thank you.
I believe that we share a particular interest in certain sections of Ede’s history. In my readings, I have found some references that I believe you may find edifying. Go to the western region of Relios. There are ruins in the valley of Lankh that I think you should see. Perhaps, when we meet again, you will tell me of them, or we can visit them together.
Yours in sorrow and joy,
Ephemeral
Ephemeral and Terin hadn’t been the only ones to visit libraries. With hearts in their throats, Wydrin and Frith had searched through books and scrolls for scraps of information, clues to tell them whether their appearance in the past had changed anything. As far as they could tell, it hadn’t; Xinian and Selsye had still died stopping Joah, and he had still succumbed to the wiles of the demon Bezcavar. The time magic itself had faded when they left Euriale; Frith had been disappointed but also, Wydrin thought, slightly relieved.
‘We should have done more,’ said Wydrin. She turned the letter around in her fingers. ‘We should have killed the bastard then, before he did any real harm. Xinian and Selsye could have lived full lives together. It could have – more people would be alive today, if Joah had died before he met the demon.’
Frith looked over to her. It was a conversation they’d had many times since their return. ‘We couldn’t know what that might do,’ he said. ‘You know that, Wyd. Joah was responsible for much of the magic that trapped the gods inside the Citadel. If he wasn’t there to maintain it, it could have led to the gods escaping. We just don’t know.’ He sighed and looked down at his boots. ‘It would be like taking away the foundation stones of a tower, and hoping that it still stands true.’
Wydrin kicked at the dusty ground. ‘Yeah. I know. Every time you say it, I know it’s true. Time is a tapestry – remove one thread and it could all unravel. I still wish we had, though.’
Frith was standing before the wall now, and after a moment she joined him there. Carved into the pale yellow stone were the figures of two men standing together, and above them, two dragons, their tails intertwined. All around them, mountains loomed, and a sword lay underneath them all. A broadsword. Wydrin reached out and touched her fingers to the shape of one of the men, feeling the roughness of the stone there and the distance of a thousand years.
‘They did great things,’ she said with certainty. ‘There are stories of them. Ephemeral will find them all, eventually, I’ve no doubt.’ She reached into her pocket and drew out Sebastian’s badge of Isu and the small blue-glass globe Crowleo had made him. ‘He should have had these with him,’ she said. She bent down and placed them at the bottom of the wall. ‘But I don’t suppose he needs them any more.’
‘It feels strange,’ said Frith. ‘Knowing they are in the past, looking for their future.’ He smiled, and took her hand. ‘While we are in the future, looking at their past.’
‘Perhaps we all live in the past and the future, at the same time,’ said Wydrin. It was suddenly hard to see clearly, so she turned her watery smile on him. ‘I think we all do that, in a way.’
‘As ever, my love, I think you are right.’
They kissed in the ruins, the certainty of each other and the warmth of the sun filling their hearts, and then they turned and set out east, in search of the nearest decent tavern.
Acknowledgements
So I’ve come to the end of an epic journey I never expected to take. I can’t begin to tell you what it’s meant to me (I really don’t have room for another 200,000 words, after all) so instead I will attempt to thank the people who have taken the journey with me – without them, I would have been Legolas without his lembas bread.
Thank you to John Wordsworth, who started the Copper Cat books on their journey, and big love and gratitude to Claire Baldwin and Emily Griffin – editors who are not only brilliant, but a genuine pleasure to work with, bringing a sharp eye and boundless enthusiasm to everything. The design team at Headline have provided me with some of the best covers I’ve ever seen, so big thanks to them and Patrick Insole. Thank you also to Caitlin Raynor, on hand to herd me from one thing to another.
I remain forever indebted to my agent, the fantastic Juliet Mushens – not just the best agent in the ’verse, but also one of my very favourite people. For support, cheerleading and the occasional rowdy dinner, thanks must go Team Mushens at large, and particularly to: Den Patrick, who has ushered in another year of Super Relaxed Fantasy Club with me; the tremendous Andrew Reid, who reads the books first and writes pithy comments in the margins; Pete Newman for the cider and all the many emails; and Liz de Jager for being a firecracker and looking after us this last Christmas. Thanks also to Roy Butlin for beta reading duties and the ridiculous amounts of confidence in me, and of course to Adam Christopher, my longest serving writing buddy.
Since this is the final book in the trilogy, I will indulge myself and say a quiet thank you to Sir Terry Pratchett, who brought so much joy to my reading, and consequently, to my writing. We only met once (and you complimented me on my nail varnish) but I will miss you an awful lot.
This particular book is dedicated to my mum, who with infinite patience and only slight exasperation put up with me, the untidiest person in the universe, throughout the years where I was much more interested in books than going outside. Thanks, as ever, to Jenni, who played Zelda through the 90s with me. And as usual the biggest thanks must go to my partner Marty, the brightest part of every day.
Thanks lastly to all the readers who came this far with Wydrin, Frith and Sebastian. I’m sure the Black Feather Three are raising a toast to you all, in some tavern somewhere, sometime. Mine’s a mead, if you’re buying.
Ye gods and little fishes …
