The Devoured Earth

by Sean Williams

  Yes. That, he knew with certainty. It had to be. The world was beginning again, and so might he too. Time to stop merely living and find himself a life. He had only himself to answer to—himself, in all possible worlds—if he failed to do that.

  Hadrian leaned in close and whispered to his brother, ‘I bet you like the idea of being a legend one day.’

  ‘I hadn't even thought of it that way. But, hey, that's a good point. When they write the next edition of The Book of Towers, we'd get a starring role for certain.’

  ‘Who'd be mad enough to take on that job?’

  ‘Someone madder than Ron Synett?’

  ‘As if.’

  ‘Well, boys?’ asked Ellis. ‘Stop whispering and make a decision.’

  ‘I think it's worth a try,’ said Hadrian.

  Seth nodded. ‘Me too.’

  She didn't hide her relief. ‘Good. I'm more glad than I can properly convey.’

  ‘When do we start?’

  ‘Not immediately. There's a fairly complex procedure we'll have to undergo to introduce you properly to the Flame. Not just anyone can do this job, you know. And then there's Shilly's charm. That'll have to be properly in place before you go anywhere.’

  Seth reined in a slight disappointment. He was keen to get moving. But he recognised that feeling as a desire to run away from his problems rather than to a solution.

  ‘Shall we go back to the others, then?’ he asked. ‘Maybe Shilly's already starting. We wouldn't know down here.’

  ‘I'd know,’ Ellis said. But she nodded. ‘All right. It's done.’

  She indicated the body, which had already lost all sense of connection to Hadrian, symbolic or otherwise. It was just another corpse, lifeless and empty. Like St Elmo's Fire, a faint blue glow rose up around them. Then the stone walls began to buckle and crack under the weight of the water above. Cold rushed through them. The body vanished under a tide of bubbling darkness and disappeared forever.

  ‘Who survives and who dies is determined

  as much by chance as by will,

  on the battlefield and off.’

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 4:15

  After hours of waiting, everything seemed to happen at once. First the Goddess and the twins returned, blurring into view at the base of the scar in the crater wall where they could best observe the clean-up operation. Skender noted their reappearance from his own vantage point not far away, under a makeshift shelter in which the injured were being cared for. The interior of the shelter was warm thanks to the efforts of Kelloman and the other mages, and wardens had set up an extensive system of mirrorlights by which the former battlefield was easily visible. As he sat with Chu's head in his lap, stroking her hair with one hand and the bilby with the other, he had plenty of time to observe what was going on. Despite his injured arm, black eye and strange sunburn, he didn't regard himself as one of those needing care.

  The Goddess made no move to intervene in the clean-up and no one went to her for advice or to ask where she'd been. A line had been drawn, it seemed, without anyone speaking of it. The Goddess had her business to attend to; everyone else had theirs. For a while their aims had been identical, but now the crisis was over all allegiances were negotiable.

  Then the Way opened from Fundelry, and Sal and Shilly emerged from it looking weary but resolved. Their voices didn't carry to where Skender sat, and he made no move to get closer. He knew he should care more about what would happen next, but he was tired of world-shattering decisions, and he suspected both Sal and Shilly felt the same. As people gathered around them, he could see the stiffness in Sal's posture and the way Shilly clutched the top of her walking stick. Their work was probably just beginning, Skender thought. He wished them luck with it.

  Whatever they had decided, a whole new flurry of activity sprang up around them. Orders radiated throughout the camp. Dozens of people stirred into motion, dropping their former duties and setting off on new ones. Skender was reminded of ant nests in the greater deserts, roused by a single dropped pebble. The Magister of Laure moved among the others like a praying mantis, stooped and predatory. He looked away.

  Griel had taken a devel spike through his arm and been sent to the healing tent. His dark eyes moved back and forth, taking everything in. Skender could practically hear the turning of the wheels of his mind.

  ‘Oriel's taken a lot of credit for turning up at the last minute, don't you think?’ Skender said as Oriel consulted with the Alcaide over the repairs to one of the larger blimps. Now that compasses were working again, the Panic didn't plan to stick around long. ‘That'd bother me, if I were you.’

  Griel's attentive eyes flicked to him, then back to the scene before them. ‘No. This is war. You need people like him.’

  ‘But the war is over now, and you'll be stuck with him.’

  ‘For a while, yes. Not forever.’ Griel emitted a whuffing noise that might have been a laugh. ‘My guess is he already had the flotilla on its way when Kelloman tracked him down, probably following us to make sure we didn't get up to no good. Covering his bets. How else could he have got here so quickly?’

  Skender hadn't thought of that. It had taken Marmion's expedition days to make the difficult ascent to the top of the mountains. Oriel had appeared within an hour or two of Sal and Shilly calling for help. He could never have assembled such an armada in time had it not already been on the way.

  ‘He's lucky,’ Skender said. ‘Does that make for a good leader?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Griel's eyebrows went up as though Skender had said something amusing. ‘That's the best trait a wartime leader can have.’

  Skender felt himself flush. ‘I think I'll go for a walk,’ he said. ‘My leg's going numb. Will you call me—?’

  ‘I'd call you if you're on the other side of the world,’ Griel promised with no trace of irony. ‘Go. You deserve a break.’

  Skender eased Chu to one side and stood on wobbly knees. The bilby chattered at him through the bars of its makeshift cage, and he sympathised.

  ‘Okay,’ he told it, opening the stays. ‘You can come too. But no running off this time, all right?’

  It crawled onto his shoulder and bit his earlobe as though daring him to change his mind. He had no intention of changing his mind, unless Upuaut in the body of Kelloman's former host put in an appearance. The golem had been missing since nightfall, as had Pukje and the glast. The absences were probably nothing to worry about, he told himself, but he knew he wasn't the only one concerned.

  He walked downslope past a smoky bonfire, not heading for Sal and Shilly and the others, just moving his legs. Piles of devel flesh crackled and popped in the intense flames. The stench was unbearable. He did his best to stay upwind. Idly, he looked for his parents, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  Further down, where the land began to level out, lay the dead in two rows. Skender walked along the aisle between them, feeling terribly sober. Wardens and mages rested together with wounds gaping or no visible wounds at all. Even in its final extremities, Yod had been able to extract the will from its victims with a single touch. Many had died that way, alongside those who had been stabbed or crushed or dropped from a falling blimp. Skender saw Orma and another Ice Eater, then a third, and he realised with a sinking feeling that the entire community which had lived on the shore of the lake at the top of the world was gone. Not one had survived to rebuild and repopulate their homes. That saddened him and made him feel guilty—he had, after all, convinced Orma to return to the secret cavern with him instead of running away—even as he wondered what sort of life they would have had, now that most of them were receding into the past as the Holy Immortals and the mission given to them by the Goddess was null and void. There was no reason to stay behind, except out of sentimentality.

  Kail and Marmion were at the very end of the upper row. Marmion's half-lidded eyes gleamed in the mirrorlight, as though he might open them at any moment and sit up to bark an order at someone. Skender realised that, against all the
odds, he would miss the bald warden. He had been a unifying force at the end, knowing when to stay quiet and when to speak up—unlike the Alcaide, who seemed to revel in getting, and keeping, people offside. Kail was someone Skender had barely known but he had liked him well enough. The double loss had left the Sky Warden survivors—Banner and Rosevear, the only two out of those who had set off in pursuit of Highson Sparre weeks ago—in a sombre mood. Banner in particular found consolation hard to come by.

  ‘It's a black day,’ said an unfamiliar voice with very familiar tones. ‘I daresay no one feels terribly much like celebrating.’

  Skender looked up and saw Mage Kelloman standing not far away, looking exactly as Skender had imagined but still jarringly unfamiliar in his own body. Despite two years of inactivity, it retained its bulk and ruddy cheeks. Whoever Kelloman had paid to look after it had done a good job.

  ‘I daresay not,’ Skender said with a sigh. The bilby twitched in his arms. ‘What's the matter?’ he asked it. ‘Are you hungry?’

  The twitch became a squirm as Kelloman came closer. The mage looked down at it with an expression Skender didn't immediately recognise, then reached out with one meaty hand. Skender let go of the animal and watched in amazement as it jumped the short gap across to Kelloman and burrowed into his robe.

  ‘It recognises you,’ he said in open surprise.

  Kelloman didn't respond immediately. Only then did Skender realise that the mage was moved by the bilby's acceptance of him. His expression was one of fondness.

  ‘It appears I made one friend while I was in the forest,’ he said.

  Skender took the large man's upper right arm in one hand. ‘You earned more than that tonight.’

  ‘You're too kind, boy.’ The mage blinked and looked around, at the bodies and the bonfires, and the work continuing elsewhere. ‘Your parents probably wouldn't like you wandering around like this.’

  Skender almost laughed. ‘It's a little too late for that.’

  ‘I mean—’

  ‘I take your meaning, Mage Kelloman. It's okay. I'll find them and put that worry from their mind.’ He caught sight of his father's high forehead moving through a throng of Sky Wardens, but his mother was still absent. ‘What about you? Do you think your exile will be over now?’

  ‘Goddess, I hope so.’ The mage managed a brave face. ‘I may be no beauty, but it's nice to be back in my flesh again.’ He patted his belly. ‘I've missed the taste of real food.’

  ‘Come to the Keep,’ Skender said. ‘We set a pretty good table, for a school.’

  ‘That's your destination?’

  ‘For a time. I think that's wise, at least until I graduate.’ He wasn't thinking about the long-term at all. ‘You could come for that, at least.’

  The grimace softened. ‘Thank you,’ the mage said again. ‘I'll bring this little fellow along too, if it doesn't get tired of me.’

  Skender held out his hand, and they shook. ‘Got a name for it?’ he asked as he headed off.

  ‘A name?’ Kelloman held up the bilby and looked it in the face. ‘Well, her name was Leanda. Perhaps that would be suitable.’

  ‘Whose…? Oh, I get it. Do you think she'd like her pet being named after her?’

  Kelloman looked impatient and annoyed at himself. ‘Emu's armpits, I hadn't considered that. I'll give it some more thought.’

  Skender stuck his hands deep into his robes and walked down to stare into the restless, cold water.

  A Panic scout had been sent an hour earlier to investigate the remains of the three towers. She reported that the top of only one had survived Yod's fall from the sky; it protruded like a broken fingernail from the dark lake, barely visible from the shore. Nothing stirred on the shattered walls or in its hollow core, but the ruin would be treated with extreme caution for a while yet. No one knew how many devels had flocked in support of Yod's big push, or where they might be hiding now.

  Waves licked at the shore with a syncopated, uneasy rhythm, as though the lake was still perturbed by the creature that had briefly inhabited it. Skender soon tired of the view and retreated to higher ground. He wasn't ready to return to the tent where Chu lay unconscious. Being away from her accentuated how dead inside he felt from passively sitting and waiting. She had given no sign that she would ever awake; he had nothing, yet everything, to hope for. The situation was wearing him down.

  Instead he found a vantage point well away from the main action and sat there, holding himself to keep his body heat in and tugging his beanie down over his ears. He felt as though he was waiting for something, but he wasn't sure what it might be, or if he would even know it when it came.

  ‘Why am I here?’ asked a voice out of the darkness behind him.

  He turned so fast he almost slipped and fell down the slope. Ever since the golem had threatened him in the forest, he had been wary of unexpected voices in the night.

  It was only Highson Sparre. Skender had mistaken him for a rock.

  ‘Scaring the crap out of me wasn't your intention, then?’

  ‘No. I'm sorry.’ Highson unfurled his arms from the blanket he held around himself and scuttled closer without standing up. ‘I meant: why am I still alive? Why aren't I one of the ones down there?’ He pointed at the lines of bodies. ‘Like Kail, or Marmion, or—’

  ‘Stop it. Are you saying you deserve to die?’

  ‘No. I'm just not sure I deserve to live.’

  ‘Since when has being alive depended on that?’

  They sat in silence for a long while, Skender thinking about the possibility of Chu never coming back—but definitely deserving to, in his opinion—and Highson maybe thinking about the wife he had forgotten. Skender wondered how he would feel if Chu died and the Old Ones took his memory of her away. How could he grieve for someone he had no memory of knowing? How would he know if he felt better for not knowing?

  Either way, he decided, there would be a gap in his life that would be difficult to fill. Or heal.

  ‘I just don't know what I'm going to do now,’ Sal's father said. ‘My whole life feels up in the air. I have no purpose, no plan. I must've had one at some point, since I worked so hard to make the Homunculus and everything, but what it was I can't remember. Or did I never think about what came after Seirian was free? Did I never really expect to succeed?’

  Skender shrugged. ‘I don't know, Highson. You must have plenty of options, though.’

  ‘I can't see any.’

  ‘Well, you have skills few others have. You haven't forgotten them, have you? Master Warden Atilde might let you teach.’

  ‘Only if the Alcaide approves.’ Highson looked gloomy at that prospect.

  ‘Or you could become a golem hunter. I remember looking at the Roslin Codex once, back at the Keep. You've got all the right skills to do what he did. And there's at least one rogue golem on the loose now.’

  ‘Upuaut?’ Highson's aspect became more thoughtful at that suggestion. ‘That's true. But golems are notoriously hard to track. Without some sort of connection or clue…’

  His voice trailed off. Skender watched him, wondering what ideas were turning through the mind of the man who had, ultimately, made it possible for Yod to die. Without the Homunculus at hand, the world would have been battling an untouchable ghost.

  A shiver of shame went through him. Skender remembered all too well his willingness to give up everything in order to serve Yod, in any capacity—even as a food source. It had been a close call for him and everyone touched by that terrible, alien charisma. For the first time he had understood why beings of power such as Gabra'il and Upuaut could be drawn in, even though the only possible reward in the end would surely be death. He almost felt sorry for them.

  Then he thought of Chu's bruised face and neck, and all thought of pity evaporated.

  ‘Come on.’ Highson stood without warning and reached down for Skender's arm. ‘You've given me an idea.’

  Skender let himself be hauled to his feet and dragged uphill. He knew better t
han to protest. Highson's jaw was set in a way that reminded him distinctly of Sal. Nothing would deflect either of them when they settled on a particular course of action. All Skender could do was go along for the ride.

  When they came to the healing tent, Highson pulled back the heavy fabric and ducked his head to enter. Skender followed, blinking at the impact of warm air and intimate human smells. Rosevear looked up and nodded in welcome. The healer was weary. There was even more dried blood on the front of his robe than there had been earlier in the evening.

  ‘Where's Chu?’ asked Highson.

  Both Rosevear and Skender pointed at the same time, indicating the stretcher in the corner where the unconscious flyer lay. Skender's heart lurched at the sight of her sallow skin and her sunken eyes. Her condition had not changed in the slightest.

  ‘Can you help her?’ he asked Highson as the warden crouched beside her and took one of her hands in his.

  ‘If we're lucky, I can help both of us. Come here.’ He waved Skender over. ‘Upuaut is very old and cunning, even for a golem. It has tricks we can't imagine. But because Chu wasn't a Change-worker, taking her over must have been very difficult. I don't believe Upuaut could have achieved it while she was conscious, not without killing her, and she's patently not dead. Her personality is too strong. It must've waited until something knocked her out before moving in, then stopped her from regaining control once it had its way. She was under its thrall for several hours, in which time her mind, denied its proper seat, could have gone anywhere.

  ‘Our job,’ Highson concluded, ‘is to find her and bring her back.’

  Skender nodded. So far Highson hadn't told him anything he hadn't already guessed. ‘And how does that help you?’

  ‘She of all of us is closest to the golem. It's touched her in a way we will never know. I won't pretend that living with that scar will be easy; no one emerges unscathed from such an experience. But it gives her an edge, too. She knows Upuaut, now. She'll recognise it, no matter what form it takes. She might even be able to track it.’