The Light of Life

by Edward W. Robertson

  Blays rubbed his eye. "Interesting question. Let me offer a counter-proposal: who gives a shit?"

  "The question has deep implications. If the supply of light and shadow is finite, then as more and more people are born, then more and more ether and nether will be drawn up as their remnants and traces, and hidden away from conventional sorcery when these people die. There would reach a point, then, when it has all been converted, and lost in the shadow world, with none remaining in the physical realm. Thus sorcery would pass from the world.

  "Whereas if more light and shadow is added to the earth, there will reach a point when everything is utterly saturated by it. Once it is in every particle of our surroundings and ourselves, I think it possible that we may all be born to the talent of magic."

  Blays eyed him. "That's what you're thinking about right now? Tomorrow, everything hangs in the balance, and your only concern is what the world's going to be like a million billion years from now?"

  "What else should occupy my mind at this time? Worry and regret?"

  "That'd be the human response, yeah."

  "Regret is the most useless of all human emotions. It does nothing but fester, and hence should be lanced like the boil on the soul that it is. I have made mistakes, but I do not regret them."

  "That's a fine way to pardon yourself for your crimes."

  Gladdic smiled, amused. "Perhaps it is. Even so, I will not use this time for regrets. I am old, Blays. Even if we survive the morrow, I only have so many years left to me. Before long, I will die. In the Pastlands, I won't think to ask such questions as whether people like me will eventually become extinct, or if we will become the norm. In the Mists, I'll no longer care about these questions. And in the Worldsea, I will have no need to ask them."

  The old man gazed into the night, a thick darkness punctuated by tree-blocked starlight and the fireflies blinking over the water. "The only time to find my answers is now, in this body, on this earth. So that is what I will do."

  "Sounds great," Blays said. "While you're answering the mysteries of life, I'm going to sleep my ass off."

  He wriggled his blanket into comfortable lumps beneath him. Gladdic didn't lie down for another twenty minutes, yet somehow, the old man fell asleep before Blays did, making the occasional faint whinnying noise, as if he were dreaming of being chased by ghosts, or of meeting his gods and being judged by them.

  Blays rolled back and forth, seeking the posture that would allow him to be unconscious for a few nice hours. When he couldn't take it anymore, he got up, slinging one of his sword belts over his shoulder, and walked to the edge of the island. He crouched down, resting his forearms across his knees. The moon was almost full and it glinted on the water in the small patches where it was able to leak through the trees. On most occasions, the swamp felt like a trial to be endured, and occasionally a nightmare to be terrified of. But on that night, it finally felt peaceful.

  The day to come felt like a dream he hadn't yet lived. What would he do if they failed? Would he really return to fighting the White Lich? At that point, what would it matter? What if he just went back to Narashtovik?

  It would be easy enough. It was early summer and the sailing would be good; he could ask Naran for a trip back on the Sword of the South, or make his way to Cavana and book passage from there. A few weeks on the warm seas with a jug of grog didn't sound so bad. He'd make port in Narashtovik and take a stroll over to the Citadel and he didn't think he would even tell them what had happened in the south—not right away, anyway—but he would go straight to Minn, and her jaw would drop and she'd wave her hand in front of her mouth like she did when she was shocked in a good way, a little double-tap as if she was afraid something was going to fall out of it.

  And then they'd ride away. Not to Pocket Cove, but to somewhere similarly remote. Gallador Rift, maybe, although that was too central. Somewhere in the foothills of the Woduns, then. A lake within a forest. Together, they'd build a cabin and work the land. A nice little farm. After a year or two, when they were all settled in and didn't have to work quite as hard, they'd start to have children.

  Two girls and two boys, he thought. Might take some doing to convince Minn, since at that point, the outside world would likely be coming to an end. But there was always the chance that it would be stopped somewhere, or stall out and take dozens or even hundreds of years for the Blighted to scour every nook and cranny of the land.

  And even if the world was all crashing down around them, why not live out the rest of their time together as beautifully as they could?

  The more he thought about it, the more he could see it. The trout feeding on the surface of the lake. The screens or filters they'd have to build into the chimney to break up the smoke to stop it from being seen. They'd have to do funny things with the crops, too. Maybe they'd plant their seeds at random in the rich, cool earth beneath the trees, walking the thin line between tending them enough to produce decent yields, but not making the crops so orderly that they could be seen from a miles-distant ridge.

  Minn was plenty smart, though. They could make it work. It wouldn't all be work, either. The family could explore together. Stuff a bunch of acorns into a padded cloth and sew it up into a ball and kick it around. Swim across the lake and then sleep in the summer sun. Sing songs to each other, and tell stories in front of the hearth as the snow fell outside and venison stew bubbled on top of the stove. Teach the kids to farm and fish and hunt like his own dad never had.

  Blays knew he was indulging himself—that this could never happen, that the White Lich would destroy them much sooner than this, and that Minn would never betray her vows to Pocket Cove by abandoning it—but he let himself fall deeper, allowing himself this one minute to exist in peace.

  His oldest son would be named Cal and he'd have blond hair like his father but the serious mind of his mother. Once the boy had a few years behind him and could handle one without hurting himself, Blays would shape a short bow for him and show him to use it, sending him out alone that summer to hunt for small game. Once the boy got good at this, he'd start to pester Blays about when he could go with his father on the deer hunts, and Blays would always tell him the same two things: When you're a little older. When you're a little stronger.

  It was the second winter since Cal had started his training. The day before had been their first good storm, leaving four inches of snow that would show every track. Blays got up before dawn to stir up the embers in the stove, then went to Cal's bed and shook him awake.

  "Get your bow."

  Cal's face, initially a portrait of grumpiness, now shined so brightly Blays was half afraid it'd wake up the others. The boy hurriedly dressed himself in his coats and fur-lined trousers and his boots. They braced one end of their bows between their feet, bending and stringing the weapons, then went outside.

  The cold was like a slap to the face. The clouds had gone away, if only for a little while, and the stars twinkled madly, gazing at their own reflection in the lake. The air smelled like wood smoke and snow. Blue shadows painted everything and with the starlight on the snow even the darkness seemed bright, as though they'd stepped out the cabin door and into the netherworld.

  "It's cold," Cal whispered.

  "That's just the frost demons taking shelter in a warm open mouth." Blays reached down and wrapped the boy's scarf firmly about his mouth and chin so he could barely talk. "Much better."

  Blays had his bow with him, along with a sword, but he intended to use neither. He led them over the trail they'd worn through the woods to the east, boots squeaking in the powder. Snow clung heavily to the needles of the pines. Blays kept an eye out for deer, but if he saw any yet, he'd pretend to ignore them. The boy needed to be out of sight of the house, aware of the full vastness of nature and their vulnerability within it.

  They topped the eastern ridge and dropped down into the valley below. Two miles from the cabin, Blays grabbed Cal by the shoulder and hunkered down. The boy crouched beside him. Blays pointed through t
he trees. Two hundred yards away, a deer—either a doe or a young buck—walked slowly through the pines.

  Keeping low, Blays circled downwind, Cal sticking to his back like a limpet. The snow muffled their steps. Blays stopped a hundred feet away, which was as close as he dared to creep up on it, but still too far away to make for a good shot, especially with Cal's lighter draw.

  But that night, they had luck on their side. The deer, a buck with two points on one side and a spike on the other, wandered straight toward them for ten yards, then started to veer toward their right. Blays nudged Cal and gave him a nod.

  The boy gave him a look of half-panic. Blays stomped down a smile. "If you think I'll be mad if you miss, imagine how angry I'll be if you don't take a shot."

  Cal's eyes darted to the side in thought—he thought too much, definitely his mother's son. At last, he lifted his bow and sighted down the shaft of the arrow. His breath streamed away from his mouth. He loosed his arrow.

  It struck the deer with a thud. The animal jerked forward, legs striking at the ground as if it thought the earth had bitten it. Blays hopped to his feet, drawing back his arrow, but the buck went down, sliding in the snow.

  He turned to Cal to give him a good word, but the boy's face was so rapt Blays' throat closed. He set his hand on the boy's shoulder.

  The vision blurred. Blays tumbled forward, no longer in control of his own mind. The woods and the snow and the night disappeared, replaced by swamp and mangroves and daylight. Two women paddled a canoe through the water, their bodies pale-skinned and long-limbed. Blays could tell at once that they were soldiers. Not from the strength of their shoulders and arms, which was common among Tanarian canoers, but from the dignity of their bearing.

  The shape of their noses and angle of their jaws marked them as sisters. Everything else about them marked them as Tanarians, but their clothes were simple hides, and their hair had been worked into basic braids and drawn behind their heads, a fashion Blays hadn't seen in any Tanarian village or city. Everything about them looked to be from an earlier time.

  He was in the middle of a Glimpse. The realization was so startling Blays was afraid it'd boot him out of itself, like when you became aware you were dreaming, yet the vision moved on without a hiccup. The two women paddled forward, joking and laughing with each other, keeping a casual eye on the trees and the water.

  They spoke and traveled like they were out on a hunt, and they were armed enough for one too, but they made no stops to check for tracks or spoor, and they weren't watching their surroundings with the special attentiveness you'd typically show if you were searching for game.

  Before Blays could make sense of that, the Glimpse skipped forward. The sunlight was getting stretched out and the two women were no longer joking or speaking, just paddling steadily, their faces composed in a martial mask. They made for a large island. The woman in the rear set down her paddle and picked up her spear. As the canoe skimmed into the reeds, the first women took up her weapons, too. She jumped clear as the boat smacked to a stop in the mud. Her sister leaped out beside her.

  Ducking low, they advanced through the high grass. Once they'd gained some ground, they ducked behind a tree, switched to their bows, and surveyed the way forward. After a moment, the first woman—who had done most of the joking earlier, and who appeared to be the older of the two, though they were both young—pointed ahead through a lane of trees. The younger woman leaned forward, then nodded.

  They crept forward with the stealth of wild cats, entering a shallow ravine. The floor was littered with bones. The two women glanced down at them, jaws hardening. Blays had seen more than enough bones to recognize them as human, but they were much smaller than most of the ones he'd encountered.

  The air stank of death. At the end of the ravine, a shelf of rock sheltered a cave of unknown depth. The two sisters spread a few paces apart and advanced on the hole.

  They were still thirty feet away when long dark legs unfolded from the cave and grabbed tight to the rock, dragging a nightmarish head and torso behind them. The thing that emerged looked partly human, but its rear legs were spiderish while its front limbs were more supple, practically octopoidal. Its eyes were much too large and its lips were permanently pulled back from its teeth, which looked more like sharp ridges of rock than anything human.

  The two women loosed their arrows. With frightening speed, the creature launched itself to the left, the arrows cracking against the rock. The monster jumped from the wall and skittered toward them, scattering bones with its pointed feet. Both woman got off another shot, one arrow passing wide while the other struck the creature in the chest. This didn't seem to hurt it too much, but it paused the thing for just long enough for the soldiers to throw aside their bows and ready their spears.

  The creature lashed out at them, its arms snapping forward like tentacles, tipped by curved claws. A diagonal line of blood popped across the older woman's stomach. She ignored it, jabbing at the monster's middle. The enemy yanked itself back and the younger woman circled to its right, harrying it with her spear.

  The thing moved with supernatural quickness, its claws snapping at them like whips, but the sister soldiers fought like they shared the same mind, one swinging back from an attack while the other pressed in from the flank. The reach of their spears saved them from anything worse than a few shallow cuts. Methodically, they inflicted one stab after another. Nothing mortal, but the creature was bleeding yellow fluid everywhere. It was only a matter of time before they wore it down.

  It seemed to realize this, too. It backed toward the crevice it had emerged from. The younger woman lunged forward, looking to impale it. A bone turned under her front foot. Her ankle went out from beneath her, spilling her to the rocky ground.

  The beast slung itself forward. Claws tore into the woman's body. A blade-like foot pierced through her chest. The older of the two screamed and charged. The thing tried to back up, but its limbs were embedded and entangled in its victim. It stumbled to the ground, belly exposed.

  The soldier stabbed it, then again. It curled on itself, arms flailing. She didn't stop stabbing until it wasn't moving except for the blood oozing from its wounds.

  She used the butt of her spear to push the carcass out of range, then kneeled next to her sister. The younger woman was blinking rapidly. Hands clutched to the stab wound to her chest. Blays knew at a glance she wouldn't leave the island.

  The older woman tried to pick her up, but she'd been cut up herself and her legs didn't have the oomph. She ran her hand down her face. "Stay here. I'll find something to drag you back with."

  "Don't go!" The younger woman grabbed at her sister's ankle. "Don't leave me here with it!"

  The action seemed to suck the last strength from her. She fell back, breathing shallowly and quickly.

  A ripple of despair passed over the older woman's face. "I'll stay."

  The younger soldier died before her sister would have made it to the canoe. The older soldier sat with her head rested on her knees for a while, then stood and went back to the canoe, returning with a flap of canvas. She put the body of the younger woman on the canvas and dragged her back to the boat, lifting her inside. When this was done, she went back to the ravine, used a bone knife to cut off the creature's head, and brought this to the canoe as well.

  The Glimpse leaped forward to the woman returning to her village and showing them the severed head of the child-eating beast. Her people cheered. Until she showed them the body of her sister.

  Things skipped ahead again to a feast spread across the village dock. The soldier ate a little but mostly drank. One person after another came to talk to and thank her. She began the night stone-faced, but ended it able to laugh, if only a little.

  The feast ended. The vision hopped from one moment of time to the next. The woman out on patrol by herself in her canoe, trailing her fingers in the water and yanking them out just as the ziki oko started to arrive. Turning down requests to eat with others at the group table an
d eventually taking all of her meals alone in her own house. Lying in bed with her back to the door as someone knocked on the other side.

  Another feast arrived; somehow, Blays knew it had been one year since the woman had returned to the village with the head of the child-eater. This time, she ate and drank and laughed with the others. One by one, they staggered off to their homes or fell asleep next to each other on the docks.

  When she was at last alone, the woman went back to her home. She picked up her spear and her bow and a bag. She placed these in her canoe, climbed in, and shoved off. She paddled into the darkness.

  The Glimpse receded, blackening around the edges. Blays strained to hold onto it, but it was gone before he saw what had come of the woman.

  He thought he knew, though. He thought that she'd never come back.

  He was alone on the banks of the island. The air shimmered like curtains in a gust of wind. A few last specks of stream hung in the air in front of him. He reached for them with his hand. They faded before he could touch them, yet he knew with uncanny clarity how they'd delivered him the Glimpse. If all nether and ether were connected like Ara claimed, then even when a person died, echoes of them persisted, because the bits of light and shadow they'd carried with them were still out there, mixed in with everything else.

  You'd never know it, though, because reassembling those scattered fragments from across the world would be impossible. So those echoes and memories were lost forever—except for those who had the Odo Sein, and could tap into everything at once. Do that, and you got a Glimpse. He didn't know why you were shown a particular Glimpse, or the full implications of this knowledge—could you search for specific people? If all nether was connected, did that mean it was possible to stand in Narashtovik and manipulate the shadows in Bressel?—yet he felt awed, as if he'd been granted a holy revelation.

  Worn out at last, he made his way back to their camp. Bek snored on. Gladdic's eyes seemed to gleam as if they were open, but when Blays looked again, they were shut tight.