‘I do, friend.’
‘To take what’s broken. To mend it.’
‘Yes,’ Mappo whispered.
‘Must everything break in the end?’
‘No, Icarium, not everything.’
‘Not everything? What will not break in the end? Tell me, Mappo.’
‘Why,’ and the Trell forced a smile, ‘you need not look far. Are we not friends, Icarium? Have we not always been friends?’
A sudden light in the Jhag’s grey eyes. ‘Shall I help you with the water?’
‘I would like that.’
Icarium stared at the shards in his hands and hesitated.
Mappo dragged his satchel over. ‘In here, if you like. We can try to put them together later.’
‘But there’s more on the road, all about – I would need—’
‘Leave the water to me, then, Icarium. Fill the satchel, if you like, as many as you can gather.’
‘But the weight – no, I think it would prove too heavy a burden, friend, this obsession of mine.’
‘Don’t worry on that account, friend. Go on. I will be back shortly.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Go on.’
With a smile, Icarium knelt once again. His gaze caught on his sword, lying on the verge a few paces to his right, and Mappo saw him frown.
‘I cleaned the mud from it last night,’ Mappo said.
‘Ah. That was kind of you, friend.’
Shikimesh and the Redworm Silks. An age ago, a thousand lies ago, and the biggest lie of all. A friendship that could never break . He sat in the gloom, encircled by a ring of stones he had rolled together – an old Trell ritual – with the gap opening to the east, to where the sun would rise. In his hands a dozen or so dusty, pale blue potsherds.
We never got round to putting them back together. He’d forgotten by the afternoon, and I made no effort to remind him – and was that not my task? To feed him only those memories I judged useful, to starve all the others until they vanished .
Kneeling that day, he had been like a child, with all his games in waiting before him – waiting for someone like me to come along. Before that, he was content with the company of his own toys and nothing more. Is that not a precious gift? Is that not the wonder of a child? The way they have of building their own worlds, of living in them, and finding joy in the living itself?
Who would break that? Who would crush and destroy such a wondrous thing?
Will I find you kneeling in the dust, Icarium? Will I find you puzzling over the wreckage surrounding you? Will we speak of holy libraries and secret histories?
Shall we sit and build us a pot?
With gentle care, Mappo returned the shards to his satchel. He lay down, set his back to the gap in the ring of stones, and tried to sleep.
Faint scanned the area. ‘They split here,’ she announced. ‘One army went due east, but it’s the narrower trail.’ She pointed southeast. ‘Two, maybe three forces – big ones – went that way. So, we have us a choice to make.’ She faced her companions, gaze settling on Precious Thimble.
The young woman seemed to have aged decades since Jula’s death. She stood in obvious pain, the soles of her feet probably blistered, cracked and weeping. Just like mine . ‘Well? You said there was power … out here, somewhere. Tell us, which army do we follow?’
Precious Thimble hugged herself. ‘If they’re armies, there must be a war.’
Faint said, ‘Well, there was a battle, yes. We found what was left. But maybe that battle was the only one. Maybe the war’s over and everyone’s going home.’
‘I meant, why do we have to follow any of them?’
‘Because we’re starving and dying of thirst—’
The young woman’s eyes flashed. ‘I’m doing the best I can!’
Faint said, ‘I know, but it’s not enough, Precious. If we don’t catch up with somebody, we’re all going to die.’
‘East, then – no, wait.’ She hesitated.
‘Out with it,’ growled Faint.
‘There’s something terrible that way. I – I don’t want to get close. I reach out, and then I flee – I don’t know why. I don’t know anything!’
Amby was staring at her as if studying a strange piece of wood, or a broken idol. He seemed moments from spitting at its feet.
Faint ran her hands through her greasy hair – it was getting long but she welcomed that. Anything to fend off the infernal heat. Her chest ached and the pain was a constant companion now. She dreamed of getting drunk. Falling insensate in some alley, or some squalid room in an inn. Disappearing from herself, for one night, just one night. And let me wake up to a new body, a new world. With Sweetest Sufferance alive and sitting beside me. With no warring gods and swords through foreheads . ‘What about to the southeast, Sorceress? Any bad feelings in that direction?’