“We’ll use the trod,” Tiadba said. “Khren, stay as far back as you can and still see the rest of us. Herza and Frinna, go ahead an equal distance. Any sign of softness…”
They spread out and moved toward the “bump” in the land ahead.
They walked on for what seemed a very long time before they were forced to abandon the trod. They then hid in crevices that radiated from the roadway and watched the passage of Silent Ones by the dozens—wave upon wave of gliding monstrosities, moving with even greater speed over the broad milky surface. More time—long, slow, boring time—passed before the surface again became glassy, and they resumed.
The Witness’s beam curved and whipped through the sky. Something was happening again far out in the Chaos—thick scuts of darkness shot up and then fell back like ghostly, smoky heads popping out of the ground.
After another long spell of travel, and another smoky eruption, Khren saw a change in the sky to their left, well off the vector of the beacon’s greatest intensity. None of the others could duplicate his sighting, hard as they tried. “My eyes must be going,” Khren said, downhearted.
“You and me both,” Shewel said.
“What did it look like?” Nico asked, boring in with an angry tone.
“Enough,” Tiadba said. “We’ll force him to make up stuff.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Khren said, indignant.
“We’ll stop here for a while…”
“It’s out there again,” Herza said, and Frinna pointed—they had both seen a blue glow in the dip between two heaves of brownish, crackled ground.
The armor now spoke. “It may be another Pahtun, or this far out, someone else from the Kalpa—older.”
They thought this over skeptically. “A deception?” Nico asked.
No answer. Anything could be a deception—except for the beacon, nothing was certain.
“I’ll sortie,” Macht said. “I’m tired of this monotony. A little climbing and jumping is just the thing.”
CHAPTER 92
“Does he look different to you?” Glaucous asked Daniel. Jack forged ahead through the ruptured and redrawn streets, walls, buildings. His concern was obvious—there was no way to tell what could happen out here, nor how things had changed since Ginny passed.
Or whether they were even following her trail.
“He’s standing straighter,” Daniel said.
“He’s looking older,” Glaucous said. “And bolder. He takes risks, leaving us here. What does the stone tell you?”
“Still tugging,” Daniel said. The urban rearrangement around them muttered and groaned like deep ice settling over a rocky slope. “If the girl feels the tug—and if it’s the same tug…”
“It is,” Glaucous assured him. “Have you seen the like before?” He waved at the dismal scene, apt to change unpredictably, like a show of lantern slides planned by an idiot.
“Once,” Daniel said. “Jack might have seen it, too.”
“Fleeing our Mistress?” Glaucous asked.
“Something like that.”
“ She’s back there. Near the old warehouse. I can feel her.”
“Will she use you to find us?”
“If you ask am I notching branches and overturning rocks…no. But the Mistress is ever and always aware of the disposition of her servants. At least, she was on Earth. Here…maybe our oddness blends in.”
“This isEarth,” Daniel said. “Bits of it. Look. You’re old enough—maybe you recognize these buildings.”
“Asian, I’d say.” Glaucous blew his nose, inspected the rag—more streaks of slick black—and shook his head. “I never journeyed to the East. We left your city miles back.”
“Bidewell said it was all getting cinched in.”
“Did he? I missed that.”
“It’s all burned or corroded. Broken time seems to act like fire or acid.”
Silence between them as they worked around a mound of bricks and stones. With a dour twinkle, the stones became shards of concrete and steel—part of a newer wall, but still a jumbled ruin.
“Like a battlefield,” Glaucous said. “I walked the trenches around Ypres, almost a hundred years ago, looking for a particular gent—a fine, strapping fellow and a poet. He dreamed, so I was led to believe, of a place he called the Last Redoubt. He’d written a book before shipping out, detailing his dreams…But the war had already blown him to bits. Lean years for hunters, during wartime.”
On both sides, streets and buildings ascended steep inclines, as if a city map had been draped over another, rougher country. Some of the structures looked more intact than any they had encountered before, despite leaning at awful angles.
Glaucous saw Jack ahead. He was passing under a precarious arch formed of steel and glass. Daniel shook his head and his eyes darted. “How far does this go on?”
“Don’t know,” Glaucous said. “Just tagging along.”
“You’ve done more than that,” Daniel said. “You scared Ginny. You might as well have pushed her out here.”
“That concerns you?” Glaucous asked.
“I don’t know why you’re with us. Jack knows what you did.”
“Does he?”
Glaucous looked up as they reached the arch, then felt his shoulders draw down and his thick neck stiffen at the thought of thousands of tons choosing to fall at just this moment. “No shame,” he said.
“Shifters may have more charm, more romance than Chancers—but what we do is all the same in the end. We grab at happenstance and care little about stealing luck from those around us.”
“I never claimed to be righteous,” Daniel said.
“Well, then,” Glaucous grumbled.
“Just stop trying to make me happyto be here.”
“Apologies. Old habits.”
For Jack, listening to the voices behind him, the dread sense of approaching conclusions made the shadowy ruins fade to insignificance. He had seen this before—or something like it, less dead. Only now that it was allbroken could he piece together a picture of what his cosmos—his small part of the cosmos—had been like, and how he had managed to skip through it with fewer consequences than most; and fewer advancements, fewer of the milestones of common life.
His inability to feel strong affection—that puzzled him. In the dreams, there had been an almost surreal, childlike passion, but for Ginny, only a liking…and nothing more he could pull to the surface. He was less a man in all this than the figure in his dreams.
Jack never dropped anything, because he never held anything for very long: Ellen, who settled for a few hours with him, had been content with his ghost of affection. But before her…
His mother—a pale outline on a pillow under the bright spot of a hospital lamp. His father, even less defined—big, tried to be funny, tried to love him. How could those who controlled their destinies settle for so little? Ginny was like him in that regard. Fate-shifters did not seem capable of great things. They wandered, but left attachments, love, even memory behind.
How could he find fault with Daniel or Glaucous? They were all alike, selfish in the utmost. Both those who held the stones and who sought the stones were diminished—shriveled to points of darting consciousness, without breadth or depth.
Not even the favor or Mnemosyne had lifted Jack’s gloom. He stalked on through the guttering relics of human history, blackened middens revealed one after another like images sketched in ghostly embers. Where was he going—where could he go?
After Ginny. A dream-sister. Who was chasing what?
And along the way, they would meet with—
Daniel called him back.
“Slow down. We’re leaving the city stuff behind.” All three gathered, and their protection merged with a hollow smooch. Jack looked around and pressed his temples with two fingers.
“Do you remember anything like this?” Daniel asked.
“Do you?” Jack asked, still pressing.