As they rode, Iassia could feel Bel listening for him. Try as he might to keep his thoughts shielded, this whole experience had left him weak and he desperately needed to be back in his body. Soon Bel would see through his lies as if they were made of glass.
What are you? came Bel’s demand once more.
…a race once loved by the Sun God …now exiles from Paradise …
What? Why?
…because we betrayed Arkus …
Stay back, Iassia directed clearly. Stay out of my thoughts.
Your thoughts? Is that what I hear when I’m not supposed to?
…yes …
Why? How?
Our minds are too close. So close that if you continue to invade my thoughts, it will destroy us both.
I don’t think so, replied Bel.
Foolish human, continued Iassia. I am weak, and fighting you makes me weaker. Do you know what will happen if I expend my strength?
Tell me, liar.
My mind will unravel inside yours and I’ll never be able to leave. For the rest of your life you’ll be haunted by echoes of me. Is that what you want?
Where did you come from? Bel demanded angrily. WHAT ARE YOU?
Iassia could not hold out against the force of Bel’s will, and answering thoughts poured forth.
…I am a weaver …joined you accidentally at Treewith Inn …my mind was separated from my body when I entered yours …I became lost because there is something missing inside you …we need to get back to the inn …
A weaver? A weaver bird?
…yes …
So you are a trickster.
Yes, said Iassia. What did he care now? I am.
What did you mean there is something missing?
You aren’t a whole person, Bel. You are forced together like the wrong pieces in a puzzle. Your components grind against each other like malfunctioning cogs.
He sensed Bel considering this.
Everyone has chaos inside them, Bel said eventually.
Not like this. You always believed, didn’t you, that it was a blessing that the shadow part of you was expunged? You think you lost nothing. You think, in fact, that you are better than others because you have been cleansed of weakness. Well, it isn’t true, Bel. You are less of a person than your other.
Your lies mean nothing.
But you’d be able to tell if I was lying, wouldn’t you, Bel? You can hear my real thoughts. Listen to them now.
…empty …shell …half-made …
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
The view is very clear from here, I assure you. You forget that I am privy to your thoughts, as well as you to mine, and your doubts betray you. You do not disbelieve my words in your heart.
You are nothing but a servant of evil.
And you, Bel, are a warrior. A killer. I have never seen a man fight like you.
Why are you telling me this? asked Bel, confused at the sudden change in tack.
You imagine yourself fighting on the side of right, said Iassia. But in truth it doesn’t matter who you fight for, because it’s the fight itself that you love. I was there, Bel, along for that ride. How joyous you were amidst the ruin. Dancing, isn’t that how you’ve been thinking about it?
Shut up.
If it was you who’d been taken to Fenvarrow as a child, you would be fighting for us now, too stupid to know the difference. All you want is to be powerful, to be adored! Arrogance and vanity are not equal to fighting for one’s beliefs, Blade Bel. There is no depth to you.
It is sickening to have such an insidious thing as you inside me, replied Bel. Spinning your weaver’s lies, no truth to their fabric. My father was born in Kainordas, and my family before him, yet you think me so mutable?
You argue out of pride, said Iassia. You have no true convictions. You simply love the thrill. And that, my dear, makes you shallow.
Where is your body in Treewith? demanded Bel suddenly.
You couldn’t destroy it even if you found it.
Where is it?
Don’t force me to defend myself over this. I know you sensed the truth in the threat I made before, because I was telling the truth. It will not be pleasant for either of us if our minds become entangled.
Much to Iassia’s relief, Bel fell silent.
Bel tried to keep his mind blank as they rode, not wishing to share his private thoughts with his invader. It was difficult – Iassia’s words had shaken him, made him think again on his other self. That was just some dark, twisted thing, that was what Fahren had always told him. A worm of shadow that had crept away, which he was better off without. One day Bel would track him down and …what? He wasn’t exactly sure.
Perhaps he did feel empty. Sometimes.
Time and again he found himself returning to thoughts of the fight, remembering the violent ecstasy that had fuelled him. He hadn’t been empty then, of that he was certain. He found himself longing to fight again – surely that wasn’t the right reaction? What had Iassia said? That he lived for the fight and not the cause. What did it matter, as long as the job got done? He needed time, he decided. Time to sort it all out.
When night fell, the Saurian asked if he wished to camp or push on. Bel opted to push on despite great weariness. A few hours later they saw the twinkling lanterns of Treewith in the distance. Bel sensed excitement growing in the weaver as they approached. He was loath to let the creature go free, but equally loath to delay its exit from his mind. They arrived at the inn and, while M’Meska saw to the horses, Bel went inside.
Where? he asked.
The same room you had before.
Bel spoke to the innkeeper and, thankfully, the room was vacant. He shouldered his pack and went quickly upstairs, pausing at the door to fumble with the key.
All right, you parasite, he said. You’d better fly faster than my sword.
There was no reply. Bel realised he could no longer hear the distant echoes of the weaver’s thoughts. Pushing the door open, he pulled the crossbow from his belt.
On the windowsill sat a tiny bird like a colourful sparrow. A beautiful thing, yet Bel didn’t hesitate to squeeze the trigger. The bolt flew across the room and bounced off some kind of invisible barrier.
‘Mortal weapons?’ chirped Iassia merrily, his blood-drop eyes glinting. ‘How optimistic. And really, after all we’ve been through!’ The bird gave a chirp that Bel knew was a laugh, and launched from the window into the night.
Bel ran to the window, but the weaver had disappeared. He closed the window and locked it, even though the night was warm. Still feeling disquieted, he collapsed face forward on the bed, exchanging worry for oblivion.
Iassia was joyous to be restored, savouring the air under his wings as he zipped through town. He was weary, but it wasn’t the crippling weakness of the last few days. Dinner had been welcome too: a pigeon that had been roosting peacefully until his sharp little beak had stabbed into the main artery of its neck.