‘Do you remember my name, Reeth?’ he asked abruptly.
The Qalochian was caught off-balance. He shook his head, discomfited.
‘Praltor Mahaganis,’ the old man supplied. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No. Or rather…perhaps. I don’t know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it now. It’ll come.’
‘How do you survive in this place?’ Serrah said.
‘We have rainfall for drinking water, much of the surface vegetation’s edible, if bland, and we catch fish. Occasionally we dine on fowl. Wendah’s pretty handy with bow and slingshot, though not in your league, Reeth. And there’s flotsam and jetsam to pick over. But tell me about yourselves. How do you come to be here?’
‘The Source,’ she told him.
‘Ah.’ If the answer surprised him in any way, there was no sign. ‘Why do you seek it?’
‘It’s possibly our only hope. How much do you know about what’s happening in the outside world?’
‘Very little. We’ve been here a long time.’
‘The Resistance has given up inciting revolution against the empires,’ she recapped, ‘and tried to establish a dissident state. But the scheme was betrayed and it’s near to collapsing.’
‘There’s an organised resistance?’
‘Exactly how long have you been here?’
‘Most of Reeth’s adult life.’
‘How did you come to this?’ Caldason asked, indicating their squalid surroundings.
‘You don’t know what you are, do you?’ the old man countered. ‘Of course you don’t; we’d all be aware of it if you did.’
Caldason was baffled. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The old man waved the question aside. ‘What do you remember? Of your days with me, that is.’
‘It’s not so much memories as…dreams of that time. You were training me in the martial and mental skills I’d need. Equipping me to survive. I owe you my life.’
‘It was the least I could do.’
‘How so?’
‘I’m in your debt.’
‘You’ve got it wrong. I’m in yours.’
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t feel that way if you knew the truth.’
‘What truth?’ Serrah interrupted tetchily. ‘You hint at revelations, but-’
‘Reeth’s people were massacred by mine,’ Mahaganis declared bluntly. ‘I think that qualifies as a debt, don’t you?’
No one spoke, until Caldason recovered his disbelieving tongue. ‘You’ve been stuck here too long,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s given you delusions.’
‘It’s not a fantasy, Reeth, and there’s no pleasant way of putting it: my blood tried to exterminate yours. I would have told you long since, except events tore us apart.’
The colour in Caldason’s face was sapped. ‘If what you say is true, that means you’re…’
‘A paladin,’ Serrah finished for him.
Mahaganis nodded. ‘I was born to the clans. And into their leadership ranks, moreover.’
Caldason was on his feet, his hand going to his sword hilt. Wendah put herself between him and the old man, whipping out her knife. Then Serrah was there, clutching Caldason’s wrist and trying to calm him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.
He looked through her, and she feared he was about to go into a berserk-in which case none of them stood a chance.
Kutch joined in and did his best to placate the Qalochian. Slowly, they got through.
‘The Reeth I know doesn’t pick fights with blind men,’ Serrah reminded him, ‘or with girls.’ She eyed Wendah, who maintained her defensive stance.
‘All right,’ Caldason said, pulling himself together. ‘It’s all right.’
They steered him back to his seat on the barrel. The girl backed off.
‘I don’t blame you, Reeth,’ Mahaganis told him. ‘I deserve your wrath, on behalf of my kin.’
Caldason raised his head. ‘None of this makes sense.’
‘I know,’ the old man replied, not unkindly. ‘So consider the facts.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Hard as it is to believe these days, the clans were once honourable. They prided themselves on defending the weak against the rapacious. But like so many others in this world, they fell into corrupt ways.’
‘And you didn’t.’
‘I stood against their growing treachery, their cruelty. My own people, mind you. My own people.’ Bitterness rose like bile, and as quickly abated. ‘What they did to your tribe, and what they wanted to do to you, was the last straw. I felt morally bound to help you escape that fate. In return, they put me here.’
‘This was your punishment? Exile?’
‘Did you think I came to this island willingly?’
‘Why didn’t they just kill you?’ Kutch asked, agog.
‘To make me suffer the more for my defiance. That and a certain awe for my rank. The clans tend to dote on their leadership.’
‘Things have changed a bit in that respect,’ Serrah dryly informed him.
‘No amount of depravity on their part would surprise me,’ Mahaganis stated soberly. ‘Anyhow, I was dislodged, my faction purged. After I aided Reeth, they finally caught up with me, which is how I came to be here, nurse-maiding an orphaned child and the Source.’
‘So it does exist.’
He wore a pained expression. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Where is it?’ Caldason demanded, rising again. ‘ What is it?’
The old man lifted a mollifying hand. ‘Your patience still needs work, Reeth. It was always a virtue that eluded you.’
‘The Source could be decisive in what’s going on out there, Praltor. It could be the salvation of a lot of people, me included.’
‘It could also be your damnation.’
‘At least don’t deny us that choice.’
‘But it doesn’t just affect you, does it? The repercussions could be enormous. Its power is…beyond words. Just being near it can be destructive.’
‘Neither of you seem to have suffered too much by it.’
‘Really? All right then, Reeth; if you want it so badly, take it.’
‘Where is it?’ Serrah asked. ‘How do we find it?’
Kutch had been watching silently. He said, ‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘I can feel it.’ He nodded at the old man. ‘It’s him.’
Caldason stared. ‘What?’
‘The boy’s very perceptive,’ Mahaganis noted approvingly.
‘Are you all going to start talking gibberish again?’ Serrah wanted to know. ‘Because if you are…’
‘Kutch here asked why my enemies in the clans didn’t simply kill me and have done with it,’ Mahaganis reminded them. ‘It was partly because of my station, but that paints far too benevolent a picture of them. They actually spared my life in order to torment me further.’
‘What have your sufferings to do with the Source?’
‘What do you suppose the Source to be, Reeth? A store of knowledge, yes; but what about its form? A grimoire, perhaps? A whole library? Hoards of papyrus, or clay tablets? Over the eons since its accumulation by the Founders it may well have been all those things. But it’s something much more nebulous than that. Essentially, the Source is an occult system, a concept. And I’ve come to believe it’s something much more than that.’
‘Such as?’
‘The Source is some kind of embodiment of magic. I think it’s…sentient.’
‘That’s a hell of a conclusion to draw,’ Serrah responded. ‘What’s your evidence?’
‘Tell them what they did to you,’ Wendah blurted out.
Everyone was thrown for a second by the usually silent girl’s sudden outburst. Then Mahaganis spoke.
‘As punishment for aiding Reeth,’ he said, ‘and for turning my back on the paladins, they infused the Source here.’ He laid a finger against his temple. ‘In my mind.’
‘And they put out his eyes with fire,’ Wendah added, ‘to make his torment worse.’
‘That was a masterful touch of sadism,’ the old man remarked, almost admiringly. ‘It left me with nowhere to look but inward. So all I glimpse, permanently, is the quintessence of Founder evil; and the squirming, putrid life force in which it’s suspended. You ask me for evidence. I have the testimony of my own, unblinking inner eye. For all practical purposes I am the Source.’