Even before that she was terrified of you. She's a local God, an Aspect, sharing some memories with Vasle and his view of history. They see the present in a completely different way to mortals. To her, you are partly to blame for the death of Vasle's brother, for it was partly you who proved Gods could be effectively destroyed.'
'Ah. And then I did something akin to just that. I'm sorry.'
'There's more of a problem than that. She had agreed to touch vour mind, to help you understand how Xeliath thinks you will be attacked. Now…' Morghien's voice trailed off. His eyes lost their focus as if he were listening to a faint voice behind him. Isak watched silently.
'We can but try,' he said aloud finally. Isak was burning to ask what had been decided, but he'd caused enough trouble – and besides, he was too impatient to listen to more explanations.
'Please, sit again.' Morghien motioned Isak to the fallen tree. Once they were facing each other again, Morghien closed his eyes and started breathing deeply. When he looked up to Isak again, he appeared calmer, still himself, but ready for whatever lay ahead.
He reached out and touched his fingertips to Isak's forehead. The white-eye recoiled slightly, then leaned forward so Morghien wouldn't have to stretch quite so far. As he did so, Isak realised that the muscles of his shoulders were rigid with anticipation, ready to strike out. He made himself relax and opened his thoughts again.
A chill breeze touched his cheek, like the caress of winter fingers. He closed his eyes to focus on the smooth sensation as it trembled over his skin. A tingling began on his forehead where Morghien was touching him, trickling down through his right eyebrow and into the cheekbone. The delicate sensation grew in strength and Isak felt the warmth of his body begin to seep from his skin. This time he was careful not to disturb the shade that was greedily leeching off him. Whatever it was, it lacked the strength to cause him any hurt, whether it was intended to or not.
In his mind, Isak was aware of an ancient odour – not actually unpleasant, but not enjoyable: the dry scent of a tomb, the smell of undisturbed years rather than a corpse, but still a dead place. The prickle of ice increased, sliding its way down to his jugular.
Now Isak stopped it gently, reaching around the helpless spirit to bind it and keep it still so he could see what he was dealing with. It still terribly weak, but it had drawn enough strength for the image
of a man's face to appear in Isak's mind. He could perceive features etched in a white mist – a thin jaw, deep-set eyes, hair receding from a smooth forehead: the first things the shade could remember of itself. As with Seliasei, identity was the first concern. Once they had a face, a name, a memory, it helped bring the Land back into focus for them. Until a sense of self could be produced, desires and emotions couldn't matter because there was no reference for them. As the shade struggled in vain, Isak felt a moment of pity. There was no malice in its desire for the warmth and strength of his body, only a desperation that Isak found achingly sad. Once he had cradled it for a while, Isak realised he understood enough and ushered the spirit back to Mor-ghien. As he did so he sent a thought to it, almost an apology, as it fought his grip. Let go. Life is for the living.
As the misty shape faded away, a blackness leapt up from nowhere and enveloped Isak's mind. A stab of pain flashed through his head as the invading spirit took him in its numbing grip and fed savagely at his throat. This was no half'forgotten Aspect: Isak felt as if he had fallen into an icy stream. Each time he moved he felt his strength being sucked out of him. The cold kept flowing over his skin, drawing
out heat, drawing out life.
Isak began to panic as each breath grew harder, as his body faded away into a deadened memory. Images of hungry eyes and long thin fangs flashed before his eyes. He felt the Finntrail's desire, its anger and loss fuelling the enveloping strength. He was afraid of becoming
that hollow.
Then Morghien's words came back to him: such creatures were hoi-low; their strength was partly what you gave them. This suppressed the alarm clouding his mind. He looked again at the feeding spirit and saw it was insubstantial. He saw the mist of its form and how easily he
could push through.
The numbing ceased as Isak reached out with his mind, ignoring the desperate, but now feather-light, retaliation. He reached out all around him and gathered the inky strands in tight. The Finntrau struggled and raged, but it was powerless. With a furious scream the shadow was expelled back to Morghien and the wanderer withdrew his hand and smiled weakly.
The Krann didn't meet Morghien's eye. Looking round to his corn' panions he saw Mihn, Carel and Tila watching as before. Nothing ap- peared to have changed, but Isak shivered slightly. The air felt cooler
than before, as if the night's frost had returned. He rose and began to walk the ten yards to retrieve Eolis before stopping short suddenly. He whirled around, but he could see nothing different – but it felt as if they had been joined by another. Beyond the road the trees were empty and quiet. The sky above held only a few birds, too distant to recognise, but still Isak felt uneasy. He wrenched the blade from its resting place but didn't sheathe it. The others gave him uncomfortable looks, but Isak ignored them, glad of the security Eolis lent.
An unheard chuckle crept out from the overhanging branches of a yew. The birds nearby were startled into flight as they sensed malevolence all around. Only the wind heard and it swept away after the birds, dead leaves and damp crumbs of earth skittering away in its wake.
'Life is for the living? Sometimes 1 think you say these things solely for my pleasure. Will you remember those words, I wonder?'
CHAPTER 25
Isak opened his eyes and looked around in alarm. The last thing he remembered was huddling close to the others in front of the fire, Tila curled into the warm lee of his body and a skin of wine snug in his hand. Now he was here – wherever here was. The clouded sky swirled uncertainly above a rolling plain of long grass. A few moments ago, he'd been surrounded by trees.
Dawn shadows covered the ground, but Isak couldn't see the sun anywhere. He couldn't even tell which direction was north – and he'd always been able to do that. It was as if he wasn't in the Land any longer… and that thought chilled him more than the cool air. He watched as a breeze rippled through the grass, but he felt nothing on his skin. It reminded him of the palace he used to dream about, otherworldly and uncomfortable.
'With all your ability – all your potential – and it just takes a skin of wine to open your mind. Typical.'
Isak jumped: behind him stood a girl, her beauty taking Isak's breath away almost more than the shock at her sudden appearance. Her skin was as Morghien had described, as smooth and radiant as polished walnut wood, darker than anyone Isak had seen before, darker even than the Chetse desert clans.
While the Yeetatchen were their neighbours, living off the Parian coast, there was almost no contact between the two tribes: most face' to-face meetings had been on the battlefield – and those rivalled the Great War for savagery.
Isak was mesmerised just by the sight of her: with such rich brown skin, her white eyes were even more astonishing. 'You're Xeliath? 'And you're the cause of all my troubles.'
Isak narrowed his eyes, one hand moving instinctively to his sioe before he realised he was wearing just the rags from his life on the
wagon-train. Eolis was still hanging from his belt, but Siulents and his fine clothes were nowhere to be seen.