The woman crossed her arms over her broad chest. ‘So … you are saying …’
‘Have to amputate. At the elbow, possibly.’
Rissan’s gaze slid to where Ina lay half reclining, her mask reflecting the firelight like a multicoloured rainbow. ‘That could be … problematic,’ she murmured, her voice low.
‘I see your point,’ Yusen added.
‘You could suppress her awareness,’ Sour said to Rissan.
‘Yes … I could. However, I am currently very preoccupied.’
‘Preoccupied?’ Murk asked sharply. ‘How?’
The sorceress’s gaze moved to Yusen. ‘You are being hunted. Hunted by a particularly tenacious and, dare I say, spiteful enemy.’
The captain started, his hand going to his sword. Murk snapped up a hand to sign
wait
. He addressed the sorceress: ‘What of it?’
‘I am currently disguising this location. I really ought not to stop doing so.’
‘I’ll take over,’ Murk said.
Rissan raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You? She is quite … implacable.’
‘I’ll handle it.’ He gave the woman a toothy smile. ‘You could say it’s my speciality.’
The sorceress answered the predatory smile. ‘Meanas,’ she observed. ‘Far too full of himself.’
In the silence that followed Yusen cleared his throat, nodded to Sour. ‘What will you need?’
While the various short weapons were being collected, Murk paced the camp searching for just the right tree. It had to be far
enough
away from the distractions of camp but not too far out. It would help an awful lot if it offered a little bit of comfort too. He selected a tall kapok that seemed to fit his requirements.
Sour emerged from the night while he stood peering up at its canopy and the shifting clouds above.
‘Rain’s holding off,’ Sour commented.
‘Yeah. Hope to have some cover though.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘Got what you need?’
‘Yeah. You gonna … y’know. Manage?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’ Murk raised the leaf-wrapped packet and took a bite. The cooked leaf wrapping was brittle and smoky, but the inside was soft and creamy. It tasted sweet. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
The man’s anxious expression brightened into eagerness. ‘Ants and grubs and a particular plant stem all pulped together.’
Murk suppressed his gagging reaction, forced the mouthful down. ‘Really?’ he managed, hoarse. His eyes started watering.
‘You like it?’
‘Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s … good. Thanks.’
Sour looked relieved. ‘That’s great. Listen. You get into trouble – don’t hesitate to call on, er, Rissan. Okay?’
‘Why? She some kinda heavyweight?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Okay, partner.’ He raised his chin to camp. ‘She really one o’ them Seguleh?’
‘I think so, yeah.’
He snorted. ‘Good luck cutting off the arm of a Seguleh.’
Sour almost flinched. ‘Had to put it that way, didn’t ya?’
‘Look at it this way. It’s a fucking miracle we’re still alive, hey?’
Sour laughed. ‘Yeah. Funny – that’s how I always see it.’
‘Okay.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck.’
Sour took it. ‘See you tomorrow.’ He offered the old salute of hand to heart then headed off into the night.
Murk watched him go. He raised the leaf packet and examined it. Funny how the damned thing tasted like toasted nuts. He threw it aside and sat snuggling down into a fork in the roots until he was as comfortable as possible. Then he set to readying himself for a journey as close to the half-existence of Shadow as he dared.
The shades all about him multiplied as his Warren rose. Some shifted, cast by an unseen moon or moons. Others lay as dark and thick as pools of water. He cast his self-image upwards towards the top canopy. Here he found the treetops a shifting nest of shadows that rippled and brushed like the leaves themselves. Above, the night
sky
shifted from dark overcast to clear starry expanse as if he were witnessing a pageantry of nights all passing like shifting winds. He spread his Warren outwards to encompass the camp and set to work binding each shadow to deflect, mislead, or slip away from any direct questing.
While he worked he slowly became aware of a presence next to him. He spared himself the degree of attention to glance aside and there among the branches sat the faint glowing image of Celeste.
That gave him pause in his work, but he managed to carry on after a beat, and murmured, ‘Welcome.’
She sat with her knees drawn up to the slightly pointed chin of her oval face. She broke off a stem and studied it. ‘Murken – I have a question.’
He strove to keep himself calm and to maintain his concentration. ‘Oh yes?’
What might it be now? The birds and the bees?
‘What happens to you when you go away?’
He could only half listen as he worked on his maze of shadows. ‘I’m sorry? Go away? What do you mean?’
‘I mean … when you die.’
Murk flinched as if a burning stick had been touched to his arm. The multitude of filaments he was manipulating slipped from his grasp like so many wriggling fish. ‘Die?’ he blurted. ‘Who’s gonna die?’
Celeste continued to examine the twig. ‘Well … everything. You, everything. Even, possibly … me.’
Ah.
That
question. He regarded her: she took the appearance of a child but was no child. So, too, was the question she had arrived at. A child’s question that preoccupied so many adults.
He glanced away to the sky because something there had moved. He took great care not to peer through his Warren actively. He sought to passively receive the shape, or presence. A moment later the movement solidified into a great winged silhouette. It circled high above in a wide lazy arc covering leagues of jungle.
‘I’m kind of busy right now,’ he said. Funnily enough, even as he said it, he heard his own father so long ago.
Celeste glanced up. ‘Her?’ She flicked the twig aside. ‘Do you want me to get rid of her?’
‘Ger rid of her?’
‘Destroy her.’
Far below, nestled in his notch of roots, Murk coughed as if punched in the chest.
In the treetops, his presence faded and wavered while coughing,
a
hand at his neck. Mastering himself, he finally managed a croaky, ‘Let’s not destroy anyone right now.’
Celeste shrugged. ‘Very well. She is powerful, but easy to fool. I will hide everyone while we talk – agreed?’
Murk hesitated, mainly because he dreaded the talk to come. Yet he could find no reasonable way to fob her off. Unlike his own father, who just pushed him away or told him to get lost. He nodded. ‘Okay.’
Questions of life and death
. ‘But Celeste – you won’t die. You’re not like us. Like mortal beings who are born then die.’
‘I am trying to use terms you are capable of understanding,’ she said, sounding very unchildlike.
Murk raised his brows. ‘Ah. I see.’
‘Translate into another state of being, then, if you must. The potential for identity loss. This scares me.’
‘Identity loss? But you’re just a—’ He stopped himself, embarrassed. She merely eyed him sidelong, silent. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
She sniffed, raising her chin. ‘My identity may seem slim to you but it is the only one I possess. I find myself clinging to it. I feel that it
is
me. Even if it isn’t.’
‘It isn’t?’
‘No – of course not. Your identity isn’t you. The
you
you know is merely an accretion surrounding an empowering kernel of awareness. It aggregates slowly until it achieves self-identity – the differentiation between self and other. Each aggregation is unique, of course. It happens in an infinity of ways. Creating … everyone. Each identity is but the mask upon awareness.’
‘You are speaking of consciousness.’
‘Call it what you will. Yes.’
For the one serving ostensibly as the tutor, Murk found that he was learning a great deal.
‘I know these things because of what I am,’ Celeste continued musingly. At that moment Murk thought her incredibly cute – he had to remind himself of just what she was. ‘For a time beyond this time there was perfection. Oneness. Then we shattered and fell into imperfection. Now we are corrupted. Tainted by this existence. Many of us have made unwise choices. I understand all this, of course. We were … unprepared … for such unfamiliar demands.’ She sighed in a very human-like manner. ‘And so I cling to what I know to be an impediment. Delusion.’
Murk had no idea what to say – all this was far beyond him. His training was in Warren manipulation, in the characteristics of Meanas. All that knowledge was of no use here. But then, he
reflected
, he was not being expected to serve as an adviser among the misty heights of philosophy or theology. No, she had come to him hoping for something else. Something this entity instinctively sensed she needed even though she had no idea of what it was, nor perhaps even a word for it.
But he understood now. Like a charge of static climbing his arms and back, he understood. She did not want or need a guide or an adviser; she was looking for someone to serve as … well … as a parent. His chest clenched at the magnitude of the responsibility until he could not breathe and he had difficulty in maintaining his shift into the edge of Shadow.
Gods! Why me? I didn’t ask for this. Yet it happens to nearly everyone, doesn’t it? One mistake and there you are
.
He thought of what his own bastard of a father would have done and decided to do the opposite. ‘You do what you think is right,’ he said, thinking:
I sound like an idiot!
‘What you think is for the best. Do that and you can’t go wrong, no matter what.’
She was peering down, studying her fingers while she twisted them together. She did this for a time, not speaking. Murk wondered whether he’d said enough while at the same time remaining vague enough, and whether he ought to risk saying anything more.
‘Yes,’ she finally said. ‘I suppose so. What I believe is the best course.’ She dropped her hands, almost exasperated. ‘But it’s so hard!’
‘Yes, it is. Very hard. The right thing usually is.’
She had dropped her gaze once more. ‘I suppose so. It is hard, though. This not knowing …’
‘Welcome to imperfection.’
One edge of her mouth crooked upwards and she raised her gaze. ‘Thank you, Murken. I think I just …’
‘Needed someone to talk to.’
Now her brows rose in astonished surprise. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘I’m way ahead of you in this imperfection thing.’
Her answering smile seemed to show an emotion Murk might’ve even named affection. ‘I think you are perfect the way you are, Murken Warrow.’
‘Thank you, Celeste. I feel the same way about you.’
She nodded absent-mindedly – her thoughts had already moved on. ‘So I shall seek union with this other that I have found.’
Murk froze for an instant. He’d almost shouted
No!
but caught himself in time.
It’s her decision. She knows best, man. Don’t
interfere
. But … forgiving gods! What if I’ve just allowed something terrible here? Surely this Ardata is most like her if anyone is. She must be the best choice out of a bad lot
.
He became aware that she was studying him closely. ‘You are troubled,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Yes, lass. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I’m worried for you. I want things to work out for the best. I don’t want you hurt.’
She smiled again, relieved. ‘I see. Thank you.’
Movement in the sky snagged Murk’s eye and he looked up to catch a glimpse of their hunter gliding overhead. Would she never go away? He reflected that spite itself was unrelenting. That it fed on its own sustained sense of resentment and animus. He supposed that given that, she’d be up there for a long time yet.
He lowered his gaze to see Celeste watching him with something like puzzlement. He frowned. ‘What is it, lass?’
‘You do not approve of my choice yet you refrain from dissuading me. Why?’
‘Because it’s your choice. Not mine.’
‘Ah. I see, I believe. In that case, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘This may be goodbye then.’
The way she said that made Murk wish he were up there in the treetops in truth so that he could hold her and comfort her. ‘I’ll be fine, lass. You’ll see. Good luck.’
‘Thank you.’ Her deep jade image began to fade.
‘Don’t say thank you. It was a privilege and a pleasure. Don’t you worry now.’
The image dissolved into nothing. Murk sensed himself alone once more. Far below in the flesh he allowed himself a long slow exhalation. He felt that no matter what he should ever face in the future it in no way could ever approach the agonizing gamut of emotions he’d just traced. It was like attempting to disarm a Moranth munition while blindfolded without the first idea of how to proceed. What a responsibility! He’d never have children. That was for damned sure!
He raised his gaze to the sky. The moon was shining high behind the passing cloud cover. He’d prefer facing Spite to having to grope through another talk like that again. Hostility was so much simpler. So much more straightforward. The pain from bruisings and broken bones passed so much more quickly than bruising to the spirit. He focused upon calming his heart rate and breathing: the night was only half over.