Glass Winter | Chapter XIX

The scouts were greeted with dread for the first time. As if the commune denizens already suspected what terrible news Gar Darron’s party had brought. More likely they were surprised at the scouts’ early return, suspecting failure in the expedition and fearing the ensuing despair. Gar Darron was prepared to console them – “do not fear” – he would declare, for even in darkness could a man make sense of his world, as they had with the mute. And Eron’s highlands in the north still promised hope, even if the journey would be fraught with danger. They would not perish. That, none of them would allow, for every man, woman, and child knew the fate that awaited otherwise.

The scouts were ordered to wait upon entering, which they obediently did. Gar Darron always felt a sense of pride whenever he returned from an expedition, even if this time their company faced a treachery which no words would ever truly determine the truth of.

They did not have to wait long for Sowne to greet them. He was accompanied by Eron. Gar Darron’s party had been quiet already, but now it seemed as freighted with silence as their mute bound convict.

Where have you been all this time?

“You’re back sooner than expected.” Said Sowne.

Eron scanned the party, “And you are missing a man. Where is Drummond?”

Gar Darron jerked the mute and shoved him to the ground, “We’ve gained one traitor more.”

The people around them noted his bloodied furs and kept their distance.

“What happened?” Demanded the chief.

“Sowne,” Gar Darron stepped forward only for the chief to step back. “We know that an explanation is owed. Alas, none of the men can say for certain what happened, save that the mute murdered Drummond when we were briefly cast in darkness, and his obstinate claim of innocence. He cannot speak, but he seems to accuse Drummond of ill intentions. It may be that the mute acted in self-defence…”

“Or to save Gar Darron.” Added Holland.

The scout leader had considered it a possibility in the days they ascended the caverns. He had not allowed any kind of prejudice to cloud his reason, seeing that a diplomatic resolution to their plight did not only rest on him, but on the judgement of all.

“Either way, we could not remain.” Gar Darron said. “Not with the demonic threat that plagues us still. We know that possession is real. It may very well have been responsible for either the mute’s or Drummond’s actions. We have returned to conduct a fair trial, with your approval, and to seek further instruction.”

“Mm,” Eron lifted his chin. “A demonic threat such as that would not bode well for the commune at all.”

It sounded like a mocking accusation. Sowne was interrogating every man in the party with his gaze alone.

“Sowne?” Gar Darron tried to bring back the chief’s attention.

“Did you see anything else?” Eron slowly shook his head with the question, “Anything at all that might have done this?”

“Is the trial to be conducted here and now? We had thought—”

“Whatever you might call it,” said Sowne, “we can conduct it now. We will ensure that it’s fair.”

The mute was trying to speak, tragic though the sight was. His wrists chafed red against their binds as he tried to free himself.

“Is this where we are now?” Holland searched Eron’s face, set in stone. “You vanish, leave us a man short, and now you reappear and accuse us of falsehood?”

Eron shrugged, “No one’s accusing you of anything. Only yourself.”

“We will not stand for this.”

“Neither will I stand for your shit.” Sowne walked around the mute, “He may be your killer, he may not be. I can’t say for certain what went on down there.”

“We brought the voiceless one back so that you might hear his side.” Said Reyansh.

“Don’t know if you’ve heard.” Eron unsheathed his falchion and pressed it against the mute’s chest, causing him to sit back down, “But the voiceless don’t speak.”

“And you’ve all spoken enough for him.” Sowne took a step back.

“So what’s to be done about us? About the mission?” Asked Reyansh.

“I don’t know.”

“Strong leadership, right there.” Muttered Sinner.

Sowne’s flared his black cloak as he turned on the man, “No, you don’t know what we’ve been facing up here. Whatever it was you saw or didn’t see does not compare to the sacrifices we’ve had to make in your absence. You’ll be understanding of my apprehension when I tell you that things up here have gone to shit…”

Blonde man slept on his sword last night.

“Did you see anything else?” Eron repeated, cutting in. “Anything at all that might have done this?”

Gar Darron knew that they had not, but he looked back at each of the men all the same.

Perhaps one of them can remember. Because I know that I cannot.

But it had been dark as pitch. And they all knew it.

“The only fact that we know for certain,” said Dhruv, “is that the staff was knocked over. Either by Drummond, or by the mute. That is how we ended up in the dark.”

Thoughts were turning in Sowne’s mind as he slowly paced before them.

“Perhaps one of you did knock it over,” admitted Eron. “Killing a fellow man on a vital expedition such as this one is shady indeed. But there’s nothing to say that this murder is not proof of the demonic threat we still face. A threat that can no longer be ignored. We need to move. Now.”

Sowne nodded silently in response.

For all his fears about supernatural involvement, Gar Darron had found it less likely as the days trudged on. He recognised the danger of bringing up such a subject, especially in earshot of other commune members. Sowne had instructed him with a similar task after returning with Sevt’s staff, all those eons ago, but that had been different. Why was Eron testing the commune’s already fragile sanity?

“Do you wish to check us for marks?” Gar Darron asked. “Have somebody check us. What’s stopping you?”

Eron used his falchion to pull back the mute’s furs at the neck, to raise and turn over his hands, “You didn’t happen to check Drummond’s skin after his death? This man’s not infected.”

“And neither are the rest of us.”

They had checked Drummond. And they had found nothing. Renoir proposed they shave his head to get a better look at the scalp. Gar Darron had rejected the idea, though he did not mention this. Neither did he bring up the latent period between possession or demonic infection and its visibility on the skin, as their party had suggested moments after apprehending the mute.

“I believe most of it, save for Drummond’s part.” Eron approached the chief. “But I would still inspect them. Their demon might have left its mark, and then we are all doomed.”

“We would be doomed regardless.”

The casual claim felt like a blow to the gut.

What is this?

“You wouldn’t be aware,” Sowne’s dark eyes seemed to grow darker, “and I wouldn’t blame you. It was right under my nose and on the eve of my command, and I didn’t notice. But the mushers, Cara and Soren, whom we admitted into the commune all those sleeps ago, they weren’t Cara and Soren.”

He paused, struggling for words. Gar Darron did not know how to respond to such information himself. Sowne continued.

“Their stories never added up. They should never have made it to us, but they did. We have reason to suspect that the people who checked them for infection got infected themselves. Jeyne and Fargor are at the bottom of a lake now, and Dyra and Verwyn are missing.”

Sowne glanced in Eron’s direction. The man seemed not to notice.

“Furthermore,” he went on, “Quin is dead. Whether it was murder, or self-harm, is hard to say. He, we know for a certainty, was marked.”

Sowne glanced at Eron again.

Why does his gaze keep returning to that man?

“So you’re afraid that we’re infected,” Gar Darron showed his hands and his wrists. “Then check us, by all means. Why keep wasting our breath?”

“It might not be enough, that’s what.” Said Sowne. “I trusted in the assessments of Fargor and Jeyne, of Dyra and Verwyn. And it meant jack shit.”

Eron seemed to understand something, and nodded. Gar Darron saw some of the commune denizens resting their hands on the hilts of their dirks and chisels.

“If this is true,” said Sowne, “God, what am I saying. Fact of the matter is we can’t remain here anymore. We can’t keep inching our way north, blindly, hoping to reach the end of the storm. Our prayers for a miracle have gone unanswered and we’re out of time.”

He turned to the few people gathered around him.

“I want everyone to know. Tell the masons to stop their work. Eron will guide and help them build towards the highlands in the north. We have a better chance of making it all out alive this way.”

Eron seemed satisfied.

“And the rest…,” Sowne paused. “What must be done will be done. Someone bring me my sword.”

Eron cocked his head in pity and prepared to lop the mute’s head off.

“Wait.” Gar Darron stepped forward. “Is this all it takes to kill us, Sowne? A suspicion of threat?”

“I’m a man who learns from my mistakes, Gar Darron. I apologise for this—”

Fuck your apology.

“No. You said that many people would die if we chose the highlands in the north. Building a tunnel towards them is simple enough. How do you plan on scaling them in a storm?”

“The south side of a mountain, while not isolated from the winds, is our safest bet—”

“Dozens will still die. And will your want for order stop with the scouts? What of those afflicted with sloughflesh in the commune? What of the children born in this place? Will you wash your hands with their blood too? Do you not see that all of us, condemned to the lowest circle of Hell, are cursed by divine law?”

That caused many to drop their eyes or to stoop, as if they had been reminded of a great burden yoked upon their shoulders.

Sowne sighed. He cracked his neck.

“You are a soldier, Gar Darron. You seem to have forgotten that. And I am a soldier, alas one with wits, and who can lead others like you. Do not think for a moment that I do not know where we are. Nor should you think that I don’t understand natural law. I’ve been an ardent learner to the way things are, and I’ve made peace with them. All of us, those who weren’t born here, have done terrible things to be rejected by God. So terrible that we haven’t even the mercy to burn. Only to stumble our way through the cold and darkness, forgotten for all time by everyone. Of course, out of every adamant soldier of life gathered here I’ve been brain enough to realise one very important fact. We’re. Still. Moving. We’re not frozen in the ice like the enemy. We’ve been given a second chance. That’s hardly Hell anymore. I’d call that purgatory. And natural law dictates that the smartest who see this will do what is right to correct the wrong. You, however, despite your efforts, your obedience, and your good heart, have been wronged by natural law.”

Sowne placed a gloved hand on Gar Darron’s shoulder.

“Understand just one more thing,” he went on, “scripture reminds us that at the end of the world, God will judge all truthfully and justly for a final time. Everyone who has ever lived. That… will be your time.”

Sowne placed his hand on the other’s cheek.

“Do not be afraid, Gar Darron. Hold on. And the pain will soon be over.”

The scout shoved the other’s hand away, appalled. He looked him up and down. Surely this was not the same man they had parted with?

“You are committed to this? Truly?” Gar Darron indicated to Eron, “And how will he fare without his men in this new mission of yours?”

“Fact of the matter is I don’t need every able person in the commune to succeed in this new mission.” Said Eron, “Only a select few.”

“We are the scouts that Sowne selected.”

“You’re the best of us. But you’re not the only ones which are qualified.”

The pit in Gar Darron’s stomach grew deeper, his blood boiled hotter. He raised his hand, slowly, to the dirk at his waist.

I’ve imagined my every possible death. I did not imagine this, and I do not intend for this to be my final stand.

Before his fingers even touched the hilt of his blade a shrill screech came from the other side of the commune. All heads turned to look. The world stood still in the silence that followed.

Sowne seemed just as enraged as Gar Darron was a moment before. Battle blood ran in his veins.

“Everybody, move. Let everyone know that they must find a place to hide. Every armed man and woman, with me.” He glanced at the scouts, “You too. But keep your gloves on, and stay by my side and in my line of sight. Got it?”

Reyansh already had his axe out, “As you say. Chief.”

And just like that they were off, and Gar Darron was forced to follow. Dhruv pulled the mute to his feet and dragged him along. A handful of mostly men, armed with their chisels and daggers, accompanied them, running along the commune’s beaten tracks and around its bulging shelters. Gar Darron unsheathed his own blade and felt fear overwhelm his senses when he realised how ineffective it might really be.

It could be that fate has handed us a chance to prove ourselves. If only there was a straight line through all these igloos and quinzhees. We would deal with this unknown threat sooner, before we had a chance to realise that we are already dead.

~~~~~

Malcolm was surrounded by souls, but he had never been more alone.

They probably all thought that he had gone mad. And perhaps, he had. For he had done all he could and received almost nothing in return, save for the sole revelation that only Velour now knew. And Mal prayed that Sevt would know in time. And from him everyone else.

Something inside of Malcolm had changed. Never before had he meditated on depths that few men had seen, nor enlightened himself on heights few others had crested. Every day he experienced Heaven and Hell, every day he was born and died again. No person was ever meant to front such spiritual whiplash. It might have been killing him on the inside and he would never know.

Mal could barely eat, he drank the snow beneath him, he relieved himself ten paces from the prayer hill, with the stumble to and from the corner seeming like an eternity. Faces floated before him between dreams, ones he no longer recognised. They were upset, apprehensive, and frustrated. Was this what they felt about him?

They were not like to understand. Not everyone could walk the path that he had chosen. And he did it all for them. Of his old life he no longer remembered a thing, and it did not matter to him, nor to his Lord.

“Show me the way. I cannot lead these people on my own. I have waited on premonitions not of your making, and I have lost the way. Your people waiting for my command. The only words of comfort I provide are vacuous. They mean nothing but to buy us time. To buy… myself time.”

Mal raised his head.

“Show us the way, Lord. Speak your word into my mind, so that I may save what’s left of us.”

A shriek from across the commune shattered the air. The pieces disappeared the moment he touched them with his mind, and they were so painful that he could hardly stand it.

I must take a leap of faith. And I must do it now.

The realisation came out of nowhere. He would look around but there would be nobody there. The nothingness had been closing in on him for far too long. Some days he found it hard to breathe. And now that scream had pierced right through it to vanish shortly after. Above and before him was the light, waiting. It had always been there. None of them had seen it. He was the first.

It was the only truth that mattered. There the scream could not reach them, and the beams that shone from the light saw no end. Malcolm had once wanted it more than anything, as was natural for a person in pain, as they all were. Now, he would not have it unless the others came with him. But they would not, not yet, and some of them had hardened their hearts so that they could not accompany him even if he held their hand and guided them.

“And so, I ask this of you, Lord. Take me, but do not leave the others damned. For I have prayed for them and sacrificed for them. I plead that you would give them the rest that they deserve, so that they might finally see summer.”

And in the gloom of that tenebrous pit Malcolm felt arms embracing him, and his heart grew still. As the sea in his chest allayed so too did the storm in his mind. The fog dispelled from his eyes and made them clear again. Elated by a single breath he felt his frame expand, and his reach extend. The noise in his head, whose poisonous effect was only recognised in its absence, had silenced, and all the world could speak to him once more and he to it, in a wordless language whose simple pleasure could finally be known.

~~~~~

The sled was complete. When Sevt gave it a push it proved to be sturdy, sliding across the room, despite its hotchpotch appearance. The huskies sniffed it curiously after it came to rest on the slope merging the floor to the wall.

“Would you look at that? Soon you and Oleg may no longer need to stand sentry.”

Velour scratched the back of his head while leaning on his spear.

“You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. Besides, you seem to forget that we are now watching over two cripples, whereas it used to be a man with no leg and a figurehead.”

Sevt could not tell if he was joking or voicing others’ perception of Malcolm. He just nodded.

“I appreciate your help, especially with the timber.”

Vel shrugged, “I might not have helped you if Malcolm didn’t voice your importance…”

He trailed off. He chuckled.

Something was eating away at him.

“Come now,” said Sevt, “there’s something you’d like to say.”

“It’s something the old chief tasked me with telling you. But if I’m being honest most of what he says escapes reason. Still, I feel obligated to let you know.”

Why is he making this difficult?

“You’re a friend now,” said Sevt, “surely as friends we can confide in each other?”

Vel shrugged again, “He was rambling about his faith several days ago. Asking me if I believed in God. I told him I didn’t, of course. How can one justify the judgement we have received when an all-loving God supposedly exists…”

“Right, right.”

“Well.” Vel shifted, “What he told me next was even more interesting. Ultimately, does a man’s purpose rely on an ordainment from someone above?”

Sevt limped over to the sled while the guard talked, pulling it away from the wall with Strelka standing on top. She froze up with caution as Sevt moved it back to the centre of the room, then hopped off and padded back to her corner, dropping down to rest.

“In his meditations,” Vel continued, “he came to a realisation, something he had not thought of before. And it’s regarding you. You’re a green drop…”

“As many keep reminding me.”

“…but not necessarily an anomaly. See, it had been years since we’d seen anyone new, but it doesn’t mean that people don’t continue to drop.”

“So I’m not special.” Sevt sat on the sled, which held his body weight, “that’s a relief.”

“You’re more important than you realise. Malcolm starved and struggled just to reach an iota of clarity, because this place has eaten away at him as it has at everyone else. The best hope that a hopeless people can have, is someone not yet surrendered to despair.”

Sevt considered that a leap in judgement.

“What would Mal have me do?” He struggled to rise against his crutch. “Is he saying that he wants me to replace him?”

“I believe he thinks that you have a purpose to serve these people with your still untarnished clarity of mind.”

“You guard two cripples, remember?” Sevt indicated to the stump that once bore his leg. “Is this a symbol of strength for the people?”

“Well,” Vel tapped the ground with his spear. “You certainly could not defend yourself from someone like me if you needed to. And I cannot attest as to the strength of your mind. I know only that, if someone like me were given a chance to prove my worth, when I never before could, I would consider it.”

A woman entered the room. She was tall and wiry, wearing a wide plastron necklace of green lichen.

“Oleg let me through,” she said, before the men could utter a word. “Sevt, Panuk is asking for you. It’s urgent.”

The green gatherer became grim at the final word. She cast a wary glance in Vel’s direction. He threw up his hands.

“Go on. You don’t need my permission.”

Sevt had nowhere else to be. He followed her out. Vel nodded to him as he left. “Think about it,” he seemed to silently say.

I’m not a leader. I’ve been tasked with protecting Aurora, and that’s what I’ll do.

Immediately he was cast back to the day that Panuk treated Sevt and the guards, then to Quin’s death ceremony. He did not recall the drink or the cold, the conversations that were had, nor the incident with Little Malcolm and his gang. But he did remember the people, every single face and the souls behind them, how the corners of their eyes would crinkle with amusement or vanish with sorrow, how a laughing mouth could turn into a leer or a scowl. Blue eyes, brown eyes, grey eyes, and green eyes, all alive and alight. Sevt recalled their humanity, and the sinking prospect of abandoning it to save his own hide, something he no longer believed he could do.

“Quickly,” urged the green gatherer, as if she did not notice Sevt’s crutch, “Olga didn’t want anyone else to know besides you. Panuk isn’t well.”

Why summon me? I’m not a healer. There must be others that can assist him.

Perhaps they already had one, and Sevt was only needed to comfort his friend. In which case he would not refuse.

The two of them certainly place a lot of trust in me.

And he had grown quite fond of them in return.

Sevt and the green gatherer walked to the edge of the commune, where a sequence of igloos pressed close to the wall. At the closest one they found Olga and Panuk.

He could not stay still. He would throw himself from one side of the track to the other, leaning on the snow wall and having it crumble under his hands, all while avoiding Olga and mumbling under his breath.

Once she saw Sevt, Olga seemed both relieved and furious.

“He’s not making any sense. He said he would only talk to you.”

Panuk noticed Sevt and, with clammy hands and a damp, horrified expression, stumbled towards the cripple, leaning on him with all of his weight, mouth pressed against ear.

“I saw it, Sevt. I finally saw it…”

Olga and the green gatherer pulled the two men apart.

“I know what it’s all for…”

Panuk’s eyes were red with pain, shame and fear, all at once. Sevt could not recall ever seeing anything like this in a person.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Olga restrained her husband, “Sevt’s here, now what was it you wanted to tell us?”

“Take it easy on him,” Sevt held out a hand, “He’s not himself.”

“You think?” Olga might have torn his throat out if she did not have her hands full.

“Sowne told us to walk in twos. It’s never been an issue, never, not until now.” Panuk mumbled.

He had always moved by himself between Mal’s shelter and his own when working on the sled with Sevt. He had for several days.

And there are always people about on his way home. Sowne’s rules only really applied to those living at the commune’s edges or venturing outside.

The green gatherer slowly let go of Panuk, despite the efforts it now took keep him on his feet.

She’s afraid. Just as the couple are.

“It started this morning when we woke up. Kyreth, help me with him!!”

“How did it start?” Sevt looked around. Some people walking by had already noticed the commotion and were turning their heads.

“He’s never been much of a talker around strangers. Now he refused to talk to me. He couldn’t look me in the eye. Kept mumbling about this dream—”

“Nnnnoo!” Panuk broke free and fell on all fours. He gave a quiet moan. The snow beneath him glistened with fresh drops. Olga scrubbed them away with her foot and helped her husband up, wiping his eyes with her sleeve.

“But that can’t be true.” Said Sevt, “He was treating the guards and I, reminiscing about his old life. He seemed fine to me.”

“I’m a liar…,” Panuk’s voice was as thin as a thread, “to myself. To you.”

Something had changed. And overnight.

“What happened when he came home?”

Olga prickled at the question.

Now that’s odd.

“Nothing happened. I already told you, he woke up like this.”

“And he was seeing nightmares. It’s not like he hit his head and became afraid of his own shadow?”

“No…,” the husband shook his head, “I was attacked—”

“Panuk!” Olga smacked him across the shoulder and pushed him away from Sevt.

Sevt limped after them, “Attacked by who? And where?”

“If this gets out, Sevt…,” Olga hid between the wall of the commune and an igloo, trembling, “you have no idea… what we’ll face…. God, you’re compromised just speaking to us.”

And that’s when he saw it. Beneath Panuk’s hood and a shock of his sable hair, a decaying bruise was punched at the top of his forehead. The same kind that Quin had been marked with.

“I’m a liar…” the man repeated, “to myself and to you.”

“No you aren’t.” Olga cradled his face, “You don’t get sentenced to the lowest circle just for lying! You know that.”

Sevt took a step back, “Olga…”

“Whatever it was that did this to you, it’s the liar.”

Panuk looked at his wife with eyes as wide as fists, “It wasn’t a demon. It was Cara.”

Olga recoiled, “Cara? But she’s…”

Her voice faded. The green gatherer Kyreth had turned away, whether out of fear or disbelief, Sevt could not say. She was ushering onlookers to keep walking past.

“Cara, the musher, is not gone. She’s not dead.” Spittle flew from Panuk’s teeth, “I’m not in Hell for lying. I’m a liar for believing in salvation.”

He pushed Olga away and plodded towards Sevt.

“All of us are.” he grabbed the cripple by the shoulders, who tried to keep at arm’s length, “we’re here for a reason, Sevt. We’re doomed souls. Souls who squandered everything in our mortal years, either out of pride or wrath. I remember it all. I remember everything now.”

Panuk’s eyes were bloodshot, face strained, every third word spat into Sevt’s face. Olga was trying to pull him away again.

What do they mean we’re in “Hell”?

All the talk of souls. The demons and the spirits they had faced… No. It could not be true. Hell was a fiery pit, scorching and separate from God. That was what he had always known, what he had been taught a lifetime ago. Panuk was being delusional. Besides, Sevt had faced this before himself.

“Don’t.” Sevt could not say if he was speaking to the wife or the husband, “I know what you’ve been through—”

“Don’t feed his delusions, for God’s sake!” She cried.

“I know what you’ve been through. You don’t honestly think you’re the only person here to be tempted with ‘truth’ by demonic forces, do you?”

“Sevt!!”

He pulled the man close, “When I was on the sea, and I had lost my leg, I was feverish and in pain. Terrible pain. Out of the darkness, while Quin, Aurora, and the huskies slept, I heard a voice. It told me twisted versions of the truth that seemed too real to ignore. It knew what I was fighting for and what I remembered from my old life, and it convinced me that nothing would be waiting for me when I returned. And maybe it was right…”

He did not mention the dream, of Faith and the boy, a child he did not remember but which represented hope. If Panuk had only dreamed nightmares, Sevt was not about to remind him of their prophetic value.

“But then I told him the absolute truth, not a version of it. I don’t hope to change before I escape this place. I must change. What other alternative is there? To rot here? To become one with oblivion?”

He had hoped to see a change in the man. For his features to relax and his grip to loosen, for tears of joy to well his eyes and to allow Olga into his arms. Panuk displayed none of it. His brow sharpened, and his fists clenched tighter around Sevt’s furs.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get it…”

Olga pulled him back, “Alright, I think that’s enough.”

“You don’t get it.” Panuk pressed his face against Sevt, who tried to stumble backwards but could not, “We are punished because we forfeited everything in life. Even if we make it out, even if we are ‘saved’, there’s nothing to return to. Nothing. Nothing. Only shame. We can’t return to a regular life even if we’re forgiven. We wouldn’t know how to live.”

Kyreth had returned to help. With their combined efforts, Olga pulled her husband back from Sevt, who pushed away and nearly fell. The green gatherer caught him and helped maintain his balance.

Olga held a restless Panuk’s face with both hands, “My love, don’t do this. Please. You’re hurting us both with your fears, don’t you realise that? You’re not being realistic, or thinking straight. Do you really want to be remembered as the weak, craven man who stayed behind? Is that what you want?”

Panuk was shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter… what I want… even if we make it out, I’ll still be… I’ll still be…”

“What? Goddamnit talk to me, Panuk!”

He pushed her away once more. His eyes caught Sevt’s before the end; full of pain, shame, and fear they were. He slipped a dirk from his sleeve.

Sevt felt for the blade at his belt and found it missing.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” Panuk slit his own throat in a fountain of red.

Olga’s scream would be shrill and long. She would claw at her ashen face with eyes ready to burst. Sevt would watch rivulets of blood ooze from under the collapsed corpse, waiting with baited breath to say or do something, him and the green gatherer at his side. But it had already happened, and the time to act was past.

A cascade of heavy footfalls surrounded them. Confused voices panted to each other. Some of them yelled at Sevt, though he could not hear them. Panuk’s eyes once had a soul in them. Now they were just flesh.

“So then,” Sowne’s voice was hard not to recognise, “it seems I was right about you, cripple. You are an omen of bad luck, aren’t you? Evil follows you wherever you hop.”