 
# HEARTS OF FROST & FLAME

A DRAGON DUOLOGY

GREATSHADOW • HUSH

BOOKS ONE AND TWO OF THE DRAGON APOCALYPSE

Copyright © 2020 by James Maxey

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover art by James Maxey

First Printing

Smashwords Edition

The author may be contacted at james@jamesmaxey.net

Sign up for his newsleter at www.jamesmaxey.net.

Greatshadow originally published by Solaris Books 2012

Hush originally published by Solaris Books 2012

# GREATSHADOW

BOOK ONE OF THE DRAGON APOCALYPSE

Truth is hard.

Truth is harsh.

Truth is all that matters.

It is stark, and beautiful

and complete.

# 1 - BONE-HANDLED KNIFE

WHEN INFIDEL GRABBED me by the seat of my pants and charged toward the window, I didn't protest. Partly this was due to the speed of her action, but mostly due to my inebriation from the sacramental wine we'd stolen. Plus, it wasn't the first time I'd been defenestrated by her. Of course, this window was five hundred feet up, in a lava-pygmy temple carved into the sheer cliff face of a volcano.

In my semi-drunken haze, I admired the view as I departed the temple, surveying the landscape around me. The night sky was bright orange as the bubbling caldera above reflected against belching steam. Far below, the dark, vine-covered canopy of trees draped like a casually tossed blanket down slopes stretching to the moonlit ocean. A lovely tropical night, one might even call it serene, save for the steady pulse of war drums and the nerve-jangling pygmy battle cry. It's difficult to relax with angry hordes of waist-high men barking in unison, "Yik-yik-yik-yik-yik!"

I reached the apex of my arc and began to fall. A deafening, high-pitched shriek drowned out the pygmies.

I don't know why I was screaming. If experience was any guide, Infidel had aimed me toward a bushy looking patch of forest. While my brain had faith in her, my vocal cords had doubts. I quickly saw that my brain was correct as I fell toward a living net of blood-tangle vines. I threw my hands over my eyes. My leather gauntlets spared my face from the worst of the thorns as I punched into the canopy, the vines popping and snapping beneath my weight. I bounced from branch to branch on the trees below. Even with my leather armor, the beating was as bad as anything I'd ever received at the hands of a mean-spirited bouncer.

Seconds later I jerked to a stop, completely tangled. I spread my fingers and found my face inches above a jagged obsidian boulder. The sobering realization I'd just escaped a messy death negated the effects of the stolen wine. I reached for the steel flask in my back pocket and took a quick gulp to restore myself. As much as I wanted to hang in the vines until my nerves calmed, I knew the pygmies wouldn't need long to find me. I reached for my bone-handled hunting knife and chopped at the tendrils, my body lurching, until I dropped onto the boulder and tumbled to the ground.

I looked up at the hole I'd punched in the canopy. Far above, a dark speck shot from the window through which my hasty exit had been facilitated. The speck quickly took on the shape of a woman as she hurtled toward the gap in the trees.

Infidel was laughing. She had both hands wrapped around the dragon-skull, hugging it to her chest like an oversized watermelon. Her long blonde hair trailed out behind her. She wore the loose-fitting white blouse and navy breeches from her recent stint as a mercenary in the pirate wars. She was barefoot, the soles of her feet black as coal. The orange light caught the string of yellow beads around her throat, a necklace of human molars that she'd kept as a diary of sorts while she'd served aboard the Freewind.

If she'd been aiming for the hole I'd left in the vines she missed, overshooting by several yards. I lost sight of her, but heard curses and grunts as she bounced from branch to branch, the blood-tangle snapping as it slowed her fall.

I managed to find my feet as she stumbled out of the darkness. Her blouse and breeches had been torn in a dozen places, but there wasn't a scratch on her enchanted skin. She had blood red flowers jutting from her hair and thorny vines draped over her shoulders. She held the dragon skull above her head one-handed, as if it was carved from balsa. With her other hand, she used her cutlass as a machete. Her lips were pressed together tightly as she spotted me.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Nothing's broken," I said, my voice trembling. I took another swig from the flask. "Your aim's still good."

She giggled. "I'm glad you're fine, because I'm looking forward to teasing you for the next ten years about that scream. Even I can't hit a note that high."

I held a finger to my lips and whispered, "You can laugh later. The pygmies won't be far behind."

"We've got a good head start," she said, looking up at the temple. She plucked a few flowers from her hair and flicked them away. "You worry too much.

For most of my life, I've earned a reputation as a man who doesn't worry enough. It's only around Infidel that I play the role of responsible adult. She's been magicked up to be as strong as ten men, with skin as tough as dragon hide. Her supernatural gifts have left her fearless, an aspect of her personality that draws me like a moth to a flame. Like many a moth, I sometimes get singed.

She held the dragon skull toward me, admiring it in the dim light. "The Black Swan's going to slip in her own drool when she gets a look at this."

Since I was presently in hock for a life-endangering sum of money to the Black Swan, I hoped that would be the case. Blood-houses throughout the Shining Lands pay handsomely for dragon bones. A single knuckle can be worth its weight in gold. An entire skull, complete with lower jaw and all the teeth, was a fortune so large that adjectives fail me. It would cover my debt and, more importantly, once more restore my line of credit at the bar. The cheap river-pygmy hooch I'd been swilling since the Black Swan cut me off was unbefitting of a connoisseur of fine spirits.

I whispered, "Let's get going. The pygmies know this jungle better than we do and –"

There was a tapping sound, like raindrops hitting a leaf. Infidel looked over her shoulder, stretching out her long, slender leg. Three porcupine quills were caught in the torn fabric of her pants. Suddenly, the air around her was thick with flying quills, some tangling in her hair, some bouncing off her impervious forehead. My own armor sprouted a dozen of the missiles. None made it through the leather, which was good. Lava-pygmies tip their darts with poison.

"Follow me!" Infidel shouted, slicing at a wall of vines with her cutlass and leaping through, the dragon-skull balanced on her shoulder. She could have stayed and fought without risk. By running she was protecting both me and the pygmies. We'd come here to rob them, not kill them.

I ran as fast as I could, slashing out with my bone-handled knife to better clear the path. In the darkness, I focused on Infidel's bright hair bobbing before me like a ghost. The pitter-patter of pygmy feet echoed in the canopy. Darts tapped across my shoulder blades as they continued to fire.

I kept falling farther behind. I was only a week away from my fiftieth birthday, too old for this profession. Once this was over, I swore to find a safer, more gentlemanly way of earning a living. My breath came in ragged gasps. A stabbing pain ran up my side. I could barely raise my knife to chop away the remnant vines Infidel left in her wake. I felt sure that if I pulled off my boots, sweat would pour out like stale beer from a pitcher.

I wiped the perspiration from my eyes. When I pulled my hand away, Infidel was gone. I kept running. The darkness in front of me had an Infidel-sized hole torn from it. Beyond I could see the rolling clouds of the eerie orange sky. There was a bass rumble ahead, a sound like a waterfall. I skid to a halt on the lip of a cliff and looked down into a deep scar in the earth. Infidel dangled from a mass of roots just beneath my feet. She still had the dragon skull, but her cutlass was nowhere to be seen.

"I know where we are!" she yelled, her voice nearly drowned out by the rushing water beneath her.

I knew as well: the southeast slope of the volcano is cut through by a whitewater river that cascades all the way to the sea.

"We're practically home!" she shouted.

I was of a different opinion. Many years ago, a palm-reader in Commonground told me I'd die of drowning. More poetically, she'd told me, "The sea will swallow your bones." It had been one reason I hadn't joined Infidel on the Freewind. I extend my caution by never imbibing anything watery enough for a fish to live in.

"Jump!" Infidel yelled.

"Let's weigh our options!" I shouted back.

Arguing proved pointless. Infidel pulled herself up on the thick root she held, clamping onto it with her teeth. With her now free hand, she punched the cliff wall. The root-draped stone beneath me crumbled.

As I dropped, Infidel grabbed me by the shoulder, pulling me toward her. She wrapped her arm around me, pressing me tight against her unbreakable body. Her breasts flattened against my back as she spooned me, curling us into a ball with her powerful legs. Her breath was hot against my neck. We fell through darkness, weightless.

I couldn't breathe. Partially because Infidel's arm across my belly was as gentle as a python, but, even more, because I so often dream of Infidel's embrace. She'd been a mere teen when I met her; I, a worn-out drunk twice her age. I'd watched as she'd ripped the arm off a bold warrior two feet taller than her who'd pawed her lithe body as she'd stood at the bar of the Black Swan. I wasn't the only man to witness this that quickly decided an attempt at seduction wasn't worth the risk.

I was, however, the only one who bought her a cider that evening and told her tales of the ruined cities hidden in the jungle. I've always been quick to make friends. Fate's brought me many fortunes over the years, and I've spent those fortunes making sure the patrons of the Black Swan never go thirsty. Yet I've never had a friend quite so true as Infidel. Her lightness balances my darkness; her recklessness makes the ongoing foolishness of my life look like sage wisdom. The two of us laugh together freely, and trust each other with our lives. I'm the one person who would never betray her for the obscenely large bounty on her head. She's the one person who never abandons me when my money runs out and I'm suddenly begging for drinks.

Never once in ten years of friendship has a night passed in which I didn't fantasize about her touch. I've never spoken a word of my secret passion. She means too much to me. It's not my arm I fear losing; it's her company. Our time together is so much sweeter than our time apart.

As dreamlike as her embrace might be, there was the unfortunate reality that we were hurtling toward a dark, raging river. With a horrible jolt, Infidel's shoulder cracked a boulder. We bounced into the torrent and her grip loosened. I inhaled, a bad move since my head was under water. We slammed into another rock and I slipped from her grasp. My face popped above the surface for a second and I coughed, water spraying from my lips. I sucked a cupful of air and croaked, weakly, "Infidel!"

She didn't answer as I bobbed along, careening from rock to rock. In moments of panic the mind can latch onto the most trivial details, and I noticed I'd lost my knife. Infidel either misplaced or broke her weapons on a daily basis, but I'd carried this knife for forty years; it had been a gift from my grandfather. For a fleeting second, finding the knife felt like a priority. Then, from the thunder ahead, I realized that I was about to be swept over a waterfall and my new priority became not to do so. I clawed desperately at boulders, but my hands had no strength. I still could only gulp small mouthfuls of air. The rocks pummeled me like the fists of giants. The knife-sharp pain that had torn my gut while running sliced me from groin to gullet. The water pushed me under and I went numb.

They say that drowning men see their lives pass before them. I could only see the fortuneteller, an old woman with dark eyes, her ears sporting gold rings and thick tufts of gray hair. Her voice crackled like dry leaves as she traced the line of my palm and told me how I'd meet my end.

Of course, she'd told Caleb the Crusher he'd die by hanging and he'd been the man whose arm Infidel had torn off on her first night in Commonground. You have to question the skills of a diviner who misses such a fate.

I slammed into a rock face first. Stars danced before me, changing to snowflakes as they showered down in the darkness. I found myself standing before Aurora, the ice-ogress who serves as the main muscle at the Black Swan. She was discussing the small matter of my bar tab. In the three months Infidel had been at sea, I'd been a little freer with my purse than usual. When I confessed that I had no money, Aurora had pointed out that a man was never completely without assets. Artfully butchered, human flesh could pass for pork; only a few coins per pound, but for a grown man that added up. I assured her that once Infidel returned, my fortunes would improve. She gave me thirty days. It was thirty-two days later when Infidel got back. Unfortunately, the Freewind had been on the losing side of the pirate wars. This was in no way Infidel's fault, but it meant that she'd not received the bonus promised to her in the event of victory. Given the way the Black Swan calculated interest, the handful of coins Infidel had been paid failed to dent my debt. Thus, not for the first time in my life, I was off to plunder the ancient tombs and temples of the Vanished Kingdom.

As I plunged over the lip of the waterfall, I took some small measure of comfort that my corpse would be sufficiently mangled that Aurora couldn't even sell it as dog food.

The drop proved to be the shortest distance I'd fallen that evening, a trifling fifty-foot plunge into a broad pool. The water at the base of the fall roiled. In the turbulence, I couldn't even guess which direction was up. The shallow gulps of air I'd gotten bobbing in the river were exhausted in seconds. My leather armor was heavy as steel plates. The pounding water pinned me. Yet, the pain and pressure felt distant. The water was warm, heated by the volcano, almost pleasant. The polished gravel beneath me was as comfortable as a feather bed. I went limp, all my weariness flowing from me like bubbles from my lips. There were worse ways to die.

As I was about to discover.

Just as I was on the verge of sleep and surrender, a strong hand grabbed my hair. Infidel tugged me above the surface and flung me across her left shoulder like a sack of sodden potatoes. She still carried the dragon skull, her fist shoved inside the base. She waded through knee-deep water as I draped across her back, my eyes at the level of her heart-shaped buttocks. Water poured from my lips, but I couldn't muster the will to inhale.

Infidel laid me on a beach of black sand, dropping the skull beside me, then straightened, shaking her head to get the hair from her eyes. She looked as soggy as a drowned rat; her torn pirate blouse hung from her arms like flaps of skin on a once-fat man. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, knotted so horribly that she needed a razor more than a comb. At some point, her necklace of molars must have snapped. The only evidence it had ever been there was a single tooth wedged between her hip and the top of her broad belt. Despite her sorry condition, her waterlogged clothes revealed the magnificent paradox of her body, the sleek and sultry curves that sat atop angular, iron muscles.

I spotted something amiss on her flawless form. A dark red stain glistened atop her left shoulder. I sucked in a spoonful of air, the effort making me tremble, and whispered, "You're bleeding."

She frowned as she followed my gaze to the crimson circle that seeped out across her blouse in ever-lightening shades of pink. Her eyes grew wide. In the adventures we'd shared, I'd only seen her bleed three times. Once, No-Face had caught her square in the mouth with his ball and chain, producing a split lip. He'd hit her by accident and she didn't hold grudges, which was the only reason he was still alive. The same couldn't be said for the bounty hunter who'd gone after her with a shadow sword. He'd crisscrossed her arms with a dozen cuts before she wrestled the blade away. They'd had to carry out what was left of him in buckets. And, of course, there had been the tussle with that mechanical tiger with the diamond-tipped claws. The only scars on her otherwise flawless legs had come from that fight.

Her face turned pale as she pushed the remnants of her pirate blouse down her shoulder, revealing streaks of red across her ivory skin. She wiped away the blood with her fingers, leaving behind smooth, unblemished flesh.

She looked back at me, her face turning whiter still.

I looked down. I understood why I couldn't breathe.

The good news was, I'd found my knife.

The bone-handle jutted from the waist of my leather armor. Eight inches of honed steel were lodged in my gut. I couldn't feel a thing, but blood pulsed from the wound with every fading heartbeat.

Infidel dropped to her knees. I looked up at her, her face so bright as the world around me darkened. I took in another teaspoon of air and mumbled, "Tell the f-fortuneteller... I want... my m-money back."

Infidel frowned, then just as quickly grinned. "You faker," she giggled. "It's nothing more than a scratch." She grabbed the edge of my vest with both hands. The thick leather tore like tissue paper in her superhuman grasp.

Her jaw went slack.

It was something more than a scratch.

Her gaze met mine once more, and for the first time ever I saw tears gleaming in her eyes, her lovely eyes, a pale blue-gray, the ephemeral color sometimes found on the horizon of the ocean, where you can no longer tell where the sky ends and the water begins.

I couldn't let my final words to her be some joke, some quip that hid the great secret truth of my life. I managed to swallow another mouthful of air and whispered, "I... have always... l-loved you."

"Stagger," she whispered back, eyes closing, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, Stagger."

I closed my eyes as well, unable to spare the strength to keep them open. My heartbeat fluttered in my ears, faint and failing. I hoped I could die at peace now; I'd confessed what I should have revealed ten years before. And yet... and yet there was one thing more. One last secret haunting me as I slipped toward my final rest. My blood turned cold as the guilt of my only betrayal of Infidel's trust pulsed through me.

I mouthed the words, my voice barely audible, "I... didn't lose... the m-map. I... s-sold it... to the... the... f-fishmon—" my voice failed. I tried to breathe but couldn't. My body refused to obey, save for my eyes, which opened once more.

Infidel's face was inches from my own. Her lips were puckered. I had the distinct impression she was about to kiss me. Then her eyes snapped open. She jerked upward as my final words sank in.

"You did what?" she asked.

I tried to answer, but it was no use. My body was done for. I couldn't even close my eyes. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear what she said. Her words were lost beneath the roar of waves from a distant, invisible ocean. Behind her, I could see the bright orange faces of lava-pygmies as they emerged from the forest, holding spears tipped with glassy black rock above their heads, preparing to strike. I couldn't warn her. I couldn't do anything except drift upward. Whatever essence there may be of a man that is separate from his body had come loose as my heart went silent. I found myself floating, a shapeless, formless thing, a fog composed of memories and broken dreams, cut free from my flesh.

I looked down though non-existent eyes at the scene beneath me. Spears were bouncing off Infidel's back. She rose with a snarl, yanking the bone-handled knife from my belly. Normally, I love to watch Infidel in combat. She fights like the unholy union of a bobcat and a ballerina, a whirlwind of blades and laughter that traces the landscape around her with long and looping arcs of blood.

But I paid little mind as she raced toward the first pygmy and delivered a kick that sent him flying above the treetops. Instead, I looked down at the sorry, sodden thing that I'd once thought of as me. I hadn't made it to fifty, but the mask of wrinkles around my eyes could have belonged to a man twice that age. My cheeks and chin were speckled with scraggly white stubble; I couldn't grow a decent beard on a bet. My shoulder-length hair was streaked through with gray. My pony-tail did nothing to hide the scaly bald patch at the back of my skull. I was tall, and in my better days my torso had been shaped like a V, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Until this moment, I always pictured myself with that body, and never accepted that the bottom of the V had gotten lost beneath an O, a big, oval jug of jiggling fat that must inevitably attach itself to a man who loved his liquor as much as I did.

With my eyeless vision, I could see the truth of who I'd been: a fat, half-bald old drunk who'd been vain enough to fantasize that a woman whom the gods must surely envy might one day love him.

As my consciousness expanded, ever wider, ever thinner, I was dimly aware that I'd miss that man.

Then, I had no awareness at all.

Or, more accurately, I had awareness, but no will, no ability to guide my perceptions or ponder the scenes I saw. I was spread through all things. I was present in the dark depths of the ocean, floating beside hideous fish with lantern eyes and jaws like bear-traps. I was present in the jungle, slithering among the branches crawling with snakes and toads and beetles, all in rainbow hues brighter than gemstones. I was present in the bars of Commonground, where battle-weary veterans of the pirate wars stumbled along the uneven boardwalks as whores called out for their company. I could feel all the lust and loneliness of their moments, all the sorrowful joy that spills into the universe when two strangers touch in intimacy.

And, far, far above the squalid city, I was present in the clouds, looking out upon a night sky full of glittering diamonds, keenly aware of every point of light. The sky shimmered with distant suns and unseen planets. I could hear the murmur of countless voices, the indecipherable echoes of life on worlds too numerous to number. What was left of my mind shrugged and surrendered, unable to absorb the infinite majesty of a creation in which my life had been of no consequence at all.

It was into this vastness that I would disappear. The final spark of my consciousness calmly dissipated. Like a stream of stinking urine spreading into the ocean, I was absorbed once more into the Great Incomprehensible All.

Then, blood pulsed within my non-existent heart.

There was another pulse, then another, and I began to feel as if I once more had veins and arteries, as if I once more had lungs. The atoms of my awareness raced back from the ocean, from the forest, from the sky, coalescing into a specter above my still very dead corpse. Where I'd been only a formless mass of thought, I could now look down at ghostly fingers, wraith-like toes, and a phantom wang. I was hanging naked above the shell of my body. I reached down to touch it, but my ghost hands found no purchase in the dead flesh. Yet, I was definitely me again. Something had halted the dispersal of my soul.

Around my body, the ground was wet with blood. Far more blood, I knew, than had ever pumped through my heart. I quickly spotted the severed limbs and mangled torsos of half a dozen pygmies. I felt a shiver of guilt that I'd brought this fate upon them. I spun around, searching for Infidel.

She looked as if she'd been doused with buckets of tomato juice. She had a pygmy dangling in her grasp, a chief judging from his feathered head-dress. She had my bone-handled knife pressed against his throat.

"Call them off!" she growled, as more pygmies emerged from the trees. "Leave us alone and no one else gets hurt!"

The chief responded by spitting in her eye. Two seconds later, his head was separated from his shoulders.

As his blood flowed across the bone-handled knife, life flowed back into me. I inhaled, my ghost lungs filling, and shouted, "Infidel!"

She didn't react. She was too lost in her anger to hear me as she charged the newest round of warriors, a dozen spearmen clustered in a frightened clump at the edge of the clearing.

I grabbed at her arm as she raced past me. My fingers passed right through her skin.

"Infidel!" I screamed again.

She didn't even blink as she crashed into the wall of spears, splintering them. The wide-eyed pygmies turned in unison to flee. She gave chase for only a yard or so, then, either in frustration or as a warning, she punched the nearest tree, splintering the trunk.

The tree groaned, then toppled, as Infidel lowered into a half crouch and scanned the area, her eyes as intense as a cat searching a bush for a bird.

Infidel remained alert for several minutes as her panting breath returned to normal. At last, she relaxed, straightening up. The pygmies had taken the hint. She twisted her head in a slow arc, her bones popping as the tension in her neck and shoulders slackened. Her lips parted slightly as she took a deep breath. Looking at my body, her shoulders sagged.

She walked toward my corpse, her arms limp at her sides, my bone-handled knife barely dangling in her grasp. When she reached my remains, she stared down, breathing slowly. The music of frogs and insects began to hum and strum as the violence of the moment before was swept away by the unceasing flow of time.

She shoved my knife into her broad leather belt and knelt before my body. Placing her arms beneath my knees and shoulders, she lifted me. I twisted my ghostly form to occupy the space of my corpse, trying to feel her hands upon my dead flesh, to no avail. I could no more grasp my body than I could grasp the wind.

She carried my cadaver into the calm end of the pool, walking ever deeper until I was submerged. She ducked her whole body beneath the water. I didn't know what she was doing. I was mystified, unable to read the blank mask of her face. She bobbed back above water to breathe. The blood from the battle washed from her cheeks. As the water carried off the gore that caked my grandfather's knife, my ghostly body faded from my sight. I was no longer dispersing into nothingness, or allness, but was instead simply invisible, intangible, a memory of a man haunting the woman he once loved, his soul somehow bound to the blade that had killed him.

Beneath the water, she undressed me, peeling away my torn armor, still studded with pygmy darts. She washed the blood and mud and sand from my pale skin, her fingers gently tracing the lines of my face. She calmly worked the tangles from my hair, then let my body drift in the still water as she ducked back beneath and pulled off the shreds of her own clothes, scrubbing her skin, her hair spreading through the water like a halo as she patiently pulled out bits of vines from the numerous knots. Twenty minutes later, she carried my now clean corpse from the water. She was naked save for the thick black belt that sat upon her angular hips. The blade of my knife pressed against the smooth arc that traced where her belly met her hip, the tip resting near the thick blonde curls of her pubic hair.

She laid me gently on the black sand and sat beside me, her legs folded beneath her. I looked as if I was sleeping. The hole from which my life had drained was just a ragged flap an inch or two across, not so fearsome. She folded my arms over my chest, cupping the uppermost hand in her slender fingers. Free of blood, her skin gleamed like marble.

She sat for a long time, her lips twitching. Sometimes, she looked on the verge of tears. In other moments, I was certain she was about to curse and beat my battered corpse with her fists. In the end, her lips curled upwards, as the faintest hint of a smile managed to claw its way up from beneath grief and guilt and rage.

She shook her head gently as she looked into my face. As the jungle crescendo grew with the approaching daylight, and songbirds lent their voices to the drone of bugs and frogs, she swallowed deeply.

"You old fool," she whispered. "I loved you too."

# 2 - THAT DAMNED MAP

INFIDEL BURIED ME on a high bluff overlooking the sea. She'd carried me here wrapped in a colorful cloth she stole from the lava-pygmy village not far from the base of the falls. She'd met no opposition. It would be a long time before members of that tribe would come anywhere near her. The village emptied out as she'd walked into it. She could have robbed them blind, except, of course, they didn't have much to steal. The village was nothing but stick huts with dirt floors, with a few scrawny chickens the only livestock. It brought home the magnitude of my sins.

When the monks who raised me had taught me about hell, they'd painted vivid pictures of barren landscapes in which the damned are tormented by horned devils. I never feared it. But, if I'd been told that I'd linger on after death, forever confronted by the people I'd hurt the most... maybe I would have tried to be a better person.

After making my shroud, Infidel had fashioned an impromptu sarong from the remaining cloth. The fabric had a crimson base looped through with green lines and yellow circles. The yellow circle motif could be found all through the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom. My grandfather had speculated that the yellow circle represented Glorious, the primal dragon of the sun, who had been worshipped as a god in ancient times. I don't know if the pygmies gave the same symbolic value to it, or just liked the design. The festive pattern was remarkably inappropriate for wrapping a corpse, but Infidel valued practicality over propriety. Despite its failings as a shroud, I thought the cloth looked good on her. She normally didn't wear vivid colors; she especially disliked bright greens for some reason.

She'd spent much of the day following the river to the sea. Given the rugged terrain, she made better time with me as a limp corpse across her shoulder than if I'd still been alive. Her endurance matched her strength. Even with my weight, plus the dragon skull, she never stopped to rest or eat.

By the end of the day she'd reached my final resting spot. I don't know if she'd planned to bury me here. Perhaps she intended to take me all the way to Commonground, to have me outfitted for a proper coffin by one of the city's numerous undertakers. Unfortunately, after a single day in the jungle heat, I was beginning to spoil. Dark, foul-smelling fluid stained my shroud, and by the time we reached the bluff the fabric would go black with flies faster than Infidel could shoo them away.

Infidel placed me at the foot of a shaggy, wind-blown tree as the sun set behind us. Shadows danced on the waves as she rested. A cool, steady breeze blew up from the sea, drinking up the sweat beaded on her face. Her hair danced around her eyes as she stared out at the darkening sky, watching the stars flicker to life above the water.

At last, she began to dig. She had no tools other than her bare hands and my old knife. The soil was sandy, covered with a layer of scraggly grass. She worked through the night, digging until she had a pit deeper than she was tall. She lowered my body into the ground with a look of utter weariness, then proceeded to cover me with the mounds of damp earth heaped on both sides of the hole. She finished just before dawn, running her hands over the sandy grave as if she was smoothing out the wrinkles on a sheet.

She thrust the bone-handled knife into the soil above my head, where it stood like the world's smallest tombstone. I felt a flutter of panic. Would she leave the blade there? My spirit was now tied to the knife. For my soul to remain anchored here so close to my body was, I suppose, appropriate. Yet, I no longer felt any connection to the rotting meat six feet below. I wanted to remain with Infidel.

I had no lips with which to speak, so I merely thought the words, Keep the knife. Keep the knife. I suddenly understood what the monks had tried to teach me about the fierce urgency of prayer. Keep the knife. Keep the knife. Keep the knife.

She sat down, resting her hands on her knees as she glanced at the yellowed handle. The humble bone gleamed like precious ivory, polished and oiled by a lifetime spent in my sweaty hands. Take it, I prayed. Take it. Her face was lined with deep furrows around her lips as she frowned. She looked as if she was about to cry, but, always when she was on the verge, she'd swallow. Her fists would go tight, then the moment would pass. Her eyes turned away from the tiny tombstone. I sensed that my prayers would go unanswered. Still, as long as she still lingered by my grave, there was hope.

At last the sun came up. The water danced with colors to rival the sarong still draped around her shoulders. Gulls wheeled in the air above the cliff, calling out to one another. Clouds drifted leisurely overhead, white as lambs in a distant field. I wanted to tell her that she'd done a good job. My bones had to rest somewhere. This was a fine choice, a grave any ghost could be proud of. As much as I wished to continue to journey by her side, I knew my time had passed. If I was now a prisoner to eternity, this peaceful, sun-drenched bluff would be an acceptable jail.

By my count, Infidel had been awake for almost forty hours. Her endurance was superhuman, but not infinite. Her head sagged as she watched the endless dance of the waves. At last, she stretched out on the white sand of my grave. She used her arm as a pillow, and her fingers brushed against the handle of the knife. She looked at it again, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. She snatched the knife free of the soil, clutching it to her invulnerable breast like a doll. Then, with a shudder, she gave herself to sleep.

She slept fitfully through the day, undraping the cloth of her sarong and using it as a blanket pulled over her head to block out the light. As someone who'd shared campsites with Infidel, I knew she talked in her sleep. Mumbled, more accurately. Many a night I've lain awake and tried to make sense of her slurred half-words. Usually, I can't interpret them. But, as she turned from one side to the other, three unmistakable syllables escaped her lips: "So sorry."

She thinks she killed me. She thinks that as we fell toward the river, she was the one who drove the knife into my gut.

Perhaps.

I wish I could tell her that I don't blame her. She shouldn't ignore the fact that we were out robbing that temple because I was the one in debt, because I'm the one who needs to buy the company of crowds, because I'm the sucker who can't resist a good sob story from any down-on-his-luck bum who begs me for a few spare coins and winds up with my entire purse.

Of course, I wouldn't have been in debt when she got back from the pirate wars if I'd sold the map for even a fraction of what it was worth.

That damned map.

A year ago, Infidel had hunted down a fallen Wanderer by the name of Hurricane. Wanderers have a longstanding pact with Abyss, the primal dragon of the sea, that prevents them from ever drowning as long as they spend their lives without touching dry land. Their behavior is guided by ancient and elaborate laws; transgress these laws and a Wanderer can find himself put ashore on some distant desert island. Hurricane had suffered that fate, due to acts of piracy against fellow Wanderers. But, he didn't live out his days on his island prison. He'd built a raft, fled to the Isle of Fire, and resumed his piracy. The Wanderers placed a bounty on his head, a price large enough to catch Infidel's eye.

Finding Hurricane was no great challenge. He'd set up camp in a sea cave on the western side of the island. Infidel made swift work of his crew, and took Hurricane out with a single punch. We were searching his treasure chest when we found the map in a hidden compartment at the bottom. Even before we opened the thing, we knew it was something special. It was embroidered onto metallic cloth spun from threads of gold far finer than silk. The fabric made a musical sound as we unrolled it, like tiny guitar strings plinking. The map showed the central volcano of the Isle of Fire and plotted out several key buildings from the Vanished Kingdom. I knew this area well, both from my own explorations and my grandfather's detailed surveys. At the building I call the Shattered Palace, the map marked a tunnel leading into the volcano. Depending on how you held the map to the light, different layers were revealed; there were tunnels beneath tunnels. Someone had used ordinary ink to trace out some of the pathways, and there were notes near these paths, written in a code I couldn't decipher. I could only scratch my head as I turned the map from side to side, pondering the different images. Beneath the overlapping layers I spotted an 'X', and two words written in old-tongue that were perfectly clear.

Greatshadow. Treasure.

Greatshadow is the primal dragon who lives in the central volcano of this island. I've never seen Greatshadow, but my grandfather wrote that he'd been on the island once when the dragon was awake. He said that the big lizard had a wingspan half a mile wide. The heat of Greatshadow's breath will turn iron armor into hot white syrup dripping off the blackened bones of any knight foolish enough to face him. Like all dragons, Greatshadow has an eye for gems and precious metal. What he does with them, I can't even guess. It's not as if he strolls down to the Black Swan from time to time to buy a round. Still, he's been hoarding riches during the rise and fall and rise of at least two civilizations. If a man could sneak into that treasure vault for even five minutes, he could snatch up enough wealth to carry him through a dozen lifetimes.

While I deciphered the map, I was thinking out loud, pitching my thoughts and theories to Infidel. Almost instantly, I regretted it. I could hear the wheels turning in her mind. We'd been tomb-raiding together for a long time. Why not go after the ultimate treasure?

Here's why: Greatshadow isn't just another monster. He's the living embodiment of fire. He may be wrapped in scaly hide, but he's fundamentally an elemental being, a sentient force of nature. A fraction of his intelligence is present in every flame. You can't kill something like this with just a strong arm and sharp sword.

Infidel is tough, but her skills as a thief tend toward the smash and grab. There was no way she could reach Greatshadow's treasure without confronting the dragon, and, if it came to that, good as she was, Greatshadow would win.

So, at my first convenient opportunity, I 'lost' the map.

This was really the only time I've ever deceived her, other than the daily, ongoing, unspoken lie that I wanted nothing more of her than friendship. It's weighed heavily on my conscious for the last year, mainly because she'd accepted my lame explanation of how I'd lost the map down a privy hole on the docks in Commonground. She'd reacted to my story with her easy-come, easy-go shrug and never mentioned it again. Maybe she'd known all along the adventure was too big for her. If so, that makes my lie even worse. If she could have been dissuaded from the lair by simple reason, we could have sold the map for a small fortune, perhaps even a large one. I didn't need to betray her trust. We could have been living it up in Commonground rather than out robbing pygmies with the same foolish bravery of young boys throwing rocks at a hornet nest.

She turns again in her slumber, moaning softly.

I'm sorry, I pray to her. So, so sorry.

INFIDEL RETURNED TO Commonground the following day, making good time as she bounded along the shore. In open terrain, she's fast as a jack-rabbit, using her super-strong legs to propel herself in skips that cover a dozen yards a stride. Around mid-morning she found the wreck of a ship; it couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. She didn't take long to explore it, but did manage to pull a damp, sand covered yard of canvas from the wreckage. She wrapped the dragon-skull in this – a wise precaution. Even with Infidel's reputation, Commonground is full of thieves who would be tempted by the sight. It's a lawless city, a bad place to call home. Of course, there's not a lot of choice in addresses when you live on the Isle of Fire. Commonground is the only real city on the island.

Actually, there are a couple of things wrong with that statement.

For starters, the city isn't on the island, but out in the bay. The whole place is up on stilts. Plus, it's not really a city in the ordinary sense of the word. It's a collection of docks. It's like a city that exists entirely of streets where the homes come and go on a daily basis. Wanderers gather here, taking refuge in the sheltered bay. On any given day you can find a hundred or so of their ships at the port, and several thousand of their ilk milling about. Of course, the Wanderers don't live in Commonground. They stay only a little while, then move on, replaced by the crews of other ships.

The only permanent residents of Commonground are people who've come there due to the lawless nature of the place. The Wanderers don't impose their codes on outsiders; they care nothing of the actions of others as long as it doesn't harm them. So, over the years, Commonground has become a haven to men and women not welcome in the more civilized parts of the world. Along the docks you'll find barges housing bars and brothels and blood-houses. These draw visitors from distant ports, mainly young, hedonistic men escaping the chains of morality that confine them in places like the Silver City. Also drawn to the place are criminals who've fled their homelands to seek out the one place on earth where no one ever asks about your past. It's taboo even to ask a person's real name in Commonground. Everyone goes by nicknames. It wasn't like my mother looked at me in the crib and said, "I bet he'll be a drunkard. Let's call him Stagger."

Commonground is just a lousy name. As noted, there's no ground at all. And you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who's common.

A few hours after she'd plundered the wreckage for the canvas, Infidel reached one of the boardwalks leading out into the bay. She strode purposely through the maze of docks, ignoring gawkers as she passed. The sight of her in the colorful sarong was turning heads. Infidel normally dressed in a more masculine fashion, often wearing leather armor even though she didn't need it.

Not that there were that many people out to gawk at her. The late afternoon sun was unbearable. The docks didn't really come to life until darkness fell. The algae green water of the bay was as smooth as jade in the windless heat. Fortunately, the tide was in. When the tide was out, a strong sea wind was the only protection against the raw sewage and fish-rot stench. With the water high, the stink wasn't so bad, though I was left to ponder why I could smell at all, since I no longer had a nose. Of course, I was seeing without eyes, and hearing without ears. If I wound up near whiskey, would I be able to taste it?

Of course, the best place to put that to the test was exactly where Infidel was heading. Near the heart of Commonground, Infidel reached the largest barge anchored at the docks – the Black Swan. This was a saloon and gambling house that catered to the high rollers from the Silver Isles. Wealthy men could visit the Black Swan with little fear for their safety. Thieves knew that messing with a guest of the barge could result in a visit from the Three Goons. Not many people would risk that for a bag of gold. A dragon skull on the other hand...

Infidel stepped through the door of the bar, pausing as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. The bar was decorated with a level of opulence that stumbled across the fine line separating good taste from garishness. The walls were lined with dark, polished teak; large paintings of scantily clad goddesses hung on the walls. The various gaming tables sported crisp velvet surfaces. Only a single poker table was fully occupied. Everyone else was likely sleeping in the well-furnished rooms above. The main room was at least twenty degrees cooler than the air outside. Behind the bar at the far end of the room was the reason why.

A first timer to the bar might mistake the creature who stood there as male, given the broad shoulders and looming height. Few people have ever seen an ice-ogre of either sex. Aurora's nine feet tall, with pale blue skin mottled with patches of white, like a sky full of clouds. She's bald save for a tuft of dark blue hair in a knot at the tip of her scalp. Tusks jut up from her lower jaws, reaching to her eyebrows. Her clothes offer no hint of her gender; she always wears a long sleeved, walrus-skin coat that hangs down to her ankles. Aurora exhaled as she spotted Infidel, her breath coming out in a fog. The ogress is in charge of security at the Black Swan. While most of Infidel's visits are peaceful, she's been known, occasionally, to cause a bit of property damage.

"Where's your shadow?" Aurora asked, squinting at the doorway behind Infidel. Crystals of frost on her cheeks sparkled like diamonds.

"My shadow?" Infidel asked, walking toward the bar.

"Stagger," said Aurora. "I never see you without him hang-dogging behind."

"Stagger's dead," said Infidel, placing the sack onto the bar. There was no emotion as she spoke the words.

"Oh," said Aurora. She shook her head slowly. "I'll miss him. Most drunks think they're funny and charming. He really was, sometimes."

"He was more than just a drunk," said Infidel.

"No offense," said Aurora, in a tone that sounded as if she had, indeed, meant no offense.

Infidel looked directly into Aurora's eyes. She knew about Aurora's threat to sell my body for meat; Aurora probably knew she knew. Of course, Aurora was just the enforcer. If Infidel had come here looking for revenge, she'd be looking for the woman who really called the shots.

"I need to see the Black Swan," said Infidel.

Aurora crossed her arms, her biceps bulging beneath the walrus leather. She and Infidel had never lit into one another; Infidel probably had an edge, but Aurora wasn't going to be a pushover. Her strength was supplemented by a formidable array of ice magic; for a tropical town, Commonground has a surprising number of residents who've lost limbs to frostbite. "The Black Swan has a busy schedule," Aurora said. "I'll see if I can work you into her calendar."

"I need to see her now," said Infidel.

Aurora shook her head. "She'll see you when she wants to see you."

"She'll want to see me now," said Infidel, pulling the canvas away from the dragon skull. All the people at the poker table suddenly placed their cards face down and stared at the bar. Whatever stakes they were playing for, a dragon skull would trump it.

The ice-ogress let loose an appreciative whistle as she eyed the priceless object. "The lower jaw and everything," she said, reaching out to touch it.

Infidel caught her by the wrist. Aurora tried to pull back, but Infidel held her arm immobile. I had my answer as to who was strongest. Then, Aurora grinned, and Infidel grimaced as her whole arm turned blue.

"Hold me too long and you'll lose those fingers," said Aurora, coolly.

"No one touches the skull but me and the Black Swan," Infidel said, through chattering teeth.

Aurora nodded. Infidel released her wrist.

"Given the nature of this transaction, I'll see if the boss is available," said Aurora, drawing her arm back. Infidel rubbed her frosted fingers as the ice-ogress vanished behind a red silk curtain at one end of the bar.

I sincerely hoped the Black Swan wasn't available. Whatever Infidel was planning to do, it couldn't be good.

As Infidel waited, a tall man in chain mail peeled away from the shadows in the far corner. He was broad-shouldered, his hair cropped short, his face rugged, probably handsome once, before his nose had been broken one too many times. His proboscis perched over his lips like a scaly red vulture. His hands were large and rough, his knuckles thick with calluses. I'd never seen him before. Perhaps this was some new enforcer that the Black Swan had hired, though more likely he was employed by one of the clients as private muscle. The man's gaze kept darting between the dragon skull and Infidel's bosom, accented as it was by the sarong.

"That's a mighty expensive thing for a little lady to be carrying," Vulture-nose said, easing up to the bar. "Seems like you could use a little security."

There was a commotion at the poker table. Everyone was standing up and stuffing their chips into their pockets. One by one, they bolted for the door.

Infidel gave him a sideways glance and said, with remarkable restraint, "Go away."

The big fellow grinned. "Aw, don't be like that. For a pretty gal like yourself, I wouldn't have to work for money. We could work out things out in trade. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

To demonstrate what he had in mind, the doomed man placed one of his meaty paws on the small of Infidel's bare back. His hand was nearly as large as her slender waist as he began to gently rub her.

It's easy to rub Infidel the wrong way.

When Aurora poked her head back into the room a second later, Infidel was in exactly the same pose as when she'd left. Above her was a hole about a yard across. Sunlight filtered down. A naked man in the room directly above sat up in his bed, looking up at the hole that had suddenly appeared in his ceiling. He looked down at the matching hole in the floor. He rubbed his eyes, perhaps not certain if he was awake. A single boot tumbled from the sky, landing with a thump on the floor next to Infidel.

"Some guy knocked a hole in your ceiling," she said. "You should be more careful who you let in this joint."

Aurora grimaced. "The Black Swan will see you now."

THE SALON WAS dark save for a red glow from the glass window of the cast iron stove. A ceramic crock of potpourri simmered on the stove, filling the room with a cloying floral perfume and a level of humidity worse than anything out in the jungle. Despite the heat, the Black Swan had a shawl of black feathers draped across her silk dress; save for its ebony hue her gown looked like something she might have worn at her wedding. Like a bride, a lace veil concealed her face. Her hands were wrinkled claws, speckled with dark brown liver spots, her long nails painted to match her wardrobe.

In a city of outlaws who would rob their own grandmother, the rise of the Black Swan as its most powerful denizen was something of a mystery. It seemed improbable that this frail old woman commanded the respect of ogres and half-seeds, but Aurora kept her head bowed as she approached the leather couch where the Black Swan lounged and said, in a reverent hush, "Madam, Infidel has come to discuss a matter of commerce."

"Thank you, Aurora," said the Black Swan. Her scratchy, dry voice made me imagine that, should she cough, dust would come out.

The old woman turned her head toward Infidel, then motioned her to have a seat on the padded leather chair across from the couch. As Infidel sat down, the Black Swan said, "Aurora informs me your lover has passed away."

"He wasn't my lover," said Infidel, somewhat over-emphatically, I thought.

"I see. I had assumed –"

"You assumed wrong," Infidel snapped. "Stagger was my friend. With the life I've led, I needed a friend more than I ever needed a lover."

"Ah, friendship," said the Black Swan. "It's a commodity I find sorely overrated. You cannot pay someone to be your friend; they may pretend to be so, but you would always know the truth. In my experience, if a thing cannot be purchased, it has no true value."

"Or it may have the greatest value of all," said Infidel.

"Your naiveté is charming." The Black Swan shifted on her couch. A handful of downy black feathers drifted to the floor. "Though, perhaps I've underestimated your judgment if you didn't take that old drunkard as a lover. You must have known that when the desire for alcohol gripped him, he would have gladly walked over any of his so-called friends to reach a bottle. Even you, my dear."

If I'd still had teeth, I would have ground them.

Infidel pressed her lips together. I was surprised at how calm she seemed. She said, "I haven't come to discuss my personal life. I've come to pay off Stagger's debts."

The Black Swan tilted her head. "This is most honorable of you."

"Honor has nothing to do with it," said Infidel. "I want to clear the balance sheets once and for all. I know you think of Stagger and me as a team; I don't want the money he owed you to influence any business we may undertake."

The Black Swan nodded. "The skull will cover Stagger's debt, and more. I will arrange an auction. Aurora will deliver the balance of the proceeds to you."

"Keep them," said Infidel. "I want to open my own account to make use of your services."

Aurora raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by this news. The Black Swan's face showed no reaction.

"I want to hire the Three Goons," said Infidel.

Aurora's other eyebrow shot up.

"This is... most unusual," said the Black Swan.

"Is it?" asked Infidel. "They're hired muscle. People purchase their services every day."

"Despite your many limitations, my dear, you are hardly lacking in muscle. Why would you possibly need their help?"

"I've got a robbery in mind. A smash-and-grab with a payoff that will make this dragon skull look like a hunk of tin. As good as I am, I'll need backup. The Three Goons can get the job done."

"Undoubtedly," said the Black Swan. "Alas, I cannot give you what you ask for. Another client recently engaged the Three Goons in an open contract. I don't know when they will be available."

"I'll buy out the contract," said Infidel. "Just name the price."

"My dear, I admire your ambition, but you cannot possibly match the resources of this client. For all practical purposes, their purse is infinitely deep."

"Who is it?" Infidel asked. "I'll talk to them. Make them an offer."

"You know that is a confidential matter."

Infidel frowned as she crossed her arms. Negotiations weren't Infidel's strong suit. I used to handle this sort of business.

The Black Swan said, "Perhaps there are others who could serve your needs? Commonground is thick with mercenaries. Post a bill and you'll have a hundred men standing in line for the job within an hour."

Which was true, but the Three Goons were worth a lot more than a hundred men. Remember No-Face? The only man who ever gave Infidel a split lip? He's one of the goons. And he's not the one that most people are afraid of.

Infidel's hands balled into fists. Aurora tensed up. Infidel's eyes narrowed as thoughts danced in her mind. She still hadn't given up. "You've tried to hire me before," she said. "I'll work for you for the next year. Take any job you give me. At the end of the year, you give me the Goons, no questions asked."

The Black Swan nodded, smiling faintly. I quickly sensed this was a bittersweet smile. She wanted to accept Infidel's offer, but couldn't. "Tempting. Quite tempting. There are men who would pay a lifetime of wages to use you for a night."

The color drained from Infidel's cheeks.

"My darling, you don't think I would waste a year of your service on fighting, do you? As you note, I already have access to the finest mercenaries on the island. I have a high priestess for my chief enforcer. Why shouldn't I have a princess for a whore?"

Aurora scowled deeply. It took me a second to realize that she had to be the priestess. It seems I wasn't the only one with a religious background that never got discussed. But I was even more intrigued that the Black Swan referred to Infidel as a princess. What did she mean?

Infidel jumped to her feet. Snow began to fall in the room as the temperature dropped to single digits. A sheen of ice glistened on Aurora's clenched fists, with icicles growing down like spiky claws.

"That wasn't what I was offering," Infidel said, her voice trembling as she tried to control her temper. "Don't twist my words!"

"You should be more careful with what you say, my dear," said the Black Swan. "You've offered a binding contract. Alas, I cannot act upon it. My word is my bond. My previous contract for the Three Goons is sacrosanct. Your virtue – such as it may be – is safe."

Infidel stared at the Black Swan, then cast one more glance at Aurora, now encased in a shell of ice that resembled armor. Infidel unclenched her fists, her shoulders sagging. I could sense she wasn't afraid of Aurora; she just knew that she wouldn't get what she wanted by hitting anyone in this room. She turned toward the door, then glanced back. "I want the balance of the skull in diamonds."

"Of course, my dear," said the Black Swan. "I've often thought you'd look good in jewelry. This new fashion of yours is a step forward, but could benefit from a few simple adornments."

Apparently, the Black Swan had never seen one of Infidel's molar necklaces.

The poker players were back at their table as Infidel stalked across the main room. The hole in the ceiling already had planks laid across it. As Infidel reached the door, Aurora called out to her.

"Hey," she said.

Infidel paused at the door, but didn't look back.

"I... I wanted to say that the Black Swan was wrong about Stagger," said Aurora. "He'd do a lot of things for a bottle. But he'd never sell out a friend. And everyone could tell you were much more than a friend to him."

Infidel sighed, shaking her head.

"Not everyone," she whispered, as she stepped outside.

# 3 - RIPPER

I FELT SENTIMENTAL as Infidel climbed from the creaking gangplank onto my old boat. She grabbed at rigging and rails as she moved across the slanted deck. I've lived my life askew – the mud-locked boat sits at a ten-degree tilt. An objective man would describe the place as a hovel. To me, the place was the closest thing I've ever had to home.

If you witnessed my vagabond lifestyle, you'd never suspect that not so long ago my family was wealthy. My great-grandfather was the famous – or perhaps infamous – Ambitious Merchant. Merchant is a family name stretching back generations, and it's common for followers of the Church of the Book to name their children after desirable virtues. Seldom has a man been more suitably monikered. Ambitious made a fortune in the slave trade, with Commonground as his base. The river-pygmies have enslaved forest-pygmies for centuries, but it was my ancestor who realized that these squat, muscular men could be sold as a commodity to the mines on the Isle of Storm. The trade goes on to this day, though my family no longer has any role in it.

The so-called pirate wars had more to do with the slave trade than with actual piracy. Many Wanderers regard slaves as just another cargo, which doesn't seem to mesh with their claims to hold freedom as the highest virtue. A band of radical Wanderers had taken a stand against the slave trade, going so far as to raid ships and free the captives. For this, they were branded as pirates and wound up with every navy in the world united against them. Infidel had signed on to a losing cause from the start.

While I've never gone so far as to take up arms to oppose the slave trade, I've always had a gut dislike of the practice and have never been shy about sharing my views. The business corrupts everyone, especially the river-pygmies. They think of forest-pygmies as animals, when anyone can see they're the same race, just of differing hues. Each of the three major pygmy tribes dye their skin with jungle berries: forest-pygmies are green, river-pygmies blue, lava-pygmies orange. Wash them off with vinegar and they're all fish-belly white. My grandfather, Judicious Merchant, son of Ambitious, discovered that the bitter dyes were an effective mosquito repellent, which is why I remember him with dark green skin.

Judicious had been trained to take up the family business until he made the mistake of actually talking to the pygmies. They told him tales of the Vanished Kingdom, a once great nation on this island, its monuments now buried beneath roots and vines. My grandfather burned through a great deal of the family wealth with his elaborate expeditions into the jungle. Judicious bore a son by a forest-pygmy woman; this was my father, Studious Merchant. As a teen, Studious aided his father by traveling to the Monastery of the Book, home of the world's most extensive library. He went to these archives to read everything that had ever been written about the Vanished Kingdom. But, while he was there, he grew to love the prayerful, contemplative life of the monks and joined their order. As a monk, father had his flaws. My existence is testimony to his difficulty with the vow of celibacy.

I'm told my mother was a prostitute who abandoned me on the monastery's doorstep. I've never even learned her name. I was raised in an orphanage run by the monks. My father taught there, but barely acknowledged me. Every three or four years, my grandfather, Judicious, would visit and tell me stories about his jungle adventures. He said that when I was old enough, he'd take me with him. I never saw him after my tenth birthday, when he'd given me the knife. I eventually reached Commonground on my own when I was seventeen, but no one had seen my grandfather in years. The jungle had swallowed him long ago.

My grandfather had owned the sailboat Infidel now stood upon; in his day, it was quite a vessel. As years passed with my grandfather absent from Commonground, the boat had been looted. Pretty much everything that hadn't been nailed down had been stripped, along with a fair share of stuff that had been nailed down. The husk was still anchored at the docks when I got to town, and no one protested when I moved in.

Infidel pushed aside the torn curtain that led into the small shack I'd built from cast-off lumber. She found the duffel bag of clothes she kept stashed in the rafters and tossed her sarong onto the floor. I'd never seen her naked when I was alive, but this was the second time since I'd died I'd gotten to see her full glory. Yet, her nudity didn't provoke lust. All my ordinary desires seem muted. Since dying, I haven't felt hungry or sleepy. Of greater interest is that I haven't felt thirsty. Perhaps I should be relieved. My afterlife truly would be hell if I were tormented by desires I had no hope of slaking. Still, it seems wasteful to finally look at Infidel's body and feel only dispassionate appreciation of her symmetry.

She pulled on a pair of canvas breeches, but frowned as she looked through her various blouses. Many were blood-stained and torn; she always was hard on clothes. She pitched aside the duffel and picked up one of my old shirts from the back of a chair, holding it to her face to sniff it. At first, I thought she must have found the scent unpleasant; her eyes began to water. Then, she hugged the shirt to her chest as she closed her eyes tightly. After a moment, she composed herself, slipping the shirt on, rolling up the too-long sleeves and cinching up the dangling shirt tails with her thick leather belt. She dug around under the bunk and found an old pair of boots she'd left here. In the jungle, she normally went barefoot. However, the boardwalks of Commonground were littered with things no sane person would want squishing between their toes. She shoved my bone-handled knife into the boot sheath, then rooted under the bed until she produced the scabbard that held my old saber.

For the first time in two days, she ate, raiding my pantry for dried herring wrapped in seaweed and a jar of pickled peppers. She washed it all down with the ceramic jug of rotgut I kept by the bed. Infidel rarely drank anything stronger than cider, but she chugged down the hard liquor like it was cool water. Afterward, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and belched.

Usually, my shack felt cramped with the two of us. Now that it was just her, the place looked larger than it used to. Infidel scanned the room, her eyes surveying the clutter. There were books everywhere. Like my father, I'm an avid reader. A muddied pair of my boots sat next to the door. The oil-cloth coat I wore during the rainy season was still slumped on the floor next to them.

But the dominant feature of the room were all the empty bottles - wine, cider, ale, whiskey. Somewhere in the world was a glassblower who earned a living due to my habits, though the bastard had never bothered to write me a thank-you note.

This mound of mildewed books and dirty bottles was all the evidence left that I'd once been alive. Whatever the quirks of my sundry ancestors, at least they'd all successfully reproduced. I'd died childless. The only legacy I left the world amounted to little more than litter.

THE SUN HAD set by the time Infidel departed my shack. The tide was flowing back out to sea. She wrinkled her nose as the stench of the muck wafted around her. She wound her way through the maze of gangplanks and piers, heading west. I knew where she was going. I had, after all, managed to choke out most of the word 'fishmonger' in my feeble dying effort to shed my guilt.

Bigsby was a rarity in Commonground, a man who made his living in an honest profession. Bigsby did brisk business selling barrels of dried and pickled fish to Wanderer ships and supplying the more upscale establishments, like the Black Swan, with fresh oysters and rock lobsters to serve their clientele. Of course, Bigsby wouldn't live in Commonground if there wasn't something wrong with him. In his case, it's physical. Bigsby is a dwarf, barely four feet tall, with the torso of a normal man but stubby legs and arms. He spends much of his time haggling with river-pygmies, buying their daily catch. Perhaps he came to Commonground to feel tall.

I'd sold Bigsby the Greatshadow map for a handful of coins. I'd been quite casual about it. I told him the map had belonged to my grandfather, but was a fraud that he could probably sell as a historical curiosity. My conscience had been assuaged because I knew that Bigsby wasn't likely to raise a band of adventurers to go after the fortune. Nor would he drunkenly boast in one of the local bars about his treasure map. He was a quiet, timid man, who survived in this rough city by keeping - please pardon the expression - a low profile. If Bigsby did sell the map, he'd do it discreetly.

The fishmonger rarely went out at night. He was up at dawn every day to buy the night's catch. As Infidel came within sight of his warehouse on the western edge of the bay, all the windows were dark. I guessed he'd gone to bed. Then I noticed a single dim light in one window, no brighter than a candle. As I focused on the window, I thought I could hear muffled voices. But the voices fell silent as Infidel stepped onto the gangplank leading to Bigsby's door. The plank squeaked; the candlelight went dark.

As Infidel neared the door, I noticed that something was off. Specifically, the door was off its hinges. It was merely leaning in the frame, the wood around the lock and hinges freshly splintered. Infidel didn't notice this detail. Instead, she paused a few feet away and kicked, cracking the door in twain. The halves fell into the room, clattering loudly as Infidel stomped inside.

The door that Infidel had entered led to the room that served as Bigsby's office. Bigsby sat on short stool next to an empty pickle barrel he used as a desk. He was scribbling in the ledger he used to record the day's trades. An extinguished candle sat beside the ledger, a plume of pale smoke rising from it.

He stared at Infidel, slack-jawed. His face was covered with sweat; dark stains seeped from beneath his armpits. He looked terrified, but this wasn't fresh terror. His clothes had been soaked before Infidel had kicked in the door.

"C-can I-I-I... can I help you?"

"I'm here for my map," said Infidel.

"Y-y-yuh-yuh... uh... huh?" All the blood was gone from Bigsby's face, apparently taking with it the capacity for coherent speech.

Infidel stalked forward. She slammed her fist on the barrel, which all but vaporized in a spray of splinters. She reached for Bigsby.

"I don't... I don't... I don't..." Bigsby's voice fluttered as her hands slowly neared. I thought he was about to faint.

As her hands reached his throat, Infidel sighed. Her mouth relaxed from its menacing snarl as she stared down at Bigsby's frightened face.

She stepped back and crossed her arms.

"Look," she said. "I'm having a bad day. Let's pretend I didn't just kick in your door and start over. Stagger gave you a map. I want it back. It's rightfully mine; I killed the last guy who owned it."

Bigsby wiped sweat from his eyes as he contemplated this bit of mercenary logic.

Infidel continued: "I'm willing to pay a reward for the map. We'll call it a finder's fee."

Bigsby swallowed hard. His eyes kept darting from Infidel toward the door on the side wall. I'd been in this shop a hundred times; there was nothing behind that door except for a small porch and stairs leading down to the dock where he traded with the pygmies. Was he thinking of making a run for it?

As I looked at the door, I felt a strange sensation, like the hair on my neck rising, if I'd still had hair, or a neck. I could barely hear a faint, distant buzz. I watched Bigsby's eyes. He wasn't thinking of running. He was afraid of whatever was lurking on the porch.

He whispered, not looking Infidel in the face, "I'm sorry, b-but I don't know anything about a m-map."

"We both know you're lying," said Infidel, cracking her knuckles. "I'm trying to be nice, but I'm prepared to be nasty. Don't be stupid."

The Bigsby I knew wasn't stupid. Nor was he all that brave. Which made his next move all the more shocking. On the short stool, he barely came up to Infidel's waist. This meant that the hilt of my bone-handled knife, sitting in the boot-sheath, was at the level of his bent knee, on which his hand rested. It took only a fraction of a second for his hand to dart out and grab the knife. He thrust it upward into Infidel's belly, shouting, "I'm sick and tired of being bullied!"

The knife had the expected effect, ripping a button from my old shirt as it slid along her impervious skin.

She reached down and hooked two fingers into Bigsby's nostrils and lifted him to eye level. Bigsby raised his hands to grab at her fingers, a dumb move considering he had a knife in his hands. He cut a gash across his cheek, nearly blinding himself. The blade tumbled from his fingers, landing upright in the floor as Infidel growled, "And I'm sick and tired of your little game!"

I barely paid attention to her words. There was a line of blood along the edge of the knife. As it slowly rolled down, forming a red bead, I once again had the sensation of a heartbeat. I waved my phantom fingers before my face as they materialized. I sucked in a ghost-breath, savoring the sensation.

"If you like to play games so much, let's play one called 'hotter, colder,'" Infidel said as she spun Bigsby around like a fish on a gaff. He squealed from the pain. "When I get closer to the map, you call out 'hotter!' When I move away from it, say, 'colder!'"

Bigsby's eyes flicked once more to the door to the porch.

"Outside, huh? Through that door?" she said. She didn't wait for his answer.

He didn't say 'hotter' or "colder" as she reached for the doorknob. Instead, he jabbered, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

My foggy guts knotted as she touched the doorknob.

She yanked the door open and stared into the burlap covered crotch of a man who had to be a dozen feet tall. Only his legs and lower torso could be seen. The rest of his body was above the level of the doorframe. An impossibly large hand with nine fingers clamped over Infidel's face. Bigsby tumbled from her grasp. The giant jerked Infidel from her feet and flung her far out over the dark waters of the bay. I could hear her curses fade off into the distance, until at last there was a faint, faraway splash.

Bigsby curled into a fetal position where he fell, his hands clamped over his bleeding nose. A hunchback suddenly stuck his head into the room from behind the giant. His whole body was concealed beneath a tattered gray cloak; his head hung so low beneath the misshapen lump of his back that it was nearly even with his waist. He supported his ill-distributed weight with a gnarled staff, grasped with equally gnarled fingers. His hands were wrapped tightly in filthy brown gauze; not a single inch of flesh was visible. Beneath his hood, his face was concealed by a burlap sack; blood red eyes peered through two holes. The inhuman eyes made my ghost-skin crawl. I moved in closer for a better look, trying to fathom what manner of creature this might be. The hunchback cast a baleful glare toward me.

Though he didn't say anything, I heard a voice whisper, "This is none of your concern, blood-ghost." Invisible hands grasped my limbs and pushed me back. They lost their strength as they reached the bone-handled knife, but I couldn't move any closer. I was frightened by this stranger and scared for Infidel, yet also weirdly excited. He saw me?

"Can you hear me?" I asked.

The hooded man turned his head to look at Bigsby, ignoring my question. But, the way he held his body, it looked like he was choosing to ignore me; I was certain he'd heard my words.

"Pull yourself together," said the hunchback, staring down at Bigsby. "She won't be bothering you again. Patch has disposed of her."

Patch, apparently, was the giant. At the sound of his name, the creature squatted in the doorway. He proved to be far more misshapen than the hunchback. All his features were twice the normal size. His arms were bare and his biceps looked like they were woven from at least three different sets of arms; long, dark-threaded stitches held his patchwork flesh together. His face was almost impossible to look at. The left half and right half of his face were different shades, and the scalp and brow were a different tone entirely. He'd plainly been sewn together from the skin of more than one man.

When Bigsby remained in his fetal ball, the hunchback turned to the giant and said, "Carry him."

Patch stretched his long arm through the doorway and scooped the dwarf up in his enormous grasp, cradling him to his chest like an infant. The tall man's eyes were dead and lifeless. His mouth hung in a limp gape that gave no hint of expression. His lips and gray tongue were bone dry; he didn't look as if he were breathing.

Patch started to rise, placing his free hand on the railing of the porch to steady himself. Suddenly, Infidel dropped from the sky, straight down, as if she'd been hanging from the moon. An aura of water droplets enveloped her as she drove her boots into the back of the giant's neck. The brute dropped Bigsby, who bounced inside the doorway, as the porch collapsed beneath the giant's weight.

The hunchback slowly shook his head as he looked at the empty doorway where his monster had just stood. He grumbled, "One must admire her persistence."

From below, there was a rapid series of loud, wet smacks, the sound that a sledgehammer makes when it hits a cow between the eyes.

With the hunchback's attention focused elsewhere, I felt free to move again. I peered down onto the docks, where Infidel was raining blow after blow onto the giant's gut. The huge man didn't seem to feel it. He rose to one knee, his dead eyes gazing in her approximate direction. His right fist pumped out like a piston and Infidel flew off as if she'd been shot from a bow, smacking into the thick pilings that supported the nearby pier. The logs cracked, but halted Infidel's flight. Her arms flailed like a rag-doll as she dropped face first into the tar-black mud that covered this area at ebb tide.

"Infidel!" I screamed as I stared down into the muck.

The hunchback winced. I was shouting only inches from his ear.

"You can hear me," I said.

He glared at me. Then, he turned, hobbling across the room, his staff clacking on the wooden floor. He reached the knife. My vaporous fingers failed to halt his wrist as he snatched it up. He studied the knife for a long moment. I could definitely see that his eyes weren't human. They looked more like the eyes of a snake, with vertical slits. What skin I could see around the eyes was dark red and scaly.

"It is not the role of the dead to be inquisitive," he scolded. He lifted his crooked fingers to the blade and drew the bandages that covered them along the thin remnant of blood. My ghost body faded once more. He tilted his head to where I'd last stood. "But it may be that I can find other uses for you."

He tucked the knife into a pocket hidden in the folds of his cloak, then walked back to the door. Suddenly, the whole room shuddered. The pots and pans in the kitchen next door clattered as they fell from their ceiling hooks. The hunchback was nearly thrown from his feet, staggering until he reached the wall, where he regained his balance. He peered once more out the open door.

Infidel was tricky to see in the darkness, as she was now black as ink, the twin specks of her eyes the only clean spots left on her. She was perched in the center of the giant's shoulders, pounding his head with rapid fire blows. The sewn together scalp had come apart, revealing bones held together with thick copper wires. The beast groped around, awkwardly fumbling, until he found her leg. He snatched her free and slammed her into the dock with his full strength. The building shuddered from the shockwave. The giant tried to pick Infidel up again, but she grabbed the edge of the dock with her iron grasp and his fingers slipped from her mud-slicked leg.

She spun around, eyes narrowed as he tried once more to grab her, this time aiming for her head. As his arm closed in on her face, she clamped his wrist with both hands, then kicked both legs into the pit of his arm. She stretched out, her body straight as a board. With a sound like a branch breaking, the arm snapped free of the shoulder and she fell back to the deck with the severed limb. The giant stumbled backwards, off balance. No blood came from his wound.

Infidel rolled, rising to her knees, shaking her head slowly. Her body shuddered as she took a deep breath. She seemed not to notice that the patchwork man had regained his footing. He lumbered toward her, his remaining hand outstretched.

At the last second, she sprung up with a growl, swinging his liberated arm back over her head, two-handed, like an axe. Her growl turned into a grunt as she swung the limb, smashing it directly into his face. The blow knocked Patch from his feet and he fell to the dock on his back. Infidel sneered as she stomped down on his left ankle, pulverizing the bones.

Infidel lighted on the center of his chest, digging her fingers into the folds of sewn together flesh, ripping it open. She made short work of his rib cage, bones and wires flying into the night. The creature possessed no internal organs. Where his heart should have been, there was only a small golden box secured by silver rods. The giant's remaining hand grabbed her by the hair as she reached into his chest cavity and tore the box free. She popped it between her fingers, the lid flying open. It was difficult to see clearly, but what looked like a large, white mosquito buzzed up from the open container. It was at least two inches long and glowed with an internal fire. It shot upward, like a shooting star in reverse, then vanished among its brethren in the sparkling firmament.

The giant no longer moved. Infidel made certain it never would again, as she snapped every bone and dried up muscle that she touched, tossing the fragments out into the bay. In a matter of minutes, the beast was completely disassembled; all that remained were the shredded remnants of his impossibly large pants.

She turned her face toward the doorway, twenty feet above. The hunchback met her gaze. Without warning, she leapt.

The hunchback calmly stepped aside as she flew into the room. She nearly tripped over Bigsby, who was still curled up on the floor, whimpering. Skidding to a halt in her muddy boots, Infidel whipped around. A trail of black mud splattered the walls like paint, stinking of dead fish and rotten eggs. She quickly spotted the hunchback, who held an open palm toward her.

"You seek the map," he said. "It's not here. Calm yourself, and I will tell you all you wish to know."

Infidel straightened up from her fighting crouch. She was still seething. The hunchback held his ground as she moved toward him. I was certain the creature had misplayed his hand. She paused before him, reaching out to grab his cloak. But, instead of yanking the hunchback off his feet, she wiped her muddy face, using the gray tatters of his cape like a towel. Ordinarily, these dingy rags were the last thing anyone would use for cleaning, but after you've rolled in Commonground muck, pretty much everything is more sanitary than you are.

I was heartbroken when she dropped the edge of the cloak. She was bleeding, her own blood this time. Her right eyebrow sported a gash at least an inch long. There was a knot just above this big as a hen's egg. Her nose was bleeding from both nostrils. When she spoke, I could see blood pooling around her gums.

"I'm listening," she said.

"Bigsby sold the map to a man named Ivory Blade. You know him."

Infidel nodded. "He's King Brightmoon's top spy."

"Correct. The king was quick to recognize the importance of the map. Even now, a ship of his warriors is under sail, heading for the Isle of Fire."

I suddenly put two and two together. I knew why the Black Swan hadn't been free to give Infidel the Three Goons.

The hunchback continued: "Blade has been recruiting local talent to aid in the quest. I intended to offer the services of Patch. Now, I intend to offer you."

"I'm not yours to offer," said Infidel.

"You need not play coy," said the hunchback. "We share a mutual goal. We each have our reasons for wanting to reach Greatshadow's lair. The simplest path forward is to assist the king's team. He's assembled the finest warriors at his command, masters of both physical and spiritual warfare. Earlier this evening, you sought to hire the Three Goons. You'll still be able to fight by their side; you just won't have to pay their wages."

Infidel shook her head as she walked away from the hunchback. "I'm not really a team player. I could get along with the Goons for a couple of weeks, but put me together with a bunch of knights and priests and I kill someone."

"Indeed," said the hunchback. "You're perfectly suited to such a task."

Infidel toed around the shattered slivers of barrel that littered the floor.

"You see a knife around here?" she asked. I saw she'd also lost my saber; it was probably out in the middle of the bay.

The hunchback produced the blade from his pocket and held it toward her.

"This knife belonged to your friend," he said. "You think of it as your last link to him."

She scowled as she snatched the knife from his grasp. "What are you, some kind of mind-reader?"

"Yes," he said. "Your thoughts are not a secret from me, Infidel. I could deceive you and not reveal this fact. But, I want you to know that I am not without my talents. If we form a partnership, we each have something to gain."

Infidel kicked most of the muck off her leg, then slid the knife back into her boot. Dark sludge bubbled up around the hilt as it sank into the sheath. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not looking for any new friends."

"I'm not offering friendship, Infidel. Only an alliance."

She stared at him. "It seems unfair that you know my name, while you get to remain a mystery. Who the hell are you?"

The hunchback chuckled. "Who indeed? As difficult as it may be to believe, I've lived my life without a name. I was cast out to die at birth."

"How tragic. But you still must have a name." Infidel said. "A relic like you can't have made it this far without someone calling you something."

"And yet, it is so."

"Well, today's your lucky day. From now on, you'll be called 'Lumpy.'"

The hunchback cocked his head, unsure if she was joking. I was pretty sure she wasn't. Infidel didn't like her own nickname much and compensated by sticking others with bad ones. After her debut at the Black Swan, people called her Ripper and she liked it. Then, a month later, she'd been sitting at the bar when a wild-eyed man in a black robe burst through the door, shouted, "Infidel!" then broke his knife stabbing her in the back. The name might not have stuck, except the scene repeated itself about nine times over the next year. Everyone at the bar started calling her Infidel and eventually I made the switch as well. She's never volunteered what she did to piss off the fanatics and I've never asked. The rule is, what happens outside Commonground, stays outside Commonground.

The hunchback rubbed his chin as he contemplated his need for a sobriquet. "You called me a relic. This will suffice."

"Relic?" she said with a smirk. She thought it was a lousy name.

The hunchback nodded.

"Well, Relic, it's nice meeting you, but it's been a long day and I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe."

"I believe you," said Relic. "I feel your pain."

"Whatever," she said, heading toward the door with a dismissive wave. "Have fun on your dragon hunt."

"Lord Tower is leading the quest," said Relic.

Infidel froze in her tracks. Her eyes widened. I wasn't surprised she knew who Lord Tower was; he was easily the most famous knight in the Shining Lands. Still, what did that matter to her?

Relic said, "He's carrying a weapon that can actually slay Greatshadow."

"Which one?" she asked, not looking back. "The Gloryhammer?"

"Something much, much more dangerous."

Infidel pondered this, shook her head, then kept walking.

"After Tower slays the dragon, your job will be to kill the knight."

Infidel spun on her heels. She eyed Bigsby, who'd uncurled sufficiently from his fetal ball to stare at her. "Go fix me a tub of boiling water," she said. "And find me soap. Lots and lots of soap."

Bigsby nodded as he stood, then scampered off.

Infidel leaned against the wall. She spat a gob of pink spittle into the middle of the floor.

"I'm not promising anything," she said. "But let's hear your plan."

# 4 - GOONS

FOR THE THIRD time since I croaked, I watched Infidel strip off her ruined clothes, dropping the tar-black rags into a growing pile of goop. The candle-lit tub of steaming water before her filled the air with a pale haze. I was intrigued that Bigsby had such fancy private quarters. The fishmonger may not have flashed his wealth around in public, but his bathroom was opulent to the point of stupidity. Did a bath brush with a gilded handle scrub his back better than a plain wooden one? Even his toothbrush was studded with gems. And why did he need all these bejeweled bottles of perfumes and ointments? As Infidel moved around the room, my consciousness floated through a black lacquer cabinet decorated with inlaid mother of pearl. Even though it was dark in there, I thought I spotted an ivory wig stand sporting a curly blond wig. What a very odd thing for a bachelor like Bigsby to have spent money on.

I did, however, admire his bathtub, a long, deep vessel carved from a single block of polished black marble. It was large enough that I, with my lanky frame, could have stretched out comfortably. Bigsby must be able to swim in it. Infidel sank beneath the surface, resting there a moment as the muck that still clung to her hands, face, and hair began to dissolve. She reached for a bar of bright white lye soap and the bath brush. The steamy air grew foul with the low-tide stench, cut through with the burning fumes of the lye. The bathwater quickly turned dark gray; I could no longer see her clearly through the haze.

Perhaps I've never seen her clearly. The truth is, while I've known Infidel all these years, I know so little about her. I've kept few secrets from her. I've talked about growing up in the monastery, and about my convoluted family history. I've freely shared by innermost thoughts on politics, religion, and the human condition. She, in return, has revealed that her favorite color is black (despite my insistence that black isn't a color), that she likes dogs more than cats, and that she hates carrots. Everything else I know about her, I've learned by observation. She's obviously from the Silver City; her speech has become much rougher and more colloquial over the years, but she still has traces of the accent and a vocabulary that hints of good breeding. It's not unusual to meet young men from wealthy families visiting Commonground, seeking vices they can't find at home. But most women in Commonground are usually coming from the other end of the economic scale. It's hard to imagine what she was looking for when she came here - or what she was running from.

After Infidel finished her bath, she spent time examining her wounds in the foggy mirror. It wasn't just her face that had taken a beating from Patch; her whole body was mottled with dark blue bruises, fading to yellow. I wondered how long it would take her to heal. The few times I'd seen her injured, she recovered much faster than a normal person. Why? She made no secret she'd been enchanted, but by whom, and for what purpose? Why hadn't I pried deeper about these things when I'd had the chance? I'd always hoped that, one day, she'd open up to me and tell me of her life before Commonground.

"It's not the role of the dead to be inquisitive," Relic had said.

I felt like proving him wrong. I'd messed up my chance to learn Infidel's secrets while I was alive. Perhaps, in death, I had a new opportunity to unravel her mysteries. It seemed unethical, perhaps, to spy on her unseen and unsuspected. On the other hand, did I even have a choice in the matter? I suspected that by being around her at all times, a lot more than her naked body was going to be revealed.

Bigsby had left a small pile of fresh clothes for Infidel. They were decidedly more feminine than anything I'd ever seen her wear. Lacy underwear, a short black leather skirt, a black silk blouse with a low neck. Again, it seemed strange he'd just had these lying around. Bigsby wasn't married and I'd never seen him consort with whores. The clothes hung horribly on Infidel, both too big and too short, but would have fit a pot-bellied dwarf just fine.

I dropped the line of thought before I had a picture in my head I wouldn't be able to get rid of.

WHEN YOU'RE UP on the slopes of Tanakiki, (the central volcano, which translates from lava-pygmy as 'the Farting Dragon') you see that the Commonground bay must once have been a volcanic caldera. The water is almost a perfect circle three miles across, with a gap several hundred yards wide at the far end open to the sea. Twin arcs of land lead out to the gap. The southern arc is mostly low, rolling dunes surrounded by marshes. The northern arc is rockier, and the ocean beyond is unimaginably deep. There's a place out near the tip called the Old Temple. It's a long stretch of hexagonal basalt columns bunched tightly together; there's some debate as to whether it's a natural formation or man-made. I've poked around out there a time or two and don't have a strong opinion, other than the place is damn spooky. The rock is black as coal, but etched with white rings of salt left by evaporating seawater. Nothing grows there, not even lichen. Pygmy lore says that Greatshadow once landed here to drink from the sea, then pissed on his rocky perch, poisoning the ground.

It was still a few hours before dawn when Relic led Infidel out to the Old Temple. Her skin was pink in the moonlight, raw from the lye soap and vigorous scrubbing. She looked ridiculous in the clothes Bigsby had provided. The outfit could have come from a whore's wardrobe, but the scowl on Infidel's face would likely discourage any customers. She was barefoot again. My knife was stuck into the waistband of her skirt.

Bigsby had been dispatched by Relic on an errand. I'd missed the specifics while Infidel was bathing, but apparently the dwarf was supposed to bring someone out to the Old Temple to meet with Infidel.

Relic no longer seemed to be aware of me. With my knife free of blood, I was unable to shout at him. He may have been able to read the minds of the living, but the dead lay outside his awareness, as long as they weren't drunk on blood. Still, he knew I was haunting the knife. I couldn't help but wonder what other uses he had in mind for me. If he talked to me again, what was I going to say? Should I try to use him to convey messages to Infidel? Tell her I was haunting her? Would that make her feel better, or worse?

Infidel leaned against one of the basalt columns, gently kneading the knot on her forehead. After she'd been mauled by the iron tiger, she told me that it was interesting to be hurt. She'd been fascinated by her scabs for days. She acted like she'd made it through her entire childhood without so much as a scratch.

A fog started to gather, masking the edges of the salt-crusted platform on which we waited. The lanterns aboard the ships at Commonground faded as the mist thickened. The damp night turned decidedly cold. Infidel folded her arms across her chest, tucking her hands into her armpits for warmth.

Relic looked toward the thickest clump of fog and said, "There's no point in hiding. You've come this far; you won't turn back."

The fog swirled as a dark shadow moved through it, then parted as Aurora stepped onto the basalt platform. I don't remember ever seeing the ogress outside the Black Swan. Bigsby emerged from the fog right behind her. I wondered what he'd said to her to convince her to leave the bar.

Aurora glowered at the hunchback. She was easily twice as tall as him. She said, "The dwarf gave me your message. How did you learn my true name?"

Relic chuckled. "I plucked it from your mind, Aksarna. I have the gift, and the curse, of hearing the thoughts of others."

"Do you have the gift of an iron neck?" Aurora asked as her eyes narrowed. "Since you know of my past, you leave me little choice but to strangle you."

Infidel spoke up. "The Black Swan knows your past and you don't strangle her. Give ol' Lumpy here five minutes."

Aurora looked at Infidel, pausing for a second to study her odd attire and bruised face. "What's your role in this, princess?"

"I think I'm auditioning for the villain.".

"Infidel has agreed to kill the king's men once they've slain Greatshadow," said Relic.

"You know about the mission?" asked Aurora.

Relic tapped his brow with a gnarled finger.

"Right, right. Mind-reader," said the ogress. "Fine. Why have you dragged me out here?"

"Ivory Blade negotiated with you to hire the Three Goons," said Relic. "We need you to arrange for him to hire us as well."

"You've already confessed that you're planning to kill the king's men. As of now, that includes the Goons. I'm no traitor."

"You've been accused of treason in the past. I've come to offer you a chance to clear your name."

Aurora shook her head. "It doesn't matter what you offer me. My loyalty lies with the Black Swan. I could never betray her."

"You have deeper, older loyalties, Aksarna."

"Don't call me that," said Aurora. "Aksarna died long ago. Commonground and the Black Swan are all I have now."

"You didn't die," said Relic. "You failed. The difference is significant. The dead are devoid of hope, but the fallen may dream of redemption. I know you are haunted by the possibility that you could one day return to Qikiqtabruk with the Jagged Heart, restoring the temple and erasing your shame."

"The Jagged Heart was destroyed," said Aurora. "My soul was bound to it. My spirit died when the tip was shattered. It's only my stubborn body that carries on."

"Wrong, wrong, and wrong," said Relic. "The Jagged Heart was never so much as scratched. Your soul was never bound to it, despite the teachings of your religion. You may have loved it so much that if felt like a part of you, but this attachment was emotional, not supernatural."

"I know what I saw."

Relic shook his head. "The eyes are the easiest sense to deceive. The weapon was switched in the moments it was out of your sight; the raiders masked the true shard with dream magic. When you reached the raiders, they brandished a duplicate. It is this you saw shattered."

Aurora clenched her jaw. She placed her giant hands over her left breast as her eyes grew moist. "You know nothing. I felt it shatter. You can never understand."

"Cling to this falsehood if you wish," said Relic. "But the Jagged Heart still exists. It's carried by Lord Tower on his quest. With it, he'll slay Greatshadow."

Infidel rapped her knuckles on the basalt column, a sound like a hammer striking brick. "Sorry to interrupt, but what the hell are you two talking about? What's the Jagged Heart and why is it any more likely to kill Greatshadow than, say, a pointy stick?"

Aurora contemplated her question. The sea mist beaded on her leather coat, running down in rivulets, pooling at her feet. At last, she said, "The Jagged Heart was a ceremonial harpoon. As High Priestess, I would use it to hunt the spirit whales in the Great Sea Above. The shaft is carved from the tusk of a narwhale; the blade itself is a knife sharp fragment of pure ice taken from the shattered heart of Hush, the primal dragon of cold. In shape, the blade resembles the heart from a deck of cards."

"A fragment of Hush's heart?" Infidel asked. "I thought that Verdant was the only primal dragon ever to be slain."

"Hush didn't truly become a primal dragon until her heart was broken. It was only then that the elemental cold filled the vacant space inside her. My people revere Hush; our land rests upon her slumbering back. In exchange for our worship, the dragon grants her followers magical gifts."

"Back to the topic at hand, Tower is seriously going to try to kill Greatshadow with a harpoon made of ice?" Infidel rolled her eyes. "This is going to last, what, five seconds inside the volcano?"

"The Jagged Heart can negate any heat it encounters. Cold is the true condition of all existence; heat is merely a local aberration. If the Heart still exists, it's the perfect weapon to destroy Greatshadow. Of course, someone would need to carry it within striking distance of the dragon. That's a nearly impossible task."

"'Nearly impossible' is semantically the same as 'possible,'" said Relic. "With Lord Tower involved, it's probable. He wears the Armor of Faith. It will shield him from Greatshadow's powers."

Infidel nodded. "Yeah, I guess that would work."

Now it was Aurora's turn to look puzzled. "Armor of Faith?"

"It looks like a suit of plate armor," said Infidel. "It encases Tower completely and is filled with a lot of gears and ratchets that enhance his strength. Pretty much nothing can penetrate it."

"Greatshadow's breath melts armor," said Aurora.

"If it's metal. But this armor is made of prayer. The Church of the Book has a team of monks whose sole job is to pray Tower's armor into existence. One monk does nothing but pray for the helmet, another prays for the greaves, another guy prays for the shoulder pads, and so on. Every single gear and rivet on this thing has a monk - actually a whole squad of monks - whose only spiritual duty is to maintain their unceasing faith that the armor can't be so much as scratched."

Aurora nodded slowly. "Very well. Let's suppose the armor works. Tower can reach Greatshadow and slay his body. Then what? This is a primal dragon, the very spirit of fire. There's a little of Greatshadow's essence in all flame. You need to extinguish every fire in the world at once to truly kill him. If you overlooked a single flickering candle, he could eventually weave a new body and seek vengeance."

"This is why Lord Tower doesn't travel alone," said Relic. "The Voice of the Book has issued a Writ of Judgment. A Truthspeaker will read this writ aloud before Greatshadow's spirit, slaying it."

Aurora stroked her chin, rubbing the bulges where her tusks anchored in her jaw. "I still can't believe they have the Jagged Heart. Maybe they're the ones fooled by a replica."

"But you would know when you saw it," said Relic. "And you can see it again. Arrange for Infidel and myself to be hired as mercenaries on the quest, and when we kill Lord Tower, we'll return the harpoon to you."

Aurora shook her head. "I see no reason to trust you with this task. I owe the Black Swan my life, but it's my sacred duty to recover the Jagged Heart. I'll resign my position with the Black Swan and petition Lord Tower to join his team on my own. You may attempt the same. I won't speak against you."

Relic glared at her. I could tell he hadn't considered the possibility that Aurora would take a more direct path toward recovering the artifact.

Aurora seemed unconcerned by Relic's baleful gaze. She looked over at Infidel.

"First the sarong, now a skirt. What's with your wardrobe lately?"

Infidel shrugged. "Once I have Greatshadow's treasure, I'll hire a team of tailors to follow me around. Until then, I'm getting by with whatever's handy."

"Why are you so confident you can kill Lord Tower? If he's good enough to take down a primal dragon, I don't see how an undisciplined brawler like you will stand a chance."

Infidel chuckled. "Armor or not, I've thought of a thousand different ways of killing Tower. He'll be dead before he knows what hit him."

"A thousand?" asked Aurora, sounding amused. "What's your grudge against the knight?"

"It's kind of a long story," said Infidel, raising her hand and pinching about a half inch of air between her thumb and forefinger, "but I once got this close to marrying the bastard."

TO MY GREAT frustration, Aurora didn't ask to hear the long story, not even a short version of it. Her devotion to the unwritten rules of Commonground was admirable to a fault.

Relic dismissed Bigsby, telling him his services were no longer needed, as he and Infidel set off for the Black Swan. Aurora walked alone, a few hundred feet ahead. Relic, despite his bent form and hobbling gait, proved to be rather spry, keeping up with Infidel's tireless pace with no sign of effort.

The sun was rising by the time we reached the docks. The daylight revealed a half dozen corpses floating in the brine. It was a rare night in Commonground that didn't yield a few murder victims. Bleary-eyed river-pygmies in dugout canoes poled their ways under the docks, gathering the bodies. Commonground bred strange industries. Pulling the right corpse out of the drink could be the equivalent of winning a lottery. Any given body might turn out to be an outlaw with a price on his head, payable dead or alive. Or, you might recover the corpse of a wayward son of a wealthy family and demand a ransom to return the remains for proper burial. In contrast, my career of looting temples and ruins seemed like honest work.

As Relic and Infidel approached the Black Swan barge, I noticed that the stream of clients leaving the bar was a bit heavier than usual. It was like the place was emptying out completely. Patrons grumbled as they walked past us, luggage in hand. Some of them were standing around, looking lost as they stared at empty boat slips. It dawned on me that only half the ordinary number of ships were docked this morning. What was going on?

Waiting at the front door of the Black Swan, arms crossed, were the Three Goons, looking stern. When Aurora walked up to them, No-Face moved to intercept her as Menagerie locked the front door. We were still too far away to hear what the Goons said, but not too far away to hear Aurora's loud and astonished reply: "What do you mean, I'm fired?"

Hearing this, Infidel launched herself into the air, covering the distance with a single bound. She landed beside Aurora, not wanting to miss any juicy details, as Menagerie said, "The Black Swan no longer requires your services. This establishment is closed until further notice."

"You're joking," said Aurora.

Menagerie shook his head. Reeker chewed a toothpick as he stared at Aurora, obviously amused by her confusion. No-Face slowly tossed the iron ball he carried back and forth between his beefy hands, his attention focused tightly on Aurora, no doubt hoping she'd make trouble. It was almost breakfast time. It was a rare day when the Goons didn't beat up someone before breakfast.

Here's a quick primer on the Goons: I've mentioned No-Face a couple of times. He's got a flap of scarred skin that hangs down from where a normal man's eyebrows should be, covering his face like a curtain. There's a tiny gap on the left side of the flesh-mask where a single pale eye peers out. Perhaps because his eyesight is iffy, he tends to strike anything that moves when he's in combat, which is why he pegged Infidel that one time. He's bald, his whole scalp covered with pale, shiny scars from the countless brawls he's been in. They say he was sold as a baby to a traveling circus for display as a freak, but by the time he was eight he was big and mean enough to take up pit-fighting. Now, he's seven feet tall, but manages to look squat due to the thickness of his muscles. The only armor he wears is a chain-mail vest; his only weapon is a fifty pound iron ball at the end of a long chain that he keeps rolled around his forearm. I've heard he feeds himself by pounding his victims into pulp with the ball, then sucking the remains under his flap into whatever mouth is hidden there.

Next on the goon roster is Reeker, a half-seed. Half-seeding is a variant of blood magic, suppressed by the church but never wiped out. Women who wish to get pregnant visit blood-houses to acquire specially prepared animal semen to, shall we say, supplement contributions from their husbands. In theory, the mix of animal and human sperm produces children with desirable qualities. A half-seed bull child will be strong and willful. A half-seed panther, agile and silent. No one knows if Reeker's mother meant to purchase skunk juice, or if she got burned by an unscrupulous blood-house. The product was a man who can emit odors at will from every bodily orifice. The stench can bring even the toughest fighter to his knees. When Reeker's not actively shooting out stink clouds, he's still got a wet-dog whiff to him that makes you envy No-Face's lack of nose.

Unlike No-Face, Reeker doesn't have a scar on him. No one ever gets close enough to land a punch. He's learned to spit a gob of the worse smelling phlegm you can imagine up to twenty feet, and he's more than happy to cut a gagging man's throat to put him out of his misery. Reeker matches his dastardly combat style with a personality that's all leers and crude jokes. Yet, for reasons I've never understood, he's popular with women, even women who aren't whores. He's got a dumpy physique and, at 5'9", looks tiny next to the other Goons. Maybe it's his hair. Above a pasty, round face, he's got a thick, wavy, black mane that any woman would envy, sporting two snow-white streaks running back from his temples.

The final goon is Menagerie. He's about six four and skinny as a rail. He's normally dressed in a loin cloth and sandals, showing off the animal tattoos covering him from the crown of his shaved head to the little gaps between his toes. Most of the animals are predators. He's got lions, tigers, bears, ohmis (a jungle viper), sharks, and eagles. Being tattooed in Commonground rarely earns you a second glance, though Menagerie has taken his skin art further than the average sailor. What makes Menagerie stand out is that his tattoos are alive, inked in the blood of the various beasts and infused with their spirits. Stare at them long enough and you'll swear they're breathing. No one has ever actually seen one move, but one day the shark will be on his right shoulder, the next day on his left thigh, like it's swimming around. That's a neat trick, but it's not what makes him dangerous. Menagerie's a shape-shifter. He can surrender his body to any of these spirits, taking on their forms in the blink of an eye. The people he fights face off with a tall, skinny, unarmed man, and two seconds later they've had their hand bitten off by an alligator, their guts raked by a tiger, and have a rattlesnake clamped down on their jugular.

Remember I told you that No-Face wasn't the Goon people were really afraid of? Menagerie is the Goon people are really afraid of.

Back to the confrontation: Aurora clenched her fists. "Stand aside. What you're saying makes no sense."

Menagerie shook his head. "We both know that everything the Black Swan does makes sense, even if we mere mortals are blind to the logic."

Reeker spit out his toothpick. "Heh. Maybe the bar ain't profitable now that Stagger's pushing daisies."

If it was possible to die from a mean look, Reeker would have joined me in the afterlife from the glare Infidel gave him. No-Face found the crack funny, judging from the muffled, farting, "hur hur hur," that filtered from beneath his face flap.

Menagerie raised his hand. Reeker looked instantly chagrined. No-Face's spooky chuckle went silent.

"I apologize for the insensitivity of my colleagues," the tattooed man said to Infidel. "Stagger was a beloved brother in the larger family of Commonground. I, for one, shall miss him."

"Yeah," said Reeker. "I kind of liked the guy. There going to be a funeral? I'll send flowers."

"The funeral was private," said Infidel. "And I don't want to talk about Stagger any more. I want to talk about the dragon hunt you boys are going on. I want in."

"As do I," said Relic, hobbling up beside the women.

Menagerie looked down at the hunchback. "Who the hell are you?"

"Infidel calls me Relic. This will serve."

"Uh-huh," said Menagerie. "I can't help but notice that you look, um... less than formidable. While I can't confirm the existence of any upcoming dragon hunts, may I ask what, exactly, would you bring to the table?"

"Knowledge," said Relic. "I've survived Greatshadow's lair before. My experience may provide the difference between success and failure."

"Is that so?" said Menagerie.

The hunchback nodded.

"Be that as it may, I am not in charge of hiring for any missions that may or may not be occurring soon," said Menagerie. "The Black Swan may have been conducting transactions of this nature, but to reiterate, she's now closed to all business."

Aurora clenched her fists. "Menagerie, who do you think you're fooling? You know I know all about the mission. Get the hell out of my way. I'm talking to the Black Swan." She stepped forward, looking ready to push the mercenaries aside.

Reeker spit a gob of pale-green phlegm toward her eyes. The wad crackled as it froze inches from her skin, bouncing harmlessly off her cheek, its foul payload neutralized. She punched out with an ice-gauntleted fist, sending the skunk-man flying toward the edge of the dock. He landed on his feet with inches to spare, but momentum was against him. He stumbled backward and vanished over the edge with a splash.

No-Face swung his chain-draped fist and caught Aurora beneath the chin, hard enough that the frost coating her face flew off in a spray. She went down, landing flat on her back, as snow danced in the air where she'd just stood. She started to rise, but before she could sit up, Menagerie leapt toward her, taking the form of a huge, black-horned ram. His head smashed into Aurora's tusks with a loud, sharp crack. Aurora's arms flopped to her side as she stared up into the pale morning sky, cross-eyed and dazed.

Infidel grinned. This was her, oh-good-there's-a-fight-and-I-was-wanting-to-hit-someone grin. She punched No-Face right where his mouth should have been. He staggered backward, stopping when his back slammed into the locked door of the Black Swan. Infidel kicked him in the gut, shattering the wood behind him, knocking him inside.

Infidel spun to face Menagerie, who'd leapt into the air as a ram. In the span of a heartbeat, his body flowed into a fifteen-foot-long shark, his mouth stretched wide enough to clamp onto Infidel's face. She raised both hands, shielding herself with her forearms as the toothy jaws snapped shut. There was a loud crunch. Bright fragments of white teeth showered onto the docks. For half a second, the shark hung there, clamped onto Infidel's unbreakable arms. Infidel head-butted the shark in the snout. The big fish flew off, and Menagerie was once again human as he landed ass-first on the dock, blood streaming from his nose.

"Ouch," he said, spitting out broken teeth.

Infidel loomed over him, fists clenched. "Had enough?"

From inside the jagged hole that No-Face had left in the door, there was a confused grunt.

Menagerie looked toward the hole. His face went slack. Infidel turned toward the noise as well. Her brow furrowed as her eyes adjusted to the shadows before her. Aurora rose up on her knees, shaking her head. When she finally followed the others' gazes, she whispered, "This is unexpected."

The main room of the bar was completely transformed. All the gaming tables were gone, as were the paintings on the wall. No-Face was sitting up, rubbing his skin-flap, dust swirling around him. "Whuduhfuh?" he mumbled as he looked around.

Cobwebs clung to every corner of the room. The grime was so thick on the floor that No-Face had left a little dust-angel where he'd fallen. Behind the bar, the shelves were empty, save for dirt. There was no evidence that the place had been a thriving business full of people only moments before.

Menagerie stepped into the room. Aurora and Infidel followed.

Menagerie muttered something to himself I couldn't quite catch, save for the word 'time.'

"Oh no," said Aurora, who'd apparently caught what he was saying. "She was too old to go back more than a day or two. She'd never survive a longer trip. She —"

"You aren't blind, Aurora," said Menagerie.

"Is this a private conversation, or would you care to fill me in on what's happened?" asked Infidel.

Relic hobbled into the room. "They won't betray the Black Swan's secret. I, however, am not bound by their oaths of loyalty. The Black Swan owes her power and influence to a rather tragic curse. She —"

"Guys!" shouted Reeker as he rushed into the room, water streaming from his clothes. "You gotta come look at this."

The whole building shuddered as he spoke. The air took on the stench of rotten eggs, but Reeker didn't seem to be the source of the odor.

Menagerie furrowed his brow. "Did the barge just hit bottom?"

"All the water's draining out of the bay!" said Reeker, waving his arms for emphasis.

"Luhguptaruh," said No-Face.

"Good idea," said Menagerie. "To the roof!"

Before he finished speaking, where the man had stood there was an owl gliding forward. He flapped his wings once and shot toward the cobwebbed spiral staircase in the far corner of the room, vanishing as he tilted his wings and flew up to the second floor.

No-Face and Reeker followed without hesitation.

Aurora grabbed Infidel by the arm. "You took my side," she said. "Thank you."

"What?" asked Infidel.

"In the fight with the Goons. You defended me when I was down."

Infidel shrugged. "It was three against one. I always side with the underdog. It's nothing."

Aurora nodded. "Still, I owe you one."

Relic sighed as he hobbled across the room toward the staircase.

"You women can bond another time," he grumbled. "Right now, we should follow the owl."

# 5 -ALL MUST BURN!

THE ROOF OF the Black Swan was a broad, flat deck with four large stained-glass dome skylights and a sixty foot mast that jutted up from the middle, with smaller masts fore and aft. It had been many years since the bar had actually been moved with sails; the masts now served mainly as flag poles to fly the barge's banner, a field of pure white with a black swan in the center. Menagerie stood in the crows nest atop the tallest mast, peering out at the bay, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the morning sun. Infidel leapt, grabbing the rigging, and in seconds reached his side.

Ignoring the main reason we'd come out here, her gaze was instead drawn to Menagerie's face. It took me half a second to understand why it was so interesting at this particular moment.

"You have your teeth back," she said.

"Owls don't have teeth, so when I changed back, I grew new ones," said Menagerie. "Can we focus on the problem at hand?"

The water was flowing out from the bay so swiftly that fish were left flopping in the mud. The Black Swan was anchored in water ordinarily twenty feet deep at its lowest, but it now sat flat on the bottom, the whole structure shuddering as it slowly sunk into the muck. As far as the eye could see boats were stranded across the bay, except, I noted, the ships of Wanderers. These had been the ships that had gone missing during the night. They were now far out at the mouth of the bay, dozens of them, riding on a ridge of water that bunched up near the gap leading to open water.

"You ever see anything like this?" Infidel asked.

Menagerie shook his head; he was the oldest of the Goons, a resident of Commonground for over forty years. He pointed toward the bright blue forms of river-pygmies running out on the mud flats, snatching up the stranded fish. "Maybe they know what's going on."

But before Infidel could leap down to speak to a pygmy, a mountain of bright blue-green water rose from the sea just beyond the Wanderer's ships. It kept rising, as other bulges formed around it. It vaguely resembled, from a distance, an enormous sea-turtle, assuming one could grow to be several miles wide.

Suddenly, the impossibility that this was a giant turtle changed into reality as the beast's eyes snapped open. Its vast maw yawned wide, a mouth several hundred yards across. The Wanderer ships were pulled toward it by a fierce suction. Yet, these expert seafarers proved the match of the turbulent white water, guiding their schooners across the ship-studded waves as agilely as a river pygmy steering a canoe through the pilings of Commonground. In moments, all the vessels had ridden the flow of water into the mouth of the great beast.

"It's Abyss," said Menagerie, his voice hushed in awe.

Abyss is the primal dragon of the sea. His consciousness spreads through every wave and ripple in the world's vast ocean. Due to his pact with the Wanderers, he's one of the few dragons who still intervenes in human affairs. Most of the primal dragons don't even notice mankind, anymore than an earthquake notices the cities it topples, or a tornado notices the villages it smashes to splinters. To witness a primal dragon personify itself, taking on at least an echo of its original form, was something few men would ever see in their lives.

With the last of the Wanderers swallowed, Abyss closed his mouth and spun, heading back toward the open ocean. The mound of water that had been heaped up by his arrival collapsed, sending a wave fifty feet high surging back into the emptied bay.

"Brace yourselves!" Menagerie shouted, before changing into an eagle and launching himself into the air. He could barely be heard as the roar of the water reached us, a thundering wall of sound that made the timbers of the Black Swan tremble. The tidal wave hit the far end of the docks, sending boards and pilings flying high into the air. The boats of slavers, pirates, and pleasure seekers splintered as the rushing water crushed them.

The wave hit the Black Swan. The barge was solidly built, but still the timbers cracked and snapped as the water lifted it, spinning it sideways, carrying it up over the docks and gangplanks, crushing everything in its path. Infidel clung to the railing of the crow's nest; the mast groaned, but didn't topple. The barge began to bob in the relatively smoother water behind the crest of the wave. The tsunami kept moving, reaching the normal boundaries of the shore, then beyond, carrying debris and corpses up over the marshes, into the forests.

Infidel looked down as the barge settled on the remains of docks and boats trapped beneath it. Relic was nowhere to be seen. No-Face had wrapped his ball and chain around the mast and was still on his feet, completely drenched. Reeker dangled in his hammy grasp, his normally well-groomed mane now tangled with a mass of brown seaweed. Aurora stood on the water next to the barge, seemingly walking on the waves, until the current calmed and revealed an ice floe beneath her.

The ogress shouted to the eagle circling overhead, "This is what she saw! This is why she went back!"

Infidel shouted down, "Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Relic cleared his throat. Infidel spun around. He was standing right behind her. I never saw him climb the rigging, though, admittedly, my attention had been focused elsewhere. His rags were drenched; steam rose from them as if they'd been soaked in boiling wash-water rather than the tepid waters of the bay. He smelled vaguely of brimstone as he said, "On the day that the Black Swan was to be married, her groom was killed in a horseback accident. It was a senseless, pointless, random tragedy; the world is full of such moments. Unknown to her fiancé, the Black Swan was a Weaver, a member of a secret sect of witches with the power to rend the fabric of reality and knit it back into something more to their liking. Yet, even Weavers lack the power to restore life to the dead. In her grief, the Black Swan sought out Avaris, Queen of Weavers, and asked her for a boon. She wished for the power to go back in time so that she might avoid these random tragedies."

Infidel looked around at the devastated mishmash of broken ships and crushed docks that had once been Commonground. "She didn't do a very good job of stopping this."

"I didn't say she could stop tragedies," said Relic. "I said she could avoid them; the Black Swan isn't here. She's lived through this tidal wave, then traveled back in time to abandon the barge and relocate elsewhere before the destruction occurred."

The eagle lighted gently onto the rail of the crow's nest. Then, in a twinkling, Menagerie stood next to Relic.

"How do you know this?" he asked.

Relic shrugged. "Is it important? You know it's the truth. You and Aurora have experienced the time shifts enough to recognize them and remember them. I know what's happening due to... certain talents."

Menagerie scowled. "Who are you again?"

"The only name I've ever been given is Relic."

Infidel said, "You've also been called Lum —"

"Relic," said Relic.

Menagerie looked down as Aurora formed a staircase of ice to walk back onto the deck of the barge. The water was swirling all around; the mast swayed as the barge bumped along the bottom.

"She was too old," Aurora called out, looking around at the wreckage. "She'll never survive going back."

Infidel shook her head. "Has everyone but me lost their minds? You're seriously expecting me to believe the Black Swan is some kind of time-traveler?"

"Yes, but only in one direction. She can jump backwards in her own timeline to pivotal moments. She moves forward in time at the same speed as the rest of us," said Menagerie, apparently no longer seeing a reason to protect the secret. "Her curse is that, when she goes back in time, she doesn't regain her youth. If she lived through an event at age forty that she could have changed by making a different decision at age twenty, she can go back to that event, but she'll go back as a forty year old, not a twenty year old. Only twenty-nine years have passed since the Black Swan was born, but physically, she's almost 120. The husband she loved so dearly rejected her, disgusted that she turned into old crone while he was still a youth. The Black Swan only cares about wealth now; everything else she regards as impermanent."

"A fat lot of good all her money will do her if she's dead," said Infidel.

Menagerie shrugged. "So far, her money has allowed her to purchase the potions needed to keep her alive. I'm in no position to disapprove of her priorities. I've made a sizable fortune from the Black Swan's business acumen."

"Really?" said Infidel. "The only thing you seem to own is that loincloth."

"Even a Goon may have a family," said Menagerie. "My loved ones are very comfortable."

By now, the bay was slowly starting to return to a normal level, as the water flowed back from the forest. The air smelled horrible, like every outhouse in the world had been overturned at once. All over the place, men were climbing out the water, clinging to overturned boats and the few strips of dock that had somehow survived.

Aurora shouted up, "There are people trapped in all this rubble. I'm going to help who I can."

Menagerie nodded. "A wise suggestion. We should all help out. We can... can...." His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn toward the mouth of the bay. Seven large ships were sailing through the rocky gap. Their sails were a pale blue white, catching the morning sun like silver. Flags fluttered from the pinnacles, showing a green dragon against a sky-blue field.

Infidel followed his gaze toward the ships.

"It's King Brightmoon's fleet," she said.

"Some of it, at least," said Menagerie. "Rather bold of them, just sailing in during broad daylight. Aren't they worried that Greatshadow might notice?"

Suddenly, the sky darkened. Everyone looked up, back toward the peak of Tanakiki. A mile high jet of solid black smoke mushroomed up into the air, swiftly turning day into night. Bright red sparks shot through the atmosphere as the rim of the caldera crumpled, sending a white-orange river of molten lava spilling toward the bay. Trees exploded into flame ahead of the lava as a shimmering wave of heat spread outward.

The smoke and cinders swirled until they took on the shape of a dragon, spreading mile-long wings of black smoke. Two smaller dragons shot out of the folds of the wings, flying toward the bay. Smaller, in this case, is a relative term. These were huge beasts, a hundred yards long tip to tail, with glowing red scales edged in black. Their wings were larger than the mainsails of the king's ships. They had long tails that ended in tufts of flame. They looked as if they swam through the air, surfing the wind as they sailed down the slopes, aiming toward the king's ships.

Greatshadow himself remained in the caldera, a beast composed of flame and smoke, who roared, in a language I'd never heard yet instantly understood: "ALL MUST BURN!"

"He noticed," said Infidel.

These were the first living dragons I'd ever seen, even though I've handled a lot of dragon bones in my time, and seen more than a few depictions of the beasts carved onto walls or woven into tapestries. Dragons used to be numerous, until the Church of the Book nearly wiped them all out.

The survivors are the primal dragons. These beasts were so fluent in elemental magic that they eventually became the elements themselves.

Of course, if there are no more ordinary dragons, I had to wonder just what the hell was flying toward us. The creatures looked exactly like they did in the books in the monastery; big serpents, with a long neck and serpentine tail, and a short, thick, pot-bellied torso with four legs a bit too small in proportion to the rest of its form. What it lacked in legs, it more than made up for in wings. The wings were easily as wide as the body was long, huge membranes of drum-taut flesh that reminded me of the limbs of jungle bats.

Smoke trailed from their nostrils as they passed overhead. They were at least a quarter mile up, but the furnace-like heat of their bodies washed over the remnants of the Black Swan as they beat their wings in a powerful downstroke. In seconds, they were at the mouth of the bay, facing the king's ships. Their jaws gaped open and their pot bellies swelled as they inhaled uncounted gallons of air. At last, they breathed out.

Infidel shielded her eyes as a second sun formed where the jets of flame shooting from the twin dragons overlapped. As the light faded, all seven of the king's ships were aflame. At this distance, the men were little more than insects throwing themselves into the sea, trailing smoke as they fell.

The dragons spun around. Again, they sucked in air and breathed flame, the light of their assault casting long stark shadows on the roof of the Black Swan. When the light faded, little remained of the ships. The sea itself was boiling where the boats had been mere seconds before.

Satisfied with their work on the fleet, the dragons split, making a more leisurely approach toward what remained of Commonground. Along the way, they spit fire at the few boats and canoes that were afloat out in the bay. The distant screams of frying men carried over the water.

One of the dragons turned its serpent face toward the Black Swan.

"Uh oh," said Infidel.

"Goons!" Menagerie shouted to No-Face and Reeker on the roof below. "Let's teach these oversized garden snakes some manners. Maneuver nine!"

"Rurh!" said No-Face, grabbing up a shattered roof beam.

Reeker looked pale as he shouted to Menagerie, "You're joking, right?"

No-Face handled the twenty-foot beam, thick as a grown man's thigh, like it was no heavier than a piece of kindling. The big man slapped the beam down at the edge of the roof, with about six feet hanging out, pointing straight toward the advancing dragon. Reeker held up his hands as No-Face approached him.

"C'mon, guy, I mean, you can't really —"

No-Face grabbed him by his shirt and spun him around, sitting him squarely on the end of the beam that sat upon the roof. Reeker swallowed hard. "Boys, it's been good knowing ya," he whispered.

"Guh," said No-Face, nodding.

"On the count of three!" Menagerie shouted. "Three!" He threw himself from the crow,s nest. When he was over the point where the broken beam jutted into space, he changed again, taking the form of a hippopotamus.

Like most hippos who discover themselves to be sixty feet up in the air, he dropped like a stone. He hit the edge of the plank with all four of his fat, round feet expertly placed for leverage. Reeker shot into the sky, his hands clasped before him, his eyes tightly closed. His lips were moving, though I couldn't hear him. It looked for all the world like he was praying.

The goons' aim was perfection; there was a reason why they were the best paid mercenaries in Commonground. The dragon dove toward the Black Swan, opening its mouth to fill its great bellow lungs with air. What it got, instead, was a damp skunk-man slapping against the roof of its mouth. Instinctively, the beast clamped its jaws shut. Instantly, a cloud of yellow-green fumes shot out from between its long, jagged teeth. Its eyes grew wide.

The creature veered away from the Black Swan, whipping its head back and forth, coughing violently, unable to breathe deeply enough to ignite its flames. Reeker clung to the beast's tongue, hugging it with his arms and legs like it was a greased pole. Slowly, he slipped toward the tip. His entire form was hazy, as the most powerful stenches he could summon poured out of every pore. The dragon began to convulse, its nervous system overwhelmed by the chemical assault. With a final, frantic jerk of its neck, it sent Reeker flying. Before it could recover, it slammed into the waters of the bay, hard, vanishing beneath the surface in a violent boil.

Reeker shrieked like a teenage girl as he sailed through the air before he, too, hit the surface of the water, bouncing once, twice, thrice like a skimming stone before he sank, leaving an oily film.

"One down," said Relic, casting his gaze toward the beast's twin, who was still burning ships at the other edge of the bay. "Unfortunately, we're running out of Goons."

Reeker still hadn't surfaced, nor was there any sign of a hippo thrashing about in the waters below. No-Face had run to the edge of the barge and was looking down into the water, shouting out, "Munuh! Rukuh!"

Infidel cracked her knuckles. "We don't need no stinkin' Goons."

Below, there was a loud crash. I hadn't seen Aurora in over a minute, but now her head was sticking up from a trap door in the roof. She climbed out, bearing a large wooden harpoon, nearly twice as tall as she was, with a long coil of rope looped around her shoulders.

"I've hunted whales bigger than these things," she shouted, as she met Infidel's gaze.

"Fire-breathing, flying whales?" asked Infidel.

"You wouldn't believe," Aurora said.

The ogress spun around as the remaining dragon roared angrily and shot toward the barge, apparently aware of the loss of its twin. Aurora dropped the coil of rope to the deck and drew back with the harpoon. "For honor!" she cried as she hurled the weapon toward the approaching beast.

The harpoon never even got close. The coil snagged on a ragged board and the weapon jerked to a sudden halt not fifty feet overhead. The dragon inhaled deeply as it plunged straight toward Aurora. Aurora crouched down, covering her head with her hands as the dragon exhaled, shooting out a jet of flame, engulfing the ice-ogress. The dragon's momentum carried it toward the mast upon which Infidel was perched. The flames instantly disintegrated the lower half of the mast. Infidel jumped from the crow's nest, grabbing Relic by the cloak and hurling him out toward the bay. She dropped down, hands open wide, as the dragon's scaly back flashed beneath her. She grabbed hold of scales near the beast's tail. The dragon reacted with the speed of thought, whipping the end of its tail down to shatter more beams on the roof of the Black Swan. The jolt knocked Infidel free. She bounced across the deck, flying off the edge, until a long length of chain whipped out and lassoed her ankle. No-Face jerked her back onto the roof, if it could still be called a roof. Little was left but a pile of broken boards and timbers, and half of these were on fire.

Aurora was still alive. She was crouched behind a wall of cracked and melting ice, fighting to untangle the snagged rope of the harpoon.

Infidel leapt to where the harpoon had fallen. It jutted up from the boards of the deck. She snatched it free, spinning around, racing toward Aurora, splintering the snagged board that had caught the rope. She wordlessly snatched the freshly coiled rope from Aurora's hands and jumped over the edge, flying from the Black Swan toward a still intact piling. She landed on this and leapt again, giving chase to the retreating dragon, who now spun slowly over the area where the other dragon had fallen. The sea still boiled furiously. The dragon again cried out; this time the thunderous roar had an edge of grief to it. The beast turned its head upward, flapping its mighty wings as it steered back toward the distant volcano. The whole south slope was aflame now, the forests forming the world's largest bonfire as the pyroclastic flow slipped through the once lush jungles.

Infidel landed on a final piling before deciding she was close enough. She dropped the coil into the water, wrapping the last few inches around her wrist. The beast was low over the waves, the down beat of its wings brushing the surface. She reared back with the harpoon, the weapon comically long compared to her. When she let it fly, it flashed through the air more swiftly than an arrow. The dragon grunted as the harpoon buried itself in its flank, but didn't look back. It flapped its wings again and flew higher, as the rope trailed behind it. Infidel grabbed hold with both hands as she was snapped into the air. She clambered up the rope like a monkey on a vine. The dragon tilted its head back, aware of her weight. It sucked in air and exhaled a long cone of flame, engulfing Infidel. For a second, she couldn't be seen at all in the conflagration. Then, her hand reached out of the flame, grasping onto the hind-claw of the dragon just as the rope disintegrated.

The flames faded, revealing Infidel clasped by a single hand onto the middle nail of the dragon's hind-claw. Her clothes were mostly burned away; her skin was flushed red, like she had sun-burn. It broke my heart to see that her long, flowing tresses were mostly gone, singed down to a frizzled mess. Her eyes were set in a look of determination.

The dragon wasn't impressed. It flexed its claw forward, bending its head toward her to bite away the unwelcome passenger. As it opened its jaws, Infidel swung her body back and forth, dangling from the claw. The creature's mouth glowed with the fading remnants of its flame. I saw a flash of light as the well-honed blade of my bone-handled knife was revealed in Infidel's free hand. She swung forward, leaping into the beast's open jaws, clearing its teeth. The creature's mouth clamped shut.

Suddenly, I was alive again. Not ghost alive; I was physically whole once more, popping into existence inches above the dragon's snout. Unlike my previous manifestations, this time the laws of gravity applied. I slammed into the dragon's scales, sliding down its snout, scraping my restored flesh on its raspy hide. I cut my hands trying to grab hold. The scales were like flakes of razor sharp volcanic glass. I screamed as I left a trail of blood down its snout, but caught myself at last, my foot coming to rest on the ridge of its nostrils.

My stomach twisted as the beast lurched through the air. The ground seemed impossibly distant. I felt certain I'd been restored to life only to face a second death. But... why? How had this happened?

Suddenly, Infidel's fist burst through the skin only a few feet down the snout from the dragon's eyes, my bone-handled knife firmly in her grasp. The dragon's blood bubbled on the surface of the blade, quickly boiling off now that it was exposed to air. Infidel's whole arm tore through the skin, followed by a shoulder, then her bloodied head burst through. The blood boiled on her skin as well as the knife. The creature shuddered, then went limp in the air; whatever Infidel had done to it had apparently been too much to withstand. The beast's snout tilted down. I could see water far below; at some point, we'd come back out over the bay. I was thrown free of the beast's nose, my naked, bleeding body tumbling in the air. As I spun, I looked back toward Infidel, who was gawking at me, her eyes wide.

"Infidel!" I shouted, straining my hand toward her.

"Stagger?" she whispered.

Then, the last of the fresh blood vaporized from the knife, leaving only a crust of black gore. The wind once more passed straight through me. I was suspended in mid-air, no longer in the grip of gravity. Light passed through my vaporous fingers.

"Stagger!" Infidel cried, her eyes frantic as they searched the air where she'd last seen me.

Then the dragon hit the water and I plunged beneath as well, my ghost still tethered to the knife. The sea was black as ink, full of the stirred up silt from the tidal wave. My vision was all but useless, unable to make sense of the images that flashed past me. The dragon's hide seemed to be crumbling, breaking apart into bits of black and red gravel. For half a second, I saw a flash of Infidel's torso. There was something long and ropelike wrapped around it, covered with cup-sized suckers. The water roiled as an eye the size of a dinner plate flashed past me, glowing with golden phosphorescence.

Then, suddenly, Infidel and my knife were back above the surface of the water. She was wrapped in the tentacle of an enormous squid, at least sixty foot long. A second tentacle held the soggy, sputtering form of Reeker.

Infidel raised her knife to stab at the tentacle that held her, but stopped herself before she thrust the blade down. The dragon blood had been washed off by her plunge into the bay. As the last bit of pink water ran down the handle, I faded once more, invisible even to myself.

The squid's tentacles gingerly placed Infidel onto the wrecked roof of the Black Swan. She was, yet again, buck naked save for a ring of ruined leather that had once been the too-short skirt. Aurora rushed to her side, snatching up the half-charred flag of the barge and draping it over Infidel's bare shoulders before Reeker had recovered enough to ogle her.

"That was really damn impressive," Aurora said. "But... who was up there with you?"

"What?" asked Infidel, running her fingers through what was left of her hair. The longest bits were only a few inches long.

"For a second, I thought I saw someone else clamped onto the dragon's snout with you. Were my eyes playing tricks?"

Infidel turned pale. "I thought I saw... I thought..." her voice trailed off. "It was just some poor sailor. He... he fell."

Menagerie dragged himself up onto the roof, human once more. The squid tattoo that had once been dark black upon his neck had faded to a barely visible gray-blue outline.

He collapsed against what was left of the mast, staring up toward the still bubbling volcano, "I guess the king's dragon hunt has been cancelled."

Infidel shook her head as she, too, looked at the raging mountain. "I don't think so. Greatshadow has just been suckered. Those ships were decoys; I'll stake my life on it."

"You're probably right," said Reeker, wringing water from his hair. He looked at Menagerie. "So, anyway, I quit. I'm done with dragons. Infidel can be the third goon."

"You aren't quitting," said Menagerie. "You signed the contract." He tapped at a section of cursive text on the left cheek of his buttocks. "Didn't you read all the terms? You're in this until Greatshadow's dead, or you are."

Reeker sighed, then muttered something underneath his breath.

"Hur hur hur," said No-Face.

Infidel laughed as she contemplated Menagerie's skinny ass. "I guess that's one way of discouraging people from studying the fine print."

# 6 - INNOCENT

MY OLD SAILBOAT had come to rest in the tangled branches of a mangrove thicket half a mile away. The gaping holes in the hull would never allow it to return to the bay, but as a tree house it possessed a certain charm. Menagerie had spotted it in the aftermath of the dragon strike, as he'd flitted over the area in his vulture form, surveying the damage. He'd quickly singled out the most likely places to look for survivors, then he and the other Goons had set forth to help who they could.

Infidel was never afraid to lend a hand to anyone in need, but she declined to take part in the rescue mission. I couldn't blame her; she looked completely wiped out after her fight with the dragon. She found Relic's gnarled staff among the shattered planks of the Black Swan and used it for support as she limped across the rubble in search of my boat. She was sweating, her face pale and feverish. Her invulnerable skin didn't burn, but, like anyone, when she got overheated, she could feel sick. It didn't help that the sun had come out with a fury, its tropical rays turning the humid atmosphere over the churned up bay into a pressure cooker.

At mid-day, while Infidel still searched through the mangroves, I noticed the Wanderer ships returning. They sailed back into the bay in droves, once again forming a boat city, held together by ropes and ladders instead of docks and gangplanks. River-pygmies were now thick in the bay as well, an entire flotilla of canoes searching among the shattered ships and buildings.

The eruption of the volcano had finally subsided. The once verdant southern slope of the mountain was black now, cloaked with smoke and steam. A shower of fine charcoal ash rained down on the bay, coating every surface.

Infidel was grimy as a miner by the time she found my boat. The once white flag she was wrapped in was now mostly gray. She was all alone as she climbed into the branches. I wondered if Relic had possibly survived. No one had seen the hunchback since she'd tossed him from the crow's nest.

My place was even more of a trash heap than usual. The piles of books had all toppled. The towers of bottles and jugs had turned into a carpet of broken glass. Infidel dug through the rubble until she'd found the thin cotton mat that served as my bed. She yanked it free of the debris and tossed it onto the deck outside. She located a few stained blankets and draped them in the branches, forming an umbrella to provide shade and shield her from the drifting ash.

She toppled onto the bed face first, her body completely slack. She lay motionless for half a minute until she raised her hand to the back of her neck, running her palm along the uneven stubble of her scalp. She groaned, a sound mixing weariness, frustration, and despair.

Then, she fell silent. After five minutes, I could hear her muffled snores. She slept like a corpse, her slumber undisturbed by the tossing, turning, and mumbling that normally characterized it. Hours passed; eventually the long day drew to an end and still she slept, without a single muscle twitching.

The ash rain had finally stopped and the stars were slowly emerging when there was a loud crunch in the debris beneath the boat. Infidel didn't stir as the sound repeated itself; something large and heavy was walking around.

Someone called out, "Infidel?"

Infidel remained face down and immobile, her voice muffled as she replied, "Mwuh?"

"Infidel, it's Aurora. Where are you?"

Infidel rolled over on her side.

"Go away," she said, without opening her eyes. Her voice was feeble and scratchy.

"I want to talk," said Aurora. "I brought you some food."

Infidel's unbruised eye cracked open slightly.

"Monkey?" she asked, the faintest glimmer of hope in her voice. River-pygmies sold monkey meat stuck on bamboo reeds, deep fried and served with a chili sauce. Infidel loved the stuff, though I'd never cared for it.

"Sea beans, some whale jerky, and a coconut," said Aurora.

Infidel rolled over on her back, her brow furrowed. She seemed to be caught in an internal debate, weighing her hunger against her desire not to have company. At last, she sighed. "Come on up."

She scooted into a seated position against a mangrove branch, tugging the flag she was wrapped in like a towel higher up her breasts as Aurora climbed onto the boat. Despite the devastation of the day, the night was coming to life with the chirps of frogs and birds. Off in the distance, a troop of apes howled as they scrambled through the canopy. The air was still thick with the smell of putrid water mixed with smoke. All along the slope of the volcano, remnant blazes danced. I felt a sense of longing, looking up at the mountain. It was impossible to say what ancient ruins had been wiped out by the eruption. On the other hand, the forest fires no doubt cleared away the tangles of vines that hid many a lost wonder. I wished I could go up on the slope later this week to scope out the newly revealed terrain.

Aurora sat down on the deck, cross-legged, dropping a large canvas bag in front of her. "I found you some more clothes. I have to say, that idea about a team of tailors following you around sounds like a good idea."

Infidel shrugged. "There aren't many people in the world with skin tougher than their clothing. I can be hell on a pair of pants."

"How did your skin get to be so tough?"

"You aren't supposed to ask stuff like that in Commonground," said Infidel.

"I'm not sure there is a Commonground anymore," said Aurora, glancing back out over the bay.

"Fair enough." Infidel dug into the bag and found the coconut. She cracked it in her bare hands, holding the nut to her lips as the milk began to run out. She gulped down the pale white fluid then wiped her mouth, sitting the coconut aside as she dug back into the bag, pulling out a slender plank of purple meat as long as her forearm.

"Whale jerky, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Even in a city by the bay, there aren't that many people who keep harpoons in their room."

Aurora nodded. "Whales are central to life on Qikiqtabruk. We eat their flesh, drink their blood, make cheese from their milk —"

"What?"

"What what?"

"Milk? Whales are fish. They don't have teats. How can they have milk?"

"Whales aren't fish. They breathe air like you or me. And, they suckle their young on milk. If you kill a mother whale while she's still nursing, you can harvest barrels of cream. The cheese we make from it is a great delicacy. As high priestess, I would always be given the first batch after a hunt."

"High priestess sounds like nice work if you can get it," said Infidel. "I take it the Jagged Heart was used on the whale hunts?"

"Indirectly. Before each hunt, I would summon the ghosts of whales we'd slain on the previous hunt and vanquish the spirits, so that they couldn't do evil against the ogres going out to hunt. The spirit meat was also essential provision for the dead of our people on their journey into the Great Sea Above. The Jagged Heart also had the power to open a pathway into the afterlife where I could commune with our ancestors. It's pale light would guide us as we sailed from the dragon's jaws into the Great Sea Above."

Infidel rolled her eyes.

"What?" asked Aurora.

"Nothing." She said, as she chomped down on the sheet of meat and tore off a mouthful. She chewed with her mouth open as she said, "Hmm. Not bad. Not fishy at all. I hope you got the spirit of this one; I'd hate for an angry whale ghost to give me indigestion."

Aurora frowned. "You aren't terribly respectful of other people's beliefs."

Infidel shrugged. "I'm not even terribly respectful of my own beliefs. Anyway, why should you care what people think of your religion? It certainly didn't do you much good. Banished by your own people for losing a harpoon."

Aurora's eyes narrowed. I thought she was about to scold Infidel, but then her expression softened. "I wasn't banished. I was executed. I was wrapped in chains and taken to an iceberg. My people chiseled a hole in the ice, then buried me in it. My own brother, Tarpok, filled the hole with water so that it would refreeze. Cold cannot harm me, and my people can survive for days without breathing if we don't struggle. Still, I was left to drift in my frozen tomb, completely trapped, doomed to eventually suffocate or starve."

"You obviously escaped."

"The Black Swan rescued me. I don't know if it was by pure chance, or due to her ability to travel back in time, but she found me after I'd been adrift for little more than a week. I was near death when she freed me. I had no will to live, but she nursed me back to health anyway. She told me that, since I was dead to my people, I could make a new life with her in Commonground. I hope she's survived. I searched the ruins of the barge and found no sign of her. I don't know what to do if she's gone forever."

"She'll be okay. She strikes me as a survivor," said Infidel, who'd by now had found the sea beans. Sea beans aren't actual beans; they're a puffy weed that grows in marshes. They taste like asparagus soaked in saltwater. They make my mouth pucker, but Infidel likes their crisp snap. "You were going to quit working for the Black Swan anyway. What do you care?"

"As priestess, my whole life was devoted to serving others. Without service, I have no purpose. I didn't always approve of the Black Swan's actions. If she had any greater goal for her life other than accumulating wealth, I never learned of it. Yet, serving her gave structure to my days. I know I was only another employee to her, but she was my world."

Infidel rooted around in the sack once again and pulled out a jug with a cork in it, looking at it skeptically. "What's this?"

"Fresh water," said Aurora. "I don't drink spirits."

Infidel popped the cork and chugged down several cupfuls. "Mmm. I needed that. After a big fight, I'm always thirsty for days."

"It must take a lot of energy, to do the things you do," said Aurora. "There aren't many people who can say they've killed a dragon."

Infidel shrugged. "Yeah. It takes a lot out of me. But, not as much as you might think. My strength is more magic than muscles."

"What is the source of your magic?" asked Aurora.

Infidel stared at her, obviously annoyed by the question. Then, to my surprise, she flashed her what-the-hell grin. "Okay," she said. "You know that there used to be a primal dragon of the forest named Verdant. He was killed, like, a thousand years ago by the first Knight of the Book, the original King Brightmoon."

Aurora nodded. "I'm familiar with the legend."

"It's not legend, it's history," said Infidel. "Brightmoon killed Verdant, who had been weakened by the decimation of the forests near his lair. The blood of the beast was drained and dried, forming a dark green powder. A gilded casket of this blood was kept at the Brightmoon Cathedral. When Knights of the Book are initiated, they're given a spoonful of the stuff, dissolved in wine. It grants them a small measure of the dragon's strength and toughness."

"Blood magic," said Aurora. "I thought the church disapproved of such things."

"The Church is just a wealth of contradictions," said Infidel. "They preach peace, then raise armies of violent tempered men to impose it. They sing the virtues of forgiveness and mercy, but build torture chambers to focus the faith of those who've gone astray. Dabbling in blood magic is a sin for you and me, but priests don't have to play by the same rules. Since they decree what is and isn't a sin, a priest could eat babies and pick his teeth with the bones and still be praised for his rectitude."

"I'm starting to see how you earned the name 'Infidel.'"

Infidel shook her head. "The church doesn't give a damn about my opinions. It's my actions that put me on the naughty list. When I was fifteen, I stole their casket of dragon blood. Knights had been gobbling down this stuff for centuries, so it was almost gone, but there was still about a pound of it caked up in the corners. I went at it with my fingernails and polished off everything that was left. At first, I didn't think anything had happened to me. When the priest came to get me from the inner sanctum, he found me crouched down over the empty casket, blood caked around my lips and under my finger nails. The sleeves of my wedding gown were green with —"

"Wait," said Aurora, holding up her hand. "Wedding gown? Is this part of the story about you once being engaged to Lord Tower?"

Infidel pressed her lips tightly together, as if contemplating whether to say more. After several long seconds, she said, "Engaged isn't the right word. It implies that he asked me to marry him and I said yes. The truth isn't so pretty. I was sold to him."

Aurora raised her eyebrows.

"My birth name was Innocent Brightmoon. I was the king's third daughter, but the first to survive to breeding age."

"A princess," said Aurora.

"It's not as good a job as it sounds," said Infidel. "'Princess' is just a fancy label for a high-priced slave-whore. My wedding to the first born male heir of the Tower family had been arranged before I was born. The Towers were immensely wealthy; there were all sorts of political and economic reasons that the Tower and Brightmoon lines were fated to mingle. My father had decided that his first eligible daughter would marry the first eligible son of the Tower family, and that was that. No one ever asked my opinion on the matter."

"Still..." said Aurora. "You were born into luxury. Life couldn't have been all bad."

"Couldn't it?" Infidel asked. She sighed. "I guess, from the outside, it looked like I was living a life of wealth. But, it wasn't my wealth, or my life. I was little more than a doll, a pretty thing to be dressed in gowns and decorate my father's court. I was never allowed to make a single decision. I lived in a palace where court dinners were held, with meals literally fit for a king, and all I'd be given to eat would be a meager salad. I wasn't allowed to taste dessert because my wedding gown had been designed before I was even conceived, and it was important that my waist be slender enough that I might get mistaken for a wasp. I never wore shackles, but I was a prisoner all the same."

Aurora nodded. "So you decided to run away."

"I wish I could say my actions were that deliberate. My education, such as it was, didn't teach me much about making good choices. When my wedding day finally came, I could barely think. I felt like a caged rat; my mind was darting all over the place, looking for any escape, but I found nothing."

"You must have really hated the young Lord Tower."

Infidel made a gagging noise. "Hated doesn't begin to cover it. He's such a sanctimonious idiot; he can't fart without running to the nearest priest to offer repentance. He believes every lie the church has ever crafted. You wouldn't believe his awkward, ritualistic attempts to court me. I could tell he really had no choice in this matter either. If he'd been a little rebellious about it, who knows? Maybe I might have liked him. I mean, he was good-looking, and he was always winning jousting tournaments, so he wasn't without a certain physical charm. But, his attempts to write love poems were cringe inducing. They sounded like sermons! 'Praise the creator who this day has blessed me with the bounty of your chaste lips, blah blah bluhhh.'" She stuck out her tongue. "We never even held hands."

Somehow, my ghost heart felt lighter to learn this. Since hearing she'd been engaged to Lord Tower, I'd assumed that she must have loved him once. I was jealous, though, obviously, there was no rational basis for this. I found myself annoyed that she was spilling her guts so freely to Aurora. I'd been her closest companion for ages. Why had she never shared this with me? Worse, why had I never had the courage to ask?

Infidel continued her story, "Anyway, it was my wedding day. There's this ten minute ritual before the ceremony where the bride goes to the inner sanctum to pray in private; there's not even a priest present. The inner sanctum was where they kept the casket of dragon blood. The second the priest closed the door, my eyes fixed on it. It was locked, but it was also a thousand freakin' years old. I had it cracked open in about thirty seconds. And, like I said, when the high priest came back into the sanctuary, I was coated in the stuff. I'd gobbled it down like it was all the ice cream and cake that I'd been denied since I was a toddler."

Aurora chuckled softly. "You must have been a sight in your bloodied gown."

"To this day, I still don't like wearing green," said Infidel, with a small shudder. "I get bad flashbacks of looking down at the green coating my arms. The priest stared at me for about half a minute, just dumbfounded, then clenched his fists and came out me, shouting, 'What have you done? What have you done?' Even though I'd never hit anyone in my life, I gave him a backhanded slap to shut him up. And... um... and... and his face sort of caved in. After that, I kind of... I kind of snapped. I launched out of the inner sanctum and tore through anyone in my way. I jumped out a stained glass window and kept running. I killed... I killed a lot of people on my way out of town. There might have been a puppy that got squished as well. I... my memory's fuzzy, and I don't like to think about it anyway. I was completely drunk on the blood. It's one reason I seldom drink now. I don't like feeling out-of-control. Anyway, long story short, I wandered around the islands for a couple of years getting my head straight before winding up in Commonground. It's been a while since any of the church's assassins came after me, but I'm guessing I'm still public enemy number one."

"Which makes it strange that you want to sign on to the king's dragon hunt," said Aurora. "Won't Tower recognize you?"

Infidel shrugged. "Who knows? I was just a girl back then. I have boobs now." She ran her hands along her ruined hair. "And, you know, a different haircut."

"Father Ver is with him," said Aurora.

Infidel pressed her lips together tightly. If I'd still had arms, I would have hugged her to console her. I knew what she was thinking. A few extra curves and a dragon-induced haircut weren't going to fool the church's best Truthspeaker. I had personal experience with Father Ver's powers. Infidel was screwed.

"Why do you want to go on this quest anyway?" asked Aurora. "It can't be the treasure. You've never been obsessed with money."

Infidel drew her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on her arms as she stared out over the dark bay. Boat lanterns twinkled like stars across the water.

"Maybe I'm tired," she whispered.

"Maybe?"

"Screw it," she said, raising her chin. "I am tired. I mean, I've had fun. Stagger led me on some wild adventures. I've had experiences I couldn't even imagine when I was fifteen. My life hasn't been boring. But..." Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.

"But?"

"But maybe I'd like boring." She took a deep, weary breath. "Maybe I'd enjoy sleeping in a real bed at night, and wearing clean clothes every day. Maybe I'd like to walk down a street where I'm not looking over my shoulder wondering who's about to jump me with a shadow blade. Maybe I'd like to meet a stranger and not instantly start thinking about how I'm going to kill him if things turn ugly. Maybe thirty-year-old Infidel doesn't want to live her life trapped by choices made by fifteen-year-old Innocent."

Her eyes were narrowed as she spoke. She sounded so angry. I'd never suspected. What kind of friend had I been that I'd missed this?

She finally relaxed and said, softly, "The closest I ever came to feeling normal was when I hung out with Stagger. This is... this is crazy. But I used to imagine me and him getting out of here, finding some little village where no one knew who the hell we were, and settling down. Maybe find a little peace and quiet and normal."

I'd dreamed that too. Why hadn't I told her?

"Why didn't you tell him?" asked Aurora.

"We... we...." She cradled her head in her hands. Her voice cracked as she said, "There are things that are wrong with me."

"Stagger was wild about you. You have a crazy streak, sure, but anyone could see that he loved you."

Infidel closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She looked as sad as when she'd sat at my grave. She was silent for a long time. Finally, she relaxed her hands, and sniffed. She whispered, "Normal couples can... they can do stuff. Intimate stuff. And I wanted that. I wanted that so badly."

I wanted that! I wanted that so much it hurt. Why didn't I have the courage to tell her? If I'd still had lungs, I would have cursed the sky for my cowardice.

"I'm guessing Stagger would have been okay with, um, intimacy," said Aurora, with what might have been a grin, though her tusks made it hard to tell.

Infidel shuddered. "My strength makes touching things tricky. I try to slap a man, and I smash his face in. It took me years to learn to pick up a glass without breaking it. I'm more dangerous than people know."

"You seem to have it under control."

"I could have held his hand without crushing it, sure. Maybe even kissed him without breaking his teeth. But... but all my muscles are supernaturally powerful. Even ones... even ones I don't always have full control over."

"Oh," said Aurora. Then, she said, "Ooooh," in a way that made it clear she understood what Infidel was getting at.

Suddenly, I understood as well. Ordinary coupling could have left me maimed and mangled, if not outright dead.

"So..." said Aurora. "You're a thirty year old virgin."

Infidel shrugged. "I'll die one, I guess. I'm never going to know anything like love. But, at least when I hung out with Stagger, I felt... I felt happy."

I'd been happy too. And, even with my fantasies of shared sexual bliss crushed by Infidel's physical realities, I still would gladly have gone with her to that quiet little village and lived out my days beside her. I'd loved her without even so much as a kiss for years. I could have accepted anything to make her happy.

"And now you're unhappy," said Aurora. "So what? The plan is to go get yourself killed by Greatshadow?"

"No," said Infidel, sounding deadly serious. "The plan is to go get myself rich. Not pirate booty rich, not ancient artifact rich, but filthy, filthy, filthy rich. Because if there's one thing I learned growing up in my father's court, it's that if you're filthy rich everyone will bend over backwards to tell you you're clean. If I show up in my father's court with sole possession of Greatshadow's treasure, I'm confident I'll have a full pardon in my hands inside of ten minutes. The church might not be happy about this, but I'm betting after I donate funds to build a few new cathedrals, they'll come around. I'll be rich with my own money, not my father's. I'll be free to live where and how I wish. I'll have my own palace with silk sheets on a bed so fluffy you'd think it's stuffed with clouds. Every day I'll take a hot bath while musicians serenade me and I'll get out of the water and put on clean freakin' underwear. And when I walk into my own damn dining room, people are going to run up to me with trays full of goddamn cake!"

Aurora nodded slowly, contemplating the dream. "And this is going to make you happy?"

Infidel shrugged. "I'm not shooting for happy. I'm aiming for comfortable and fat."

"You'll achieve more than this," said a voice from the branches above. Infidel jumped to her feet. Aurora jerked her head up as a sheen of ice grew across her clenched fists. It was Relic. How the hunchback had climbed into the branches without us hearing him I don't know. It seemed like a bit of a stretch that this could have been where Infidel had thrown him.

Relic peered down at the two women. His eyes glowed faintly golden in the darkness. He said, "You shall be beloved by all mankind, princess. You will be the champion who slew Greatshadow. For centuries men have perished due to the unpredictable malevolence of fire. Castles, hovels, entire towns have been reduced to cinders with no warning, killing young and old alike. Once Greatshadow is dead, fire will be a trusted tool of mankind, fully tamed, a danger no more. Children will sing songs about you a thousand years hence, just as they sing the tale of how the first Brightmoon vanquished the dragon of the forest. As for seeking the forgiveness of the Church of the Book, remember you won't just return with the dragon's treasure. You can also return with barrels of fresh blood, replacing the dwindling holy relic you stole. You can claim you were driven by divine visions to renew the blood. One day you'll be regarded as a saint."

Infidel looked up the slope of the mountain, toward the glowing caldera. "And maybe one day I'll sprout wings and fly. Because if there's a Truthspeaker on this quest, then I'm never going to be part of this dragon hunt."

"Assuming there's still a hunt," Aurora said. "The Truthspeaker's charred bones are probably at the bottom of the bay with the rest of the king's fleet."

"Nah," said Infidel. "My father's a jerk, but not an idiot. He sent those ships in to give the dragon a chance to feel like he'd finished off the threat before it even reached shore. It had to be a distraction. Tower and his team are already on the island."

Relic nodded. "I concur. It's only a matter of time before they contact the Three Goons. We must prepare for this moment."

"Prepare how?" asked Infidel.

"You will need a disguise that Lord Tower cannot see through," said Relic. "I have just the persona in mind."

"Forget Tower. How am I supposed to fool a Truthspeaker?"

Relic's glowing eyes twinkled as he chuckled. "That, my dear, will be far easier than you may think. Few are as easy to deceive as those most confident of the truth." Then he cast his gaze toward Aurora. "The deception will require your cooperation, as well as the silence of the Three Goons."

Aurora nodded. "If you promise to help me recover the Jagged Heart, I pledge to keep my mouth shut. As for the Goons, they've been hired as muscle; there's no clause requiring them to disclose everything they know. We can buy their silence with a non-competing contract for these sub-rights."

"I vow that recovering the Heart for you will be my second goal, though ensuring that Greatshadow dies remains my top priority. If you accept this, then we have a deal," said Relic. He held out his gnarled hand. Aurora placed her giant hand upon it. Infidel lay her smaller hand against the ogress's knuckles.

Infidel said, "Excellent. It looks like we've got it all worked out for me to join a group of men sworn to kill me so we can face off with a dragon that melts stone with his breath." She grinned. "And Stagger used to complain that I never planned ahead."

# 7 -SUCH CRUEL THINGS

AT DAWN THE harbor rang with a cacophony of sledgehammers and saws as the Wanderers salvaged useful lumber from the shattered remains of Commonground. Along the shores, river-pygmies gathered up scraps of wood too splintered to be of use and heaped them onto bonfires. Nearby, the bodies of dead brethren were stacked into muddy blue piles. I always found it odd that the river-pygmies cremate their dead; a water burial would seem more appropriate. I need only glance up the blackened slope of the mountain to understand the origins of the custom. Greatshadow could wipe out the pygmy tribes at any time for any reason. They pygmies believed that, as long as they let fire consume their bodies when they were done with them, Greatshadow would leave them alone most of the time. Whether Greatshadow was even aware of this bargain I can't guess.

Once or twice during the night, pygmies had come poking around the trees beneath the boat. I've no doubt they would have climbed aboard if Aurora hadn't stuck her head over to investigate the noise. Her big, tusked face had sent would-be scavengers scurrying back into the darkness.

Relic left at sunrise. I'd watched as he scrambled down through the branches of the trees then dashed off through the debris-threaded thickets, agile as a cat. His crippled routine was obviously just a disguise. I have to say that he'd sounded like he knew a thing or two about disguises when he spent the better part of the night explaining his ideas for how to hide Infidel's identity. He had wanted her to wear a suit of full plate armor, including a bucket-style helmet that would conceal her features. Infidel had vetoed this; she liked her comfort and full freedom of movement. Helmets got in the way of her peripheral vision. After a few hours of circular discussions, Relic had thrown his hands into the air and announced that he'd thought of the perfect disguise, but couldn't share it. It would be a surprise, he said, as he scurried out to gather whatever supplies he had in mind.

I still felt like they were wasting their time. With Father Ver among the king's men, Infidel would be discovered in seconds. My upbringing in the monastery had left me keenly aware of the power of Truthspeakers, and Father Ver was a legend. He was the most powerful Truthspeaker the Church of the Book had ever produced, as I knew all too well.

To appreciate the power of Truthspeakers, you need to know a little bit about the Church of the Book. High in the mountains of Raitingu, what the Wanderers call the Isle of Storm, there's a temple built into the bedrock of the world's tallest mountain. Within this temple is a chamber carved from pure white quartz. Here, on a pedestal of gold, sits the One True Book. The book is roughly five feet long, three feet across, and two feet thick. It's bound in leather black as a moonless night; it's said that if you stare at the cover, you can see stars twinkling in the void. In contrast, the pages are snowy white, thin as onion skin. The priests calculate that the book contains 7,777 pages.

Within this book, the Divine Author has written the history of the world, from the moment of creation to the final day of judgment. My life, your life, the lives of the dead and yet to be born, are recorded in minute detail on these holy pages. The One True Book is the final authority on all that has been, all that is, and all that will be.

Having access to this document would seem to give the Church of the Book a certain advantage over everyone else, save for one tiny detail: the book is far too sacred to ever be sullied by human hands. All men are too corrupted by lies to risk opening the book and actually reading it. The pure light of sacred truth would melt the flesh from the bones of anyone deluded enough to think himself worthy of sullying the pages with his unworthy gaze.

It's taught that, one day, a Golden Child will arise, a perfect being uncorrupted by lies, who will open the book and read out the final account. The world we live in is built from four fundamental and opposing forces: spirit, matter, lies, and truth. As the book is read, all falsehood will be banished; all matter will be cleansed, all spirit will be purified. The world we know will be wiped away and replaced with the world as it always should have been, with a trinity of unified forces: truth, spirit, and substance.

Until the day of that Final Account, all that we know of the contents of the Book have been learned through prayer. Truthspeakers spend years on their knees in the temple, their faces pressed to the floor, weeping, sweating, laughing, screaming as they plead with the Divine Author to reveal even a few lines of sacred truth to them. After years of effort, the Truthspeakers go out into the world to spread the received revelations.

The Truthspeakers gain certain gifts as a result of their devotion. The most powerful Truthspeakers can see the falsehoods of the world and correct it. For instance, if it's raining and a pious Truthspeaker understands that the One True Book foretold that the day would be sunny, he simply tells the sky it's supposed to be blue. The clouds will part and the sun will come out. This may be hyperbole; I've never personally witnessed a Truthspeaker pull off such a feat. But, I have witnessed another magical gift. It's impossible to lie to a Truthspeaker. Believe me, I've tried.

The monks run a vineyard where they produce the sacramental wine used in certain church rites. The wine isn't intended to be used recreationally, but when I had my first sip at age ten, I appreciated the warmth that spread through me as I swallowed, and wanted more. By age twelve I'd sneak out at night to the pitch dark wine cellars to finish off entire bottles, luxuriating in the mellow heat that spread through my body and washed over my mind in a soothing wave. I'd lie on the frigid stone floor in the darkness and dream of using grandfather's bone-handled knife to hack away vines from ancient statues in steaming tropical jungles.

Alas, the monks kept meticulous track of their inventory. A Truthspeaker was brought in to investigate the missing gallons. I'd heard from other orphans that you can fool a Truthspeaker if you can fool yourself. You couldn't lie, but truth wasn't always black and white. I was certain I'd be asked if I'd stolen the wine, and, technically, I hadn't. The wine didn't belong to any one person. It was property of the Church, and I was a member of the Church. It was no more a theft than for me to share the wine than it was to drink water from the communal well. I trusted I could slip through this loophole if the Truthspeaker interrogated me.

I remember the moment that I'd been brought into the room where Father Ver waited. He was middle-aged then, his close-cropped dark hair speckled with gray at the temples. His skin was pale from spending most of his life in a cave. There was a large callous in the center of his forehead from decades spent rubbing it against the floor. His eyes were sunk back into his skull, hidden in shadows. The interrogation room was lit by a single candle which sat on the table between us. The light flickered like twin stars in the void of his eyes.

Despite his stern expression, I walked into the room with a confident swagger. I sat down and faced him, unafraid to meet his gaze. I waited for him to speak to me. Seconds passed and he said nothing. I slid back in my chair, prepared to wait him out, but turned my face away. It was uncomfortable to look at someone so directly without saying anything. As the seconds passed into minutes, I'd glance at him and always find his eyes locked on my face. I began to fidget. I could feel his stare boring into me. I started sweating. My palms were clammy as I wiped away the moisture on my brow. I trembled as I worried he might mistake my discomfort for evidence of guilt. Which was absurd, I reminded myself, since I hadn't stolen anything. I wanted to tell him this, but my tongue had grown thick in my mouth. If my rubbery limbs had possessed the strength, I would have fled the room. Instead, some horrible internal magnet kept pulling my gaze toward his. I felt as if my face wasn't truly my own, but was instead a mask I'd all but forgotten I was wearing. The Truthspeaker's eyes were peeling back that mask to reveal the sinner beneath.

After what felt like hours, he spoke, in a low, gravelly voice, "You are the wine thief."

I collapsed to the floor, my tongue leaping to life: "Yes! Oh yes! Yes! It's true! I stole the wine!"

Hot tears erupted from my eyes as I wept, my body wracked with sobs. I was vaguely aware of Father Ver rising and walking around the desk.

"You will stop crying," he said, standing before me.

Instantly, I stopped. It was like he'd reached in and flicked some unseen switch that commanded my tears. I reached out and hugged his ankles, groveling as I pressed my cheeks against his sandal-clad feet. "Forgive me," I whispered. "Forgive me."

"You will stand," he said.

Though my body felt hollow, gutted by guilt and shame, my muscles moved to obey his words and I rose.

Father Ver frowned. "There's a weakness in you," he said. "Unfounded hope is the source. Your grandfather paid you a visit two years ago."

"Y-yes," I said, sniffling.

"He filled your head with tales of vanished kingdoms, pygmy tribes, and lost treasures. Seductive visions for a boy your age. You've turned your eyes from the path of righteousness and now dream of life outside this monastery."

I wiped snot onto my sleeve and said, "My g-grandfather is going to t-take me with him next time."

"We both know this isn't true," said Father Ver.

I swallowed hard.

"If your grandfather wanted you, he could have taken you on his last visit. You aren't our property, boy. We'd welcome one less mouth to feed. The truth is plain; Judicious Merchant loves the jungle more than he loves you."

I wiped my cheeks and whispered, "He... he said the jungle is too dangerous for a child."

"Do the pygmies not have children? In any case, your grandfather is a free man, still in possession of remnants of your family fortune. He need not live in a jungle like a savage. He could have raised you in comfort on some modest country estate. His actions show what he truly loves in this world. It isn't you."

I dropped to my knees, doubled over, feeling as if I'd been kicked in the gut.

"Your thirst for wine comes from your love of falsehood. In your intoxication, it's easy to feel as if the dreams you cling to are real. It's time to let go of your childish embrace of fantasy. Truth will never be found digging among the ruins of failed civilizations. Truth is revealed through prayer and obedience to the church. The great adventure for any man lies not in exploring the ruins of distant jungles, but in navigating the ruins of his own soul. Your soul in particular is a treacherous labyrinth. Your father, mother, and grandfather all live, yet you are an orphan. What a heavy burden, to be so unloved. I understand why your dreams seem more attractive than your piteous reality."

I dug my nails into my palms, trying to make the pain blot out the words. I sniffled. "H-how can... how can you say such cruel things?"

"It is a measure of your weakness that you mistake truth for cruelty," said Father Ver. "Within the One True Book, your life has already been written. I know nothing of your future; there is too much contained within the Book for one man to study it all. I have no certainty of your eventual fate, but slaking your blasphemous thirst with sacramental wine is a poor omen. My informed speculation is that one day you'll die drunk on some distant shore, leaving your bones to rot in an unmarked grave."

He walked to the door and rang a small bell to summon the monks. He didn't look at me as he said, "If I were the sole arbiter of your fate, you would be hung. A boy who is a thief will almost certainly grow into a man who is something worse. Alas, the brothers will sanction no punishment more severe than flogging. You will receive ten lashes a day with a braided leather whip for the next seven days."

My mouth went dry as I thought of the pain I would endure.

"I know you are afraid of what's to come," he said, his voice softening ever so slightly. "Look at me."

I turned my face toward him as he untied the knot that held his simple robes at the waist. He shrugged the heavy cloth from his shoulders. He turned, revealing his bare back. He was more muscular than I'd suspected. There was no fat on him; his muscles looked wiry and powerful beneath his white skin. I squinted in the candle light. Quickly, I understood what he was showing me. His back was crisscrossed with scars and countless fresh scabs.

"When the whip touches you, pain flashes through your mind like a light," he said. "Follow this light. It will lead you to truth. Pleasure leads only to falsehood; pain guides men to what is real. Truth is hard. Truth is harsh. Truth is all that matters. It is stark and beautiful and complete. Embrace your pain, child, and you may yet live a righteous life."

He pulled his robes back up his shoulders. "Should you not heed my words, pray we do not cross paths again," he said. "When next we meet, I will not show such mercy."

He left, and I listened to this feet pad away down the stone hall. I was all alone, his words echoing in my ears. All I could feel was gratitude. Father Ver had given me a precious second chance. I didn't fear the punishment to come; I was eager for it, ready for the whip to beat away my weakness and bring me to the same state of grace as this holy man.

I didn't find enlightenment in my floggings. The instant the whip touched me I found only hurt and humiliation and a festering distrust for all things labeled holy. I returned to wine theft within the year. When I finally fled the monastery, it was with a belly full of sacramental wine and the contents of the poor box jingling in my pockets.

RELIC HAD TOLD Infidel to wait for his return, but nothing was holding her at the boat beyond her own weariness. As the heat of the day settled over the bay, she was wide awake. Aurora's cold compresses had helped reduce her lumps and bruises. She looked like her old self as she finished off the last of the whale jerky. She and Aurora cracked crude jokes as they speculated as to what, exactly, Relic might be. There are nineteen sentient species in the Shining Lands; toss in the more popular half-seeds and there were roughly fifty different types of humanoid that could be hiding under that cloak.

There was no reason to limit the speculation to the earthly realms. Aurora's belief in a Great Sea Above was hardly the only auxiliary reality one could believe in. The Church of the Book believed there were two further realms of existence. Heaven was populated by true men, glorious creatures who had reached the final perfection after passing through the trials of life. Hell was populated by sinners and worse things. There were demons whose very existence was a lie the universe had been tricked into accepting. Only when the Golden Child read the One True Book would these false creatures be eradicated.

Of course, I take these teachings with a grain of salt. The Vanished Kingdom is proof that men lived long before the Church of the Book. I'm sure that these men believed in the stone idols they worshipped, gods whose names are now completely forgotten. If ancient men had been mistaken about their beliefs, why should modern men be any different?

All my life, I assumed that I'd finally discover the answers to these philosophical questions once I was dead. What a gyp that I have more questions now than ever. Still, when I think of the scaly flesh that surrounds Relic's eyes, I can't help but think of how closely he resembles the drawings of demons from the books of my youth.

After her meal, Infidel got dressed in the clothes Aurora had found. Though the tan britches and striped shirt were tailored for a man, I thought she looked fantastic. Her sculpted perfection makes her enticing even in peasant clothing, her features unadorned by make-up or jewelry. Royalty breeds for beauty. I can only imagine that, dressed in lacy gowns in a palace, her face framed by pearls and gold, she must be breathtaking.

Aurora created a mirror of ice for Infidel to use to fix what was left of her hair. She had little choice but to crop what was left, trimming away the frizzled ends. While I'd always liked her long silver tresses, I had to admit this new style had a certain charm. It highlighted the graceful lines of her smooth, slender neck, and drew attention to her enigmatic gray eyes.

I wondered where she would go after she was done with her hair; I was certain she wouldn't simply wait for Relic. Then, fate provided her with a destination. Far out at the mouth of the harbor, dark shapes appeared, a long line of humps rising and falling in the water. At first, I thought it was an enormous serpent, but as it drew closer I could see that it was, in fact, a pod of a dozen whales, enormous blue gray beasts big as ships. Long strands of woven seaweed trailed from elaborate harnesses that hung over their broad, flat faces. A crew of mermen swam beside them, urging them on, prodding the slower ones with tridents, and trumpeting long, low commands through horns fashioned from giant conch shells.

Behind it all, towed by the mighty sea beasts, was an enormous barge, waves breaking against its squat frame. From the center of the barge a single mast thrust into the air, sporting a banner of white and the silhouette of a black swan.

Aurora rose, shielding her eyes, staring at the barge like it was an apparition. The new arrival looked much like the old Black Swan barge, only larger and obviously newer. It now roses three stories instead of two. One by one, the whales were set free of their harnesses as momentum and tides carried the vessel forward. The mermen exceeded even the Wanderers in their understanding of water currents. The barge came to a halt mere feet from a newly built dock the Wanderers had finished only hours before. A crew of men leapt from the barge to lash it into place. Anchors splashed all around the vessel, sinking down to the mud. The Black Swan had come home.

Aurora jumped down from the boat, quickly clearing the tangled mangroves and reaching the mudflats. The ground crackled as she froze a long, rock-hard path across the mire. Infidel leapt to follow her, slipping the second she hit the icy mud. She grimaced as she waved her arms for balance, looking around for a less slippery path. She jumped toward a river pygmy canoe floating about twenty feet out in shallow water. The two pygmies currently occupying the canoe toppled into the bay as Infidel landed in the center of the craft. The canoe spun, capsizing as the lip sank beneath the water, but Infidel had already kicked off again, flying toward a slanted piling that jutted from the water. She barely touched down before she sprang again, leap-frogging her way toward her destination. When she reached the Black Swan, she leaned against a wall, crossing her arms. She looked nonchalant as Aurora climbed up onto the dock.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

Aurora didn't respond, racing past Infidel toward the main door of the new Black Swan. There were no guards in place to stop the ogress from bursting through the door. The main room had more gambling tables than the old one, and the whole place smelled of pine varnish. It hadn't yet acquired the funk of ten-thousand cigar smoking men and the heavily perfumed women who clung to their arms. Infidel followed as Aurora vaulted over the bar and down the hall beyond. At the end of the passage she looked ready to throw her shoulder against the door there.

Before she could make a move, the door opened.

The thick, cloying scent of potpourri poured out into the hallway. Aurora stepped into the dimly lit room with Infidel at her heels. The room was little changed. If not for the smell of freshly finished carpentry, it would be easy to mistake the Black Swan's new chamber for her old one.

The Black Swan herself was stretched on the couch. In front of her, there was now a low table covered with a long semi-circle of engraved letters, painted white against the black finish of the wood. It was a simple alphabet, plus the numbers 0 through 9, and a few common marks of punctuation. The only actual words were a 'YES' at one end and a 'NO' at the other.

"Mistress," said Aurora, sounding joyful. "You're still alive!"

The Black Swan said nothing. One of her bony hands unfolded from her chest and pointed toward the 'NO.'

Infidel sucked in her breath. I followed her eyes to the Black Swan's wrist. It wasn't merely bony; it was actual bone. Beneath her black veil, I could see an eyeless skull, white as chalk.

"Oh, mistress," whispered Aurora.

The Black Swan moved her finger across the board with a surprising rapidity; she seemed much faster now that she was freed from her withered muscles.

"My work is too important to be slowed by death," she spelled.

Infidel stepped back toward the doorway. She looked... spooked. I'd never seen her react like this.

The Black Swan nodded toward her and spelled, "You need not fear me."

Infidel squared her shoulders. She put on her brave face, but I could hear a hint of discomfort in her voice as she said, "I'm not afraid. If you give me any problems, you won't be the first undead I've taken apart this week."

The Black Swan nodded.

"How did you do this?" Aurora whispered. "Why?"

The skeletal hand tapped out. "My great work is not yet finished."

Aurora furrowed her brow. "Your great work? What great work? I've never known you to want anything other than money."

The Black Swan tapped the 'YES.'

"People say you can't take it with you," said Infidel. "Guess you proved them wrong."

'YES.'

Then, she spelled out, "Priests tell us the world is built of matter, spirit, truth, and lies. There is a fifth force, most powerful of all. Money."

Infidel looked skeptical. "I've known more than my fair share of rich people. Money hasn't kept their skeletons animated after they croak."

"They didn't know how to spend it," the Black Swan tapped. "With every journey into the future, my wealth grows exponentially. My purse strings entangle all the world's kings. The future rests upon my decisions."

"Really?" said Infidel. "Because with that kind of power, you'd think you'd choose to be something other than a bag of bones stuck in a dark, smelly room."

Before the Black Swan could respond, Aurora asked, "Menagerie told me I was fired. Why?"

"You cannot serve two masters. You have chosen to recover the Jagged Heart and return to your people. I have arranged a contract with Ivory Blade on your behalf. We will not meet again after this day."

Infidel stepped closer. "Then it's true. Tower has the Jagged Heart."

The Black Swan's hand remained motionless as her empty eyes gazed at Infidel. At last, she shrugged.

"You mean you don't know, or won't tell us?" asked Infidel.

The Black Swan shook her head, the vertebrae in her neck creaking. "In my most recent trip to the future, I was unable to learn whether or not the Jagged Heart endures. All that is certain of is that twelve of the world's greatest warriors set out to slay Greatshadow. They failed. Only two survived." She nodded toward Infidel. "I learned this from your daughter."

Infidel's eyebrows shot up. "My daughter?"

"Given her birth date, you may be pregnant now. If not, the child will be conceived within the month."

"Umm... no. No, I can assure you that's not possible. Whoever you met in the future, she wasn't my kid."

The Black Swan shrugged, then once more began tapping out a message. "The resemblance leads me to think otherwise, but no matter. I've returned to ensure that the future I lived through doesn't come to pass. Your daughter died soon after I met her. Everyone died. Everyone."

Aurora gave Infidel a puzzled glance.

"What do you mean, everyone?" she asked.

The room grew quiet save for the tapping of bone on wood. "All humanity is destroyed when the primal dragons rise as one to wipe out civilization in the span of a day."

"That's impossible," said Aurora. "Hush would never take part in such destruction."

"She does," tapped the Black Swan.

"Why?"

"The dragons judge mankind for their sins; none are found worthy of forgiveness."

Infidel looked pale. "Do... do we cause this? Does our quest to kill Greatshadow cause this destruction?"

The Black Swan shook her head. "The world carries on twenty years after the assault on Greatshadow."

"The primal dragons think of time differently than we do," said Aurora. "If there's a risk that Lord Tower is going to trigger some kind of dragon apocalypse, we need to stop him."

The Black Swan's skeletal hand lingered over the board, edging toward the 'YES.' Then, her fingers returned to the letters to tap, "Rather than stop him, ensure he succeeds. We must hope the primal dragons will be weakened if Greatshadow is no longer among their ranks."

"Hope?" said Infidel. "If you're trying to change the future, shouldn't we be going on more than hunches?"

The Black Swan shrugged and sank back onto the couch, growing very still.

"So, what, your plan boils down to guessing what we should do?" asked Infidel.

The Black Swan didn't move.

Aurora put her hand on Infidel's shoulder. "Don't drive yourself crazy. I try to ignore any hints she tells me about the future. The more she tells you about tomorrow, the more she changes today, and pretty soon hunches and guesses are all you have. The best thing to do is make the choices you would make anyway. Try to pretend you're in charge of your own fate, not a puppet following someone else's script."

Infidel nodded as they left the room. "Yeah. Sure. I've never worried what the Black Swan thought before now. I guess there's no reason to change that."

They went back outside, blinking in the light. Aurora said, "I'm still going on the quest, but if you want to back out, I understand. I mean, if you're pregnant..."

"I'm not pregnant!" snapped Infidel. "It's not possible. It's never going to be possible. Without Stagger, I wouldn't want it to be possible."

"You two never fooled around even a little? You can get pregnant just by -"

"No!" Infidel threw her hands up in the air. "This is crazy." She gave a dismissive wave toward the Black Swan. "Forget her. All I know is I woke up this morning planning to kill Greatshadow. Nothing I've heard today has changed my mind."

"What about the Truthspeaker?"

Infidel clenched her fists. "If he messes with me, he won't be the first priest I've killed."

Aurora nodded as they walked down the rebuilt dock. "For what it's worth, I don't believe the Truthspeaker's powers will affect me. Our faiths don't overlap even a little. The whole truth and lies as foundations of reality, that's just dumb. The world is obviously a flux of heat, light, cold, and darkness." She blew out rings of fog. "The evidence is right before your eyes."

"Whatever," said Infidel. "I'll let the two of you debate religion. I just want to get on with this dragon hunt. The quicker I get my hands on that treasure, the faster I can build my palace and hire my cake servants."

"There are simpler ways to get cake," said Aurora.

They reached the edge of the dock. Once it had led all the way to shore; now, crooked pilings were all that remained.

"There are simpler ways to get back to the boat," said Infidel, looking out over the water. "But simple isn't always entertaining."

Without warning, she grabbed Aurora by the hips and hefted her up, holding the oversized woman directly over her head. Aurora let out a yelp as Infidel leapt, flying out over the topsy-turvy pilings, alighting every third or fourth post before skipping on again. They reached the mangroves in under a minute and practically flew the last dozen yards to the boat. The old boards creaked as Infidel landed and planted the ogress on the deck feet first.

"Don't do that again!" Aurora growled as Infidel giggled.

"What?" said Infidel. "You don't like short cuts?"

Aurora sighed. "I'm not as invulnerable as you. One misstep on your part could have broken my neck, for no reason other than you wanting to show off. You're reckless, princess. Perhaps this was charming when you were fifteen, but it's not a quality I want in an ally when we face Greatshadow."

"I was just having a little fun."

"Children have fun. A warrior needs discipline."

"I'm living backwards. I was disciplined as a child so I'm having fun as an adult."

Aurora didn't look persuaded by the reasoning. Before she could argue, someone cleared his throat from inside the tilted doorway to the cabin. Both women turned to see Relic squeezing from the opening, a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

"I told you to wait for me," he grumbled. "Speed is of the essence. Ivory Blade has contacted the Three Goons. We need to prepare your disguise and the dye takes several hours to set properly."

He dropped the sack to the deck. Things within it clattered loudly, as metal hit metal.

"There's dye involved?" said Infidel, squatting down over the sack. "I like my hair blonde."

"It's not your hair we'll be dying," said Relic.

Infidel opened the sack and pulled out various objects. She paused to study what looked like two shoulder caps for a suit of plate armor. They were formed of half-inch steel and polished to almost a mirror finish. Only, as shoulder plates, they weren't very practical; the two halves were joined together by a single link of chain. And, the plates were too rounded. No one had shoulders this circular. Infidel looked puzzled as she turned the metal cups over and over in her hand.

"What the hell is this?" she asked.

Aurora chuckled. "It looks like a plate-steel bra."

Relic was very quiet.

Both women stared at him.

He stared back.

"No freakin' way," said Infidel.

"This would be easier if you'd wear a helmet," said Relic. "If not, we must choose attire that ensures none of the king's men will be staring at your face."

I expected Infidel to fling the armored lingerie into the bay. To my surprise, she shrugged. "What the hell," she said. "It's about time I had an outfit that doesn't get ripped to shreds every five minutes. But if there are chain mail panties in here, I'm drawing a line."

It turned out that there weren't any chain mail panties, which provoked a mixed reaction within me. As unfair as it was for me to have such thoughts, I would have been relieved to see a full-blown, padlocked, cast-iron chastity belt. Infidel might have shrugged off the talk of pregnancy, but I was a little worried. My poor mortal frame might not have been up to the task of fathering a child with Infidel, but the king's men were more than mere mortals. Lord Tower could fly, Father Ver can change reality with his voice, and Ivory Blade supposedly can move faster than the human eye can follow. Who knew who else might along for the trip? What if someone among the heroes matched Infidel in strength and stamina? What if what the Black Swan said about an impending pregnancy was true?

# 8 - WAR DOLL

THE SUN WAS directly overhead as we rode the churning waves toward the pirate cave. Was it only coincidence that Tower's party had set up camp in the very place where all this had begun with the discovery of the map? I hadn't told Bigsby the truth of where I acquired it, so he hadn't passed on the information. Perhaps Ivory Blade had researched the map further and other sources had led him here.

The cave was located on the western side of the Isle of Fire, a stark landscape of steep, rocky cliffs scoured by ceaseless wind. The waters here are turbulent but deep; a ship can sail within inches of the cliffs if her captain is crazy enough to risk the swirling currents. The cave we aimed for wasn't the only one along this coast line. The area was riddled with old lava tubes exposed by the churning sea.

Most of the caves hold nothing but bird nests; indeed, the sky above was full of feathered creatures in every hue of the rainbow, from tiny finches no larger than my thumb to albatrosses with wingspans longer than my bar tab. The pirate cave was right at sea level. The tides here can rise and fall twenty feet, and when the tide is low the opening of the cave is a long, narrow slash amid jagged stones, just wide enough to sail a good-sized schooner through. Within lies an underground lagoon nearly a mile across, ringed by a pebble beach polished smooth by the waves. It was a safe, sheltered haven, assuming the captain was skilled enough to thread the needle.

Fortunately, Infidel, Aurora, and Relic were in a small rowboat that could navigate the gap with ease, even with the rising tide. Infidel manned both oars, and her iron muscles proved more than a match for the swirling currents. She aimed the boat for the gap and rowed confidently over the waves, shooting into the cavern swiftly enough to leave a wake. Gulls cried as they dove at the churned up water.

The last time I'd been here, the room had been full of torches and lanterns. Now, the shore was lined with bright glorystones, rare gems purported to be fragments of the sun itself. Glorystones were far more expensive than diamonds, and there were more in this cave than I could count. Reflected on the dark water of the lagoon, they looked like stars. We'd definitely arrived at a camp outfitted by a king.

As my eyes searched the shadows beyond the shore, I was surprised at how empty the cave looked. When we'd come here to fight pirates, the noise in this place had been deafening, as the voices of a hundred rowdy men echoed through the chamber. The air had been foul with the smoke of fires fueled by dried guano, not to mention the stink left from using the lagoon as a toilet. Today, the air was clean and cool; everything was quiet. Off in the distance I spotted a few modest canvas tents, shelter enough for a dozen men perhaps, if they were friendly.

The only boat was a single-mast skiff that I recognized as belonging to the Black Swan. No-Face was standing near the boat, his arms crossed, his feet planted wide, looking ready to smite anyone who came too close. Reeker was in the boat, stretched out on the folded sail, snoozing, using a backpack as a pillow. Menagerie sat beneath a glorystone lantern, reading a book. The faded letters on the leather-bound tome could barely be made out: The Vanished Kingdom, by Judicious Merchant. My grandfather had published his discoveries years before I was born. With it, I had retraced his steps on the island, or at least attempted to. Sadly, I found most of his directions convoluted and his cartography rather cryptic. Some of the most interesting places he claimed to have explored I've never found. I can't say if he embellished his adventures, or was simply rotten at drawing maps.

Menagerie had beaten us here even though he'd remained behind the other Goons to assist Infidel with her disguise. He'd requested an eye-popping sum of money for his services as an artist; in what he claimed was pure coincidence, it was equal to the value of the dragon skull once my bar debt was paid. Infidel hadn't haggled. Menagerie had sent the other Goons on their way, promising he'd catch up to them. What might take No-Face a full day to row Menagerie could cover in mere hours as an eagle. As for whether the tattooed man's artistry had produced a passable disguise, I wasn't the best judge. I'd spent enough time staring at Infidel's face to know its subtle lines no matter what color it was dyed. And I still didn't understand how any amount of coloring and cleavage was going to hide her identity from Father Ver.

Aurora jumped from the boat and helped pull it up onto the stony beach. Relic hobbled out, placing a hand on his back as if it pained him to have sat so many hours. I could hear his bones popping as he craned his neck from side to side.

As Infidel stepped out of the boat, No-Face rattled the chain around his arm, waking Reeker. Menagerie set down his book and shouted, "Halt!"

"It's okay, guys, they're with me," said Aurora.

Menagerie marched within inches of her and stared up into her tusked face. He shouted, "It is not okay! This is a secure area. What the hell are you doing bringing unauthorized personnel? What's wrong with you?"

Aurora thrust her finger into Menagerie's chest. "Back off. I have every right to be here and these two are my guests. If you have a problem—"

Before she could finish her sentence, a voice beyond the Goons shouted, "Yes, we have a problem!"

Further up the rocky slope, a ghostly white figure strode swiftly towards us. This was Ivory Blade; I recognized him from his occasional visits to the Black Swan, though I'd never actually met him. Blade was the king's top spy, though I wondered how good a spy he could have been since everyone knew it. On the other hand, Blade is a six-foot three albino. He doesn't exactly blend into the shadows. Hiding in plain sight might be the best strategy available. He was certainly an eye-catching figure, dressed in stark white leather armor. This was the famed Immaculate Attire, crafted for Alabaster Brightmoon, the Warrior Queen, nearly three centuries earlier. Since the armor fit him like a full body glove, I can only assume that Alabastar Brightmoon was rather tall for a woman, or else some enchantment allowed the armor to adapt to the form of its wearer. The leather truly did look immaculate, without a single scrape or scuff.

The fact that Blade's armor was unmarred might have been evidence that his reputation as a master swordsman was deserved. I've heard he can draw his sword, kill a man, wipe the blade and return it to his scabbard more swiftly than the eye can follow. He certainly possessed an air of confidence as he marched up to Aurora.

"I'm reporting for duty," Aurora said, addressing Ivory Blade over the heads of the Goons. "The Black Swan has provided the appropriate contracts."

"For you," Blade growled. "Who are these two?" His pink eyes narrowed as he stared at Relic and Infidel. "Or perhaps I should ask, what are these two?"

Relic bowed. He spoke in a raspy, trembling voice, "Long ago, I was called Urthric. Alas, the men for whom that name had meaning have long since passed away. Today, I am known only as Relic."

"Relic showed up after the attack on Commonground," said Aurora. "I wouldn't ordinarily risk the safety of a mission with a last second recruit, especially one I can't vouch for. Still, I think his story is worth listening to. Hear him out; if you don't think he'll be useful, I'll personally snap his neck."

Blade sneered as he looked down at Relic. "What can this decrepit fool possibly have to offer us?"

I found it interesting that Blade's attention was so fixed on Relic. Infidel was standing only inches behind the ragged man, not moving or making a sound, but she was hardly invisible. Given her garb, I expected at least a little gawking.

"I may be decrepit," said Relic, "but I'm no fool. I'm the most important person you can hire for this mission."

Blade smirked. "Truly?"

As Blade spoke, a woman stepped out from behind him; only, it wasn't so much a woman as the absence of a woman. It was a bubble of air the shape of a naked female wielding a sword in each hand. No one else reacted as she silently tiptoed around the Goons, pausing to study Aurora, then moving to study Infidel up close. She placed her face only inches from Infidel's eyes. Infidel didn't even blink; the woman was apparently invisible to all but my ghostly gaze.

Relic said, "My tale is difficult to believe, yet I know you have a Truthspeaker among you. Bring me to him, so he may judge the veracity of my words."

"Why don't you try your story on me first?" said Blade.

Relic nodded. "Very well. I am the sole survivor of the Vanished Kingdom. When I was young, a great nation had tamed this island. From shore to shore the land supported vibrant cities. Our harbors sheltered armadas of trade ships that brought treasures from the far reaches of the world. Truly, it was a golden age."

Blade smirked. "I'll give you credit for imagination. But, assuming you are thirty centuries old, how does this make you an asset for our mission?"

"This quest has been set in motion by the discovery of a map. I am the author of this document. I was an engineer for the king during the construction of what is now referred to as the Shattered Palace."

Blade studied the ragged figure before him with a more critical eye. Even I was taking another look at Relic. Was he telling the truth?

"How is it that you have survived all these years?" Blade asked.

"Modern men are not the only ones to have gods," said Relic. "The gods in those days were far more active in the affairs of this world. They would travel the kingdoms, disguised as men, granting favors to those who were kind, curses to those who were cruel. The god I met gave me eternal life; alas, he was not so kind as to grant me eternal youth."

Blade rubbed his chin, contemplating Relic's words. The invisible woman now stood beside Relic, staring at his burlap-covered face. Blade gave the slightest nod and the woman raised her hands to grab the cloth, no doubt to pull it away.

Relic said, "It would be unwise for your companion to touch me."

The woman halted. Blade looked impressed. "You can see the Whisper?"

Relic nodded. "I've learned many arcane arts during the endless parade of centuries."

"So you know a little magic," said Blade. The Whisper's hands still lingered only inches from the hood. She looked to Blade for further cues. "I still don't see why we shouldn't just pull your mask off to see what you truly are."

"An understandable desire," said Relic. "Alas, long ago, I contracted a disease that causes flesh to wither and rot. It cannot kill me due to my curse, but it has disfigured me horribly. I'm not contagious as long as my scabs are closed. Much of my garb is adhered to my skin. Tearing it free could expose others to the illness."

"I see," said Blade, as the Whisper backed away. "That certainly makes the thought of sharing a camp with you appealing."

"I'm a difficult companion. But my knowledge outweighs the risks. Currently you have a map. With me, you shall have a living atlas."

Blade finally turned his gaze toward Infidel, who stood quietly on the shore. "And who... or what... is that?"

Menagerie grinned ever so slightly at Blade's confusion. Infidel couldn't be tattooed; no needle could penetrate her skin. Still, Menagerie knew a thing or two about pygmy dyes. From scalp to toe, Infidel's skin was now a pale silver-blue, looking more like metal than flesh. Her limbs were concealed beneath skin-tight leather armor, though her torso was mostly bare save for the shiny steel bra. Her face was also naked, though bold black dyes created the illusion of a mask around her eyes. Menagerie had assured Relic the pigments would last for weeks without streaking or smearing.

"This is my War Doll," said Relic. "As an educated man, you may know that the engineers of the Vanished Kingdom have no peers in today's world. We crafted clockwork animals that mimicked life in every way, only with skeletons of steel instead of fragile bone, muscles of wire instead of meat, and veins pumping oil instead of water."

Infidel stared silently at Blade. The greatest flaw of her disguise was that to play the role of a machine, she would need to remain mute and keep her face passive. A quiet, unexpressive Infidel was impossible for me to imagine.

Relic continued: "The men of my time were as blood-thirsty as the people of today. We constructed machines in the likeness of men to fight as gladiators in our arenas."

Blade furrowed his brow. "I would hardly call this the likeness of a man."

"We were lustful as well as blood-thirsty," said Relic. "It pleased the king to watch women in mortal combat. The War Doll, and others like her, were far more resilient than a true woman. Her performances could entertain the king for hours on end."

Blade looked skeptical. But he wasn't the one who gave voice to doubt. Instead, it was Menagerie who said, "I'm not buying it. This is obviously just a painted woman. You can see her breathing!"

Relic placed his hand on the small of Infidel's back and pushed her forward. "The engines within the War Doll produce heat. She inhales and exhales air to maintain an optimal operating temperature. When she's active, she will appear to sweat; this is partially for cooling and partially aesthetics. She's been designed to mimic life in the finest detail."

"This is the biggest load of garbage I've ever heard," said Menagerie.

"You have the power to ensure our veracity," said Relic, ignoring Menagerie and addressing Blade. "Bring us to the Truthspeaker."

"We don't need to waste his time," said Menagerie. He reached over to Ivory Blade and drew the dagger the albino carried on his belt. Before anyone could blink, Menagerie threw the blade with a grunt. The tip struck Infidel directly at the base of her throat, in what should have been a killing blow. The dagger bounced off, landing on the pebbles before her. She continued to stare impassively, not displaying the slightest discomfort.

Relic clapped his hands. "Demonstrate your strength."

Infidel leaned over and picked up the blade. She thrust the edge into her mouth, clamping down on it with her pearly teeth, then biting through the steel before dropping the dagger. She spit out a half-moon fragment of metal. It clattered on the pebbles beside the damaged blade.

Menagerie stared, slack-jawed.

"What is your opinion now?" asked Relic.

Menagerie cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "I'm not getting paid to offer opinions. I'll shut up."

The Whisper knelt and picked up the dagger and the wedge that had been bitten from it. She returned it to Blade, who sighed as he tapped the matching pieces together. "This was my favorite dagger," he said, sadly. He gave Menagerie a stern look. "This will come out of your pay."

"I insist on it," said the tattooed man.

Blade gave Infidel one more long stare, before looking down at Relic. "I'll probably regret this, but you've earned your audience with Father Ver."

Blade led us further back into the cave, toward a broad circle of sunlight. A section of the roof had collapsed, leaving a large shaft to the sky. Blood tangle vines hung from above, their leaves swaying in the wind. The rise and fall of the lagoon turned the cave into a bellows, with air flowing in and out through the shaft in gushes. The breeze and the sunlight made this area of the cavern less dank. It was here that the king's men had made their camp.

I watched as the Whisper slipped into one of the tents to alert Father Ver. She moved with such grace that the tent flap showed only the slightest flutter. Still, since it had moved, I deduced she wasn't intangible. That ruled out the chance she might possibly be another ghost.

Blade led us to the center of the circle and motioned that we should wait. Reeker wandered over to a large boulder at the edge of the sunlight. He reached into his jacket and produced a cigar as thick as Aurora's index finger. He flicked a match against the rough stone. The tip sputtered to life - then was just as quickly extinguished as the Whisper leaned down from the top of the boulder and snuffed the match between her fingers.

"What are you doing?" Ivory Blade cried as he ran toward Reeker.

"Catching a quick smoke?" Reeker said, looking at his dead match with puzzlement.

"That is entirely the wrong answer!" Blade yanked the cigar from the skunk-man's grasp. "Didn't you read your contract?"

"Maybe."

"I apologize for the lapse," Menagerie said as he approached. He raised his hand and slapped the offending Goon on the top of his head with a good solid, THWACK!

Reeker cringed, whining, "Watch the hair, boss."

"I read every last line of the contract to you," said Menagerie. "You have no excuse."

"My mind wanders sometimes," said Reeker. "There's a no smoking clause?"

"Fire of any kind is forbidden," said Blade. "Greatshadow's spirit is present in all flame. There will be no campfires, no torches, no lanterns, and, yes, no smoking! Striking a match opens Greatshadow's eye and invites him to stare at us."

"That's a little paranoid," said Reeker. "I thought the no-fire clause meant something big enough to cook on. There must be a million candles burning right now. You think the dragon pays attention to what he sees through all of them? You think he even notices a match that gets lit for a couple of seconds?"

"This isn't subject to debate," said Blade. "We've arrived safely on this island by adhering to strict discipline in our avoidance of fire. I won't tolerate any further lapses."

"There won't be any," said Menagerie. "The contract says no fire. We'll comply. Right, Reeker?"

"Sure, boss," said the skunk-man, frowning as he tossed the cigar into the dark reaches of the cave.

Like everyone else, Aurora had been focused on the confrontation. As it wound down, she turned toward the center of the circle. She jumped back, startled.

Father Ver was standing mere feet behind her, staring at her massive frame. Despite the years, I recognized him instantly. His dark eyes were still set deep in a face that resembled a skull wrapped in old, crinkled parchment. He was completely bald save for bushy white eyebrows and tufts of hair just behind his ears. While his face had grown more skeletal, his body still looked robust. He stood straight as a board in his ink-black robes.

He said, with a glance toward Blade, "This... creature... is the best muscle you could hire?"

Blade nodded. "Aurora comes with the highest recommendation."

"She's an ice-ogress," Father Ver said, in a weary tone that made it sound as if he thought that Blade had somehow missed this fact. "Of what use can she be in the tropics?"

Aurora raised her fist as an ice gauntlet formed around it. "Actually, the jungle enhances my powers. Ice magic depends on moisture. The atmosphere of my homeland was arid; here, water is plentiful. Spells that take minutes back home can be cast in seconds. Plus, though you wouldn't know it from the heat outside, it is nearly the winter solstice, the time of year when my powers are at their peak."

"I asked my question of Blade, not of you, ogress," said Father Ver. He turned once more to the albino. "The Whisper says you need my powers."

"These two," said Blade, nodding toward Infidel and Relic. "They showed up uninvited. Aurora vouches for them, but —"

The Truthspeaker raised his hand as he glared at Relic and asked, "Who are you and why are you here?"

Relic stared directly into the Father Ver's eyes as he said, "I was once known as Urthric," before launching into his tale of being a survivor of the Vanished Kingdom and the author of the map.

During Relic's monologue, Father Ver gave no reaction beyond his default scowl. Finally, Relic finished. Father Ver continued to glare down into the hunchback's face. I noticed the Whisper slip up next to Ivory Blade. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips to his ear. As she spoke so softly only he could hear, I noticed that she ran her hand along Blade's face and hair in a gesture that told me their relationship was more than simply teammates.

"Oh, right," said Blade. "You should also know the hunchback is afflicted with a potentially contagious flesh-eating disease."

"This information would be important only if we were considering allowing him to join our mission," said Father Ver.

"So he's lying?"

"He speaks the truth, or believes he does," said Father Ver. "It doesn't matter. I recommend we kill him and dismantle this abomination." He gave Infidel only the barest glance as he spoke. Again, I couldn't help but suspect there was something odd going on with the way the king's men were ignoring her.

Blade leaned back against the boulder, scratching his chin as he thought. The Whisper wrapped her arms around him and began to plant soft, silent kisses along the side of neck. Blade's voice remained steady despite this as he said, "If he's telling the truth, killing him seems short-sighted. Physically, he's no asset, but the War Doll offsets this liability."

"I don't understand why the king feels we need to hire mercenaries," grumbled Father Ver. "It shows a lack of faith."

"I'm not going to second guess the king. And, now that we're actually on the mission, the decision of who we hire isn't mine to make. Tower will have to decide."

Menagerie asked, "Where is Lord Tower anyway? Isn't it time we meet the man leading this mission?"

"Tower can only carry one other adult with him when he flies," said Blade. "He'll be back soon enough with the final members of the team."

"Flies?" asked Menagerie. "He can turn into a bird as well?"

"No. Flight is a power granted by the Gloryhammer."

"What's a hammer got to do with flying?" asked Reeker.

"Kumuk yuh fuh wut wuh," said No-Face.

"Just try it," said Reeker.

Before anyone else could ask for a translation, a shadow flickered across the cavern floor. I'd never met Lord Tower, but there was no mistaking the identity of the man who descended slowly through the shaft toward us. He was covered in plate armor polished to a mirror finish; Aurora raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. He had his right arm thrust straight out, grasping the Gloryhammer. The sacred artifact was a sledgehammer carved from a single glorystone, blazing with a bright white intensity.

Tower's right arm was wrapped around a slender figure; at first, I thought it was a woman, but as he drew closer to us I could see it was a man. He had black hair gathered into a pony-tail, and priestly robes of the same style as Father Ver's, only bright red. His arms were tightly wrapped around Tower's torso, his eyes wide with terror as he gazed at the ground. Of course, the look of fear wasn't the first thing I noticed about his face. I couldn't help but wonder why he had a large letter 'D' tattooed onto his forehead in blood-red ink.

The terrified man wasn't Lord Tower's only passenger. There was also a bored-looking boy standing on Lord Tower's left boot. He balanced there on one foot, with one hand gripping Tower's belt, looking quite relaxed as Tower descended. The boy looked no older than ten. His head was shaved; he wore no shirt, only a pair of white cotton britches. He was heavily tanned, the shade of a loaf of bread fresh from an oven. The boy hopped from Tower's boot with the ground still ten feet away, dropping to a silent touchdown on the gravel. Tower's metal boots came to rest seconds later with a loud CLANK. The man in the red robes fell to the rocky ground, groveling at the knight's feet. It took a second to realize he wasn't showing gratitude to Lord Tower but was, instead, kissing the ground.

Tower's face was hidden behind his steel faceplate. His eyes could barely be seen through twin slits in the mirrored surface. He surveyed everyone in the room; glancing quickly at Reeker and Menagerie, pausing at No-Face. I detected a slight shudder before he moved on to Aurora. His eyes narrowed; she returned his gaze without flinching. He then sized up Relic and, apparently judging him harmless, turned his attention to Infidel.

His eyes lingered on the metal bra longer than necessary. Infidel didn't move a muscle. He raised his eyes to her face. Again, his gaze lingered for longer than it should have.

He said, finally, "I see we have... guests."

"Trespassers," said Father Ver.

"Applicants," said Blade. "Who did quite admirably on their interview, I thought."

The sun-tanned boy had been studying everyone as well. He said, "The hunchback and the painted woman are seeking to join our mission?"

"Correct," said Blade. "I think they could prove valuable."

"All they prove is that someone has already compromised our mission," said Father Ver. "Killing them will set an example to those who might seek to betray us." He looked directly at the man in the red robes as he spoke.

I found it curious that Blade and Father Ver were addressing the boy instead of Lord Tower, the supposed leader of this mission. Just who was this kid?

The boy walked up to Relic. "You appear too old and feeble to make the journey."

Unlike Father Ver, the child spoke in a neutral, observational tone, with no hint of scorn or disdain.

"Hiring only my body would be a poor investment," Relic said. "It is my knowledge that will be of value."

"Your knowledge is of little use if you cannot survive the tests before us."

"I assure you, I will be alive long after everyone in this room has returned to dust. As for my diminished physicality, the War Doll more than compensates. She is the ultimate fighting machine; no one in this room is her match."

"That," said the boy, cracking his knuckles, "sounds like a challenge." He clasped his hands together prayerfully and bowed toward Relic. "I accept."

# 9 - THE GOLDEN CHILD

RELIC TILTED HIS head quizzically. "Are you challenging the War Doll?"

"Yes," said the child. Despite the fact that he was well-muscled for his age, the boy didn't look like a fighter. Most boys of a combative nature were covered with scabs and scars, but this kid didn't look like he'd ever even been scratched. Despite his modest attire, his gray eyes hinted at a royal lineage. Perhaps, if he'd been in fights before, it had been against opponents who understood the political advantages of not landing a punch.

"I mean no disrespect, but you don't understand the danger," said Relic. "The War Doll is a finely tuned killing machine. Her bones are solid steel; her artificial skin is impervious to the sharpest blade. Her mesh-cable muscles can crush a man's skull like an eggshell."

The boy responded with a serene smile. "You're lying. Your companion is a woman with painted skin, not a machine. Your dire warnings are nothing but a bluff. Isn't that right, Father Ver?"

The Truthspeaker frowned. "The hunchback believes he is telling the truth."

The boy furrowed his brow. "There is an aura of magic around you, creature. Somehow, you are fooling Father Ver."

"No magic could conceal the truth from a servant of the Divine Author, could it?" Relic replied.

The boy frowned as he continued to study Relic and Infidel. Finally, he said, "If your 'War Doll' can simply knock me from my feet, we shall consider that a victory. I'll acknowledge that she's not a painted woman, despite the plain evidence of my senses."

"And if you knock her from her feet?" asked Relic.

"She is welcome to continue the fight," said the boy. "My intention is to prove that she's a fraud. I shall do so by breaking the woman's bones until she confesses, proving that there's no steel within her."

"Fierce little bastard, ain't he?" Reeker said with a chuckle.

"You will hold your blasphemous tongue!" shouted the Truthspeaker.

Reeker opened his jaw so wide I worried his cheeks would tear. He thrust both hands toward his mouth and grabbed his tongue in a death grip.

"This is the Golden Child," said Ivory Blade, glaring at the skunk-man. "He is the culmination of generations of pious men and women who have faithfully adhered to the teachings of the One True Book. He is the perfect blend of body, spirit, and truth, untainted by falsehood."

Father Ver placed his hand upon Blade's shoulders. "Be careful with your words," he counseled. "While there is evidence that Numinous Pilgrim is the Golden Child, we do not have the final proof. Perhaps one day he shall be the Omega Reader; first he must conclude the seventeen sacred tests."

Numinous? I felt sympathy for the boy. His name was even worse than the one I'd been stuck with as a baby. Menagerie apparently found the name amusing as well, since he looked as if he was fighting back a laugh.

The Truthspeaker glowered as he saw the look on Menagerie's face. "Do you have something to say, mercenary?"

The tattooed man gave Reeker a sideways glance. His fellow Goon was still wrestling with his tongue. "I'm good," said Menagerie.

"Now that you know who I am," said Numinous, "you know it is futile to attempt to deceive me."

"Of course," said Relic. "I wouldn't want a person of your sacred esteem to doubt my claim. I accept your challenge."

Infidel, standing beside Relic, casually placed a hand upon his shoulder. There was a faint crunching sound.

"If you'll excuse me," said Relic, speaking through clenched teeth, "I will require only a moment to fine tune the War Doll before battle."

He hobbled toward the shadows, with Infidel clamped to his shoulder. Once they were out of earshot, she leaned close and whispered, "Are you out of your mind? I can't fight a little boy!"

Relic nodded. His voice was barely audible as he said, "From the mind of Ivory Blade, I've learned that Numinous has already completed twelve of the seventeen sacred tests. If the boy truly is the Omega Reader, all our planning may be for naught. Your fear may be justified."

"Fear? I'm not... look, I just won't beat up a kid. I only fight people bigger than me."

"You've fought pygmies," said Relic. "You've slaughtered them and stacked their bodies like firewood."

Infidel frowned.

Relic continued, "I know you don't wish to be a bully. But if you fail to beat Numinous, we shall be exposed."

Infidel glanced back toward the circle of light. The Golden Child stared into the shadows as if he could see them clearly. "He's so skinny. I'm worried I'll break him."

"Break him if you can," said Relic. "The Golden Child's senses are uncluttered by falsehood. He can hear your heart beating. He can smell your sweat. He alone can expose you."

"What about Lord Tower?" asked Infidel. "Have we fooled him? I thought I saw something in his eyes. I don't know if it was recognition, or... or something else."

Relic shook his head. "While he wears his armor, I cannot read his thoughts, let alone manipulate them."

Infidel cocked her head. "You manipulate thoughts?"

"To a degree," said Relic. "I'm no puppet-master, controlling the actions of others. But, I have the power to subtly guide the focus of men. Our ruse would crumble if Father Ver thought to ask you the truth of your identity. Fortunately, I've managed to keep his attention fixed upon me. Even though he can see you, he's too distracted to focus on you. The same is true of Blade. Alas, Numinous and Tower are beyond the reach of my powers."

"I wondered why I was being ignored in this outfit," said Infidel.

"Back to the matter at hand: you need only knock Numinous from his feet to silence him. He's given his word and dare not go back on it. If he is the true Omega Reader, he must never make a false promise."

"I don't think knocking him down is a real problem," she said, clenching her fists. "This is going to be my shortest fight ever."

Relic shook his head. "Don't be overly confident."

"C'mon. Let's get this over with."

They headed back toward the sunlit circle.

"The War Doll is ready," Relic announced as they returned.

Lord Tower's eyes narrowed as he looked at Infidel. She had a sword on one hip, a mace on the other, and still had my knife in her boot. The knight held up his gleaming gauntlet and said, "There's no need to shed blood. Your gladiator must relinquish her weapons."

"As you wish," said Relic.

"This is an unnecessary precaution," said Numinous. "Even if she was armed with the Gloryhammer, she could not harm me."

Infidel's face was passive as she handed Relic her weapons. I felt a shiver pass down my non-existent spine as he grasped the hilt of the knife.

The king's men and the goons retreated to the edge of the sunlit circle, forming an impromptu arena. I noticed that Reeker had finally let go of his tongue; apparently the Truthspeaker's command wasn't permanent. The boy stood in the center of the circle, his stance loose, his arms dangling. His eyes were fixed on Infidel's face. She stopped about six feet away and raised her fists, planting her feet in a boxer's stance.

Seconds passed into moments as the two studied each other. Infidel bobbed back and forth as she waited for the boy to make his move. I could tell she still worried about hurting the kid. With his placid face, Numinous looked more like a bored observer of the fight than a participant.

Infidel was the first to lose patience. She jumped toward the boy, kicking out, her foot aimed at his gut. Numinous stepped aside fluidly, placing one hand on her ankle, another behind her knee as she flew into the space where he'd just stood. With an ear-splitting cry of "Yiaiiah!" he spun her in the air, slamming her face-down into the gravel. Before she could pick herself up, he leapt into the air, shouted, "Hiaaayah!" and landed with his full weight on the back of her neck, burying her head deeper into the small stones. He bounced off, landing gracefully. He looked down at Infidel with a smug expression. Infidel didn't move a muscle.

"That didn't take long," Ivory Blade said from the edge of the circle.

"It's not over," said Numinous. "She's still conscious."

As he said this, Infidel's fists closed around big handfuls of gravel. In a flash, she sat up and whipped her arms toward the Golden Child, letting the gravel fly in a dangerous hail of stone shrapnel. Yet before the gravel had even left her fingers, Numinous dove toward her. His body twisted as he spun through the stony cloud, avoiding every last piece. The gravel sparked as it struck the boulders beyond.

Infidel was still sitting with her arms out when the boy reached her. His leg blurred as he kicked her three times in the throat with cries of "Hyia! Hyia! Hyia!" She went down, flat on her back, her arms limp. The boy landed, hopping on a single foot. His placid expression was replaced by an unmistakable frown. He winced as he placed weight on his kicking-foot.

Infidel sat back up, rubbing her wind-pipe. "Son of a bitch," she muttered.

Among the king's men, there was a simultaneous furrowing of brows.

Relic cleared his throat. "The War Doll has been programmed to utter simple phrases to simulate pain or frustration. The old kings demanded this verisimilitude."

The boy wasn't distracted by the conversation at the edge of the arena. His eyes were locked on Infidel as she rose. The kicks to the throat might have decapitated an ordinary woman. Right about now, the Golden Child was probably starting to wonder about the possibility of steel bones after all.

Infidel made it back to her feet. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She leaned forward slightly and the boy danced back. Even with a sore foot, he was still as nimble as a cat. Maybe he was going to have a hard time breaking Infidel, but she faced an equally tough challenge in knocking him down.

Infidel lunged toward the boy. Instead of aiming a blow at the child, she raised both fists above her head, then dropped to her knees, delivering a powerful two-fisted strike to the ground. Gravel flew into the air in a wave. I gave the cave roof a worried glance as the shock toppled boulders and popped tent pegs. Numinous merely lifted his feet into the air as the destructive energy passed beneath him. When he landed, he somersaulted toward Infidel. She rose, punching out, and he used her outstretched arm as a springboard. He landed behind her and shouted, "Hyuh!" as he kicked into the bend of her knees. Infidel's legs folded beneath her, but before she hit the ground, the boy unleashed a whirlwind of blows—"Hyi! Hyun! Haih! Yah! Huu!"—as he aimed precise strikes at nerves in her spine, elbows, and shoulders.

Infidel sucked in air as her face twisted in pain. She rolled to her back as the Golden Child dropped toward her, sinking both knees into her gut just beneath her ribs, then rolling forward and cuffing both ears simultaneously as he shouted, "Kiii!" His momentum carried him out of Infidel's reach as she flayed her arms uselessly in the air.

"I've seen enough," said Lord Tower, raising his hand. "The War Doll has failed the test."

Relic sighed. "Centuries of wear have cost the War Doll some of its former prowess. Still, you must admit, it has withstood the best the boy can throw at it without breaking."

I prayed that he was right, that Infidel wasn't broken, but I wasn't sure. Her eyes were unfocused as her legs uselessly pushed at the gravel. Her arms were splayed to her side, fingers twitching.

The Golden Child paced in a circle around his victim.

"The fight continues!" he cried, his voice a fierce growl. "She has yet to cry out for mercy! I won't rest until she confesses her ruse!"

"Your holy urchin is a sadist," Aurora said, from across the sunlit arena.

"He has an unwavering passion for truth," said Father Ver.

"Nonetheless," said Lord Tower, "The fight is over. We should —"

He never got to complete his sentence. The Golden Child leapt into the air above Infidel, spinning like a top, as he unleashed an ear-piercing battle-cry. Gone was the placidity that had gripped his features earlier. Blood-lust blazed in his eyes.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Infidel moved, grabbing a fist-sized rock in her right hand, a slightly larger one in her left. She swung her arms together as the boy dropped toward her, his feet aimed at her belly. Numinous tucked up his legs and the rocks passed beneath his toes. The stones collided with a BANG that raised everyone's hands to their ears. The rocks were pulverized, concealing Infidel and the boy inside a cloud of smoky gray dust.

From inside the haze there was a sharp high-pitched shout of "Aiigh!" It took a fraction of a second to realize that this wasn't another war cry. Numinous trailed dust as he shot skyward, a good fifty feet up the shaft, both hands grasping his crotch. Infidel sprang up as the boy reached his apex. The Golden Child's eyes went wide as he spun his body, trying to avoid landing in Infidel's grasp, but, as I knew all too well, no amount of arm-flapping and desperate kicking can change the trajectory of a falling body.

Infidel lifted an arm and grabbed the boy by the ankle, then swung him in an overhead arc to plant his face in the gravel.

"The fight is over!" shouted Lord Tower, jumping toward the combatants.

"The hell it is," growled Infidel, whipping the boy up again, painting the gravel before her with a line of bright blood.

"The War Doll is programmed to taunt its enemies," Relic said, though I don't know if anyone was listening. Everyone's eyes were wide with horror as Infidel spun the boy's limp body around overhead and flung him. The child smashed into the stone wall above the Truthspeaker. The boy bounced off, completely limp, as the Whisper dove to catch him. She lowered his battered body gently to the ground. He was bleeding from both ears. His arms were bent at odd angles, as if they had too many joints.

Everyone was paralyzed as they stared, slack-jawed, at the bloodied child. Ivory Blade was the first to recover his senses. He whirled around, drawing his sword, as he shouted, "You've broken our Golden Child!" He leapt toward Relic, the tip of his sword aimed for the hunchback's eyes.

Lord Tower reached out his gauntleted hand and caught the albino swordsman in mid-strike. The sword sliced the air six inches away from Relic's hood.

"Let me go!" Blade cried out.

Father Ver turned from Numinous and shouted, "You will calm yourself!"

Instantly, the look of rage vanished from Blade's features. He straightened his clothes as Tower set him back on the ground.

"The boy is not the Omega Reader," said Father Ver, coolly. "He failed the thirteenth test; he faced an ancient monster, and could not defeat it."

"But —" said Blade.

"The truth is before your very eyes. The boy misjudged his opponent; the true Omega Reader would never deceive himself so. This boy was just the latest in a long string of false hopes." Father Ver glanced at the fallen boy with a look that was half pity, half contempt. "Numinous was poisoned by arrogance. This is one of the most insidious forms of self-deception."

Infidel wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, she moved slowly toward the boy, her eyes full of guilt. Relic intercepted her, taking her by the arm as he said to Tower, "Aurora has some skill as a healer. Let her look at the boy; perhaps his life can be saved."

I doubted that Aurora was up to the task. Barely a minute had passed and both the boy's arms were swelling up, turning purple from where bone had punched through muscle. His body trembled as he sank deeper into shock. A cold compress on the forehead wasn't going to fix this.

However, the question of what Aurora could do was rendered moot as the man in red robes stepped toward Lord Tower. "You threatened to cut off my hands if I touched your precious Golden Child," he said. "Now that he's failed you, do you mind if I save his life?"

The knight nodded. "Do what you can, Deceiver."

I suddenly had an explanation for why this man had a big 'D' tattooed on his forehead. I had thought that Deceivers were only bogey-monsters that monks used to frighten orphans. A fundamental tenant of the Church of the Book was that truth was truth; there was nothing subjective under the sun. The reality recorded in the One True Book was the only reality, inviolate, inflexible.

Deceivers, on the other hand, believed that nothing at all is true, not even the experience of our own senses. Everything we assume about reality - that the sky is blue, that grass is green, that snow is cold and fire is hot - is merely a shared delusion, constantly reinforced by people desperately clinging to the illusion of stability in a world where nothing is absolute. The One True Book was merely a work of fiction in the Deceiver's world view. The Deceivers thought of themselves as shared authors of this fiction and, as such, were free to edit reality to their liking. They were the greatest enemies of the church. What was one doing here, alive? I couldn't believe Father Ver hadn't slit his throat the second they met.

The Whisper recoiled as the Deceiver knelt beside the boy, stepping back several feet, as if she didn't want to risk breathing the same air.

"Can you help him?" asked Aurora, as she knelt down next to the Deceiver.

"I possess the power to heal any injury," the Deceiver said, running his hand along the boy's arm. "Though I believe we were all mistaken in thinking the boy was seriously harmed. Wipe the blood away, and he's suffered little more than a few scratches and bruises."

And, indeed, as the Deceiver wiped the blood and grit from the boy's limbs, the flesh no longer looked so distorted. Perhaps it had only been a trick of the light that had made the wounds looks so serious before.

"He's just had the wind knocked out of him," the Deceiver said, cradling the boy's face, pushing back the eyelids to look at the dilated pupils. "He'll come out of it any minute."

Everyone had fallen silent as they watched the Deceiver tend to the fallen boy. The only sound was a faint rasping noise. The sound was coming from the Truthspeaker, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he watched the Deceiver restore the boy to health. Finally, he could stand no more.

"Get your unholy hands off him!" He jumped forward, his robes flying as he kicked the kneeling man in the head. "I would rather see the boy die than be tainted by your filthy lies!"

Numinous, still unconscious, gasped as his left arm twisted once more, obviously broken. Yet, the boy still looked better than he had before. The Deceiver lay beside the boy, glaring at Father Ver with naked hatred as he rubbed the sandal-print on the side of his jaw.

Tower grabbed Father Ver by the nape of his neck and hauled him back before he could kick the Deceiver again. "Control yourself," he said. "Zetetic is using his power for good, as promised."

"Promises mean nothing to his kind!" Father Ver shouted. His spittle flecked Tower's faceplate. "He swore only to use his power to alter his own form, but already he has broken this vow by altering the boy's body!"

Zetetic, the Deceiver said, "Technically, I gave myself the power to heal. The boy's body wasn't altered, only restored, until you meddled."

Father Ver went bug-eyed. He once more lunged toward his enemy, but Lord Tower held him back. "His presence is an abomination! The king is mad to include him on this quest!"

Tower sighed. "If the king is mad, so be it. He's still the king and it's our duty to obey him. I forbid you to strike Zetetic again."

"There are greater authorities than the king," Father Ver growled. "You cannot honestly expect me to simply stand and bear witness to such blasphemy!"

"You could always close your eyes," Zetetic said.

Father Ver sputtered a string of meaningless syllables as his rage stripped him of coherent speech.

"Get back to work," the knight said to Zetetic as he lifted the Truthspeaker from his feet and carried him back several yards.

The Deceiver looked at the boy and shrugged sadly. "I've done all I can. Father Ver has aborted the newborn reality we created where the boy was cured. Still, I think it persisted long enough to save the boy's life."

Aurora still knelt beside the unconscious child, probing his arm tenderly with her beefy fingers. She looked up and said, "I can set the arm in a splint. For a boy this age, the bone will heal in a matter of weeks."

Father Ver turned away in disgust. He grumbled to Tower, "At the command of an earthly king we ally ourselves with liars, ogres, and rogues. What does it matter if our quest succeeds when we corrupt our very souls in the journey?"

"The primal dragons are the enemy of all mankind," said the knight, resting the Gloryhammer on his shoulder. "If I must be damned in order that the world can be free of their tyranny, I shall pay the price. You, of all people, understand the importance of our mission."

Father Ver's shoulders sagged. His voice trembled as he whispered. "Very well. But the boy must remain behind. If he isn't the Omega Reader, we have no business endangering a child."

Tower nodded. "I concur."

Father Ver gave Relic a rueful glance. "The hunchback doesn't believe he's lying, but I still don't trust him or his whorish toy. Given all they know of our quest, I must advise you to destroy them."

Blade stepped over to the conversation.

"I second that opinion," he said. "I was impressed with the War Doll's strength, but now that I've seen its savagery, I fear it's a danger to us all."

"Thank you for your counsel. However, since we can't have pack animals on this mission, it seems wasteful to destroy the War Doll. It would make a good substitute for a mule." Tower looked up the shaft. The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the shadows in the cave grew deeper. "Our emotions run high at the moment. We won't be ready to leave until morning. I'll make my decision then."

Despite the fact that he was the subject of the ongoing conversation, no one was paying attention to Relic. He walked to the wall where the Golden Child had hit. There was a spattering of blood dripping down the stone. Casually, he reached out and dabbed the gore with a rag-covered finger. Then, since he still carried Infidel's weaponry, he drew the bone-handled knife from its scabbard and ran his blood-damp finger along the steel.

My ghost lungs gasped for air as I materialized once more. I was fainter than my previous incarnations; I could see through my ghostly fingers to the bones of fog beneath.

He spoke to me in his soundless voice: It seems I have need of you after all, Blood-Ghost.

I looked down at my body, on the verge of tears from the joy of seeing myself again. As a thought-fog, my emotions are muted; now that I once more felt ephemeral blood pulsing in my veins, I was terrified at the thought of having the knife cleaned once more.

Obey me, and I will see that the knife is never bare of blood.

"What would you have me do?" I asked.

The king's men are a dangerous lot. While the boy is no longer a threat, I cannot read the mind of Lord Tower while he wears his armor. Were he the only one immune to my powers, I would have few fears. But the Whisper's thoughts are dim; the harder I concentrate on them, the fainter they become.

"Is she a ghost?"

Doubtful. Your thoughts are clear to me. Blade may know her true nature but I've yet to find her origins among his thoughts. What worries me even more is the Deceiver. His mind is unlike anything I've encountered. His true thoughts are buried beneath veils of hallucinations. I risk my very sanity probing him.

"What am I supposed to do about this?"

You will be my spy. In your phantom form, you aren't tethered as tightly to the knife. You may wander, listening in on conversations I will not be privy to. Have a care, however. Should Father Ver suspect your presence, he has the power to banish you forever to the spirit world.

I furrowed my brow, confused. "Aren't I already in the spirit world?"

Obviously not. You are a spirit in the material world.

Actually, that was kind of obvious. But, if there was a spirit world, what was it like? Why hadn't I gone there?

I will help you reach the spirit world at the proper time should you assist me.

"Maybe I don't want to go. I'd rather stay here. I'll help you only if you promise to let me speak to Infidel."

A fair bargain. I will grant this if you serve me well. Have a care, however. You may desire to speak to the woman, but the feeling may not be mutual. The living seldom wish to be confronted by the dead.

I clenched my jaw as I thought over his offer. If I refused to cooperate, he could just wipe the blood from the blade and banish me once more. But, while he had the power, perhaps, to grant me what I wanted, I had to wonder what he wanted, beyond my immediate services as a spy. Aside from a desire to kill Greatshadow, I knew nothing of his plans or purpose.

Relic's eyes glimmered. You are wise to be suspicious of me, Blood-Ghost. Yet, my motives are simple. I hate Greatshadow with every fiber of my being. The world can hold no joy for me as long as he lives. Tower would sacrifice his soul. I would sacrifice this, and more, for the pleasure of watching Greatshadow die.

"And then what?" I asked. "You take his treasure?"

Relic gave a low, soft chuckle that chilled my vaporous guts. Then, my dear Blood-Ghost, I take the world.

# 10 - FLAWED VESSELS

THAT EVENING, EVERYONE dined on hardtack and dried beef; I would have expected an expedition backed by a king to have food fit for one, but apparently all the funds had gone into buying glorystones and Goons. Tower still had his helmet on as Blade handed him his rations. I waited for him to pull off his helmet to eat, but instead he retreated into his tent.

"Guess he's too good to eat with us," Aurora said as she sat cross-legged on the ground by the Three Goons.

"I heard he never takes off that tin-can because his face is covered with scars," said Reeker.

"Boo hoo hoo," No-Face answered. For once I didn't need any translation.

Relic came over to the circle of mercenaries. "Perhaps he has other reasons for hiding his face. Most warriors, in my experience, are eager to show off their battle scars."

"It ain't battle scars," said Reeker. "According to what I heard, about fifteen years ago on his wedding day, one of Tower's enemies launched a sneak attack. Half the chapel got knocked down by a catapult and a fire broke out. Tower kept running back into the conflagration, saving the lives of a dozen people even though he was getting all burnt up himself. But he never pulled out the one person he was searching for: his bride. Now, when he sees his scars, he thinks of her."

"A tragic tale," said Relic.

"A stupid tale," said Reeker. "Ain't no dame worth risking your life for. They're like stray cats; one gets killed, two more show up the next day."

"Tower must not have felt that way," said Menagerie. "My sources say he's still unmarried."

"Maybe that's just proof he sees things my way now," said Reeker.

"Mubuh huh duug guh buhn uf," said No-Face.

"Maybe we should stop gossiping about the man who's paying our wages," said Menagerie. "Don't forget they have an invisible spy."

Infidel was several yards away from the ring of dining Goons. She was standing with her back to the others, looking into the shadows of the cave. I moved in front of her and waived my ephemeral hand before her eyes, though I knew it was futile. Her face was completely blank, with no hint of a reaction to Reeker's tale. Save for the occasional blink, she really looked like nothing more than a statue.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Tower announced his decision: "Relic and his War Doll can join the expedition. We'll use the War Doll chiefly to carry gear. Aurora will also have pack duty as punishment for revealing our location."

Reeker raised his hand. "We're going to hike to the dragon's lair? The caldera's, like, fifty miles away. Can't you fly us?"

Tower shook his head. "The Gloryhammer glows most brightly when I'm in the air. Flying low over the ocean in mid-day wasn't a problem, since the glare of the sun upon the waves masks the weapon's radiance. Short bursts of flight to help us over obstacles are probably safe, but I don't dare risk making a dozen long trips back and forth over the jungle canopy. Greatshadow would surely spot us."

"So he spots us and comes down to kill us," said Reeker. "We fight him on the slopes instead of in the volcano. What's the big deal?"

Ivory Blade nodded toward Lord Tower. "If I may?"

Tower nodded back.

"First," said Blade, "Our mission is more than to simply kill the dragon's body. We must also slay his spirit and forever sever his intelligence from the element of fire. This can only be done in his lair. Second, you're being paid to do what we tell you to, not to question our commander's decisions before we even leave the base."

Reeker looked as if he were going to say something back, until he spotted Menagerie glaring at him. He crossed his arms and gave a subservient nod.

Aurora apparently was undeterred from asking questions. "What will happen to the boy? He still needs medical attention."

Numinous was sitting near the main tent, gazing toward Lord Tower with a look that bordered on hatred. He'd been furious when he'd been told earlier that he was no longer taking part in the mission. Gone was the placid, supremely confident Golden Child of the day before. In his place was an ill-tempered ten-year old boy who'd always gotten his way until now. I felt sympathy for the kid. Every day of his life until today, he'd been surrounded by adults who treated him like he was the salvation of the world. Now, the adults had decided he was nobody important. That can't be easy to swallow.

Tower said, "Numinous may not be the Omega Reader, but he is still exceptionally educated and trained. Despite his injuries, he's able to fend for himself until we return. He can use this time alone to reflect on whether life in the priesthood will suit his future, or perhaps a more martial life as a knight will be his calling. When this mission is over, I will ensure that his education continues for a new, more suitable, role."

This answer seemed to satisfy Aurora, though not Numinous, who rose and went back into the tent.

"If there are no more questions, we shall begin. First, allow Father Ver to bless our mission with a prayer."

Father Ver's left eyebrow shot up. He looked surprised by the request, which I found curious. A man in his position was no doubt asked to lead prayers a dozen times a day.

The look of surprise was quickly wiped away by his omnipresent scowl. He stepped forward into the middle of the circle and looked up the shaft of sunlight spilling into the cavern. He then looked down at his hands, bony and wrinkled, covered with age spots. He cleared his throat.

"The question before us," he said, in what sounded more like a sermon than a prayer, "is one of predestination."

Tower, Relic, Ivory Blade, and even Zetetic, the Deceiver, all nodded reverently as he began. The Goons and Aurora just looked bored. The Whisper, apparently, wasn't all that religious. She slipped in up behind Blade as the priest spoke and began to kiss him gently on the nape of the neck.

"The future was written long before we were born. We know in our hearts that the Divine Author would not have written a story in which the wicked are allowed to triumph and the righteous meet endless defeat. In the end, good shall triumph over evil."

I gave a little ghost-yawn. I'd heard this generic prattle about the inevitable victory of good ten times a day growing up.

"There can be no doubt that Greatshadow embodies evil. No honest man has ever stared into a flame without perceiving the malignant intelligence behind it, the predator spirit that waits to pounce upon the weak and unwary. The Divine Author has left no room for doubt as to the identity of the villain of our tale. The only question that remains is: Are we good enough to be the heroes? Do we undertake this mission in complete honesty regarding our motivations? Do we seek to vanquish evil purely because it is our duty, or have the seeds of our defeat already been planted in falsehoods buried deep inside our hearts? Will our tale not be one of triumph, but of instruction, a warning against vanity, or greed, or lust?"

It may have been my imagination, but Ivory Blade looked chastened by these words. He hung his head low, his lips pressed tightly together, even as the Whisper gave him a comforting hug. Tower's shoulders also sagged a little as Father Ver spoke.

The only person who looked inspired by Father Ver was Zetetic, who was grinning broadly.

Father Ver concluded by looking back up the shaft and switching from sermon to something more like a prayer. "We ask, oh Author of Our Fates, that even if we are flawed vessels, you still will use us as vessels of your will. Help us, oh Lord, to bring the world one page closer to its perfect ending. Your will is our will. Amen."

"Amen," echoed Tower. Then he raised his head and said, "Relic, get your War Doll loaded. We'll use it to cart our gear up the cliff, with Aurora's help. I'll ferry the other's one by one. As long as I don't rise above the tree line, this flight shouldn't draw attention."

Tower grabbed Ver by the arm and pulled the cleric to his chest. "You first," he said, sounding somewhat terse. The holy man didn't have time to say a word before the knight launched skyward.

Follow them! Relic screamed in my mind. If they have a private conversation, I want to know the details.

I looked at him and said, "Maybe you didn't notice that they're flying?"

And perhaps you haven't noticed that gravity no longer holds you to this earth?

I had noticed that, but I'd still been hovering at pretty much the same eye-level I'd been at when I was alive. In my ghostly form, I could wander around where I wanted to just by thinking. Did it work the same way going up?

I moved toward the shaft and spotted Tower high overhead. I furrowed my brow as I willed myself to follow him. Then – whoosh! – not only did I fly, I flew fast, shooting up along the rugged cliffs to reach the knight and the cleric in a matter of seconds. The terrain atop the cliff was still a fairly steep slope, but had soil enough to support trees and shrubs in a nearly uniform canopy of green. Tower punched through the foliage into the shadowy forest beyond. There were huge boulders among the trees. Tower landed on one, releasing Father Ver, before asking, in a voice that was almost a shout, "What was that?"

Father Ver looked undaunted by the anger in the knight's tone. "You are unhappy with my prayer."

"I wanted an invocation to our inevitable success, not some admonition that we might be too vain or lustful or whatever to defeat the dragon. Where's your faith?"

"Faith is a crutch for the spiritually weak," Father Ver said. "It's something used by women, children, and the feeble-minded unprepared to handle truth. I've never thought of you in this category."

"You've been unpleasant company since this expedition was announced," said Tower. "I've always looked up to you and respected you, Father. I can't understand your sudden embrace of pessimism."

Father Ver closed his eyes and rubbed the thick callous on his forehead. "Truthfulness often precludes optimism. You of all men should understand this."

"And you, of all men, should understand that the righteous always defeat the wicked. It is the only conclusion that will satisfy the Divine Author."

Ver shook his head. "You're a warrior, not a priest. You overstep your bounds when you claim insight into the mind of our creator."

"I'm only repeating what you've taught!"

"You are only repeating the teachings you find convenient to remember," said Ver. "You remember that good triumphs over evil in the end. But you fail to recall that we may not be at the end. The One True Book is a very thick document. There may yet be centuries, even eons, before the final victory. In the intervening time, the outcome of any given battle can never truly be known."

Tower sighed. "Fine. You're technically correct. We may not actually know how this particular story ends. But I'd appreciate it if you would be a little more inspirational, to help motivate the troops."

"What troops?" asked Father Ver. "There are eleven of us. The Goons aren't believers in the Book, nor are the ogress and the hunchback. Blade and the Whisper walk a middle path and are not so pure as you may wish to believe, though they are saints compared to Zetetic, who twists all truths he encounters into lies. The only one among us whom my words may truly inspire is you."

Tower crossed his arms, tapping his gauntleted fingers on his iron biceps with little clanking sounds. His feet were hovering a few inches above the ground. He shook his head slowly. "Perhaps I need the inspiration."

"What you need is to know yourself," said the priest. "Are you honest regarding your reasons for leading this mission?"

"I seek only to defeat evil and improve the lives of my fellow men. You would know if I was lying."

"I would know if you were lying to me. I cannot know if you're lying to yourself."

"You think I have some other motive? What? Treasure? I'm already wealthy. Fame? Glory? The streets of the Silver City are lined with statues erected in honor of my previous victories. It matters not at all if they erect another."

"So you say."

"Such is the truth," said Lord Tower. "Years have passed since I first saw my image carved in stone. Any pride I once felt has passed as I've aged. A statue is an empty legacy to leave the world. My only goal now is to leave the world a better place than what I inherited. The death of Greatshadow is a step toward that goal."

"Very well. Even if your motives are pure, you must know your chosen allies are motivated by nothing other than greed."

"True. But I need not share the same motives as an ally in order to achieve a common goal. I've had years of battle experience to learn this truth. Still, I understand it must be difficult for you. This mission is forcing you into alliances with men you wouldn't normally associate with."

"You're being too polite," said Ver. "I would normally order these scoundrels and heretics flogged, imprisoned, or hanged."

"Understood. Now, try to understand that I've fought beside rough men and unbelievers in previous battles," said Tower. "Against some foes, power is more important than purity. We could lead an army of ten thousand pilgrims up these slopes and Greatshadow could kill them in a matter of seconds by unleashing an inferno. These scoundrels and heretics are survivors. I'm confident we've assembled the perfect team to defeat Greatshadow. I want you to feel this confidence also."

Ver pressed his lips tightly together. "If I believed this to be a doomed enterprise, I wouldn't have accepted your invitation to join. I'm not blind to the difference between principals and truth. I respect the power of the team you've assembled. We stand a good chance of success. But I cannot pretend that victory is certain."

"I suppose I'll have to settle for that," said Tower.

"Yes, you shall. Go get the others," said Ver, with a dismissive wave. "They'll wonder what's keeping you."

Tower nodded, then shot back over the cliff side. I started to follow him, but was distracted by something I spotted out on the water. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, though, alas, it proved pointless, since the rays passed right through my spectral skin. As I got used to the light after the shade of the trees, there was no mistaking I was looking at a clipper ship, still a mile out, but heading toward the cliffs at a breakneck pace.

A few seconds later, I spotted Tower rising back up from the cave, now with Zetetic in tow. Tower sat the red-robed figure on a boulder facing Father Ver, then swung back out to grab another passenger.

"Nice little prayer you gave down there, Ver," said Zetetic. "Did I detect a little bit of a guilty conscience in all that talk about whether you're good enough for this mission? After all, given what you've done to me...."

"You've suffered nothing you haven't earned," said Father Ver. "Count each breath you draw as a blessing from the Divine Author. If I were the master of your fate, your bones would have long since been picked over by ravens."

"No doubt. But, since a higher authority than you has seen to it I'm along for this journey, could you maybe try to be more courteous? Or at least try not to kick me in the head any more?" He rubbed the side of his skull for emphasis.

"I can make no such promise," said Father Ver.

Zetetic shrugged. "I can't be blamed for asking."

No-Face was next up, followed by Reeker and Menagerie in the form of a parrot. I might not have recognized Menagerie among the other parrots flitting through the trees if not for his voice: "Looks like trouble," the bird said, as it landed on No-Face's shoulder. It pointed seaward with a wing.

By now, the ship had gotten much closer and seemed to be heading directly for the pirate cave below.

"Suh hurs," said No-Face.

I squinted. He was right. It was the Seahorse, a pirate ship. I could even see Captain Stallion on the deck, in case there had been any doubt. Stallion is a distinctive figure. He looks like a half-seed, but is really just a man's torso jammed onto the body of a donkey, though he tells everyone his equine parts are prize-winning stallion. He got this way after a badly thought out double-cross of a Weaver, who have a flair for this sort of magic.

"This is inconvenient timing," said Tower, glancing down. "He's heading straight for the cave. So much for the thought of leaving Numinous behind."

"We could just kill Stallion and his crew," said Menagerie. "We'll be glad to do it for no charge, as long as we don't have to split the bounty for his head with you."

While Tower pondered this offer, I drifted back down toward the cave. The Seahorse was moving toward the entrance at a speed that no sane sailor would risk. Captain Stallion wasn't known for being timid. I passed Infidel and Aurora on the way down. They were climbing the cliffs, lugging large bales of gear from ledge to ledge. Relic was nowhere to be seen. I slipped back into the cave just as the Seahorse reached the mouth. Numinous, Ivory Blade, and the Whisper were still inside. The Seahorse carried at least fifty men, battle-hardened cut-throats who would give even the Goons a run for their money. Whatever Tower decided, I hope he decided it fast.

Within the cave, Ivory Blade stood on the shore, watching the pirates set anchor in the cove. Numinous came out of the sole tent remaining in the camp. A handful of glorystone lanterns were still scattered about the place. It took the pirates all of ten seconds to notice the precious rocks. The Seahorse leaned starboard as the entire crew rushed to the rails to look at the glowing gems.

Captain Stallion leapt from the deck, his pirate hat flying off as he sailed across the water to land in the shallows, splashing onto the shore with a few more jumps. He had a saber drawn as he eyed Ivory Blade.

"Well, well, well!" Stallion shouted. "Look who we have here! Mister Ivory Blade! The deal-breaking, cowardly dog who I swore would walk the plank if ever we met again!"

"Didn't know you were the type to hold a grudge, Stallion," said Blade.

A dozen men jumped from the ship, swimming ashore quickly, blades in their teeth, to stand beside their captain. Stallion said, "A grudge?" he pranced closer to the albino. His donkey body left him a little taller. While Blade was a figure of composure, every hair in place, Stallion looked as if he'd gone feral. His long hair was tangled and matted around his sunburnt-face. His clothing was half-rotten on his back. "A grudge is weak beer, Mr. Blade. My feelings for you have been distilled into a brew of pure hatred. Whatever happens from this day forward, I'll die a happy man to have finally learned if your entrails are the same spook white as the rest of your unholy flesh."

"Don't make any hasty decisions until you hear what I have to say," said Blade.

"I'll not be listening to your lying tongue ever again!" cried Stallion. He turned to his men and cried, "Kill him!"

In the blink of an eye, the dozen men that surrounded him fell to the ground, grasping their slit throats, as the silhouetted form of the Whisper danced silently through their midst. She ended her dance by slicing up with her sword and chopping Stallion's blade in twain four inches above the hilt. The impact made no sound; what was her sword made of?

Stallion frowned as he looked at his abbreviated weapon. He glanced around at the dying men surrounding him. Then, he grinned broadly. "Blade! Old friend! Can't you recognize a little joke?"

"Only when dead pirates are the punchline," said Blade, still with his arms crossed. "Shall we discuss business now?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'd like to hire you as a shuttle service. We have a boy here who's far from home. You can return him to the Silver City."

"Ah," said Stallion. "That could be a problem. A man such as yourself has perhaps heard of the small matter that your own king has placed a sizable price on my head?"

"Among other body parts," said Blade. "Which is why, as payment for your services, King Brightmoon himself shall grant a pardon for your crimes. I can give you a letter of safe passage that all members of his navy will respect."

"His pardon would carry no weight with the Wanderers. Or the Stormguard, for that matter."

"No. But it will open an entire archipelago of ports where you could legally dock. Any number of towns where you could trot the streets a free man. And, the king recently lost several ships. Perhaps he'd find a position for you and the Seahorse in his navy."

"I seem to recall similar promises being made five years ago, when I handled the small matter of bringing you the Book of the Abyss."

"If it had been the genuine article and not a blatant forgery, all promises would have been kept."

Stallion ran a hand along his tangled mane. "Aye, it was a piss-poor forgery. I knew you'd discover it sooner or later."

"It was sooner," said Blade.

Stallion chuckled. "This boy must be precious to you, that he'd bring a king's pardon."

"Indeed. And if a person of a mercenary nature were to try to hold the boy against his will and seek a ransom, I can give you my solemn vow that his corpse would be rendered into glue."

"I'm sure. Fortunately, I can't imagine a person of a mercenary nature wanting a treasure greater than the king's pardon... especially if these glorystones are thrown into the agreement."

Blade shrugged. "Why not? We're leaving them behind anyway."

"Very well, sir. We have a deal."

The albino and the pseudo-centaur sealed their verbal contract with a handshake.

Blade said, "I was certain you were still a reasonable man, despite the haircut."

"Aye," said Stallion. "It's been many years since I've docked in a port with a barber I'd trust with a razor."

"A shave and a haircut will make you feel like a new man," said Blade. He glanced back over his shoulder and shouted, "Numinous."

Numinous was already standing behind him.

"I've heard every word of this transaction," he said. "I approve. The thought of waiting endless weeks in this cave in solitude held little appeal to me."

"He's got a busted arm," said Stallion, studying Numinous. "Is there a bonus for being a floating hospital?"

"The bonus is that if you stop trying to haggle on an already closed deal, I won't sever your testicles and hang them from your earrings."

"That is an excellent bonus," said Stallion, nodding.

Later, after the letter of safe passage had been written, Blade left the pirate cave, following the same path that Aurora and Infidel had taken. Tower met him at the first ledge.

"I was waiting in the shaft the whole time, listening," said the knight carrying them skyward. "It seemed as if you had the situation in hand. But, are you certain you can trust him with Numinous?"

"Stallion wants that pardon. He wanted it five years ago. Other pirates can slip into towns in disguise from time to time to spend their ill-gotten gains. Stallion doesn't have that option. He's got to be the most recognizable pirate in the world. Just as I'm probably the most recognizable secret agent in the world. We understand each other."

The reached the top of the cliff. Blade sat down on a rock and the Whisper slipped behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tower hadn't carried her up. Could she fly? Or was she just as fast at climbing as she was at cutting throats?

# 11 - EVERYTHING THAT CAN BE IMAGINED IS TRUE

TOWER HADN'T BEEN joking about using the War Doll as a mule. After the gear was all brought up from the camp, they began to test how much weight she could carry, piling more and more tents, rations, and tools upon her shoulders until the mound was almost comical. Infidel bore it all with mechanical stoicism. After a certain point, the roped-together pile on her shoulders was so large it risked getting tangled by branches as they walked, so they gave the rest of the gear to Aurora before reaching the limits of the War Doll's strength. I wasn't surprised. Infidel was probably strong enough to carry all the gear and the rest of the party as well, along with an actual mule if we'd had one.

Of course, pack animals were out of the question. The part of Greatshadow that was still a big hungry lizard had a taste for livestock. Paintings and sculpture from the Vanished Kingdom showed that cows, horses, and oxen had once had a home here. After Greatshadow rose to power, he stripped the land of any mammals larger than pygmies. It's rumored that the pygmies' bitter dyes protect them; more likely, Greatshadow doesn't hunt pygmies for the same reason that men don't hunt mice. The meat you get isn't worth the effort.

I floated next to Relic as we set off into the jungle. I said, "The Black Swan was a bit off. She said a dozen adventurers would join the hunt for Greatshadow. With Numinous down, there's only eleven."

Perhaps she's counting you, said Relic.

"Was she? She can see me?"

Relic shrugged. I could read her thoughts before she became undead. Now, her thoughts are lost to me.

"Eleven against Greatshadow doesn't seem like good odds," I said.

The king has chosen quality over quantity. As to whether the king has chosen well, we shall see.

Progress up the slopes was frustratingly slow. The terrain was steep and rugged, dotted with boulders as big as houses all tangled with tenacious vines. No-Face was armed with a machete and turned loose on the foliage, but we still barely covered a mile by mid-day. Despite the thick canopy above us, the sun directly overhead soon raised the temperature from sweltering to unbearable. As we paused for No-Face to chop away a particularly nasty tangle, Father Ver leaned wearily against a tree, looking pale. His heavy clerical robes were better suited to a chilly mountain monastery than the tropics. Aurora, taking pity, approached him. She cupped her oversize hands and, within seconds, crafted a bowl of ice, filled to the rim with cool water drawn from the soggy air.

"Have a drink," she said.

Father Ver wrinkled his nose at the offering. "I must decline," he said. "I'm certain you mean well, but it would be a sin to drink water created by your pagan magic."

"I didn't create the water. I just gathered it. But, suit yourself." She turned around, only to find Reeker standing just behind her. He took the cup from her hands without asking and gulped it, rivulets running down his chest.

I didn't notice if Aurora took offense at this because from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the Whisper giving a canteen to Ivory Blade. As Blade drank the water, the Whisper unbuttoned the top few clasps of his armor and folded back a flap of white leather to expose the skin around his collarbones. Then, in a move that probably warmed him rather than cooled him, she leaned her invisible face to his chest and began to lick at his sweat. I looked around, feeling squeamish about witnessing such an intimate act.

After a few more hours of hacking, we eventually made it through the worst of the vines into the denser jungle beyond. It's counterintuitive, but the deeper you go into a jungle, the easier the going becomes. The canopy above is so thick with plants growing on other plants that most of the available sunlight gets captured long before it reaches the ground, creating a semi-permanent twilight in which only a few hardy, broad-leafed plants grow. You might expect the ground to be covered by fallen leaves and branches, but the soil is constantly scoured by ants and beetles that make short work of anything that hits the jungle floor.

With most of the machete work behind us, Menagerie took the lead, scouting ahead of the party as a panther. Ivory Blade and the Whisper followed, then Lord Tower, Father Ver, and No-Face. No-Face, when not on machete duty, was assigned as Father Ver's bodyguard. Despite his deformity, No-Face wasn't a half-seed, nor did he openly dabble in blood magic. Apparently, this made him acceptable to walk within an arm's length of the holy man.

Reeker and Zetetic were next. Reeker was the Deceiver's bodyguard, or perhaps just his guard, period, since he had orders from Lord Tower to give the Deceiver a snoot full of skunk juice at the first sign of anything suspicious. I had to wonder why the Deceiver was part of this team, if he couldn't be trusted.

Relic took my private musings and turned them into a prompt for a telepathic exposition.

The Deceiver is immensely powerful. He is the master of falsehoods, and the things that are false in this world far outnumber the things that are true. Zetetic may be the greatest threat Greatshadow faces, assuming he can find the courage to stand up to the dragon. He's definitely not undertaking this quest out of choice.

"How can you know that?" I asked. "I thought you couldn't read his mind."

His mind is labyrinth of hallucination that protects his innermost thoughts, but I am slowly navigating that labyrinth. I've learned that he blames his presence here on the Black Swan. She paid a substantial fee to persuade King Brightmoon of the importance of including him.

I scratched my ghostly scalp as I contemplated this. It was difficult to wrap my head around the idea that the Black Swan had already witnessed the next twenty years. I wondered what else she'd changed on this mission, beside including Zetetic and Aurora? I glanced back at the ogress, who was bringing up the rear along with Infidel. One thing conspicuously absent from the mountains of gear upon their backs was a harpoon. From the way Aurora had described it, the shaft of the harpoon was over fifteen feet long. It plainly wasn't with the gear, and Tower wasn't carrying it either. Could it have been broken down into something smaller?

I spent most of my time drifting near the two women, mostly because of my craving for Infidel's company, but also because of the circle of chilled air that surrounded Aurora. Even as a ghost, the jungle heat was unpleasant. Still, being a traveling ghost wasn't all bad. On my trips through the jungle while I was alive, I was normally too exhausted by hiking to enjoy the scenery. In my weightless, ogre-cooled comfort zone, I had time to appreciate the rich tapestry we walked through. If everything around us was the work of the Divine Author, he had a sense of playfulness when it came to the colors surrounding us. Translucent pink salamanders the size of bananas crawled over dark jade leaves big enough to use as a tent. Parrots and parakeets the color of lemons and oranges flitted between chocolate-brown tree trunks, devouring iridescent copper beetles and finger-length ants red as chili peppers. Orchids blossomed in every nook and cranny, flowers I'd only seen in botany books - yellow and black tipsy tigers, snow-white wedding gloves, pale purple danglers. The breeze was a heady mix of their perfumes; though, little by little, the floral aroma was getting drowned out by the low tide stench of Reeker as he and the Deceiver slowed their pace to skirt the bubble of cool air surrounding Aurora.

"Allow me to apologize for Father Ver," said the Deceiver, looking back at Aurora with a friendly smile. "His church teaches that ogres and mermen and the like are false beings, existing as sort of a shared dream that will all be wiped away when the world finally awakes to the truth. I pity him for the limits of his worldview. I personally am happy to be in the company of someone who knows ice magic."

Aurora gave him a suspicious look. Even a compliment felt dangerous coming from the man. Still, I wondered if I was giving him a fair shake. I distrusted Deceivers mainly because the church had drilled into my brain from an early age that heretics like Zetetic were the incarnation of evil. That same church harbored a supply of knife-wielding maniacs dedicated to stabbing the woman I loved. Perhaps I needed to keep an open mind.

"I've always been fascinated by the magic of your people," Zetetic continued. "It's based on completely different theories of reality than those that are taught by the Church of the Book. Since Father Ver believes he is in possession of the sole path to truth, your mere presence is a threat to him. The undeniable evidence that your magic works undermines everything he believes. No wonder he hates you."

Aurora shrugged. "I don't care what he thinks."

"A healthy attitude," said Zetetic. Then he turned toward Relic, who was hobbling along near Infidel. "The ruins of the Vanished Kingdom are filled with idols of gods long since forgotten. I'd love to learn more about who these gods were, and what the men of your time believed."

Relic shrugged. "The men of my time were no different than the men of today. There was no one great, universal truth accepted by all. In the end, it mattered little who or what was worshipped. Time wiped away both the just and unjust. The followers of the dog-god vanished from the world just as completely as the followers of the snake-god. The temples where a thousand men gathered to sing the praises of their makers are now hidden beneath roots and rocks. I cannot help but think that, no matter what men believe to be true, over a long enough time scale, it will be proven false."

Zetetic smiled. "Just because an idea is eventually false doesn't mean it wasn't true once. We Deceivers are smeared as believing that the world is created from shared lies. It's more accurate, however, to say that the world is composed of contradictory truths."

"How can truths be contradictory?" asked Aurora. "Things either are, or they aren't. It can't be both night and day at the same time."

"It can if the world is a sphere," said Zetetic. "In your homeland it is always winter; here it is always summer. If I could travel instantly between the two physical spaces and ask the season, I would receive two contrary yet true answers. People are limited to thinking that their immediate experiences represent all that is real. The Church of the Book believes one model of reality, while weavers, blood magicians, and somnomancers all are certain that they are in sole possession of the actual truth of the world. You can't blame people for thinking that these competing ideas can't all be correct. But, what if reality is large enough to accommodate everything? What if we live in a world where all truth is local? What if, on the grand scale, everything that can be imagined is true?"

"Remind me not to ask you any more questions," grumbled Aurora.

"I'm merely trying to pass the time with some intellectually stimulating conversation."

"The only thing I need stimulated is my spine," said Aurora, with a hint of strain in her voice. She shifted the oversize pack she hauled to redistribute the weight to her left shoulder. "What the hell does Tower have in the packs? Anvils?"

"If your load is heavy, perhaps I could be of assistance."

Aurora gave the Deceiver's slender form a quizzical look. "What? You'll tell me some lie about the gear? Convince me that it's lighter?"

Reeker suddenly became much more alert.

"Uh-uh," he said, grabbing Zetetic by the arm and pulling him a yard further up the trail from the ogress. "If you try to use your powers, I'm supposed to give you a full blast of juice."

Zetetic frowned. "You wound me, sir. I was merely offering aide to a member of the fairer sex. Have you no sense of chivalry?"

Aurora snorted. "He's the wrong guy to ask that question."

The faintest trace of a snicker flickered over Infidel's face.

"Reeker's the worst womanizer I've ever seen," said Aurora. "He's slept with every whore in Commonground without paying a dime. Treats them like something you'd scrape off a boot, and still they line up outside the bar waiting for him."

Reeker didn't look offended by this summary of his character. Instead, he slicked back the white streak in his hair and said, "Aurora, honey, I'd be happy to show you what the women are so hungry for."

Zetetic stroked his chin as he studied the skunk-man. "I suspect his secret is musk."

Reeker cut him a sideways glance.

Zetetic wasn't deterred, "Most mammals use scent to convey sexual signals. With his control of aromas, perhaps Reeker is seducing women on a primal level with odors they aren't consciously aware of."

Reeker poked the Deceiver in the chest. "You don't know nothing! Women like me for my good looks and charm."

Zetetic held up his palms. "I meant no offense. However, since I lack your striking features and erudite manners, I'm left with only simple kindness with which to befriend women. This is why I'd like to help Aurora."

"No magic!" said Reeker, again with a finger-poke.

"I don't really do magic," said Zetetic. "I only tell lies. What have you to fear from a mere liar?"

"I'm not afraid of you," said Reeker. "But you're lying in saying you're a liar. Or not a liar. Or not lying about... I mean, you're not telling the truth in... what I'm saying is...." He furrowed his brow as he got lost ever deeper in the thicket of the sentence he was attempting to construct.

"You're trying to say I'm lying about being merely a liar," said Zetetic. "That's an astute observation. Any man can tell a lie. I know how to make the universe believe it."

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Relic gasped loudly. His staff fell from his gnarled hand as he collapsed to the ground, completely limp.

"My head is not a safe place to eavesdrop," Zetetic said, sneering down. Then, while Reeker was looking at the fallen hunchback, the Deceiver casually placed a hand on Aurora's pack. His gaze met the ogress's eyes as he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'm big enough to lift this pack with one hand."

Reeker spun around and spat, sending a gob of yellow goo toward Zetetic's face. Only, by the time the spit had crossed the five-foot gap between them, Zetetic's face was replaced by a giant ankle, and Aurora was jerked from her feet.

Everyone looked up through the hole that had suddenly been punched in the canopy. Zetetic was now two-hundred feet tall, holding the pack by a single finger looped under a rope. Aurora dangled beneath the pack, looking no bigger than a rat.

"I do believe I've remembered another appointment," Zetetic said, laughing, his voice booming like thunder. He flicked his arm toward the ocean, sending Aurora and her pack flying in a long arc down the slope.

Infidel knelt next to Relic. She whispered, "You all right?"

Relic sucked air through clenched teeth, then said, "His thoughts... like razors... my mind... is bleeding...."

Infidel shrugged off the shoulder straps of her pack, letting it drop to the ground in a clatter. She cracked her knuckles and looked up with the same eager grin she always brought to fights where she could beat up someone bigger. Her face fell into shadow as Zetetic's sandaled foot flew down toward her and Relic. Infidel whirled around, kicking, catching Relic in the gut and launching him out of the stomp-zone. She crouched to jump away but was too late. The giant foot slammed into her with a shudder that shook the whole mountain.

Zetetic jumped, knocking over trees, flying down the slope a good fifty yards before crashing back to earth, waving his arms to maintain his balance on the uneven terrain. Off in the distance, perhaps a half mile away, I caught a glimpse of Aurora and her pack tumbling head over heels, on the verge of vanishing once more into the canopy. Then, in a sudden flash of light, her downward arc was intercepted by the shining silver form of Lord Tower, catching the ogress in his outstretched arms. Her pack tore loose at the impact, sending a spray of camping gear out over the treetops.

As difficult as it was to tear my eyes from this spectacle, I turned back to Infidel, who was splayed out in the center of a giant footprint. With a grunt, she popped her face up from the earth. She spat out a mouthful of black jungle dirt as she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

Satisfied she wasn't hurt, I turned my attention back toward the Deceiver. He had leapt again. His robes were tattered below his knees, shredded by the ancient trees he pushed aside like tall brush. Long streamers of blood-tangle vines trailed behind him as he fled down the mountain.

Lord Tower had circled around and now shot like an arrow toward the Deceiver's chin, the Gloryhammer blazing like a second sun in his outstretched arm. Aurora hugged his chest for dear life, in a death-grip that probably would have crushed anyone not encased in enchanted armor. Yet, before the knight could strike, Zetetic swung out with his tree-sized right arm and back-handed the knight in mid-air, sending him shooting back toward the ocean, looking like a spiraling comet as Aurora left a trail of bright snow in their wake.

Infidel rose back to her feet just in time to see Father Ver fly past, his hands locked onto the hide of a large tiger that effortlessly carried the old man. I followed as they caromed down the mountainside, leaping from rock to log, covering the quarter-mile to the giant's ankles in a span of seconds. The Truthspeaker cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted, "You will go no further!"

The Deceiver smirked as he spun away from the Truthspeaker's voice. His smirk changed to a frown, however, as his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. He raised his hands, feeling the air before him as if it were an invisible wall.

"You are no giant! You are a vile fabricator who will turn and face me at your true size!"

Zetetic's face contorted as his limbs jerked. "Graaah!" he cried out as he began to shrink, swinging his arms before him as if swatting at unseen bees. "Graaah! Naayaaah!"

With each second that passed he shed size, dropping to fifty feet, twenty, ten, and then he was only a man again, face to face with a panting tiger and a very angry cleric.

Zetetic held up his hands and gave a sheepish grin. "You can't blame a fellow for trying."

Father Ver had a different opinion, which he expressed by leaping off the tiger and planting his bony fist squarely in the center of the Deceiver's mouth. Zetetic spun from the blow, falling to his hands and knees.

He spat out blood and growled, "You bast —"

Father Ver silenced him by kicking him in the throat. The Deceiver fell to his back, his arms flopped out to his sides. Father Ver dropped with his knees, straddling the Deceiver's chest as he pummeled the man's face.

"Blasphemer!" Father Ver screamed. "Accursed malignancy! May your filthy name be erased from the Book!"

Zetetic raised his hands to block the blows, but the priest simply knocked them aside and continued to rain down punishment. Menagerie changed from tiger back to human and leaned against a fallen tree, his arms crossed as he watched the whirl of violence. Reeker and No-Face reached the area a moment later, saying nothing as they stared at the beating unfolding before them.

The Deceiver's arms fell limp. He'd never gotten in a single blow. Father Ver's fists trailed blood as he cut his knuckles pounding his victim's teeth. The Deceiver's pale face began to resemble a scary clown, as bright red blood painted his cheeks with a lopsided grin.

Ivory Blade and the Whisper suddenly bounded into the triangle formed by the goons. Blade grabbed the Truthspeaker by the shoulders and tried to pull him off the fallen man.

"You're going to kill him!" he growled, as he tugged at the cleric's robes. With the Whisper's help he pulled the elderly man back to his feet. Blade grabbed Father Ver by the collar and said, "Calm yourself. You don't need to sink to his level."

"You will take your freakish hands off me," Father Ver said, his voice a low hiss.

Blade snapped both hands into the air, his fingers spread in a gesture of surrender.

"Now you will go away!"

Blade spun on his heels and bounded off up the trail, running at breakneck speed, quickly disappearing among the trees. The Whisper looked after her fleeing lover for a few seconds, slack-jawed with surprise, before she shot off in pursuit.

Father Ver looked back down on his bloodied victim. Blood bubbled from the Deceivers nostrils as his breath came out in gurgles. The Truthspeaker knelt beside his victim. Zetetic flinched as his hand approached. The Truthspeaker grabbed the Deceiver's chin and turned his barely focused gaze to meet his own, then asked, "Where is it?"

Zetetic looked back with sad puppy eyes.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Father Ver said. "You wouldn't have dared this without the sketchbook. You will hand it over."

Zetetic's hands reached into the folds of his red robes and producing a small leather-bound notebook, barely six inches tall. The cover had no words on it, but it was scuffed and scratched, the parchment pages within looking dog-eared and folded over. Father Ver snatched the book away.

"Your wicked imagination exceeds my ability to think of prohibitions," said Father Ver. "Let us keep this simple. I gave my word to the king that I will not kill you. I've made no vow that would prohibit me from cutting out your blasphemous tongue. Attempt to escape again and I swear you will never utter another lie."

The Deceiver glared at Father Ver with a mix of hatred and terror, then nodded slowly, indicating he understood. Father Ver let go of the man's chin and wiped his gore-drenched hands on his victim's red robes, looking disgusted. He glanced toward the sky as Lord Tower drifted down toward them. Aurora was still clamped onto his chest; her hair had come undone from its top knot and lay against her scalp in a chaotic tangle.

She looked a bit wobbly as Tower set her on the ground.

"You believed his lie, ogress," grumbled Father Ver, without looking at her. "Your pagan faith makes you an easy target for his falsehoods. If he speaks to you again, feel free to break his jaw."

Before Aurora could reply, Lord Tower looked down at the semi-conscious Deceiver and said, "Why would he try something like this? Even if he'd reached the sea, we could have stopped him at any time."

"Not without this," said Father Ver, holding up the small book.

Tower reached both hands to his hip, popping open a compartment in his armor exactly the right size to hold the book. He stared silently at the emptiness within. "By the sacred quill," he mumbled. "How did...? When could he...?"

"The Deceiver fails to respect reality itself," Father Ver said. "It would have been a simple matter for him to become a master pickpocket." The priest cast a glance toward Reeker. "You were supposed to keep this from happening."

Reeker shrugged. "He caught me by surprise."

"Of course it was a surprise!" Father Ver shouted, throwing his hands into the air. "Did you think he would be considerate enough to send you a detailed letter explaining his plan? Are all half-seeds half-wits as well?"

Reeker's eyes flashed with anger as he drew back his shoulders and pressed his lips into a pucker. Menagerie nodded toward No-Face. The giant man's hand clamped over the skunk-man's mouth.

Menagerie said, "This is twice I've had to apologize for my colleague's behavior. I assure you, there will not be a third incident. For now, he's going to go help gather up what gear we can find from Aurora's pack. He won't grumble while he's doing it. Right?"

No-Face lowered his hand. Reeker swallowed his pride and whatever else he might have been holding in his mouth, then said, "Sure, boss." Then, to Father Ver, "Won't happen again."

Lord Tower scanned the tree tops, paying no attention to Infidel and Relic as they joined the rest of the party. Relic was limping more than usual; his whole body was wracked with tremors. Infidel was holding his arm, supporting him.

Lord Tower sighed. "Since we aren't under attack right now, maybe Greatshadow didn't notice this incident. Perhaps the worst that has come from this is that our supplies are scattered halfway back to the sea. We're going to lose the rest of the day gathering them." He looked at Menagerie. "I need more than just Reeker on the job. You'll all help recover the gear."

Menagerie nodded. "We're on it. I can work the tree tops as a monkey."

Tower turned to Father Ver. "While Zetetic's stunt has cost us time, it's also proof that he has skills no one else brings to the mission. Help him get cleaned up and stitch his wounds."

Father Ver's left eye began to twitch. He looked as if he was about to explode, but he said, softly, "As you wish."

Lord Tower looked down at the Deceiver, who had managed to sit up. The beaten man probed his bloodied mouth with his fingers, wincing as he pulled out a broken molar. The knight said, "Before you fell into heresy, you earned renown as a scholar. Some priests tell me you were the smartest man they'd ever met. How can you be dumb enough to pull a stunt like this? Even if you'd escaped with the book, you would not be free. Should ten days pass without word from me, the monk's will initiate the X sanction. You understand the consequences?"

The Deceiver nodded. His wet voice whistled as he said, "I undershtand the damned conshequencesh."

Tower turned back to the others. "Let's get busy. Goons, gather gear. Blade, I need you to... to..." His voice trailed off as he looked around the clearing. He turned to Father Ver and asked, "Where are Blade and the Whisper?"

# 12 - SOMNOMANCER

"I CAN FOLLOW their scent," said Menagerie, shifting into the form of a wolf. His voice was a yelping growl as he said, "I'll take the War Doll for back up, assuming it can act independently. It's the only one with a chance to keep up with me."

"Agreed," said Relic, his voice still weak.

"There's no need for a search party. Blade won't run forever," said Father Ver. He didn't sound apologetic for having caused the problem. "Once he trips, or runs into something, he'll return to his senses."

"Given Blade's agility, he might run a long time," said Lord Tower, as he rose into the sky. "With the thickness of this canopy, I'll never spot him from the air. Menagerie's plan is a sensible one. I'll help gather gear while they're gone."

Stay with me, Blood-Ghost, thought Relic. I dare not look into the Deceiver's mind again. You must watch him with complete vigilance.

The Deceiver didn't look as if he was going start mischief anytime soon. Father Ver knelt before him, examining the man's torn face. Zetetic was oddly passive as the priest reached out to touch a gash on his upper lip. "This will require stitches," Ver said. "It will hurt."

Menagerie sniffed the ground, then bounded up the trail at breakneck speed with Infidel at his heels. Or rather, his paws. I looked at Relic and said, "I go where she goes." I spun around before he could answer and surrendered myself to the tug of the knife in her boot sheath. My ghostly feet lifted from the ground and I flew after them far more swiftly than I could have run.

A mile up the trail, the wolf slowed to sniff the ground next to a shallow stream. The vegetation here thickened again due to the presence of the water, and I searched the dense foliage in vain for any sign of Blade. Infidel caught up a few seconds later, panting heavily. Even with her strength, running a mile uphill in the furnace-like heat was no easy task.

"I thought you might like a chance to talk," said Menagerie in his wolf-yips. "It's got to be killing you keeping quiet around those assholes."

"It's not all that tough," Infidel said. "It's not like I'm eager to chat with any of them."

"I find Father Ver moderately entertaining," said Menagerie, pausing to take a few laps from the stream. "Have you noticed that he and the Deceiver seem to have exactly the same power? They both say things that aren't true and make them come true."

"Actually," said Infidel, "The Deceiver's power is less creepy. He says things that change himself. The Truthspeaker says things to change others."

"Creepy or not, I could have laughed my ass off when Reeker had to hold his tongue. I went into the wrong line of business with blood magic. I'd trade all my tattoos for the ability to shut Reeker up whenever I wanted to."

"I thought you guys were friends," said Infidel.

The wolf shrugged. "I'm not in a career where it pays to have friends. The people I grow close to have a depressing tendency to die. Reeker and No-Face are my companions chiefly because they've proven themselves as survivors."

Infidel pressed her lips tightly together and swallowed hard.

"You okay?" asked Menagerie.

"Just thinking about Stagger," said Infidel. "He'd still be alive if he hadn't been my friend."

"You can't blame yourself," said Menagerie.

"Can't I?" said Infidel with a feeble grin. "I'd trade Greatshadow's treasure for the chance to go back and do things differently. Sometimes I forget that he's gone, and feel like I'm going to look back over my shoulder and find him standing there, giving me a reassuring smile."

"I'm here!" I shouted, waving my arms. "I'm here!"

"You'll always have his memory, at least."

"Maybe I don't want the memories," she said. "Because, when I do turn around, and see that he's not there, it feels like hands grab my heart and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, drawing a long, slow, breath.

"It helps some, pretending to be a machine," she said. "To think there's only a mechanical pump in my chest, not a heart. I'd pay any price for a head full of gears instead of memories."

Menagerie sat down, scratching behind his ear with a paw. He took a moment to let Infidel compose herself before he said, "I know it's trite, but time does make the pain go away."

Infidel shook her head. "When I think about the Black Swan in her cobwebbed wedding dress, I wonder if that's true."

"You've never lost anyone close to you before?"

"Stagger's the only one who ever got close," she said. "My mother died when I was thirteen. I was told I should mourn her, but I didn't really feel anything. I was raised by servants; my mother was just this pretty china doll who decorated my father's palace. She barely ever spoke to me. I can't remember the sound of her voice."

"My mother was my world," said Menagerie.

"Was? She passed away?"

"She's still alive. I just don't see her."

"But you used to be close?"

Menagerie looked up and down the trail, as if making sure no one else was listening. Finally, he said, "My mother was a prostitute, sold by her parents to a brothel when she was eleven. She was fourteen when she gave birth to me, and I was swiftly followed by two baby sisters. She gave us the best life she could; stashing away a few coins here and there in the hope that she might one day purchase her freedom and raise us in a better home. From the age I first understood what was going on, I dreamed of having enough money to make her dream come true. I joined a street gang when I was seven and began shoplifting and picking pockets. I committed my first murder at age nine. Got involved in blood magic not long after; by age thirteen, I was running my own gang, and earned enough to send my sisters off to a boarding school. By the time I was sixteen I bought my mother's freedom and set her up in a house with servants."

"That's very noble of you," said Infidel.

The wolf let out a series of low barks that it took me a second to recognize as a bitter chuckle. "Noble is not a label often applied to me. The evidence is before your eyes; I've surrendered to blood magic so completely, I'm no longer fully human. I've killed hundreds of men, too many to count, and am incapable of remorse. My sisters are both married to respectable men and have large families, but I've not seen them in twenty years. I send them the fortunes I earn so that they may live like royalty in the heart of the Silver City, in homes surrounded by high walls and armed guards, specifically to protect them from men like me."

As he finished, he tilted his head. He raised his nose and sniffed the air.

"Blood," he said.

"Whose?" asked Infidel. "Blade's?"

Menagerie leapt across the stream and raised his ears, cocking his head from side to side.

"Do you hear something?" she asked.

"Someone running?" Menagerie said, but he sounded confused. "It might be Blade, except —"

Suddenly, a green-skinned midget shot out from the undergrowth and splashed into the stream. He was naked save for a gourd cod-piece, and bleeding profusely from his neck. He slid to a halt as he saw Menagerie and Infidel. He opened his mouth to scream but only gurgles escaped his lips. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell face first into the water as blood loss won out over panic.

"Quickly," said Menagerie, leaping into the hole the pygmy had left in the greenery. He bounded along the blood trail, panting as he leapt over logs and boulders. Infidel chased after him, pulling out her long sword to use as a machete. They ran no more than a quarter mile before anguished cries reached them, the sound of men dying.

In their haste, the wolf and Infidel raced right past a cluster of knotted vines laced through with palm fronds. I paused to study it; I knew this sign. It marked the edge of a forest-pygmy clan line. It announced to other pygmies that this area was off limits to all but members of a single extended family. My pygmy knot literacy wasn't fluent, but I think this clan called themselves the Jawa Fruit.

Since the others were well ahead now, I again surrendered myself to the tug of the knife and flew to join Infidel, flowing through trees and rocks as if they weren't even there.

I caught up in seconds. Infidel and Menagerie had stopped. I couldn't see past them at first. I did notice, however, that the ground around them was slick with blood. Beyond them, I could hear more screaming.

"This will come out of our pay for sure," Menagerie grumbled.

I moved to see what he was looking at. I wished I hadn't.

Ivory Blade was slumped up against a rock. At least, what was left of him was. His head was missing from his shoulders. There was a heavy log hanging from vines, swaying back and forth. One end was wet with blood, and worse things. Remnants of white-haired scalp were pressed into the grain of the wood. Infidel had triggered one of these traps by accident a few years ago. Trip over the wrong vine, and suddenly a log swings down like a hammer. Infidel had escaped her trap with a minor headache. Ivory Blade, alas, had popped like a balloon. Despite the gore coating every nearby surface, Blade's Immaculate Attire was still spotless.

"Whisper must be taking revenge," said Menagerie as he tilted his ears toward the screams coming from further upslope. "Sounds like she's tearing through some pygmies."

"Déjà vu," said Infidel. "Still... it's not really their fault. That damned Truthspeaker caused this."

"She'll get to him next," said a voice behind me.

I turned around and there, like a pillar of fog, stood Ivory Blade.

Blade looked down at his wispy form. Blood from his corpse was trickling down the stony ground to form a little pool, and he rose from this pool like steam. He looked at me with sad eyes, shaking his head. "How ironic. As a somnomancer, I always assumed I'd die in my sleep."

"You can see me?" I asked.

"Can you see me?" he asked.

We both nodded. Infidel had no reaction at all to the words being spoken mere inches behind her, but Menagerie turned his head slightly, his ears twitching.

"Hear something?" Infidel asked.

"I... don't think so. Dog ears are so sensitive, they play tricks on me. I'm picking up faint voices, but they must be coming from miles away."

"She's free now," Blade said, his voice trembling. "She was my dream while I was alive. Now, she'll be the world's nightmare."

"What? Who? What's going on?"

"The Whisper," he said, holding his ghostly hands toward the sky, watching the light filter through his ethereal skin. "I died with a heart full of rage. She'll be trapped in this emotion. She'll kill and kill and nothing will ever slake her anger."

"Let's start over," I said. "I'm not following you. I mean, I understand she'll be angry, but —"

"Whisper was my wildest dream, brought back from the land of sleep by my experimentation in somnomancy. Dream magic." he said, his voice sounding choked and tight. "She's a dream creature who pretended to be human to make me happy. She became the living embodiment of my lust and vanity. I've walked in the shadows for so long I grew to love the darkness. Now..." he frowned, the saddest face I've ever seen. "Now I will have nothing but darkness."

He shuddered and the wispy edges of his body began to blur.

"Don't surrender!" I shouted, offering him my hand. "You can stay behind if you hold on to something hard enough."

If he heard me, he didn't respond. The tower of mist no longer looked like a man; then, it didn't even look like mist. All that was left was the pool of blood where he'd stood and the light and shadows of the forest dancing upon it.

I dropped to my knees before the pool of blood. I was desperate to bring him back; until this moment, I hadn't known that I could talk with other ghosts. I plunged my hand into the gore. "Come back," I cried out. "Come back, please!"

Nothing happened. Though my condition was no different than what it had been a moment before, I suddenly felt desperately lonely, like a fallen Wanderer left on a desert island. I was surrounded by the living, but was not a part of them. Were there other ghosts in the world? Or was I the only soul who'd failed to move on? Was I just as much a failure at dying as I had been at living?

I lifted my hand from the blood, expecting it to come away clean. Instead, it was coated red, the warm fluid running down my naked arm. Yet, the drops that fell didn't ripple in the pool below. It wasn't real. It was ghost blood. I smeared it between my fingers and it faded away.

Suddenly, there was a loud canine yelp; I turned and found that Infidel and Menagerie had pressed ahead toward the fight up-trail. Now, a gutted wolf was hurling through the air straight toward me. It tumbled in mid-flight, trailing loops of blue-gray intestine. The wolf crashed into a tree with a sickening wet-meat slap. Menagerie shifted back to human form as he slid to the ground, still gutted. His eyes were glassy as he stared at the gore in his lap. I noticed two bloody prints on his shoulders, about the size of a woman's hands. Infidel?

I flew to her side, tugged by the knife. She stood on a vine-draped stone platform, all that remained of some lost temple. She was surrounded by dead forest-pygmies, but, this time, she wasn't the person who had killed them.

Instead, that was the work of the Whisper. My ghost skin crawled as I saw her. She was no longer an empty hole in space, as she had been when I'd seen her earlier. She was now a creature of flesh, though it wasn't human flesh. Her skin looked as if it had been carved from onyx; her eyes and lips and nails were gems of dazzling ruby. In her left hand was the hilt of a sword, the blade nothing more than a jagged stump. Despite her mineral skin, she moved fluidly as she lunged toward Infidel.

I noticed that fragments of a broken sword lay at Infidel's feet. She was looking down, confused by where the metal had come from. She didn't seem to see the stone demon about to strike her.

The Whisper caught Infidel beneath the chin with a two-handed upper cut that lifted her from her feet and made her lose her grip on her long sword. Infidel fell on her butt as her sword spun in the air. The Whisper caught the sword with a fluid back-swipe, lifted it over her head, then chopped down with a vicious grunt, attempting to cleave Infidel in half. The sword snapped as it crashed into Infidel's skull.

"Ow!" Infidel said, raising her hands to her scalp. She drew her fingers away. No blood.

The Whisper leaned back, howling, shaking her clenched fists at the sky in frustration.

"Leave her alone!" I shouted.

The stone woman spun around, her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at me.

"She's done nothing to you!" I shouted. "It's the Truthspeaker who you should be pissed off at."

The Whisper growled and leapt toward me. I felt no fear, certain her hands would pass through my ghostly form. Instead, I sucked in air as her ice cold fingers grabbed me by the throat and jerked me from my feet.

She licked my cheek with a tongue rough as sandstone. She whispered in my ear, "A spirit untainted by matter! What a delightful treat! We dream-dwellers feast upon souls, which are too often made foul by the filth of the bodies they cling to. Once I've choked down the Truthspeaker and the others, I'll come back for you as dessert."

She tossed me aside like I weighed no more than a kitten; I suppose, in hindsight, that I don't even weigh that. Then, she bounded from the platform, darting back down the trail. I was very happy at that instant not to be Father Ver. My cheek burned where she'd licked it. It wasn't all that good to be me, either. What had I done to deserve this?

My eyes were caught by movement. Menagerie raised a trembling hand to his neck and touched the jellyfish outlined there. He collapsed into a puddle of quivering, glassy snot. I don't know what he'd thought he'd been reaching for, but I doubted this was it. Then, a heartbeat later, he was once more back in his human form. His guts were back inside his body. There was no sign he'd ever been injured other than the dazed look on his features.

Meanwhile, Infidel was back on her feet, the bone-handled knife in her hand, spinning around, thrusting the blade toward any stray sound. As much as I wanted to stay with her, I did some cold calculations and realized that if I didn't want to become nightmare chow, I needed to get back to Relic and warn him of what was coming down the mountain. He'd been aware of the Whisper earlier; apparently he could see dream-women as easily as ghosts.

I leaned in Relic's direction, picturing him in my mind. Go! I thought, and I went. I shot back down the mountain, flashing through trees and blood tangle vine, moving in a straight line unencumbered by the tortuous terrain of the volcanic slope.

I whipped to a stop inches from Relic's burlap covered face.

"Relic!" I shouted.

He winced. So. The disobedient dead man returns.

"The Whisper! Nightmare! Kill us all! Dessert!"

Relic sighed. Calm yourself, Blood-Ghost. You need not try to form sentences. If you will still the turmoil of your thoughts, I will pluck what you wish to tell me from your mind.

I surrendered all attempts at speaking a coherent warning and allowed the memories of the past five minutes to wash through my mind.

"A nightmare loose in the material realm," said Relic. "This is bad. This is very bad."

Relic looked around. Everyone able-bodied was off in the jungle collecting the scattered gear. Father Ver and Zetetic were left sitting in the center of an enormous footprint.

Relic hobbled toward Father Ver. "Sir, if I may interrupt, you are in great and imminent danger."

Father Ver looked up. He had finished stitching together the Deceiver's torn lips. Despite his hatred for the man, I couldn't help but notice he'd done a clean and competent job. The priest asked, "What are you babbling about?"

"Ivory Blade is dead," said Relic. "The dream-lover he crafted is on her way to take revenge against you. I suggest you call Lord Tower back from his work."

Father Ver stood and looked toward the sky. The knight was nowhere to be seen. He looked at Relic skeptically. He was used to only being told the truth, but I could see he didn't trust Relic. He said, "If there is a danger —"

He never finished his sentence. There was a sudden crash from a nearby bush. A spray of leaves flew out as the Whisper leapt. She cast no shadow; no doubt I was the only person who could see her as she flew with hands outstretched toward the Truthspeaker's neck. Her mouth opened wide, revealing diamond teeth, then wider still, far beyond a human jaw-span, as she prepared to bite out the Truthspeaker's throat.

Relic moved with a speed that proved he wasn't as crippled as he pretended, striking out with his staff, catching the Truthspeaker at the back of the knees. Father Ver was knocked from his feet as the Whisper flew through the space where his throat had just been. She thrust her leg down, catching the priest dead in the center of his face with her stony knee. He gave a sharp cry of pain as he went down hard, blood streaming from his nose.

The Whisper tumbled like an acrobat as she hit the ground, rolling to her feet, spinning around, prepared to leap again at her fallen opponent. Before she left the ground, a small brown bat flitted over the tree tops, diving right for her face. She swung her hand to knock it away, but the bat changed in mid-slap into a water buffalo. The beast dug his horn into her jaw as he slammed into her. They both bounced and rolled into the brush beyond the edge of the clearing.

Clever, thought Relic. As a bat, he could see her.

Suddenly, the water buffalo went flying up through the canopy. The Whisper was apparently at least as strong as Infidel, and just as tough if she'd survived a blow like that. Seconds later, she staggered out of the brush, trailing vines. There was enough greenery enveloping her that you could make out her form. She paused a second to tear away the vegetation. She turned back toward Father Ver, only to find that Reeker had run out of the forest to stand between her and the priest.

He sucked in a lungful of air as she dropped the last of the vines. She stepped toward him, a sneer on her ruby lips. Reeker exhaled, a billowy greenish fog that rolled through the air before him, spreading quickly to cover the space where she stood. She was faintly visible as the miasma clung to her. A tendril of the cloud reached me and I quickly retreated. It stank like awful, eye-watering, fetid cheese, after it had been eaten, half-digested, and vomited back up.

Reeker stood with his hands on his hips, looking pleased with his work. His eyes widened as her hand thrust out of the cloud and she jerked his face close to her own.

"A good trick," she said, "assuming I needed to breathe."

The Whisper flung the skunk-man skyward. She stepped from the cloud, coated with pale green droplets of condensation like jade on her onyx skin. Her gaze lowered once more to the Truthspeaker, who by now had risen to his hands and knees. She stepped toward him, only to be intercepted by an iron ball at the end of a chain that caught her in the gut. She folded over, carried backward by the momentum of the blow. No-Face charged out of the brush to pounce on top of the Whisper as she hit the ground. Straddling her, he pounded her face with a chain-draped fist, striking sparks. He struck again, but she opened her jaws to reveal her diamond teeth. She bit down on his fist as he struck.

"Haurrg!" No-Face howled as he jerked his hand away. She'd bitten straight through the chain. His little finger and a fair chunk of the side of his hand were missing. She slapped him where his ear should have been, knocking him off her. He writhed as he clamped his good hand over his mangled fingers. Blood spurted between his knuckles.

The Whisper stood and chuckled as she looked at Father Ver. "Is that the best you have to defend you?" She stalked toward the Truthspeaker. "If you'd like, I'll wait around and finish off the ogress and the knight as well, crushing your hopes one by one. You're going to die, Truthspeaker. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"There is no need to wait," Father Ver said, kneeling before her.

The Whisper raised both hands above her head, knitting her fingers together, then swung with all her might to bash in the priest's skull.

Father Ver lifted his right hand and caught the blow, stopping it with no more effort than he might have spent to catch a drifting leaf. He looked at her with a look of utter calmness and said, "I do not fear you. You are nothing but a dream, and your dreamer is dead."

And then she wasn't there. The stink mist that had clung to her hung in the air for a fraction of a second, then dispersed in the breeze.

A shadow grew on the ground as Lord Tower dropped from the sky, cradling Reeker in his arms. He landed with a clang, spinning around swiftly to survey the scene. No-Face still writhed on the ground. Father Ver was on his knees with a bloody nose and a placid look in his eyes.

"What attacked you?" Lord Tower asked.

"Nothing," said Father Ver.

I could see Lord Tower's eyes narrow through the slits in his faceplate. "This is a lot of damage for nothing."

Father Ver nodded. "This nothing mistakenly believed it was something. We won't be bothered further by it. We've lost both Blade and the Whisper, by the way."

"What? How did... how...." he paused, sniffing the air. "By the sacred quill, what is this wretched odor?"

"The scent of victory," said Father Ver. "Without the half-seed's miasma clinging to her, I wouldn't have seen the Whisper about to strike."

"Wait," said Tower. "The Whisper did this?"

Father Ver nodded. "It is good that we culled her out this early. Blade endangered us all with his reckless dabbling in dream magic. Our chances are improved without him." There was no hint of remorse that he'd caused Blade's death with his ill-thought command.

No-Face sat up, cradling his injured hand. "Yurga bunnah juh!"

"He's right," buzzed a hummingbird that hovered into the clearing. The bird flitted closer to Lord Tower, and suddenly Menagerie stood before the knight. The contrast between the two couldn't have been more striking; the tattooed man in nothing but a loin cloth facing the knight encased scalp to sole in spotless armor. "You came here with a team of six and you're three down before we've even gotten close to the dragon. We're professionals; we don't like to work for amateurs."

"That's enough of your insolence," growled Father Ver.

Menagerie opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Lord Tower said, "Your concerns are noted, but matter little. I've taken a sacred vow to complete this mission. You are free to retreat if you wish, but I must carry on until the dragon is dead, or I am."

Menagerie took a deep breath then said, in a respectful tone, "You have something better than a vow from us. You have a contract. We'll continue on as long as you do."

Tower looked up the slope. "I spotted a stream a short distance from here. We'll make camp there while we continue to gather our gear and tend our wounded. If Blade is dead, we have a burial to perform. Tomorrow we'll press on."

"We're right on the edge of forest-pygmy territory," I said to Relic. "They'll be out for blood after what the Whisper did to them. We should retreat back to the cave."

We have nothing to fear, thought Relic. Even with these setbacks, we still have the power to kill any pygmy that dares to threaten us.

"You're right. We'll slaughter them when they come to drive us out, which they will. I've seen enough dead pygmies lately. Let's retreat."

I had no idea you were so tender-hearted, Blood-Ghost. Very well. Relic turned to Lord Tower he said, "I believe we are on the edge of forest-pygmy territory. It would be wise to go back to the cave. We can be assured of our safety there."

Lord Tower shook his head. "We've paid dearly to cover even this small amount of ground. I won't give up the progress we've made."

Relic nodded. "As you wish."

"Where is your War Doll?" Tower asked. "Have we lost her - I mean it - as well?"

I didn't wait for Relic to answer. It struck me that Infidel should have been back by now. I tuned myself to the knife and mentally leaned in its direction, flying to it in the speed of thought.

I found myself once more upon the vine draped platform where I'd left her. She was surrounded by forest-pygmies, easily a hundred of them. To my relief, they weren't fighting her. Instead, they were gathering up the dead. A dozen of them stood around Infidel, holding her at bay with pointy sticks. I knew that Infidel could have easily fought her way out of the situation, but instead she just stood there with her hands in the air.

"Look," she explained, in a calm voice. "I didn't do this. I've got no grudge against you. Just put down the sticks. You're only going to hurt yourself."

"Ugamadebasda!" the lead pygmy shouted. "Ugamadebasda!" Every forest-pygmy tribe had its own dialect; I could understand most east-slope pygmies, but these west-slope pygmies slurred all the syllables of a sentence together into a single word, which made it tricky to follow. Still, from the general tone I gathered he was saying, "Shut up and keep your hands up."

"I don't speak the lingo, guys," said Infidel. "I do know a little river-pygmy. Nanda chaka? Gratan doy bro?" Her accent was atrocious. She probably meant to ask if anyone knew river-pygmy, but instead she was asking if anyone had a canoe in their mouth. It didn't matter; the forest-pygmies didn't seem to understand her anyway.

She sighed. "I'm not getting of here without hurting a lot of you, am I?"

"I think there's been enough hurting here today," said a man's voice from high in the trees above. The speaker used the crisp, finely enunciated syllables of a Silver Isle accent; it could have been Lord Tower speaking, except the voice wasn't as deep or forceful. "Are you responsible for this slaughter?"

"Not me," said Infidel. "There was this invisible woman who went crazy and, uh... hell, that's just not believable at all is it?"

"Not terribly," said the voice above.

Infidel shrugged. "If I was any good at lying, I'd make up something. But, there really was an invisible woman. She cracked a few swords over my head as well. I'm not here to hurt anyone."

The branches above rustled. Suddenly, a patch of green, the color of moss, lowered down toward the platform on a slowly descending loop of vine. It was no pygmy. It was an elderly man of normal stature, wearing only the same gourd cod-piece as the pygmies, his skin dyed green. He was all bones and skin, his flesh covering his thin limbs like aged leather. His hair was a few long green strands braided down the back of his scalp. His eyes were a sharp and penetrating blue.

"Who are you?" he asked, as his vine brought him to the platform.

"Who are you?" Infidel answered.

The old man scowled, then cocked his head, as if he was searching for some bit of information just beyond his grasp. "It's been a while since anyone asked that question. The jawa fruit tribe calls me Tenoba. It means old long gourd. Among your people, my name... my name was..."

He paused, trying to remember how to say the words. It didn't matter. I knew what he was about to say before he said it.

A light flickered in his ancient eyes. "My name," he said, "was Judicious Merchant."

# 13 - ENOUGH

I WAS TOO stunned by my grandfather being alive to closely follow the swirl of activity that unfolded. A wounded pygmy at the edge of the platform verified that they had, indeed, been attacked by something invisible, and confirmed that Infidel hadn't hurt anyone. Forest-pygmy scouts were rushing up, telling about the fight further down slope, and how a group of long-men had killed the invisible assassin. I would have focused more on what they were saying, but I was too busy doing math in my head. My father had me when he was twenty-three. Judicious had been twenty-five when he sired Studious. So... that meant the man standing before me was 98.

For a man two years shy of a century, he looked pretty good. He still had all his teeth, for starters, even if they were the same jade hue as the rest of him. When he moved, he was as fluid as a jungle cat, without a hint of the stiffness or weakness that hampered most people his age. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him; his wrinkled leather skin sat atop wiry muscles so sharply defined you could have taught an anatomy class using them. Of course, I was seeing more of that anatomy than I truly wanted to. It's one thing to discover your long lost grandfather is still alive. It's another thing entirely to learn he's a grass-colored nudist with his privates stuffed into a dried fruit.

"I knew your grandson, Stagger," said Infidel.

Grandpa frowned.

"His real name was Abstemious Merchant."

I winced on hearing my birth name. I must have been really drunk to have told her. Abstemious means someone with control of his appetites... perhaps my father's lapse on his vow of celibacy inspired the choice. Stuck with this moniker, it was only a matter of time before I became an incurable drunkard.

My grandfather frowned even deeper. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've had seven wives. My children have produced scores of grandchildren. I'm afraid the name isn't triggering any memories."

The words were like a slap in the face. I'd revered this man. I lived on the Isle of Fire in imitation of his greatness. He didn't even remember my name?

Infidel produced the bone-handled knife. "You gave him this when he was ten."

My grandfather took the blade, sliding it in and out of the sheath. He scowled as he saw the dried blood smeared along the metal. "He didn't take care of it. It's dirty."

"He took great care of it," said Infidel. "He kept it clean and sharp for forty years. If it's dirty, it's my fault."

"Hmm." Suddenly, a light flickered in his blue eyes. "I remember this knife. The handle was carved from the tibia of a dragon."

Or so he thought. He'd told me this when he gave me the knife, but one of the monks who specialized in the study of anatomy had assured me the bone was merely that of a bull. But, what if the monk had been wrong? If the hilt truly was dragon-bone, could the magic that infused dragons explain how my spirit had become ensnared by the knife?

As Judicious turned the knife over in his hands, he nodded slowly, as if he were accepting the memories flooding back to him. "I had a son who became a monk. Studious, I think? He had a bastard child raised in an orphanage. That was Abstemious?"

"Yes."

Grandfather grinned. "I recall him now. Bright kid. Voracious reader. He became a monk?"

"He became you," said Infidel. "Or, at least his dream of you. He was an explorer, a scholar, and a storyteller. No one knew more than him about the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom. He lived in your old boat in Commonground."

"I notice you're speaking in the past tense."

Infidel nodded.

Grandfather sighed. "I outlive many of my relatives." He looked down the slope, in the direction of Tower's party. "I suppose, if you're friends of the family, I should show a little hospitality. Go tell your companions they're welcome to stay the night in our huts."

"I'm not sure they'll take you up on the offer," said Infidel. "The leader of the party is kind of snooty."

"Still, extend the offer."

Infidel nodded. "If they accept, you need to know that I'm pretending to be a machine. I don't talk around them."

"Ah," said Grandfather. "I wondered why you were dyed silver. I thought it might be some new fashion. You fooled me, by the way. When I first saw you from the trees, I mistook you for one of the ancient engines, and wondered how you were still intact. You reminded me of a mechanical dancer I once excavated. A lovely, wondrous thing, though I never found her head. The clockwork that used to drive her had long-since corroded, but I'm still left breathless by the cleverness of the men who once lived on this island."

THE PYGMY HUTS were better described as tree houses. I'd never been in one before, though I'd caught sight of them often enough. The floor of the forest can be a quiet place; the real action is unfolding high above in the canopy. Here, the forest-pygmies had woven together seemingly endless ropes from blood-tangle vines and strung them together in a complex network of swinging bridges. Houses were built with floors of dense netting spread from branch to branch, with roofs of still living vines and branches woven together overhead. The floors seemed solid enough when the pygmies flitted across them, but once Lord Tower began to carry the party up to the huts, the platforms sagged ominously beneath the weight. The floor weavers had probably never planned for someone as large as Aurora to visit. No-Face swiftly moved toward the thick trunk of the tree that formed one corner of a large communal area and wrapped his chain around it, with his good arm still coiled in the links. It was hard to read the mood of a man who didn't have expressions, but I got the distinct impression he didn't like heights.

The forest-pygmies seemed especially wary of Aurora. None dared look directly at her, though behind her there was a crowd of small green people pointing and gawking.

"The blue tint of your skin makes them think you're some sort of oddly sized river-pygmy," Grandfather said. "The river-pygmies work with the slavers, so they're wary."

Aurora took a seat near the edge of the netting, looking out over the lush forest. She didn't seem bothered by the sagging floor or the drop off. "Since I left the north, I've gotten used to people being cautious around me," she said. "At home, I was a runt and a weakling. If not for being born with the mark of a shaman, I doubt they would have fed me as a child."

Zetetic stayed as close to the center of the floor as possible. I remembered his reaction when he'd first arrived in the cave. Apparently, No-Face wasn't alone in his acrophobia. Yet, though Zetetic clung to the woven floor with white-knuckles, his voice was curiously enthusiastic as he said, "Mr. Merchant, I've read everything you ever wrote about the Vanished Kingdom. The world lost quite a scholar when you vanished."

Father Ver glowered as Zetetic spoke, ready to pounce if the Deceiver attempted anything. Reeker also kept his gaze fixed on the man, no doubt intent not to be taken by surprise again.

My grandfather seemed unaware of the tension in the air. He dismissed Zetetic's compliment with a shrug. "The world lost nothing. I've come to understand that scholarship has very little to do with actual knowledge. In the world I grew up in, knowledge was something found chiefly in books. It was information that gets passed on as scribbled marks on paper. When I first started exploring this land, I wrote down everything I learned, because that seemed like a validation. It was as if nothing I was doing mattered until I committed it to paper."

"It's the echo of the divine that makes you feel this," said Lord Tower. He had never actually landed on the platform; instead, he was hovering a few inches above the netting, perhaps worried about adding his weight to the already strained vines. "When we write, we imitate, in our own pale way, the original act of creation."

Grandfather chuckled. "You're my guests, so I'll say this as respectfully as possible: books aren't real. I mean, yes, books as physical objects exist, but they contain no reality or truth within them."

"Have a care," said Father Ver. "Your words venture dangerously close to the heresy of the Deceivers."

"No," said Grandfather. "The Deceivers think that everything is a lie. Reality itself is a fiction, which clever men are free to rewrite."

"Actually —" said Zetetic.

Grandfather kept talking, ignoring the interruption. "The Deceivers are wrong, as is the Church of the Book. Neither accept the obvious truth: the only thing that defines the world is the world itself. Reality is the tree we sit in; it's the sun on your face, the evening breeze, the bitter burst of jawa fruit on the tongue. The things we write in books are only daydreams and memories, mental constructs pleasant and useful, but not real. By the time a man writes of an experience, that experience is forever gone. The past vaporizes behind us; the future is devoured voraciously by the present. It is only in the now that we are alive. The physical world surrounding us is the only truth." He looked out over the green mountain, toward the azure sea. "It is... enough."

"Bah," said Father Ver with a dismissive wave. "These are the pointless musings of the spiritually weak. The here-and-now is but a trap; the pleasure of the moment seduces men from contemplation of larger truths. Feeble-minded youth sometimes fall prey to the desire to glamorize the now, but I'm disappointed a man of your advanced age has made this error. Look around you, old man. You live in a bug-infested tree, among primitives who don't even know how to make clothing. Without accepting a greater spiritual truth, man can be nothing more than another beast."

Grandfather smiled as he looked at the leaves above him. He lifted up his skinny arm and snatched a bright green katydid from the nearest branch. The insect was perfectly blended with its surroundings, but my grandfather seemed to have spotted it effortlessly. "You call them bugs," he said. He popped the leggy creature into his mouth and crunched down. "We call them snacks."

During this philosophical debate, a stream of pygmy women had been flowing onto the vine platform across the rope bridges, carrying dark green leaves the size of dinner trays. And, dinner trays were precisely what they were. A buffet was laid out on the floor; bright blue jawa fruit adorned one leaf, plump white maggots writhed on another. There were speckled eggs the size of grapes, dark red snails the size of oranges, and at least a dozen kinds of nuts, half of which I didn't recognize. One leaf held what looked like raw meat, chopped and ground to a paste. Nothing looked cooked.

"There's no formality here. Dig in," said Grandfather, snatching up a snail and a jawa fruit. "Since we live in trees, we don't built fires." He squeezed the fruit and the bright blue juice sluiced through his fingers and into the snail shell. "Fortunately, jawa juice is acidic enough that it effectively cooks most meat. Your civilized guts won't suffer."

Father Ver looked aghast as Grandfather sucked the snail out of its shell, giving it a tug as the last of the meat fought to hold onto its casing. The coil of pale flesh smacked into his lips before it disappeared into his mouth. Grandfather lay back on the floor-net, looking up at the sun-dappled branches. "Eat meat while it still has life in it. Keep fruit in your belly and sun on your skin. Sleep when you are tired and drink when you are thirsty. This is all a man needs to enjoy a long life."

"There are elderly among the civilized as well," said Father Ver. "Your recipe for life will not keep you alive a single day longer than the span the Divine Author has recorded for you in the book."

Grandfather scratched the dark green pubic hair around his gourd, seemingly unconcerned that anyone was watching. "You are free to think what you wish. I wouldn't trade my life for the wealth of a king. I live in the eternal moment, while a civilized man worries only about tomorrow, or longs for yesterday."

While Grandfather and the Truthspeaker sparred, Menagerie dug into the food with gusto, not bothering with the fruits, just tearing into the raw meat directly. Reeker was more dainty, picking through the nuts and berries and less wriggly-looking insects. He carried a leaf full of food over to No-Face, who squeezed the fruits and bugs into a colorful mush, which he slurped loudly from his palm into a fold beneath his face-flap.

The Deceiver went straight for the nastiest looking dish, a sort of chopped spider salad laced with bright green chilies. He washed it down with a freshly opened coconut, the pale milk spilling down the corners of his damaged mouth.

"Doesn't the spice hurt the cuts in your mouth?" Reeker asked, still keeping a close eye on the man.

Zetetic shrugged. "I've learned to enjoy pain. Plus, I've always had a sense of adventure in my diet. In my travels, I've been delighted by the different attitudes regarding what one is supposed to put in one's mouth. One man's spoiled milk is another man's cheese. Some men hunt with dogs, others eat them in stews. What half the world believes is true about food, the other half thinks is false. It's left me with an open mind and a daring stomach. I'll put anything in my mouth at least once."

Neither Lord Tower nor Father Ver made any move toward the dishes.

"Aren't you hungry?" asked Grandfather.

"We have our own provisions," Tower answered. "It would be a sin for me to partake in this food. Your people live in such poverty."

Infidel's eyes kept flickering toward the buffet. All the earlier excitement had probably built up her appetite, but she did an admirable job of just standing at attention, her face devoid of obvious longing.

"I assume you'll see she gets fed later," I said to Relic, who had a fist-full of maggots.

Of course, he answered, as he shoved one of the plump larvae into the shadows beneath his hood. We have all the details planned out. You need not worry for her comfort.

Meanwhile, Grandfather had responded to Lord Tower. "Poverty? What poverty? None among us are hungry. We all have a safe place to sleep in the company of our family. There is not a single physical need we go without."

"You dwell in spiritual poverty, separated from the Church," said Father Ver.

Zetetic said, with a mouthful of spiders, "Why do you have to be such a jerk, Ver? Show a little graciousness for a fellow who's giving us a roof to sleep under." He glanced up at the leaves. "So to speak."

"I'm not bothered by his attitude," said Grandfather, as Father Ver eyed the Deceiver with a murderous gaze. "It's nice to be reminded of all I left behind. Which I suppose leads to the question, why are you here? You didn't come looking for me. You're too heavily armed for tomb raiding. Are you going after Greatshadow?"

"Yes," said Lord Tower. "King Brightmoon has decided to rid the world of his tyranny."

"I don't think tyranny is the word you're looking for," said Grandfather.

"I chose the word with precision," said Tower. "The dragon has crushed every attempt to colonize this island. He's shown nothing but hatred toward humanity. We must destroy him now, before he one day destroys the world."

Grandfather smiled softly. He said, "If he hates humanity so much, why does our tribe live in peace in his very shadow? Presumably, he could kill us at any time. He could daily scour the slopes of this island with lava. Nothing at all could grow here. It would be as dead as the Silver Isle."

"You know nothing of the Silver Isle, sir," said Tower. "I've flown from shore to shore; there is no inch of it I have not witnessed. It's a lovely, green land, an emerald jewel amid the vast dark sea."

"Green, yes," said Grandfather. "Green with crops and orchards, grape arbors and olive groves. The hills are lush with grass, planted so that cattle may graze. Well-tended oak trees still decorate the gardens of wealthy men. But, at no point when you flew over the island did you find a forest, or any wild thing. Men murdered the Silver Isle, then decorated the corpse with flowers. It doesn't compare to the untamed beauty of the Isle of Fire."

"We are of a different opinion," said Tower.

"Again, I must disagree. I have an opinion. You have narrow-minded dogma." Grandfather paused for a second to squeeze jawa juice into a second snail. "Greatshadow is no tyrant. Is the sun a tyrant when drought kills crops in the field? Is the stream a tyrant when it overruns its banks and floods a village? Greatshadow is merely an aspect of nature, the embodiment of fire. You civilized men need fire to cook your meals and forge your swords. You bring it into your homes to survive the winter, and your fields would be unmanageable if you didn't burn them at the start of each planting season. To wage war against the natural world is madness."

"Nonsense," said Lord Tower, speaking calmly. Unlike Father Ver, he didn't seem angered by Grandfather's bluntness. "It isn't waging war against a stream to build a dam to control flooding. We don't wound the earth by digging into it with plows. As you must know, there was once a primal dragon of the forest. The church defeated him after a long struggle, banishing his spirit. Yet, all around you is evidence that trees have endured. We didn't wage war against the forest; we waged war against an unholy spirit that had laid an unjust claim to an elemental force. The same is true of Greatshadow. When he is gone, we'll still have flames in our foundries and candles in our homes. They'll simply be free of his all-watching eye."

"You're not the first to come this way, you know," said Grandfather. "Every generation sends a team of men against the beast. Every generation fails."

"You've met previous parties?" Zetetic asked. "Do you know the fate of the Castlebridge expedition?"

Grandfather nodded. "I believe you are referring to the two-hundred soldiers who hacked their way up the mountain almost twenty years ago."

Zetetic nodded. "My father was with the expedition. We know the Wanderers delivered them safely to landfall. After this, they simply vanished from the face of the earth."

"Into the face of the earth is more accurate," said Grandfather. "Their ashes are no doubt well-mingled with the soil by now. Lava-pygmies witnessed it all. Greatshadow sent out his avatars as they were halfway up the slope. All flesh was burned away. The armor they wore turned to slag amid a field of blackened glass. It was a horrible scar upon the earth for all of a month; the jungle has long since swallowed all evidence of their passing."

"He attacked Commonground with two of these avatars," said Menagerie. "They were enough to get the job done, but I still wonder, does he have limits? Could he have created a dozen if he wished? If he animates these forms with his spirit, does his spirit weaken as he divides himself? No magic comes without a price. Blood magic costs a man his humanity, dream magic withers men's souls, the Deceivers pay for their powers with their sanity." Zetetic opened his mouth to dispute this, but Menagerie finished by saying, "Elemental magic can't be an exception. The dragon must have some weakness."

"True," said Grandfather. "For the primal dragons, the price they pay for their elemental magic seems to be their sense of identity. A dragon's mind is no more infinite than a man's mind. Rott, the primal dragon of decay, spread his essence so thinly that he hasn't been seen to manifest himself in a body for centuries. No one knows if he even remembers that he was once a dragon. However, Greatshadow has avoided this fate. He maintains his original body, feasting, sleeping, and fornicating; his sense of identity is in no real danger."

"Fornicating?" Zetetic asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't this require another dragon?"

"You've already witnessed his ability to create avatars."

"But they're part of him. Wouldn't they...?"

Grandfather shrugged. "According to pygmy lore, he can create avatars with female aspects. I assume he enjoys the act of mating from both his original body and his second form."

Zetetic's face brightened. "That seems to be a fantastically practical —"

"Perversion!" snapped Father Ver. "All the more reason to kill the depraved beast."

"Just because you don't let yourself have any fun is no reason to be angry with the dragon," said Zetetic.

"Let him be angry if he wishes," said Grandfather. "It won't matter to Greatshadow. You've witnessed his power. I'm sure you wouldn't have come to this island if you didn't have some tricks up your sleeve. A flying knight, a shapeshifter, an ice-ogress; I admire Brightmoon's imagination in assembling this team. But, in the end, if you continue toward the dragon's lair, you will die. Even if ice-magic and enchanted armor can protect you from the heat of Greatshadow's breath, he's still in possession of claws harder than diamond that can shred steel like tissue paper."

"My armor is made of something more enduring than steel," said Lord Tower.

"So what if it is?" said Grandfather. "Odds are, you won't even face the dragon. Greatshadow has had centuries to perfect his magic. It's said he's populated his lair with guardians summoned from abstract realms. The most powerful magical artifacts that survive from the Vanished Kingdom are his to command; you cannot even imagine the forces he may throw against you. And while you may enter his lair in possession of some secret plan to beat the beast, it will all be for naught. The pygmies say that Greatshadow's mind spreads so completely through his lair that a visitor's thoughts will become the dragon's thoughts. First, he will strip your mind of all its secrets. Then, he will pour his mind into your bodies, and you will dance for him like puppets on strings."

The Goons and Aurora looked sobered by this recitation of the challenges before them. Relic, of course, remained an enigma beneath his rags. Zetetic's mouth was puckered with pain, but that was probably from the hot peppers. Lord Tower's eyes looked unconcerned; perhaps he already knew all the dangers they faced.

Father Ver's lips were turned up into something almost resembling a smile.

Zetetic took note. "Perhaps I'm not the only one here who enjoys pain."

Father Ver shook his head. "I'm merely thinking that the beast has had centuries to become overconfident. Think of Numinous, brought low by a mere decade in which to grow arrogant. No doubt, the beast's soul is rotten to the core from believing his own lies. Perhaps we've reached the page in the One True Book where he falls before the greater truth."

"Amen," said Tower, slapping the Gloryhammer against his gauntleted palm with a true-believer's fervor.

No one else echoed his sentiment. Instead, everyone sat quietly, staring down at their food as they contemplated their fates. The only sound was the slup, slup, slup of No-Face eating.

# 14 - HEART TO HEART

THAT NIGHT, AS everyone else slept spread out on woven platforms across the tree village, Infidel stepped down onto a thick branch. Relic stirred from his sleep and held out a leather sack the size of a saddlebag. She took the bag and climbed down the vine-draped trunk in silence. When she reached the ground, she followed a trail to the nearby stream, then followed this to a large pool. Looking around to make certain no one was watching, she shed her clothes and plunged in. Her body gleamed beneath the water's surface like a silver-skinned fish darting about. She surfaced with a gasp, rubbing her face, ridding herself of the sweat of the day. Whatever dye Menagerie had used wasn't smeared by her fingers. Now that she was wet, the illusion that her skin was metal was especially strong.

After only a moment in the pool, she rose from the water and opened the sack, producing a rolled up towel. Wrapped within it were fresh jawa fruits and several of the snails. She gobbled them down as she dried her hair. Mosquitoes crawled over her arms and legs, denting their noses on her impenetrable skin. She paid no attention to them as she finished off the snails in record time. She wiped her mouth then leaned over the pool, looking at her faint reflection in the still water. Her face went slack as she studied herself. Her eyes had a distant focus, as if she wasn't watching her reflection but was, instead, lost in memory.

She looked, if you will forgive the expression, haunted.

Was I causing psychic harm by sticking around? Did she sense me watching her and feel guilt? Should I leave and spare her any further pain? Could I leave if I tried?

My musings were cut short by Relic's voice in my head.

Return to me.

"I'm busy," I said.

Return to me!

The command felt like a thousand fishhooks tearing into my brain. He reeled me in as I flopped about. Fortunately, my agony was short lived, halting the second I stood before him. He was curled up on the netting, completely still; to anyone else he would have looked asleep. I saw the bone-handled knife clutched securely in his gnarled claw.

"I don't like being pushed around," I said.

We have our bargain.

"Do we? I agreed to watch Tower and the others. I don't remember signing on to be your slave."

And yet, you aren't watching Tower.

"He's probably asleep," I said.

I am certain he is not. He and Father Ver are outside the range of my mental powers, but I can still hear the murmurs of their voices on the night breeze. Go and listen to their conversation.

He shoved me with his mind out into the open air beside the central tree house. Tower and Father Ver slept separated from the rest of the rabble on a platform a good fifty yards distant. Apparently, Relic's telepathy didn't extend terribly far. The knight and the cleric had hung sheets of canvas for privacy. A glorystone cast their shadows on the cloth walls. I misted straight through the canvas into their room. To my surprise, Tower had shed his armor. For some reason, I'd expected him to sleep in it. If they monks could pray that the armor be invulnerable in battle, couldn't they also make it pillow soft come bedtime?

Out of his armor, Tower looked... ordinary. Not average, by any means, but nothing like the iron-clad warrior feared by evil-doers everywhere. Rumors of terrible scars proved unfounded. The few nicks and divots around his eyes and lips testified he'd taken a few hits over the years, but the scars were hardly disfiguring. If anything, they gave character to a face so symmetrical it was boring. He had a square jaw and a nose that jutted from his face at a perfect 30 degree angle. His black hair was cut in a bowl style that would have been unflattering on almost any other head. Here, it served to draw attention to the sharp lines of his cheek bones and his pale gray eyes. The only person I'd ever met who shared this eye color was Infidel.

Save for stray silver hairs, he had the appearance of a man in his early thirties, though, if I understood the chronology of Infidel's life, he must be closer to my age.

He was dressed in a simple linen shirt and tight-fitting cotton pants that showed off his muscular legs. He was kneeling by the side of the platform, his head bowed to touch the floor. I drew closer just in time to hear his whispered prayers come to an end. He closed his supplication to the Divine Author with, "... and grant me the wisdom to tell lust from love, desire from devotion. Amen."

It seemed like a prayer most men would find handy, though I was a little surprised lust was high on Lord Tower's list of concerns. He rose, a little closer to the edge of the sagging platform than most men would find comfortable. Perhaps he spent so much time flying with the Gloryhammer he'd lost all fear of heights. I wondered where the legendary weapon was. Or the armor; it should have made quite a pile once it was off him. Not to mention the Immaculate Attire, which they'd removed before they buried Blade. For that matter, where was the Jagged Heart? There still was no evidence that Tower had the harpoon.

Father Ver was sitting nearby, also kneeling, his head beaded with sweat. He was stripped from the waist up, his robes bunched around his hips. Before him lay a two-foot-long braid of leather. I drifted around behind him and saw bright red welts raised among the constellation of scabs along his back.

Tower pulled a small leather notebook from the waistband of his pants. This was the book Zetetic had taken. As he flipped through the pages, he said, softly, "There's no point in blaming yourself. Blade was the one who chose to dabble in dream magic. You couldn't have known."

"We both know that isn't true," Father Ver said, closing his eyes. "I could have known." His voice sounded wet and raspy, as if he'd been crying. "I've made too many bad bargains. My pursuit of the greater good has forced me to accept the unacceptable. Ten thousand years of lashings can never erase the harm I've done to my soul by agreeing to these compromises."

"The Divine Author would not have given you these trials if he did not feel you could endure them," said Tower. "I need you, Ver. You're the wisest man I've ever known. I wouldn't have accepted this mission without you on the team. But you'll be of no use to me if you're too paralyzed by guilt to do the job."

"I have no guilt," said Father Ver. "Undeserved guilt is a form of self-deception. Instead I feel shame, regret, and anger."

"Well, try to work on those," said Tower dismissively, looking away from the holy man and gazing out of the jungle. "I'm going to go get a little fresh air."

Without warning he pitched forward and dropped off the edge. We were a hundred feet up. He hadn't struck me as suicidal. I drifted over the lip of the platform. A light suddenly sparked below, casting shadows upward. I looked down and saw the Gloryhammer in Tower's right hand; the small notebook was still in his left. His forearm bulged as he gripped the glowing weapon and shot off through the trees, deftly avoiding vines and trunks. I followed, though I didn't need to follow far. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I realized where he was heading. The night went dark again as his feet touched down and the Gloryhammer suddenly disappeared. I blinked as I caught up to him. What had he done with the hammer? Could he simply summon it at will? He stuck the notebook back into the waistband of his britches.

The mystery of the missing hammer was the least of my concerns. Tower had flown directly to the pool, landing barely five yards in front of Infidel, who still perched on the rock, buck naked. Her eyes were wide with shock. She had one arm across her breasts and the towel draped over her lap. Tower dropped to one knee before her and bowed deeply.

"Princess Innocent," he said, in a voice just above a whisper. "Praise be to the Divine Author that you are still alive."

"Ummm..." said Infidel. She furrowed her brow. "Hmm."

"I presume you wear this disguise because you fear retribution from the church," he said. "You have nothing to fear, my princess. The king has long since used his influence to revoke the sentence of death placed upon you in absentia. Given the unmistakable perfection of your lineage, the Voice of the Book agreed that a proper trial was in order before any punishment is decided."

Infidel bit her lower lip. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. I couldn't tell if she was still maintaining the ruse that she was a machine, or if she just didn't know what to say.

Tower continued: "When you disappeared on our wedding day, I suspected you were kidnapped by one of my political enemies. My investigation eventually led to Lord Claypot. He possessed some magic that confounded the Truthspeakers, but I had him tortured until he confessed the plot. Alas, he expired before I learned the full details of the events of that fateful day fourteen years, seven months, and nine days ago."

Infidel continued to silently stare at the knight.

"I did discover that you had escaped, but were in hiding because you feared retribution from the small segment of fanatics within the Church of the Book who blame you for the destruction. I assure you, I will protect you from them with all my powers. You were a pure and chaste young woman untainted by any hint of wickedness. I'm certain of your innocence and trust you have the best of reasons for not returning home after you escaped from your captors."

"Well, yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "Like, this 'pure and chaste young woman' crap. What the hell? If my father's spies are even halfway competent, you have to know I support myself primarily by killing people for money. Don't you think, maybe, just maybe, I don't exactly fit the definition of pure?"

"I, too, have killed men," said Tower. "Yet, my heart is pure. Motives matter when judging actions. You've done what you must to survive."

"Motives?" Infidel shook her head sadly. "You idiot. My number one motive was to get away from you!"

"Bu... but... but..." Tower's face fell as her words sank in.

"Turn around," said Infidel. "Did you have to wait until I was naked to have this little heart to heart?"

Tower turned around. "I didn't know you'd be naked. Since I knew you were in the area, I had the Gloryhammer guide me to you. It was poor timing that you are unrobed. I promise I haven't seen anything. I kept my eyes toward the ground."

"'I promise I haven't seen anything,'" Infidel said in a mocking tone. She jumped from the rock and grabbed her pants. "By the sacred quill! You're still the same simpering bore. I wouldn't expect you to know this, but some women are actually flattered by the idea that men want to look at them. When we were engaged, I couldn't even get eye contact. You acted like holding my hand before marriage might get us sent to hell! I used to have nightmares that you'd show up in our wedding bed with full plate armor, a blind-fold, and a pair of tongs."

She pulled up her pants, buttoning them hastily, getting one of the buttons out of order, so that the leather sat on her hips at an odd angle. She turned around and found the steel bra she'd been wearing, pulling free the cotton slip inside. "If you've known since the damned cave who I really was, you should have said something so I could get out of this damned metal bra. My nipples are killing me!"

She spun back to face him, preparing to pull on the slip, and jumped slightly when she found Tower standing only inches from her. He was staring at her with fire in his eyes.

"You dreamed..." he said, breathing heavily, "of our wedding night? Don't you think I had such dreams as well?"

She didn't get a chance to answer. He suddenly grabbed her by both arms and pressed his mouth to hers. Her eyes bulged as he pulled her to him, pressing her still naked breasts against his chest. He worked his lips against hers for a long moment. I watched in gruesome anticipation, certain that at any moment Infidel would decapitate this lustful fool. But, to my growing horror, she didn't move a muscle. She let him kiss her for five seconds, ten, a minute, as her eyes stayed wide open. Finally, she pushed him away, with frustrating gentleness.

"Ooookay," she said, pausing to wipe her lips with the back of her hand. "Let's stop for a minute. I've spent fifteen years avoiding assassins sent after me by the Church of the Book. I'm telling you point blank that I found you boring beyond all imagination when we were engaged. Can you understand I might be a little confused that you show up fifteen years later finally wanting to kiss?"

"I want much more than a kiss," Tower growled, pulling her against his chest once again. He looked down into her eyes. "When you were young, I found you utterly uninteresting. I was a battle-hardened warrior who'd traveled the world. You were a spoiled child, completely ignorant of life beyond the palace gates. You did nothing to stir my baser passions. But you... you are no longer sweet, virginal, Innocent. You're a warrior with blood on her hands. Indeed, not just on your hands... you have a dragon's blood pumping in your very veins. Having witnessed your strength, I know that rumor that you consumed Verdant's blood must be true."

"You know I could crush your head like an eggshell?"

"Yes! Whatever the reasons for your actions, you are now the perfect match for my passion! I am a man of fiery needs. You will find no plate mail or tongs in our wedding chamber. There will only be an endless bed covered in the finest silk, upon which we will crawl and scream and bite and scratch! We shall smother each other with our lust! The earth will tremble as I hammer you with my —"

"Whoah!" said Infidel, raising a finger to his lips. "Calm down."

He closed his lips over her finger and shut his eyes. He let loose a moan of pleasure as he sucked her slender digit.

"Nnyarg!" I cried out, gripping my ghost hair, tugging with all my might. This was the most horrible thing I'd seen in my entire life - you know what I mean - and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nor could I turn away. My traitorous eyes remained fixed on the lustful display. Tower ran his hands along Infidel's bare back as he embraced her tightly. Why wasn't she stopping this?

"Wow," she said, pulling her finger free, then pushing him with her other hand. She spun around, swiftly pulling on her slip. "So... wow. Wow. I, uh, I really don't know what to say, Tower."

"What is there to say?" I shouted at her. "Tear his lips off!"

"Just say that you want to surrender to me," said Tower, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Say that you long for me with all your heart —" he lowered his lips to her ear and finished in a whispered growl "- and all your body."

He blew gently on her ear. She shivered, gently raising her hands to his, before peeling them away and putting a little space between them.

She didn't look at him as she said, "It's funny you should show up now."

"It's destiny. All things unfold according to the One True Book. We parted so that we each could grow, to become the perfect match for the other."

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms. "I mean, no. I mean, look, I don't know what I mean. Lately, I've spent a fair amount of time thinking of how to get back to a life of royalty. Then, boom, here you are, telling me you can make it happen. And, I have to say, if I'd seen this level of interest from you fifteen years ago, maybe things might have played out differently. But you can't just show up and start slobbering all over me. What the hell ever happened to courtship?"

Tower dropped to his knees once more. He grabbed her hand, cupping it with both palms in a prayerful pose and said, "If it's courtship you desire, I promise you romance beyond your imagination. I shall fly to the moon and carve your portrait to decorate the night sky. I shall part the sea and pluck pearls from the depths. I will search every corner of the world for flowers and perfumes and silks to adorn your bedroom. You will wear a wedding dress spun from pure gold, beaded with priceless gems from Greatshadow's treasure. The entire world will —"

"I get the idea," said Infidel, again silencing him with a finger on his lips, then snatching the finger back as his lips parted. "How about cake? Would you go get me a slice of cake?"

"For you, my love, anything," he vowed.

"Make it chocolate."

Ten seconds of silence passed as she looked down at him. Tower furrowed his brow. "Right now?"

"Why not now?"

"We... um... we're in the middle of a jungle. The nearest town is Commonground and it's in ruins. At top speed, I would need a full day to fly back to the Silver Isle to find a baker."

"So... no cake."

Tower frowned. Then, he said, in utter seriousness. "If... if you demand it, I will go."

She shrugged. "I guess I can wait."

"Thank you," he said.

She leaned back against a tree and took a second to fix her miss-buttoned pants. "So you saw right through my disguise. What about the Father Ver?"

"I don't know why he accepts that you are a machine. It doesn't matter, in the end. If he suspected the truth, he'd have already ordered that I apprehend you and secure you until a trial could be held."

"Would you?"

Tower looked like he wished he'd left for the cake.

His features sagged as he looked to the ground.

"I would have no choice but to obey Ver's direct command," he said. "Even without his powers."

Infidel placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know, I kind of like that. I mean, five minutes ago you were a lust-crazed teenager. Now, you're a knight with a sense of duty and honor. Somewhere between these extremes is my idea of a pretty good man."

"No!" I shouted. "No, no, no, no, no!"

The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across her lips as he gently kissed the back of her hand.

"Thank you for understanding," he said.

She shrugged. "No problem."

I spun around, growling, and found the nearest tree. I attempted to slam my head into it, but wound up staring at a family of possums dwelling in its rotted out center.

I took a deep, phantom breath and calmed myself. With any luck, Greatshadow would swallow him.

TOWER FLEW OFF as Infidel continued dressing. She paused as she found the boot sheath empty. She started pacing as she chewed on her fingernails. She reached the finger that Lord Tower had sucked on and regarded it with an expression half curiosity, half disgust. You can guess which half of the expression I appreciated.

At last she muttered, "Did it fall out in the tree?" She started back toward the village. She hadn't gone but a few dozen feet before she froze, turning her head toward a rustling sound from a nearby thicket. I poked my head through the screen of leaves and found myself face to face with Aurora squatting on the ground with her pants around her ankles. I quickly jerked my head back. Infidel took note of the wisps of fog drifting across the ground. Aurora had trouble with stealth in humid climates.

"Aurora?" Infidel whispered.

There was a rapid rustle from the other side of the bushes. "Infidel?"

They each poked their heads around the leafy wall and grinned.

"I'm glad to see you," said Aurora. "I need to gripe to someone. This whole mission is turning into a big, stinking pile of yellow snow."

"You don't know the half of it," said Infidel.

"I'm not even sure what I'm doing here," said Aurora. "I thought I'd feel the Jagged Heart's presence. I don't. Tower plainly isn't carting it around with him, and it wasn't in the gear. If he doesn't have it, I'm wasting my time."

"The Black Swan wanted you on the mission," said Infidel. "She must have seen something in the future that made her think you needed to be here."

"She's not always right. The whole point of her going back in time is to change the future. Sometimes, little things she does wipe out whole events she was counting on. She went back quite a ways to order a new barge built. What if some guy she hired to build it would have otherwise joined the raiders that stole the Jagged Heart? Maybe it never wound up in Tower's possession."

"I'll ask Tower about it when I see him again," said Infidel.

"Ah ah ah!" Aurora wagged her finger. "You're a machine around him. You cart gear, not pump knights for information."

"Funny you should mention pumping," said Infidel.

"How so?"

"Because Tower just caught me bathing at the stream and confessed that he knows who I am. He says he wants to take me back, clear my name, and go ahead with the marriage. I'm suddenly really glad the Black Swan didn't tell me who the father of my daughter would be."

Aurora's jaw opened slowly, until her tusks were almost pointing straight out. She snapped out of her shock and said, "I, uh, thought you couldn't... I mean, there's still some, um, issues. Of crushing. Accidentally. Certain important parts."

"We only have to do it once," said Infidel.

I jammed my fingers into my ears to keep from hearing more. It didn't work.

"And if he's not any good, maybe I won't have any, you know, involuntary muscle spasms."

I screamed, "La-la-la-la-la!"

She continued, "I mean, it's not like I'd actually feel anything for him. It wouldn't be like it would have been with Stagger."

I stopped la-la-ing and lowered my fingers.

Infidel swallowed hard. "If Stagger were still around, I would have head-butted him when he kissed me."

"Stagger?" Aurora looked confused. "Why would you head-butt him?"

"No! Tower!"

Aurora's brow knotted with bewilderment.

Infidel looked up toward the tree village, then said in a hushed voice, "Tower kissed me."

"You're joking."

Infidel raised her hand and resumed biting her nails.

"You're not joking."

Infidel shook her head.

Aurora crossed her arms, tapping her beefy fingers on her biceps.

"So," she asked, casually. "Was he any good?"

Infidel rolled her eyes. "It... it was... I really have nothing to judge by. I've never been kissed before."

"You've never kissed? For a battle hardened mercenary who wears necklaces of human teeth, you've lived kind of a sheltered life."

Infidel threw up her hands. "What's the point of me kissing anyone? I mean, what's it going to lead to? Look, I've made it this far without any kind of intimacy. I've been perfectly content without it. I mean it. Who needs it?"

Aurora smirked. "In my experience, when people say, 'I mean it,' they don't mean it."

Infidel folded her arms across her chest. "Fine. Maybe, just maybe... maybe I'm curious. Maybe this is one of those choices made by fifteen-year-old Innocent that I'm not so sure about any more. I mean... this is going to sound stupid... but... I... well, there was this thing he did, when he, um, sucked, uh, my finger and..."

Aurora's eyebrows shot up.

"And... I dunno. I could feel his tongue. It was, like, soft. Warm. I thought it would be slimy, but it felt clean. It was... I don't know. It wasn't nice. I mean, I didn't want it to happen. But... it wasn't unpleasant, either. I felt... this is stupid."

"What?"

"There was like... like a spark. Like, a voice in my head going, 'He's sucking your finger! What a pervert!' and... I... I guess I'm just... curious. About perversions."

Aurora laughed.

"It's not funny," said Infidel.

Aurora shook her head and wiped a tear from her cheek. "No," she said, gasping for air. "I know. It's not. I haven't seen another female of my species for twenty years. I'm not going to judge anyone for feeling sexually frustrated. The dreams I've had..."

"You mean male," said Infidel.

"Hmm?"

"You said you hadn't seen another female. It wouldn't do you any good if you had."

"Ah," said Aurora. She pressed her lips together. "This is awkward. You see, uh, the priesthood, it's all female, and, um, sexual release is a big part of fertility ceremonies, so, we spend a lot of time engaged in —"

"I don't think I need to hear more," said Infidel, holding up her hands.

I sort of hoped Aurora would at least finish her sentence. I was to be disappointed. She changed the subject back to the issue at hand.

"So, you've got a sex-crazed ex-boy friend in charge of the dragon hunt. What about the Truthspeaker?"

"He hasn't seen through the disguise. Relic said he's distracting the priest. Don't ask me to explain, I still haven't figured out all of that weirdo's powers. But, anyway, if the priest finds me out, apparently he has orders to capture me instead of killing me outright."

"That's good, I guess."

"Not really. If the Truthspeaker gives me grief, I'll probably twist his head off. I'm not sure that Tower's going to be quite as forgiving after that. And, if I twist Tower's head off, I'm suddenly short on candidates to father my daughter."

"Do you want a child?" asked Aurora.

"Until the Black Swan mentioned it, I hadn't wasted any time thinking about motherhood," said Infidel. "Now... I mean, if it's, you know, fate... then maybe I wouldn't be terrible at it."

Aurora looked skeptical.

"I know," said Infidel, shaking her head. "I mean, it's hard to imagine making the jump from bounty-hunter and tomb-looter to breast-feeder and diaper-changer. The person I've been would be a lousy mother. But, the whole purpose of this dragon hunt, for me, is to make a new life. And there are... there are nurturing instincts I have that I've never really explored. I just... maybe I should keep an open mind."

Aurora nodded, but didn't ask any follow-up questions. Instead she said, "Speaking of the dragon hunt, it's worth noting that of twelve would-be dragon slayers, the three we've lost have all been put out of action by other team members."

"Technically, Blade was killed by a pygmy deadfall."

"Blade was killed by the damn Truthspeaker," grumbled Aurora.

Infidel nodded. "What's your point?"

"My point is that our dragon hunt is going to be over before it even begins if we kill each other before Greatshadow gets a shot."

"We won't all kill each other," said Infidel. "I've got your back. You've got mine. And I think we can count on the Goons to side with us."

"Don't fool yourself," said Aurora. "Menagerie's willing to mess around with stuff that's not spelled out in his contract, like keeping your secret, but if it comes down to a fight between us and the Truthspeaker, he's being paid to protect the priest."

Infidel nodded. "At least you and I are a team," she said.

"Sure," said Aurora. "As long as you don't try to protect the future father of your child if he does have the sacred harpoon."

Infidel nodded, but she was no longer looking directly at the ogress. Her gaze was once more unfocused; I could practically hear her thoughts churning. As Aurora turned away, Infidel stared off into the distance.

Straight at me. Straight through me.

Haunted.

# 15 -SIZZLE

I'D HEARD ALL I could stomach about finger-sucking and motherhood, so I decided to get back to the job and watch Lord Tower. I floated up to his tree house. While I hesitate to say that anything about being dead is fun, freedom from gravity is not without advantages. I drifted through his floor and found him flat on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the leaves above him. He looked as if he was unlikely to get any sleep, and not just because Father Ver was snoring. Tower didn't look all that happy for a man who had just kissed the woman he'd obsessed about for fifteen years.

"Forgive me," he whispered, as tears welled in his eyes. "Forgive me."

He swallowed down his emotions with a loud, snotty snort, then turned onto his side, hugging the thin blanket draped over him.

I sighed. I hated the guy, but I understood what he was going through. What if I'd thrown myself at Infidel years ago and confessed everything I felt for her? She'd said a lot of nice things about me since my death, but what if she'd reacted with the same lukewarm confusion Tower had received? I wouldn't have gotten any sleep either.

Angry for feeling any sympathy and rapidly tiring of the Truthspeaker's snoring, I drifted back toward Relic to tell him about the encounter. With any luck, he was fast asleep and I'd wake him.

As I air-walked back across the gap to the main platform, my eye was caught by movement on the tree where the Goons were staying. I moved closer. In the shadows, I could make out Menagerie. He had a row of small glass vials laid out before him as he studied the faint outline of a bat on his inner thigh. A drop of black ink glistened on a needle held in his right hand. His lips were pressed tightly together as he jabbed the bat in rapid, repeated motions. On his left forearm, a tiger glistened with fresh black ink. I was curious how he'd ever reach the faded wolf tattoos on small of his back, but I didn't get the chance to find out.

As Menagerie concentrated, oblivious to the world around him, I noticed Reeker peek at him from beneath his blanket. Deciding that Menagerie wasn't watching, Reeker rolled slowly to the edge of the platform and carefully lowered himself down to the woven vine ladder.

If he hadn't been so quiet, I'd have assumed he was going down to use the bathroom. But, he kept looking over his shoulder and was taking care not to make a sound. He'd never struck me as someone who worried about disturbing other people's sleep. Suspicious, I drifted closer to him, though not too close. Even though my sense of smell was muted as a ghost, I knew to keep several arm lengths between us.

Reeker reached the forest floor and stealthily crept toward the edge of the village. He went to the far side of a huge tree trunk and pressed his back to the bark. He took one more look around, then crouched and pulled out a small leather pouch, placing it on his knee. Quickly he produced a small rectangle of paper, flattened it out, then placed a large pinch of tobacco in the center. He glanced off to his right, then his left, as he rolled the paper into an untidy tube.

Finally, satisfied that he was truly alone, he pulled a wooden match out of the pouch. He ignited the tip with a quick flick of his thumbnail. A brief breath of sulfur scented the air. He brought the tiny flame to the cigarette and puffed once, twice, three times, firing it to a bright cherry ember.

He shook the match to snuff it. The small fire kept burning.

He shook it again, harder. Still, it didn't go out.

He frowned, staring at the miniscule blaze as it sputtered down the wooden dowel, nearing his finger and thumb. He reached out with his free hand and closed his forefinger and thumb upon the feeble flare to be done with it.

He screamed. A sizzle sounded from his fingers as white tendrils of smoke spun into the air. A yellow-orange flame danced over his hairy knuckles. He waved his hand frantically, crying, "Yowowowow!" as the fire grew brighter.

Now, his sleeve was on fire. He dropped and rolled on the forest floor. The ground was damp, but his efforts only stoked the flames to greater heights. In a matter of seconds, his clothes were engulfed. His screams grew ever louder.

With a sudden whoosh, Lord Tower shot from the sky. He was fully enveloped in his armor; there was no way he'd had time to put it on in any ordinary way. The Gloryhammer turned night into day as the knight flashed toward Reeker. He grabbed the flailing skunk-man by the ankle, then streaked off in the direction of the stream. I followed at the speed of thought as he threw Reeker into the pool where Infidel had bathed. Reeker vanished beneath the surface with a loud hiss and a mushroom cloud of steam.

Tower spun around. There were flames dancing on the forest floor where Reeker had rolled. They flared higher and higher, the ground crackling and whistling as dampness boiled away. Tower gripped his Gloryhammer with both hands as the flames took on a decidedly serpentine form. At first, I thought a vine was on fire, curling from the heat. Then, I realized I was looking at a dragon - a small drake, no taller than a man, made of pure flame. It reared up on its blazing legs and sucked in air. Tower charged as the beast spewed a cone of flame. The fire engulfed the knight as he swung his enchanted hammer with a grunt. The weapon went right through the flame-beast.

"I'm on it!" shouted Aurora, running toward the conflagration with her hands outstretched. Snowflakes the size of saucers began to fall, vaporizing as they hit the beast with a staccato sss sss sss. Aurora was iced up and took a swing at the fire-dragon with her frozen gauntlet. She spun around, off balance, as her punch failed to connect. There was nothing solid about the beast to hit.

The fire seemed to laugh as it blazed brighter. Aurora raised her arm to cover her eyes as she stumbled back, her armor cracking.

Suddenly, Infidel dropped straight down toward the drake, holding an outstretched blanket. The fluttering edges engulfed the small dragon as she landed, dimming the light. The beast screamed as sparks swirled around the edges.

Off to one corner, there was a tiny remnant of flame curling around a small twig, no bigger than a cockroach. It leapt to a stick and flashed into a tiny dragon the size of a mouse, then leapt again toward a fallen branch to grow as big as a cat.

Tower charged toward it, trying to stomp it beneath his gleaming boots, but the fire-cat darted away, burning leaves and twigs as it grew to the size of a dog. Aurora pointed both hands at the ground and the forest debris it needed to grow was suddenly coated in ice. The creature darted back toward Infidel, stretching its neck out to nip the edge of the blanket. Infidel jumped back with a yelp as the cloth flared; in the blink of an eye, the creature was man-sized once more.

"You guys are a frickin' joke," grumbled a voice from the shadows. The creature craned its blazing neck to discover Zetetic standing directly behind it, hiking up his tattered robes. The Deceiver grumbled, "I can piss out a fire no bigger than this."

The creature roared toward him, reaching out with claws of flame.

The Deceiver began to pee.

The creature hissed, drawing back. It writhed as stream of urine spattered the ground where it stood. The flames flickered and danced, reaching for new fuel, but the Deceiver kept a steady aim and soon the ground around it was drenched. Fifteen seconds later, the flame flickered out and the last pale red ember went black.

Aurora demurely covered her eyes as Zetetic stuffed his manhood back into the briefs he wore beneath his robe.

"Good job," said Tower, his eyes on the Deceiver's face. "Fast thinking."

"I'm sure it seemed fast to you," said Zetetic. He dropped to one knee, studying the blackened ground. His eyes flickered over it like he was reading a map. He reached out and picked up a twisted black twig a few inches in length, right where Reeker had first been standing. He studied it closely, then asked, "Which idiot lit the match?"

"The half-seed!" exclaimed Lord Tower. He turned and bounded through the forest, his armor clanging. Up above, there were a hundred voices jabbering; we'd probably awakened every pygmy in a five mile radius.

Tower leapt into the pool with a splash, fishing around in the waist deep water with his gauntlets. He jerked upright suddenly, pulling a limp, blackened form back into the air.

Reeker wasn't moving. His hair was completely burned away; his scalp was raw and red, with charred black flesh peeling away from the bone in places. Tower laid him on the stone by the pool. He pressed on the skunk-man's chest, forcing out a fountain of water.

Menagerie rushed onto the scene, with No-Face trailing behind him. He didn't pause to ask what had happened. He pushed Tower aside and dropped his ear to his friend's chest. His brow knitted as he listened. Then, he jerked his head away and placed his mouth on Reeker's lips. Reeker's belly rose as Menagerie blew breath into him.

"Gluh," said No-Face, sadly.

Menagerie continued to work, breathing in air, then pushing it out, pausing between breathes to listen to the chest.

"Is there a heartbeat?" Aurora asked.

Menagerie shook his head.

"I can't believe he's dead," said Aurora, sounding sadder than I would have expected.

The Deceiver looked down at Reeker's charred form and said, "Why not? He's not breathing, there's no heartbeat, his skin looks like charcoal. It's not a difficult diagnosis."

Menagerie looked at the Deceiver as if he was ready to pounce on the man. Then, his body slackened and he said, in a soft voice, "Fix him. Please."

The Deceiver shook his head. "The Truthspeakers stripped me of the power to raise the dead. I'm sorry."

Menagerie ground his teeth together and clenched his fists, his anger rising. But instead of attacking Zetetic, he looked down at the fallen Goon.

"You moron," he said, his voice trembling.

"That's a fine good-bye," said Reeker's voice from the pool. I looked toward the rippling water and found a bilious yellow vapor rising, coalescing into the familiar form of Reeker. The pale spirit lingered for a few seconds as it looked down on the scene.

"Reeker! It's me! Stagger!"

Reeker's eye widened as he saw me. I drifted closer. His naked, barefoot ghost seemed shorter than he had been alive. There had been whispers that he wore lifts in his boots; apparently these rumors were true.

"Stagger?" he asked. "What are you doing here? You're dead!"

"So are you," I said. "I'm haunting Infidel. Well, technically, I'm haunting a knife. If you pick something and focus on it, you might be able to stick around."

He looked down at his burnt body. "Why would I want to stick around?" he said. "Look at what's left of me. It's going to hurt like hell popping back inside."

"I meant you can stay here as a ghost."

Reeker laughed. "How pathetic would that be? Life was fun because my body was fun. I could eat, drink, and fool around. Can a ghost do any of that?"

"No. But it beats just fading out to nothing, doesn't it?"

"What? You don't believe in heaven?" Reeker asked.

"You do?"

"Sure. Like a Black Swan barge in the sky. I'll just keep on eating, drinking, and sleeping around, only there I won't get bossed around by tattooed shapeshifters. And in heaven, all my friends will have, you know, faces." He looked on No-Face with a look of unconcealed disdain.

The giant man was standing over Reeker's body, shuddering, tears rolling over his blank features from his one visible eye, as he gurgled, "Guh huh huh huh. Guh huh huh huh."

"The big baby," Reeker said.

"Kind of a cold thing to say about the only man crying over your death."

Reeker shrugged. "Remember that little calico cat that used to hang around the bar? No-Face cried like a little girl when it got run over by that cart. Him crying over me is nothing special."

I had an epiphany as I looked into Reeker's remorseless face.

"I never liked you," I said.

"What a disappointment," he said with a sneer. "You were the biggest loser in Commonground. You had the most gorgeous girl on the island giving you goo-goo eyes and you never had the guts to sneak a kiss. You acted like you were smart, reading all those damn books, but what did you ever do that was important? You wasted your life."

I ground my ghost teeth, sorry I'd called out to his wraith.

Reeker glanced up at the tree houses. A hundred dark faces looked down at us. Among them was the tall, thin form of my grandfather. "Must run in the family. Hard to get less ambitious than living up a tree like a damn squirrel."

Before I could think of a retort, he turned his eyes toward the stars and drifted upward. "I've stuck around long enough. There are women waiting in the next world. I can hear them calling to me now." His phantom body remained intact as he rose, not dissipating the way Blade had. He cast one last glimpse down at his battered, broken body.

"Damn," he said, as he cleared the trees. "I was one handsome devil."

Meanwhile, Relic and Father Ver had joined the others at the pool. The assembled dragon-slayers glanced at one another.

"This is insane," said Zetetic, the first to state the obvious. "The dragon knows we're here. Let's call this off and try again some other century."

"Maybe he does know we're here," said Tower. "But does he know who we are? If he knows the danger we pose, why such a feeble attack?"

Relic nodded. "I concur. This was merely a test to see what he was up against. If he was worried by what he'd seen, lava would now be flowing down the slope toward us."

"We've lost a third of the party without reaching his lair," Zetetic said to Tower. "How many of us will have to die before you call this off?"

"All of us," said Tower. "We have a duty."

"You have a duty," snapped Zetetic. "What's in it for the rest of us?"

"Munuh," said No-Face.

"Money was going to be my answer too," said Menagerie.

"Was it worth losing a friend?"

"Reeker broke the contract; he paid the price." Menagerie's face was hard as he said, "The next Goon I recruit won't be such a pain in the ass."

"That's a very mercenary attitude," said the Deceiver.

"Is that surprising?" asked Aurora. "We're mercenaries."

Zetetic looked at Relic. "Fine. So Tower and Ver are here for duty, and the other's are here for money. What are you after?"

Relic pulled back his hunched shoulders and said, in a firm voice, "I'm surprised a man of your learning has to ask. Greatshadow's hoard is more than a collection of gold and gems. The greatest treasures of the Vanished Kingdom may be found amid his trove. There are scrolls containing plays that no man has seen performed in centuries, sculptures that once adorned the gardens of kings, and paintings and carvings that show the long forgotten world of my youth. I would pay any price to look once more upon these arts."

"You sound almost like you mean this," I said.

I thought it would sound plausible. It's simpler to say this than to reveal my true motive.

"Which is?"

Hatred. Pure and simple hatred of the beast. Every moment that he survives torments my very soul.

"Fine," said Zetetic. "Let me set you all straight on the real reason we're here. The Isle of Fire is the largest wild plot of land left in the world. It's covered in virgin timber, beneath which lies rich volcanic soils begging to be cultivated. The island has fresh water rivers and deep harbors perfect for cities. The king isn't trying to rid the world of some great evil by slaying Greatshadow. He's trying to expand his empire. Are you willing to die for that? Because I think that the greedy dreams of an already rich king are a lousy thing to die for."

"The king's motives are of no importance," said the Truthspeaker. "It matters only that you obey. Remember the X sanction."

Zetetic looked at Aurora, Menagerie, and No-Face. "Don't any of you wonder what he's talking about? Do any of you care what kind of monsters are paying your salaries?"

"Enlighten us," said Menagerie.

"I told you the Truthspeaker's stripped me of the power to raise the dead," said Zetetic. "When I do it, apparently, it's 'evil.'" He formed little quote marks with his fingers as he spoke the word. "But the Church is rife with hypocrisy when it comes to necromancy. I was captured a year ago. I didn't go down easy. I killed... what? Fifty knights?"

"Forty-three," said Lord Tower, tersely.

"They wasted no time when I was captured. I was bound and gagged and given a trial that lasted less than an hour. Ten minutes after my conviction, I was marched to the gallows where a noose was placed around my neck. Father Ver himself gave the order to hang me. I still have nightmares about the trapdoor swinging open beneath my feet."

"Apparently, you survived," said Aurora.

"No," said Zetetic. "I died."

Aurora furrowed her brow.

"King Brightmoon knew of my powers, and how useful those powers might be if he commanded them. So, he paid the church a bribe. He had the monks who pray Tower's armor into existence pray that my heart would once more start beating. I awoke from death to learn I'll stay alive only as long as they keep praying. Tower can send an order through his little magic book at any time for them to stop. That's the X sanction. Tower and Ver act all high and mighty and righteous, but they aren't above enslaving the unwilling dead if it will help the king expand his empire."

Father Ver said, "You are no slave, Deceiver. You're merely employed. Your wages are paid in heartbeats."

Zetetic looked at Aurora with a desperate look in his eyes. "I've no choice but to obey these bastards. But you and the others are free to resist!"

Aurora shrugged. "The Goons and I work for the Black Swan. We aren't all that shocked by a boss motivated by greed."

Zetetic shut up, a moderate pout upon his face. I suspect his feelings ran deeper, but his stitched lips prevented him from showing a full-fledged frown.

As interesting as learning what the X sanction was, I was more intrigued by the idea that Tower could communicate with the monks through his book. The notebook had been the only thing in Tower's hand when he stepped off the platform, then two seconds later he'd had the Gloryhammer in his grasp. Did the notebook contain some kind of portal spell? Maybe the Jagged Heart was still at the monastery, and could be sent to Tower when he was ready for it.

Before I could ponder the puzzle further, Grandfather lowered himself down from the trees on a looped vine. He stopped with his penis-gourd at eye-level and said, "You've worn out your welcome, long-men." Our packs and gear rained to the ground around us as the pygmies tossed them from the platform. "Leave at once. Return to the sea. You may not pass through our territory."

"We'll go where we wish," said Father Ver. "Should your kinsmen threaten us, we'll meet any attack with deadly force. You have no —"

Lord Tower raised his gauntlet, motioning for the Truthspeaker to stop speaking. "You were gracious to show us hospitality," he said to Grandfather. "We won't cause you any further bother. We're here to fight the dragon, not fellow men, pagans though you may be. We'll find another path."

The knight cast his gaze toward Relic. "It seems we must put your knowledge of this island to a test after all."

Relic nodded. "I know a way."

"Do you?" I asked.

Not really, he thought back at me.

I smiled. For the first time since I died, I finally felt useful. All these years of poking around the island were going to prove valuable after all.

"It looks like I've finally got the upper hand," I said. "I know how to get to the lair from here while avoiding Jawa Fruit territory."

And what is the price of this information? asked Relic.

I pressed my lips together, feeling horrible about what I was going to say. But... what choice did I have? "I'll keep spying on Tower. And in return... in return, you'll tell me what Infidel's thinking. I have to know. Is she really interested in him? Is there any danger at all that he'll win her over?"

Relic's eyes glowed in the shadows of his hood. A fair price. And what will you ask if you find that she does feel attraction?

I clenched my fists and said, "Nothing you're not already planning to do. Tower was never going to come out of Greatshadow's lair alive."

# 16 - OMENS

TO EVERYONE'S ASTONISHMENT, nobody died during the next week. I'll take credit. Having been turned away from Jawa Fruit territory, I had Relic guide the party along the cliffs to reach the north slope. This was the harshest terrain on the island; I knew it well, since the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom here had been left relatively untouched by previous generations of tomb raiders. Treasure seekers have a tendency to look for the easy score; if they had the taste for actual work, there were more reliable careers available. So, most of the explorers stuck to the relative ease of the southern and eastern slopes, as I had done early in my career. It was only after I'd forged a friendship with a woman who could toss half-ton rocks around like bales of hay that the northern slope had opened up to me. Some of my most profitable discoveries had been made here.

There were no navigable rivers on this side of the island, just cascading streams, so there were no river-pygmies. The few trees that clung to the rocky slopes were gnarled and stunted, unsuitable for forest-pygmies. That left only lava-pygmies to worry about, but since the Shattered Palace sat near the dead center of their territory, I didn't see anything we could do to avoid them.

As luck would have it, in the chaos that followed Infidel meeting my grandfather, she'd never bothered to clean the bone-handled knife. Relic had returned it to her and I was still free to move about. I felt like a child opening gift-wrapped presents, flitting from ruin to ruin as the others slogged slowly along narrow tracks that would give a mountain goat vertigo. The men of the Vanished Kingdom had regarded this rugged landscape as a spiritual place, carving countless small temples directly into the steep rock faces.

On my last trip through the area, I'd spotted some dark spots high up a jutting cliff that looked more like windows than natural cave openings. Infidel had been willing to risk the climb, but we'd spotted it near the end of our trip and our packs were already bulging, so we'd decided to save it for another day. As Tower's party crept along the yard-wide lip of rock that led beneath the windows, I could see from Infidel's expression that she remembered the place. I felt a pang of regret over this and a thousand other plans we'd made that we never got around to doing.

I fixed my eyes upon the windows and lifted toward them, as if carried by the updrafts that swept across the slope. I drifted inside, eager to discover if we'd passed up some priceless treasure.

Even before I went in, I saw clues that this wasn't an old temple. I'd looked at enough weathered rock over the years to tell the difference between stones dressed centuries ago and relatively fresh work. These windows looked no more than a few decades old, which meant they were likely the work of lava-pygmies. Once inside, the truth was even more evident, since the ceiling was low, only about five feet high, black with soot from a fire pit lined with stones. The fire pit was still warm and the gritty floor was covered with fresh footprints. At the back of the cave was a tunnel leading deeper into the mountain.

The whole volcano was honeycombed with these passages, carved by lava-pygmies with obsidian pick-axes. Despite all the work the little orange men put into digging these tunnels and caves, they didn't actually live underground. They used these tunnels mainly for religious rituals. For forest-pygmies and river-pygmies, Greatshadow was a god, but for lava-pygmies, Greatshadow was the god. These tunnels normally led to pools of lava where sacrifices would be made.

When I first discovered these areas, my instinct was to back out. For one thing, exploring them meant crawling for hours, which was rough on the knees. Plus, you never knew when you'd turn a corner and find yourself face to face with a band of pygmies armed with poison darts and a sense of righteous indignation.

Once I started exploring with Infidel, the balance of power had shifted enough that lava-pygmy temples had become targets. While the lava-pygmies lived in the same relative poverty as the rest of the islanders, their sacred sites were often decorated with a commodity too valuable to ignore: dragon bones.

In theory, there were no dragons left other than the primal dragons. A scrap of dragon hide or a single dragon tooth were exceedingly rare in the rest of the world. Yet, somehow lava pygmies always had dragon bones aplenty, along with hides that looked like they could have been tanned the week before. In The Vanished Kingdom, Grandfather had argued that these were the remains of ancient dragons, mummified and preserved by the dry, hot air inside the volcanic chambers. I'd never liked the theory. I'd spent enough time around the volcano to know that it might be hot, but it definitely wasn't dry. Things rotted in a heartbeat in these areas.

I may have been given a key to the mystery when the two dragons attacked Commonground. Maybe the remains came from Greatshadow's avatars once his spirit no longer animated them. Yet, when they'd been killed, their bodies had turned into slag and stone. No bones or hide had been recovered.

Since the party was creeping along the narrow path at a pace somewhere between snail and turtle, I decided I'd probe the tunnel a little deeper. The narrow passage was pitch black, yet my ghost eyes proved worthy to the task. In the absence of true light, the walls glowed with a soft, pale luminance. I wondered if the eerie illumination was some spiritual energy I had been unaware of when I was alive.

I followed the winding passageway long enough to get bored. Just as I decided to turn back I heard faint whispers ahead. I willed myself more swiftly along the corridor, in pursuit of the sound. The feeble, colorless spirit light gave way to a red glow. The dank tunnel air began to stink of smoke and rotten meat. I floated out of the narrow passage into a relatively large room, a rough circle twenty feet across, with a ceiling high enough that I was able to stand up straight again, assuming standing means anything when your feet can't actually touch the floor.

A dozen pygmies were gathered near a jagged crack in the floor, casting long shadows from a dull red glow. Lava bubbled at the bottom of the crack. A shaman dressed in feathers was tossing sticks into the hole, where they exploded into bright flares. The smoke had the sweetness of eucalyptus.

They pygmies jabbered excitedly; I think they were discussing the patterns of the smoke, reading them for omens. My lava-pygmy vocabulary wasn't all it could be. The only phrase I ever heard directly from lava-pygmies was "Yik! Yik! Yik!" which loosely translates as, "It's a long-man! Kill him!" Still, as best as I could piece together, the shaman was telling the men that the fire-giver had once again blessed them. The pygmies were standing shoulder to shoulder in a circle, looking down at something other than the smoking lava. I peered over the short wall they created and gasped.

A dragon lay before them.

Unlike the beasts that had attacked Commonground, there was no question this creature was flesh and blood. It was quite dead; its burst belly revealed entrails writhing with white maggots. The pygmies leaned down and began cutting into the scaly hide with obsidian knives. I'd used these blades before. They didn't hold an edge well, but when they were fresh, there wasn't anything sharper.

The pygmies peeled the flesh away from the skull. I winced as I saw that the left half of the skull was bashed in. That would certainly hurt its market value.

In size, the dragon wasn't much bigger than a goat. Its leathery wings had already been hacked off and were folded up along the edges of the lava pit. The snout had a bony horn similar to ones that baby lizards have to help chop themselves free of their eggshells.

Off to one side, a team of three shaman dressed in parrot feathers were scraping bright red scales from the hide into a large stone bowl. One of them grabbed a stone pestle and started grinding up the jewel-like scales. All three men spit frequently into the bowl, until it turned into a dark orange paste.

I'd always wondered what lava-pygmies used to dye their skins. Mystery solved.

Sadly, the dragon was decayed well past the stage where it had anything that could be called blood. I remembered my brief return to corporeality when Infidel had hacked into the dragon in Commonground, and my ability to touch Ivory Blade's ghost-blood. What would happen if I could put my hands onto some fresh dragon blood?

Hoping that Relic might have some insight on the matter, I surrendered to the ever present tug of the bone-handled knife. A second later, I shot out into bright sunlight and hot, gusty winds, where the others still inched along the rugged path.

I flitted down to Relic. "I just saw a dragon. Not a flame drake like Reeker let loose, but an actual corpse that was probably alive as little as a week ago."

Relic nodded. I see it in your mind.

"I thought all ordinary dragons were dead."

And that is all you saw. A dead dragon.

"Yeah, but freshly dead. Well, not fresh, but recent."

Relic didn't respond as he kept hobbling along the path.

"If human blood can restore my ghostly body, could dragon blood bring me back to life?"

Relic shook his head.

"But when Infidel —"

Regaining corporeality isn't the same as regaining life.

"I had a heartbeat. I was breathing. I was solid enough to get cut by the dragon's scales. If it wasn't exactly life, it was still better than what I've got right now."

Relic dismissed my reasoning with a wave of his gnarled hand. Dragon blood possesses more life energy than human blood, but it is far more volatile. Human blood will dry on the knife, sustaining your phantom form indefinitely. Dragon blood will vaporize in seconds. The illusion of life will be powerful during those seconds, but it will be unsustainable.

"In theory, if I had a herd of dragons to stab, I might stay alive for a long time."

Relic rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with this idea?" I asked. "That baby dragon can't be the only one. It must have parents, uncles, aunts, cousins. I mean, what are the odds that I just happened to stumble on the very last one of its kind?"

I admire your reasoning, but it is deeply flawed. The dragon you saw had but one parent: Greatshadow.

"This wasn't like the slag or fire dragons we've seen. It had entrails. It was meaty enough to rot."

Judicious provided you with the solution to the puzzle.

I scratched my ethereal scalp. What was he talking about?

Greatshadow is among the more physical of the primal dragons. Just as he hungers for meat, he also still possesses sexual urges, and has the magical abilities needed to satisfy these instincts.

"You mean Grandfather wasn't joking when the he said that Greatshadow can make extra bodies with female aspects?"

Judicious also told you that the primal dragons pay for the vast scope of their powers with a loss of identity. The female bodies Greatshadow creates sometimes become so confused they believe themselves to be true dragons, separate from Greatshadow. They unconsciously use the magical energy that sustains them to shape their bodies further, to the point that mating with Greatshadow is capable of producing fertilized eggs.

"That is just disturbing."

Greatshadow isn't pleased by the consequences either. Some females are wily enough to conceal the eggs; once or twice a decade, an egg actually hatches and a new dragon is born. Despite being born with a portion of Greatshadow's own memory and intelligence due to their inherited telepathy, they never survive long. Greatshadow eventually discovers them and kills them. Lava-pygmy shaman harvest the remains.

"How do you know all this?" I asked.

He again tapped his forehead. Maybe he'd read the thoughts of lava-pygmies. For all I knew, he'd read the thoughts of Greatshadow himself.

He looked up the slope and thought to me, We are near. I smell it on the air.

He was right. In another mile we'd leave the worst of the cliffs behind and have a clear path along the relatively tame terrain leading to the Shattered Palace. It was still ten miles away, but once we were off these goat-tripping pathways, we'd make good progress.

I glanced back to Infidel, who'd fallen once more into her War Doll role. Her face was utterly blank as she inched along the narrow stone, the oversized pack balanced upon her shoulders. A single misstep and she'd be over the edge; it might be a mile before she stopped rolling. Of course, Tower would probably swoop in to save her.

"So... have you been keeping track of her thoughts? About Tower?"

Yes. Would you like to know her true feelings?

I stared at her for a long moment. When I'd been alive, I'd lacked the courage to ask about her feelings. Now, I was going to learn them in the most cowardly way possible.

I turned away from both Infidel and Relic. "Not yet," I said.

And maybe never. Because, if there was even a sliver of hope that I might be briefly reunited with her, I wanted to be able to look into her eyes without shame.

WE ARRIVED AT the Shattered Palace barely an hour from sunset. I hadn't visited these ruins in years; they hadn't gotten any less spooky in the intervening time. The entire area is surrounded by a stone wall that used to be sixty feet tall, but most of it has collapsed into overgrown mounds. A few lone towers still stand, leaning at precarious angles, the stones held together by their corsets of vines. Beyond this was the grand courtyard, a quarter mile of barren, pitch-black stone rumored to be cursed. The fine ghost-hairs of my arms rose as I followed Infidel across the ebony earth.

The palace itself had once been carved into the side of the mountain. In classic Vanished Kingdom style, it had been adorned with high, narrow pillars, large stone heads, and numerous windows and balconies. At some point in the distant past, the palace had collapsed in on itself. The columns were broken, the stone heads split in two, and the walls shattered into gravel. If you scrambled over the rubble, there were passages leading into the mountain, but these, too, were mostly filled with broken stone and more bat guano than any sane man would want to crawl through.

Of course, men who came this far into the jungle were seldom the model of mental health. In any tunnel, you could find evidence of previous explorers, lanterns with broken glass, block and tackles locked with rust, various spikes and pinions draped with the rotting remains of rope.

The sheer scale and scope of the ruins called out to any treasure hunter. I'd come here long before I met Infidel. I'd turned back when I found the crushed remains of an earlier explorer. There's a chance the guy had been someone I knew; the stench of the corpse, if corpse was the right word, was still relatively ripe. The reason I hesitate to use the word corpse is that it implies there was a body, and, really, what remained was best described as a smeared paste, vaguely man-shaped, coating a smooth stone wall. Whoever he'd been, he'd had a shovel, and whatever had smacked into him had caught the blade on the edge and folded it up like an accordion. After two days of wheezing in the ammonia rich air, slipping in the guano, the sight of the flattened body had dampened my curiosity and I turned back.

"This is a good place to set up camp," said Tower, touching down in the center of the courtyard.

"I respectfully disagree," said Relic. "Lava-pygmies conduct rituals here. If they find us on their sacred ground, we'll have to fight."

"They already know we're here," said Menagerie, in the form of an ocelot, scanning the mounds of stone surrounding the courtyard. "I've spotted a few dozen, but they seem wary. My gut tells me they'll keep their distance. They may not be as kind to the others."

"Others?" asked Tower.

"Explorers. Tomb looters. They have a camp about a half mile down the mountain. I can smell them."

Zetetic raised an eyebrow. "You can tell they're looters by the way they smell?"

"In this case, yes," said Menagerie. "I know these scents well. It's Hookhand and his Machete Quartet. They always fence their stuff at the Black Swan."

"Of all the people to survive the tidal wave," I said, giving Infidel a knowing look. Hookhand and I had a rivalry that ran back twenty years. More than once I'd gone off chasing the rumor of some newly discovered ruin to find the bastard had beaten me to it.

"I don't think the pygmies pose a serious threat," said Lord Tower, rising up to survey the area. "The walls may be in ruins, but they're still formidable barriers. To attack in mass, the pygmies would have to come through the gate. We'll simply post a watch there and frighten them away with a show of force if necessary. Aurora and Father Ver can start the night. No-Face and Menagerie will follow them. The War Doll and I will take the final shift to see us through until dawn."

Aurora winked at Infidel, though I don't think anyone else saw it. Infidel simply stared straight ahead, still playing the emotionless machine.

WITHOUT THE STEADY winds of the north slope to shield us, the mosquitoes came on strong that evening. Father Ver was particularly afflicted by the buzzing bloodsuckers. He was in a foul mood as he waited at the gate, his scowl lines and bald pate covered with red welts.

Aurora had little to fear from the insects. They froze stiff the second they touched her pale skin, tumbling into an ever growing pile around her.

"I can soothe those if you'd like," Aurora said as Father Ver scratched his face.

"I want no part of your pagan magic," said Father Ver. "Under any other circumstances, I would have already banished an abomination such as yourself."

Aurora leaned back against the stone pillar. "Is there something in your holy book that demands that you be nasty to people?"

"You don't qualify as people," said the Truthspeaker. "Ogres, along with pygmies, mermen, and the shadowfolk, are merely distorted reflections of true humanity, lies given substance by the false beliefs of fools. When the Omega Reader opens the One True Book, your kind will vanish from this world like a nightmare fading from a waking mind."

"Whatever," said Aurora. "You know, I hope I'm around when your book is finally opened. It would be priceless to watch your face fall as you discover everything you believe is wrong."

Father Ver didn't respond.

Aurora kept talking: "You Truthspeakers spend the majority of your life hidden in a remote temple, purposefully set apart from the real world, so that you can be brainwashed into a 'truth' that has nothing to do with reality." Aurora looked up at the sky. There were very few stars shining through the tropical humidity. "I come from a land where truth is stark and tangible, a landscape white as paper for as far as the eye can see. You quickly come to grips with what is real, or you die. Spend a single week out on the tundra, old man, then come back and tell me if you still believe reality is found in some book."

Father Ver slapped a mosquito on the back of his hand. "I find discussions with unreal beings tedious. Let us pass the guard shift without further attempts at conversation."

Aurora said, "I'd be fine with that, except we're going to be fighting for our lives together against Greatshadow. Among my people, it's important to know the mind of the person you're standing shoulder to shoulder with. If you and I must be allies, shouldn't we make at least some small attempt to be friends?"

"My mind is no great mystery," said Father Ver. "I've come here to make a stand for what is good; against an evil as strong as Greatshadow, I grudgingly agree to stand shoulder to shoulder with monsters. I don't like you, ogre, and will never be your friend. But, in battle, know that I will surrender my life to save yours should victory demand it. You do not need my friendship. You have something far more valuable: my sacred word."

Aurora nodded slightly, then returned to her star-gazing, letting the rest of their shift pass in silence. And though Father Ver never acknowledged it, let alone thanked her, the air around the gate was cold and dry, as frost covered mosquitoes fell like snowflakes around them.

"MUH HUHN HURS," moaned No-Face, rubbing his bandaged hand as he leaned against the stone gate and peered out into the darkness.

Menagerie sat cross-legged on the ground, his hands resting lightly on his knees. He said, "I know your hand hurts. Talking about it won't make it feel better. Listen."

No-Face tilted his head. The forest was cacophonous with life; frogs, bugs, and night-birds shouting with all their power to catch the attention of potential mates. It took a moment's concentration to pick out a distant, dull, doom, doom, doom.

"Guh?"

"War drums. They say the Death Angel has returned."

No-Face pointed a finger at his own chest.

"Don't flatter yourself. They mean Infidel. Apparently she did something to piss them off."

No-Face chuckled, low and gravelly, then said, "Muhbuh shuh fuhd. Huh huh huh."

"Yeah, right."

They both fell silent, listening to the bass pulse beneath the thrumming ocean of sound.

Menagerie craned his neck, following the bouncing signals. He allowed himself a slight smile. "The Cracked Earth tribe reports a bad omen. The goat they tossed into the lava screamed three times before it died. Attacking tonight would bring certain disaster."

"Grah," said No-Face, his shoulder's sagging.

"Don't sound so disappointed. You'll see plenty of action. We won't have Reeker around for wide area control. I'm already out of blood for some of my big cats. I need you to fight smart."

No-Face wrapped his chain around his damaged hand, then spun around and punched the stone beside him, sending out a spray of sparks. The sharp crack of the blow momentarily silenced the nearest wildlife, leaving only the throb of the drums, which suddenly quickened their pace. No-Face lowered his hand, his one eye gleaming with satisfaction at the dinner-plate-sized crater he'd made in the solid rock.

"Gut duh jub dum muh wah!"

"Fine then," Menagerie said, shaking his head. "Fight the way you always fight."

The bugs began to buzz again as the two men fell into silence. Soon the drums vanished once more beneath the sonic waves of life.

"Duhm," said No-Face, rubbing his knuckles. "Muh Rukuh."

"I know," said Menagerie, staring into the darkness. "I miss him too."

SINCE WE'D LEFT the Jawa Fruit tribe, Tower had barely made eye contact with Infidel. When I spied on him at night, his prayers had been especially heavy with the whole "wisdom to know lust from love" theme. With any luck, he'd decide to just forget Infidel and find some nice girl whose life wasn't an affront to all he held holy.

The two of them walked up to relieve the Goons. Lord Tower was fully dressed in his armor; I couldn't see his face. Infidel strolled behind him, biting her lower lip. Her expression could have been nervousness... or it could have been anticipation.

"You hear the war drums?" Menagerie asked as Tower reached the gates.

"No," said Tower.

"The pygmies aren't happy we're here. But, the Cracked Earth tribe is refusing to take part in an attack tonight. Bad omens."

"Excellent," said Tower. "We won't be here tomorrow night. I see no reason for unnecessary bloodshed."

"Hukhuh," said No-Face.

"He's right," said Menagerie. "They aren't going to attack Hookhand either. With your permission, we'll slip down to their camp and finish them off."

Tower cocked his head. "Why would we want to do that?"

Menagerie looked genuinely startled by the question. "We're going to be too busy fighting the dragon to secure any treasures we might find along the way. We don't want Hookhand to slip in behind us and start looting before we even have time to make an inventory."

"They don't even know we're here," said Tower.

"Which makes this the perfect time to take them by surprise," said Menagerie, grinding his fist into his palm.

"I'm not going to order innocent men be put to death simply because they had the misfortune of camping near us."

"Innocent?" Menagerie stared at the knight in shock. "You don't earn a name like Hookhand and the Machete Quartet by being good citizens. We need to —"

"I've heard your concerns," Tower said. "I've made my decision. If Hookhand bothers us, we'll deal with him. For now, get some rest."

Menagerie opened his mouth to argue further, then caught himself. He said, tersely, "Yes sir," then headed back to the sleeping area with No-Face close behind, rattling his chain.

Once they were several yards away, Tower pulled off his helmet. He produced the small leather bound book from his hip compartment, opened it to a blank page, and tapped his helmet against it. There was a bubble of light, a sound like ripping paper, and the helmet was gone. The blank page now had a drawing of a helmet upon it.

"That's damn convenient," said Infidel, her eyes wide as she looked at the book. Her expression changed to a frown as she rubbed her jaw. "Man, it feels weird to talk after being quiet for so long." She pursed her lips, licking them. "The words tickle my mouth."

"I have something else to tickle your mouth," said Tower, leaning forward, his eyes closed, his lips puckered.

He kissed only air. She stepped backwards at the last second.

"Careful," said Infidel, glancing back toward camp. "The Goons aren't in bed yet. You don't want them to see anything."

"Let them see," said Tower, stepping toward her, grabbing her by the arms. "Soon, I shall declare my love to the entire world!"

"Soon, maybe, but not now," said Infidel. "We don't want to get Father Ver all riled up."

Tower's grip loosened on her arms at the mention of the holy man. His eyes locked on hers in a look of fierce confidence. "Since last we spoke, I have searched my soul. You asked if I would obey Father Ver if he ordered that I arrest you. At the time, I was greatly troubled by the question. Now, I have no doubt. I would fight to the death to protect you, even against Father Ver. My love for you is greater than blind obedience to authority."

"Ooooh," said Infidel. "That kind of attitude will get you put on the naughty list. Believe me, I know."

"Let it be so. I would suffer the torments of hell for a single night in your arms, my love," he said, his voice low and serious.

Infidel pushed his hands off her arms and turned her back to him. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I mean, I'm flattered. Really, it's a very nice thing to say. But, I hate to think I just lugged a half ton of gear across a million miles of goat trails for nothing. We've got a dragon to hunt. After we kill it, we can start discussing, you know, romantic stuff. For now, we need to stay focused on the task at hand. Like... well, for instance, I was wondering if you had, I don't know, any sort of special weapon to use against Greatshadow? I mean, your hammer didn't even make a dent in that little fire lizard we fought."

Tower smiled. "We would not undertake this quest if the proper weapon for the job hadn't fallen into our hands. Have you heard of the Jagged Heart?"

"Nope. Never. Tell me about it," said Infidel.

"The Jagged Heart was a weapon revered by the frost-ogres. It's a harpoon tipped with a fragment of the shattered heart of Hush, the primal dragon of cold. Once, she was in love with Greatshadow, but she betrayed his trust in an affair with Glorious, the primal dragon of the sun. After Glorious went on to reject her, Greatshadow spurned her as well. Hush's heart broke into a thousand shards, the largest of which was turned into a harpoon by the ice ogres."

"Sound's painful. Must not have been fatal, however. Hush is still a power up north."

"As elemental creatures, primal dragons obey different physical rules. Hush endures, but her bitterness still chills much of the world."

"And this Jagged Heart is pretty powerful, huh?"

"It's cold is such that it extinguishes any heat or flame. Anything it touches shatters, be it steel or dragon hide."

"Anything? How about your armor?"

"My armor could resist the cold. It's composed of prayer and faith rather than base matter. As long as the monk's maintain their vigilance, I'm immune from all harm."

Infidel leaned close, placing a hand on his chest. "So... nothing can break through it? Nothing at all?" She ran her fingers along his breastplate. "Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "It doesn't feel like metal. It's warm. And sort of... silky." She breathed on it, then rubbed her finger. "I notice it doesn't show fingerprints, either."

"You may touch it as much as you desire," said Tower, his voice purring. "It will always maintain its pristine condition."

Infidel pulled her hand away. "So, uh, the Jagged Heart's a harpoon? Those are pretty big. You obviously aren't carrying it. I guess that book stores more than just your armor?"

"Yes," said Tower. "It's filled with many types of equipment. And, on the final page, anything I write is instantly duplicated in a matching book in the monastery. They may also add items to their book for my use."

"And that's how you'd trigger the X sanction?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Don't you think it's creepy that we're working with someone who's kinda, sorta dead? I mean, I never got along with my father, but I didn't think he'd get involved with necromancy. I especially didn't think the church would go along with something like this."

"The needs of a king and the needs of the church don't always overlap," said Tower. He looked toward the faint glow of the caldera. It had been especially calm ever since the eruption. "Of course, sometimes they do. The church hates all primal dragons. The king wants this island for its natural wealth." He waved his gauntleted hand toward the forest. "Think of the navy that can be built with such an endless supply of large trees. We've long ago exhausted all useful timber on the Silver Isle, and now the forests on the Isle of Apes are producing fewer and fewer large trees. Anywhere the king searches for new resources, he finds primal dragons standing in the way. But, plans have now been set in motion to rid the world not just of Greatshadow, but of all the dragons. In the not so distant future, King Brightmoon will face no barriers at all in his quest to expand our great civilization. "

"Hmm," said Infidel, running her hands along the seams of his chest plate, tracing the joints lightly with her fingernails. "I suppose ruling the world does excuse a little necromancy."

Tower stared deeply into Infidel's eyes. "And you, my lovely princess, you are the last surviving link to the bloodline of your father. Our children will have the sole claim to inherit the crown. Think of it, my darling: the product of my seed and your womb will hold dominion over the earth!"

Infidel met his gaze and said, "This is quite a vision."

"A grand vision," said Tower. "And a true one. I believe with all my heart that our story is the central narrative of the One True Book. Our life and love are the very core of history. It is destiny. Our destiny."

Infidel turned her back to him. "You'll pardon me if I need some time to think about this. This is quite a lot to swallow."

"Would it help if you had something sweet and cream-filled to swallow first?" Tower asked.

At first I assumed this was the worst sexual innuendo I'd ever heard, but Tower surprised me by turning to a new page in the book and tapping it. Instantly the night air was cut through by the scent of vanilla. Infidel's nose twitched as she peaked back over her shoulder. Her face lit up with a huge grin as she spun around.

Tower was holding a silver plate on which set the tallest slice of cake I'd ever seen. The dessert was composed of seven inch thick layers of golden cake separated by velvety frosting as white as fresh snow. The whole plate was dusted with confectioner's sugar and delicate daisy petals composed of frosting. As Infidel stared at the pastry, I felt a surge of delight to see her smiling so after such a long period of sadness, then a surge of jealousy that I wasn't responsible for her joy.

"I wrote the monks and asked them to hire the finest bakers. They placed the result into my book only hours ago. Enjoy!"

Tower produced a fork as he spoke, but it was too late. Infidel had already snatched up the confection with her fingers and was shoving into her mouth. She might have been raised in a palace, but she'd had fifteen years in Commonground to shed any table manners. I hoped that Tower might be turned off by the sight of such messy hunger.

Instead, his own eyes as he stared at her frosted covered lips told of a deeper hunger still.

# 17 - THRONE

THE WAR DRUMS ended at dawn. Silver mist covered the black stones of the courtyard as the sunbeams seeped through the trees. The dragon-hunters woke to a breakfast of dried sausages and bananas.

Father Ver unrolled the golden map on a section of lichen-covered column. Everyone gathered around, chewing their sausages as they looked at the gleaming scroll.

Aurora was the first to break the silence. "So this is really going to happen. We're going face to face with Greatshadow."

Lord Tower nodded. "We've paid a steep price to come this far. Yet, when I look around this courtyard, I'm certain we shall succeed. Never before has the dragon faced a band of adventurers with our combined power."

"It isn't power that will guarantee our victory," said Father Ver. "It's the rightness of our cause. We're the champions of truth, pitting ourselves against the living embodiment of falsehood. We must not fail."

Zetetic opened his mouth, inhaling to speak.

Ver cut him off with a raised hand. "We know your thoughts on the matter."

"Not all of them," said the Deceiver. "You've dragged me back from the grave for this mission. That's an admission that you can't do this without me. I'd like to name my terms."

"You'll do what we tell you," said Father Ver, "or you will die."

"You admit I do have a choice," said Zetetic.

"You won't disobey," said Tower. "You've proven your instincts for self-preservation."

"Which is why I'm not thrilled about being drafted for this suicide mission. But, let's pretend for a moment that there's one chance in a million we'll beat Greatshadow. Our goal, while unlikely, isn't impossible. Assuming we come out of this alive, I have certain demands."

"You're in no position to issue demands," grumbled Father Ver.

Tower said, "I'd like to hear them."

Father Ver raised his eyebrows. Even the Deceiver looked surprised.

Tower said, "Believe it or not, Zetetic, I'd prefer you were a willing member of this party. If there is something you want that we can provide, tell us."

Zetetic looked off balance, as if he hadn't expected Tower to actually listen. He cleared his throat. "Very well. Of all the reasons I've heard for doing this, Relic's motive is the only one that makes sense to me. Look around you. We're standing in the middle of a fallen civilization once more advanced than our own. Within Greatshadow's lair, we'll find artifacts of these people. Our understanding of the world could be forever changed by what we learn of their science, their religion, and their art."

"The fact that their civilization failed is evidence that they had nothing of value to offer us," said Father Ver.

"Nonetheless, if we do survive this, I don't want to see the artifacts simply looted. I'll promise my willing cooperation on one condition: I get to review each item we recover for cultural, historical, and magical significance. I don't want to unearth these treasures merely so that the king can use the jewels to decorate his toilet."

"We cannot grant this," said Father Ver, wasting no time to consider the offer. "We shall bring in monks to catalog the treasure. The mercenaries will be compensated according to their contracts, and what remains will be divided between the church and the king."

"The church and the king are wealthy enough," said Zetetic. "The king will get the island and its natural wealth. The church will grow as it boasts of an evil vanquished. The only treasure I seek is knowledge. I've traveled the world, driven by my hunger to learn more. I've explored palaces beneath the waves, and studied in cities built upon clouds. Greatshadow's hoard is a doorway to a new land: the distant past."

Father Ver shook his head. "We know all we need to of the Vanished Kingdom. These poor men followed mistaken religions. Time has erased their failed gods from memory. Should any idols of these false faiths be found, we must destroy them so that no weak-minded men can be led astray."

"Your church claims to honor truth above all," said Zetetic. "Yet you seek to erase the truth of earlier times. We should document and study —"

"Enough!" Lord Tower slapped the Gloryhammer into his gauntleted palm. "Father Ver, the Church will remain the final arbiter in distributing the treasure. However, I find no problem with granting the Deceiver what he's asked for: not control of the treasure, but the opportunity to study it. We must catalog the treasure anyway. Zetetic may oversee this work."

"This had better not slow down our pay," said Menagerie.

"It won't," said Tower.

"I'm surprised you're capitulating on this, Tower," said Zetetic.

"Surprised or not, I'm giving you my word," said the knight. "I want you to fight with your full heart. I want you" — he glanced around the gathering — "all of you, to understand the importance of our mission. As Reeker's death reminds us, Greatshadow's malignant intelligence spies upon mankind through every candle, waiting for any moment of carelessness to strike. After we slay the dragon, mankind need never fear fire again." He looked around the tangled jungle and shook his head. "A once great kingdom, buried beneath a hostile wilderness. Such a waste, and Greatshadow is to blame. Here, life is brutal and short; the civilized concepts of mercy, compassion, and justice have failed to take hold against these twisted roots. These noble ideas are what we are truly fighting for. When Greatshadow falls, we shall tame this land. The world will no longer have any place where the wicked may hide from the righteous."

"I appreciate the attempt at inspiring us," said Aurora. "What I'm not hearing is how we're going to actually kill the dragon. Your hammer couldn't even touch the fire-drake."

"The drake was nothing but flame. Greatshadow has a body."

"True. But he's not just a body. Assuming we can kill the big lizard part of him, how do we touch his spirit?"

I knew she was digging for information about the Jagged Heart, but Tower didn't give her any satisfaction. "An excellent question," he said. "We will launch our assault on the beast from the ancient temple that lies below." He tapped a star-shaped chamber on the map.

"Why's that going to make any difference?" asked Menagerie.

Zetetic said, "Despite Ver's insistence that his religion has all the answers, all temples are imbued by the collective energies of their worshippers with special properties. The veil between the material and immaterial is especially thin in these places. Thanks to my metaphysical flexibility, I can manipulate the temple energies to open a door to the spirit world. Father Ver is in possession of a Writ of Judgment. I'll send him into the spirit world to confront Greatshadow's soul."

"He's that powerful?" Aurora asked.

Father Ver shook his head. "Even if I weren't reading the scroll, the sentence of death written upon it comes from the highest earthly power of the church, the Voice of the Book. The beast's soul will fade when confronted by his truthful verdict as frost retreats before sunlight."

Aurora looked dubious; frost sparkled on her cheeks as the morning brightened.

Lord Tower said, "With Greatshadow's soul destroyed, slaying the beast's body will be my duty."

"Buhuh pluh?" asked No-Face.

Menagerie nodded. "Your plan does seems a little... spare. What happens if the priest fails? What happens if the dragon fries you?"

Tower nodded. "If needed, I may also travel to the spirit realm, since I have a weapon that my harm the dragon's spirit. As for Greatshadow's body, you killed two dragons in Commonground. You're the back-up plan."

"I appreciate your confidence," said Menagerie.

Tower looked back at the map. "Of course, there are challenges before we reach the dragon. Most of this palace used to be above ground. Lava flows have covered much of it; earthquakes have wiped out entire sections of a complex that once covered two square miles. Previous explorers have wiggled through a maze of narrow tunnels to try to survey what they could. However, if the monks have interpreted the map correctly, the depression in the center of the courtyard was once a ceremonial well before it was filled with debris. We can dig straight down one hundred feet through the courtyard to reach deep passageways that may still be intact, then follow these to the temple."

Tower pointed at the spot in the courtyard where they'd have to dig. Menagerie looked at the jumbled boulders than said, "I hope the Gloryhammer can turn into a Gloryshovel. Even though I have a mole tattoo, digging through a hundred feet of rock might take a while."

"We can be down below in ten minutes, if Father Ver doesn't screw with me," said Zetetic.

"Behave and he won't have to," said Tower. "Show us what you can do."

"Very well." Zetetic glanced at No-Face, their gazes locking for the briefest of seconds. "I possess the ability to move rocks through pure mental force."

He held his hands toward the rock pile, his brow furrowed. Everyone looked at the rocks, anticipating a show. Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. Father Ver turned his back to the Deceiver, scowling deeply. Still, nothing happened. Aurora shook her head. You could tell she didn't think Zetetic could do it.

No-Face kept staring. I floated over the boulder-filled pit. I held my ghost-breath, catching hint of a faint rumble below. Without warning, fist-sized stones beneath me began to dance, bouncing into the air a few inches at first, then a few feet. A stone the size of a watermelon stood on end, then slowly rose, wobbling, until suddenly it shot out in a long arc over the jungle, vanishing from sight. The ground trembled as stone after stone rose; chunks of rock as big as rowboats lurched heavenward. Waves of dust rolled over the courtyard as uncounted tons of stone sailed out of sight.

"Damn," I said, looking back at Relic. "I wish I'd known this guy back when I was looting these ruins. I mean, exploring. Exploring these ruins."

You could be exploring the ruins now, thought Relic. You could confirm that this does, in fact, lead to an open passage.

I slapped myself on my intangible forehead. What was I waiting for? I dove into the solid ground like it was a swimming pool. Instantly, I regretted it. It was one of the few moments since I'd died that I truly felt dead, cut off from light and air, surrounded by lifeless earth. It took all my willpower to continue sinking into the suffocating darkness. I couldn't help but think about my body, enshrouded by silent blackness, six-feet of sandy soil forever pressing down. I hadn't thought much about my old shell, but burial now struck me as a cruel thing to do to a body. Still, what was the alternative? Reeker hadn't made cremation look attractive. If I'd had a say in deciding my final resting place, I'd have asked that my corpse be placed inside a giant glass jar full of pure grain alcohol. Set me in the corner of the Black Swan and let life go on around me. Of course, if everyone did this, bars would be pretty overcrowded with pickled mummies. Worse, it'd waste an awful lot of booze.

I've no way of judging how far I sank before my head emerged into the hallway. It glowed with the same pale spirit light I'd found in the pygmy tunnels. Tile murals decorated both walls. Beneath thick layers of grime, once vivid colors depicted a procession of what I assumed to be royalty. The people portrayed were tall and slender, with bone-white skin, the color of pygmy flesh without dye. Both women and men were bare-breasted; both sexes wore bright green skirts rather than pants. The men's legs showed from the mid-thigh down, while the women were covered all the way to the ankle. Everyone portrayed wore copious amounts of jewelry; I peered closer, trying to figure out if the yellow gleam beneath the dust was actual gold or merely paint. I instinctively scraped at the grime but, of course, my nails passed right through.

The men were depicted with large jade rings in their noses and ears; the women had no piercings, but their hair was piled high on their heads and bound up in coils of gold. In the background of the mural were a dozen buildings ablaze with color; bright red and yellow flags decorated bamboo mansions, long since rotted away. Beyond the cityscape, the jungle looked much the same, the towering trees flecked with red. Blood-tangle vine must have been a nuisance even then.

The procession was accompanied by animals on leashes - tall dogs with wasp-thin waists, yellow and black tigers, and some big-ass preying mantises. I'd seen plenty of giant bugs in the jungle, but you could have put a saddle on these things.

I leaned closer, studying the legs of the insects. The joints were ringed with small dots, like rivets. They looked familiar. Then it hit me - the bugs were machines, like the mechanical tiger that had given Infidel a hard time. I examined a tiger in the mural: it, too, was plainly mechanical beneath its yellow and black paint. Could Infidel have fought this very same cat?

Before I could explore further, dust began to rain down from the walls as the surrounding earth groaned. Up ahead, shafts of light began to jab into the darkness as the fallen rubble was jerked skyward by the Deceiver's telekinesis. I squinted as I made my way through the dust toward the ever brightening light. The last of the rocks lifted, revealing a ragged hole in the roof. I peeked to see how high it was, but jumped back as a boa constrictor slithered through the hole, scanning the hallway with copper-colored eyes. Its tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air as its seemingly endless body flowed into the hall.

The serpent erupted into a sudden fit of coughing. After catching its breath, it twisted its head back up into the hole and shouted, "It'sss dusssty, but looksss sssafe!"

The shaft of sunlight suddenly grew a dozen times brighter. I retreated back, shielding my eyes, as Lord Tower landed with a clatter in the center of the hall, the Gloryhammer casting shadows out behind him. He raised the hammer over his head as he turned in a slow circle to study his surroundings. The gold glittering in the mosaic caught his eye and he wiped away the dust with gauntleted fingers. My hate for him deepened exponentially. It wasn't enough that got to kiss Infidel? He got to explore ruins more effectively as well?

"Paint?" asked the boa.

Tower flicked his right hand and the gauntlet of the faith armor sprouted razorblade fingernails. He delicately grabbed a single golden tile the size of an olive pit and twisted, popping it free. He rolled it in his palm, letting it catch the light.

"Sssolid gold," said the boa, its tongue flickering near the metal. He looked up and down the hall. "If the gemstones are also real, this hall alone is priceless. Once we melt down the metals and —"

"You'd do that?" Tower asked. As he spoke, ropes were dropping into the hole from above.

"Do what?" asked the boa. "Melt down the metalsss?"

"As much as I hate to side with Zetetic, it seems wasteful to destroy such a work of art," said Tower.

The boa's nostrils twitched. "I don't see how we'll spend the money otherwise. It would be difficult to carry an entire hallway back to Commonground."

Tower placed the gold tile back in place, carefully balancing it so that it wouldn't fall. He didn't say anything; perhaps he was shocked by Menagerie's attitude. I really couldn't claim any moral high ground. If I'd found this wall a year ago, I'd have chipped out the more valuable bits myself.

No-Face and the Deceiver were the next ones down. The Deceiver whistled as he looked at the murals.

No-Face chuckled, then said, "Wuh ruh!"

"Yeah," said the boa, "we're rich."

Zetetic moved toward the dusty wall. "I can clear this dust so we can get a better look." He sucked in a lungful of air, then exhaled, his breath swiftly turning into a gale force wind that blew the dirt from a ten foot section of the mural, sending everyone else into a sneezing fit. The Deceiver's eyes lit up like a child being offered candy. He leapt to the exposed artwork, tracing his fingers along a yellow circle near the top of the mosaic, a single piece of glazed ceramic nearly a yard across.

"A sun disk!" he said, excited. "It's rare to find these intact. Judicious Merchant said that he found so many shattered, he was certain that they'd been destroyed deliberately. He speculated that a new god arose in opposition to the sun god these disks represent."

"All it representsss to me isss money," said the boa. "Large artifacts bring good prices."

"How can you be so crass?" asked Zetetic. He looked at Tower. "This is precisely why we need to protect these treasures."

"Protect them for what?" asked the snake. "The world hasss carried on without them for thousandsss of yearsss. Who'sss harmed if thessse thingsss are sssold to the highessst bidder?"

"Tower, if the king wants to civilize this island, think of how much easier it will be to draw settlers if there are artistic wonders in place to delight them," said Zetetic.

"You'll draw more people once word ssspreadssss of lossst gold to be found," said the boa.

Aurora and Father Ver were down now; Infidel followed a second later, with Relic clinging to her back.

Father Ver looked at the sun disk. He looked toward Tower, his eyes fixed on the Gloryhammer as he said, "May I?"

Tower handed over the magic weapon as casually as if the priest had asked him to pass him the salt at dinner.

With a grunt, the Truthspeaker swung the hammer, smashing it into the center of the ancient artifact. The disk rained to the floor in a hundred shards.

Father Ver tossed the hammer back to Tower. "The false idols of doomed men aren't treasure. They're physical blasphemy, fit only for destruction."

Zetetic stared at the shattered disk, slack-jawed. His face hardened as he turned his eyes toward the Truthspeaker. He lunged, hands reaching for the holy man's throat as he shouted, "You son of a —"

No-Face caught the Deceiver by the neck and threw him to the ground. He dropped his iron ball, letting the chain catch half an inch from Zetetic's face. The Deceiver flinched.

"I'll behave now," he said.

"Maybe he will," said Menagerie, his snake-eyes gleaming. "But I must protessst. That disssk was more valuable intact than broken. We're due a percentage of the treasure. I mussst insissst that we do not decreassse the value of the artifactsss we find."

"You're the one wanting to melt down the gold," said Tower, sounding exasperated.

"Whuh buh hukha?" asked No-Face.

"He'ssss right," said Menagerie. "We mussst refill the hole ssso that Hookhand cannot loot thisss hall while we're busy elsewhere."

Tower raised his hand and said, "This debate is over." He glared at Father Ver. "Leave the idols and artwork we pass unmolested." He turned to Menagerie. "You aren't owed a single coin until Greatshadow's dead. Once we've accomplished that mission, we'll secure the area. Until then, ignore any treasure we happen upon."

The boa turned his pointy face away and grumbled, "You're the bossss."

"Gruh," said No-Face, with a shrug. He looked down, then offered Zetetic an outstretched hand to help him back to his feet.

"Lord Tower, if I may offer guidance, this way leads to the King's Court." Relic pointed westward with his spindly arm. I noticed that his cloak was stirring in a slight breeze. Air was flowing around him, the dust in the sunlit circle rising up in a swirl.

Aurora held her hand toward the breeze. "It's hot as a furnace," she said.

"It will only get hotter as we descend," said Relic.

The air cooled as Aurora whispered a prayer. "No sense in being uncomfortable."

"Menagerie, you take point," said Tower. "Heat shouldn't bother you as a snake. Aurora, you're next. Keep cooling the air as it passes you. Deceiver, you and No-Face stay close behind her. Father Ver and myself will follow." He looked to Relic. "You and the War-Doll will watch our backs." He glanced down the corridor, holding his hammer high, his eyes searching the shadows. "Everyone stay alert. We've no idea what we might face down here."

"There's a damn dragon, for one thing," muttered Zetetic.

Tower nodded to Menagerie, still in his boa constrictor form. "Move out."

The giant serpent slithered off down the hall much faster than anything without legs should move. Aurora trotted after him and everyone fell into place behind her. I floated next to Relic and said, "So, have you really been here before?"

Does it matter? thought Relic.

"You said you hate Greatshadow. I thought if you really did come from the Vanished Kingdom, and Greatshadow destroyed civilization back then, it might explain your grudge."

A reasonable theory.

"But is it right?"

Relic shook his head. Without the primal dragons, there would never have been a Vanished Kingdom. Humans lived as little more than animals before three thousand years ago. But, as the primal dragons merged with their various elemental forces, previously untamable aspects of nature suddenly possessed intelligence. Men had always prayed to gods; they adapted to pray and make offerings to dragons. Luckily for man, dragons respond well to flattery.

"Then what did destroy this place?"

Men themselves. You saw Father Ver destroy the sun-disk. His is not the first religion ever to loathe other religions. In the final days of the Vanished Kingdom, a god called Nowowon rose in power. He was a god of destruction. You find his image throughout the kingdom carved in obsidian.

"I've found a lot of obsidian statues, but they're always of different creatures."

Nowowon had no fixed form. He took the shape of each follower's greatest fear. His followers hoped to avoid their own destruction by destroying the worshippers of other gods to appease him. In the end they wound up destroying themselves as the entire civilization collapsed; self-destruction gave Nowowon his greatest pleasure.

"And Greatshadow just moved into the ruins?"

Greatshadow was always present. No civilization can exist without the use of fire. In his earliest days as a primal dragon, Greatshadow enjoyed the respect given to him by humanity. But as the Vanished Kingdom aged and grew corrupt, Greatshadow grew increasingly disgusted with mankind. Once the Vanished Kingdom fell, Greatshadow decided he preferred the wilderness that surrounded him to the company of men. He's stopped every attempt to restore advanced civilizations on this island. The pygmies escape his notice by living in harmony with their surroundings.

I was intrigued by this news and had a dozen questions, but before I could ask them the passage we traveled opened into a huge, circular chamber a hundred yards across, ringed with columns. We all craned our necks as we entered, looking up at the high cone-shaped roof. A checkerboard pattern spiraled up the steep walls, producing a feeling of vertigo.

In the center of the chamber was a raised platform. Upon this sat a mirrored glass pyramid roughly ten feet along the base. Sitting upon this, perfectly balanced, was a cube of what looked to be black, seamless iron the same height. Perched atop this was an equally large sphere of polished jade, seemingly carved from a single block of stone. My ghost heart skipped a beat as I looked at it. I couldn't even begin to guess its value.

Finally, on top of these three, perfect solids, sat a throne of gold.

"Muh fuh uh," said No-Face, softly.

"It's magnificent," whispered Zetetic, sounding awed as he looked at the tower of geometric shapes. "I wonder what these objects must have meant?"

The boa constrictor rose up next to him, its eyes glazed. "I can tell you what the throne meant," he said. "The man who ssssssat upon that throne ruled the damn world."

Father Ver spat on the dusty floor. "The man who sat on that throne is dead. No one remembers his name."

As dazzled as I was by the wealth before me, Father Ver's words struck me. What did wealth mean if you could afford to build something like this, then vanish so completely from memory? The man who sat upon that throne had probably thought he was pretty important, but time had swept him away completely. Since everything a man might do with his life would be erased by time, perhaps my grandfather was right. Maybe the only sensible path was to live naked in a tree, eat fruit and bask in the sun. Not that this had been Father Ver's point at all.

Menagerie, however, had different feelings on the matter. He slithered across the room, his serpentine belly somehow finding purchase on the smooth surfaces of the pyramid.

"Don't climb it!" cried Zetetic. "It's precariously balanced!"

"Precarioussss my asssss," said Menagerie as he zipped up the cube and slid over the sphere to the throne. "There'sss an iron rod or sssomething ssstuck through the middle to hold everything in place."

He slid his chin on the throne itself. The boa pulled loop after loop of his body onto the seat. In a flicker, Menagerie's human form appeared on the throne. "I know you said the debate about treasure was over, but look at this! We have to take measures to protect our finds. We can't leave this here for Hookhand to just walk in and grab!"

"No one is going to grab it," said Tower. "The sheer weight will protect it from being stolen."

"Are you really willing to take that chance? If you come back tomorrow and it's gone, you'll hate yourself." Menagerie rubbed his hands along the golden arms of the throne.

"I assure you, I'll be able to sleep in peace," said Tower. "Come down at once and let's move on."

Menagerie ground his teeth, glaring at the knight. Then he said, tersely, "As you wish."

He clamped his hands around the armrest as he stood up, his feet on the jade sphere. As he rose, there was a loud click. From beneath the floor, there was a ticking sound, like the world's largest clock counting off seconds.

"That can't be good," said Zetetic.

Menagerie lifted his hands from the armrests. "Nobody panic. It's probably just —"

Before he could finish the sentence, the ticking stopped. The jade globe snapped open, a wedge widening into a giant mouth full of saw-edged green teeth. The mouth proved larger than the footprint of the throne. The golden chair dropped into the maw, carrying Menagerie with it.

The jaws clamped shut with a loud clang, biting right through the throne. The metal posts and backrest spun off through the air, flying twenty feet before clattering loudly on the floor. Menagerie's torso from the belly-button up tumbled through the air. His legs were completely gone. The sphere spun around to face the rest of the party with an eyeless face, as its mouth once more opened in a toothy smile.

# 18 - DEVOURED BY THE MONSTER

MENAGERIE'S TORSO BOUNCED once on the floor. His left hand flopped limply against a small squiggle tattooed behind his ear and he suddenly vanished. I blinked, wondering where he'd gone, but had no time to dwell on the matter.

The sphere, the cube, and the pyramid had all separated, hovering in the air, spinning to face new targets. The jade sphere shot toward No-Face as a deafening, high pitched scream erupted from within. With only inches to spare, the faceless mercenary leaped from the path of the green ball, leaving the toothy maw aimed at Father Ver. Yet as No-Face dodged, he let his iron ball and chain trail behind him. The giant mouth snapped down as the weapon passed through its mineral lips. Shards of jade sprayed out as the teeth snapped on the iron links. With a grunt, No-Face planted his feet and jerked the chain taut. The jade orb spun dizzily as it cut an arc, narrowly missing Father Ver. Infidel dropped her pack and leapt into the curving path of the spinning sphere, drawing back her fist.

A thunderclap echoed through the chamber as she landed her punch. The gleaming green stone shattered, sending sharp, fist-sized chunks in all directions. Chewed up bits of golden throne bounced on the marble floor. What must have been hundreds of concentric platinum hoops, in diameters from ten feet to smaller than a wedding ring, spilled out, rolling everywhere.

There was no sign of Menagerie's legs amid the rubble, though I didn't exactly spend a lot of time looking. My attention was drawn to the cube and the pyramid, which were hanging in the air, unseen motors within whining like a billion mosquitoes. Unlike the sphere, no mouths opened on these solids as they selected targets and launched forward.

The iron cube raced toward Infidel. She reared back to punch it, but the flying cube smashed her in mid-swing, flattening her against the face. The whining, buzzing noise within rose in pitch as it built speed, pushing her with it. With a shock wave that knocked Relic, Father Ver, and the Deceiver from their feet, the cube hammered into the chamber wall.

I thought of the flattened skeletons I'd found embedded in stone and felt sick. Any normal person would be nothing more than a smear of blood after such a blow. Yet, when the cube pulled back, Infidel looked intact; the marble panel behind her was shattered into gravel, and she was driven into the dense volcanic soil behind. She looked dazed, but was plainly alive.

The cube whirled and targeted Lord Tower, zipping in a straight line toward the knight. Tower was hovering an inch or two in the air. Steel spikes snapped out of the soles of his metal boots and he kicked down onto the marble floor, driving the spikes into the stone. The sphere hit him with an ear-splitting WHANG, driving him backward. Marble fragments flew as Tower's boot carved a long, ragged gouge in the floor. The pitch of the unseen engines grew ever louder, but the cube's speed was visibly diminishing. I wondered if Tower could actually stop it before they reached the wall.

My eyes were drawn elsewhere before I saw the outcome of Tower's braking action. Amidst the larger chunks of chewed up throne, I spotted what looked like a bit of brownish red intestine wriggling on a scrap of purple silk. I looked closer, in morbid fascination, wondering if Menagerie had been chewed up so completely by the inner workings of the sphere that this was all that was left. I stared closer and suddenly understood what I was seeing: Half an earthworm, pinched off at one end, writhing in pain.

Was there a second half to this worm amid the rubble? Could Menagerie be restored if we could join the two halves? I turned to find Relic to share my theory, but was distracted as the glass pyramid flashed past me.

Unlike the straight paths the sphere and cube had followed, the pyramid moved chaotically through the air, darting a few yards in one direction, then shooting off at a crisp angle without losing speed in defiance of all logic and physics. Its glass faces were cycling through colors, pale blues, bloody reds, banana-yellows. It rang with a sound like off-key chimes as it jerked through the air. No-Face chased after it, trying to shatter it with his ball and chain, but the pyramid would tumble aside before his blows connected, shooting off in some new random direction.

Aurora, meanwhile, was grabbing the fog that surrounded her, shaping and pressing the mist into her palm until she'd packed a ball of ice the size of a grapefruit. She hung back, studying the pyramid's lurching flight path, her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she figured out a pattern, or perhaps it was only luck, but when she reared back and flung the ice-ball, aiming to the left of the pyramid, her target obliged by darting left. The ice-ball hit the triangle face dead center, passing through the glass as if it wasn't even there. Instantly, the neighboring face flashed green as the ice-ball shot out. No-Face, still chasing the dancing pyramid, wound up getting punched right in the gut by the projectile. He stumbled, off-balance, clutching his belly.

"Sorry!" shouted Aurora. She turned her eyes away from the pyramid for only a second, but in that second all the faces turned black as it charged her. She looked up, raising an ice-covered fist as the pyramid overtook her. Instead of the crash of glass hitting ice, the collision unfolded with eerie silence as Aurora simply sank into the ebony surface. The pyramid tumbled as it passed over her, kissing the floor where she stood before shooting straight up, once more flashing through a spectrum of bright shades.

Aurora was gone.

Meanwhile, Lord Tower had finally won his contest of momentum against the cube. He now held it motionless in mid-air with a single hand holding the Gloryhammer across the cube face while his free hand popped open the compartment on his belt that held his magic notebook. The visor of his helmet lifted on its own as he awkwardly flipped through the book with one hand. Finding the page he wanted, he brought the book to his face and bit down on the edge, trapping a page open as he let go with his hand and brought his fingers to the long, skinny item sketched on the page. He drew his hand back, tugging a loop of leather from the paper, followed by a long shaft of narwhale tusk that he kept working out a few feet at a time, continually adjusting his grip. The bone-white shaft proved to be eighteen feet long, tipped with a gleaming heart-shaped blade of pinkish ice.

If this wasn't the Jagged Heart, it's hard to imagine what was.

Tower let the book tumble from his mouth. With a grunt, he pushed the iron cube away from him, tapping it with the Gloryhammer so that it flew back a half dozen yards. The iron block whined as it shot toward the knight once more. Tower brought the tip of the harpoon down, dropping the Gloryhammer to grasp the shaft with both hands.

The iron cube ground to a halt as the ice tip burrowed into its solid face, sinking nearly a foot. Cracks spread across the iron as the whining noise within changed to a growling grind. Tower twisted the shaft and the entire cube shattered. Fragments of springs and gears bounced all around him.

The knight didn't waste any time savoring his victory. Instead, he charged back across the room, his spiked iron boots shooting out sparks as he ran, the harpoon held like a lance. The glass pyramid flashed white on all faces as Tower neared, a bright, burning light nearly impossible to look at.

I turned away just as the light suddenly dimmed and a cacophony of breaking glass reached my ears. I looked back and saw that the pyramid was gone; all that remained was glassy dust scattered across the floor like snowflakes.

"Uhrurruh!" No-Face shouted, dropping to his hands and knees. He ran his fingers through the glass dust. "Uhrurruh!" he cried again.

Tower surveyed the scene. "Is everyone okay?" he asked.

"Aurora was inside the pyramid when you broke it," said Zetetic, now back on his feet. He nudged his boot around in the glassy remains, until he found a splinter the size of a man's thumb. He picked it up and looked at it closely. "She's gone forever, I fear."

"Nuh!" cried No-Face.

Tower, his faceplate still open, turned pale. "I didn't know."

"What could you have done differently if you had known?" asked Father Ver, still sitting on the floor. "You couldn't let the thing keep tumbling until it had swallowed us all."

No-Face stood up, his whole body trembling. He stared at the Lord Tower with his single, misshapen eye, his fists clenched. He screamed at the knight, "Yuh guhdum muhfugguh! Yuh kuh uhrurruh!"

"It was an accident," said Tower, lowering his faceplate.

Relic was back on his feet, wandering through the rubble that covered the floor. He pushed aside bits of shattered jade and chewed up gold with the tip of his staff. At last he leaned over and picked up a small, moist, wriggling bit of meat, then moved to the other half of the worm I'd spotted on the silk.

"Is this going to work?" I asked. "Can you read Menagerie's thoughts?"

Relic didn't answer me as he placed the two halves together, letting the bisected worms touch at their shared wound.

There was a rapid blur of motion, as the thin, squiggling worms gained mass and muscle. In the span of a heart beat, the worm was gone and Menagerie sat before us, restored once more. The speed of the recovery left me seeing double.

Only, I wasn't seeing double.

There were two Menageries, sitting facing each other, both the size of pygmies.

"What the hell?" they both asked in unison. Their voices were high-pitched squeaks as they asked, "How did... It wasn't supposed to work like..." They each reached out to touch the other, their fingertips tapping together in mirror symmetry.

Both reached for tattoos on their shins and suddenly two small bears were staring at one another. "Terrific," both bears said, in a resigned tone.

Father Ver walked toward the twin bears and looked down, his eyes narrowed. "You're to blame for this! You were ordered to ignore the treasure. You've cost us the ogress and the War-Doll by your disobedience.

Relic shook his head. "The War Doll is still functioning."

Infidel punctuated his sentence by tearing free of her stony outline, staggering onto the floor, still looking dazed.

The Truthspeaker continued to glare down at the small bears. "Disobey again and your contract will be terminated."

The Menageries shifted back into their twin, pint-sized human forms. They both placed their hands across their knees and sighed. They said in their stereo voices, "You don't need to threaten me. No one feels worse about this than I do. The sight of all that gold made me stupid."

"Muh fuh," said No-Face, looming over his fellow goon. "Nuh whoowa smuh guh?"

"Yeah, you're the smart goon now," the Menageries said, shaking their heads.

The faceless giant held out his hands. Menagerie took them, and let himselves be pulled back to their feet.

While this was happening, I'm certain that I'm the only one who noticed that the Deceiver had pulled out a piece of cloth and wrapped the largest shard of glass within it, stuffing it into his bag.

"Let's take an hour to rest," said Tower, sliding the harpoon back into the book. "There are prayers of penance I need to perform for having allowed a book to touch the ground. No-Face, you're bleeding; let Father Ver stitch you up." The big man's hands and knees were red with blood from where he's dug through the glass fragments searching for Aurora. Finally, Tower turned to Relic and said, "Make certain your War-Doll is still functioning. If you need more time for repairs, let me know."

"Of course," said Relic. He left the others and headed toward the shadows of the hall where we had first entered. Infidel sat there, crouched down out of sight of the others. She'd removed her shining steel bra, which was squashed flat. She was hammering the flattened plates back into cup shapes with her fists, using her knee caps as a guide.

"I'm sick of this," she grumbled softly as Relic approached.

"Patience. You may shed your disguise soon enough."

"I don't mean I'm sick of my disguise. I'm sick of this mission. Stagger and I goofed around in these ruins for a decade before he got killed. This team is dropping like flies. Maybe Aurora and I weren't always friends, but she deserved a better death than that."

Relic squatted down beside her. With his limbs hidden within the confines of his cloak, he looked more like a heap of rotting rags than a man. "We can't be certain that Aurora is dead. Her thoughts simply vanished when the pyramid swallowed her. Perhaps she was transported elsewhere."

I also had my doubts she was dead. Unlike Ivory Blade or Reeker, Aurora hadn't lingered behind as a ghost. Or would a human ghost and an ogre ghost go to the same afterlife? The Great Sea Above she'd described certainly was nothing like the church's version of heaven. Since the ghosts usually only lingered a moment, had I simply missed her in all the excitement?

Infidel tried the repaired cup on for size. It was still dented, but it did vaguely resemble the curve of her breast again. "The Black Swan said that only two people survived this quest and made it pretty clear I was one of them. Tower's probably the other survivor, given his bag of tricks. It doesn't bother you that your death has been foretold? Why don't you get out while you still can?"

"Whatever the Black Swan saw, she's already altered our fates. It's possible we'll all survive and the dragon will die."

Infidel didn't look at him as she worked on the second bra cup. Her lips were pursed tightly together for several seconds before she said, softly, "Or maybe we'll all die. Even me."

I put my ghostly hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her. I'd never heard such despair in her voice.

"I thought I was done with this," she said, hammering the metal on her knee.

I didn't think she was talking about the bra.

Relic nodded. "And now you are afraid again."

She picked up the cup-shaped steel and began to smooth it between her fingers. "I haven't felt like this since I left the palace. I used to be so timid and terrified. I never wanted to feel that way again."

I was surprised to find out she'd been afraid of anything as a child. It seemed counter-intuitive. As a princess, I would have guessed she'd been protected from everything.

"I was treated like a china doll," she said. "I wasn't allowed to play outside because I might fall and get scratched. I couldn't sit too near a window because the sun might burn my skin. I slept with armed guards stationed at my bed because my father was afraid of kidnappers. My whole family had tasters who sampled our food to make certain it wasn't poison. Being constantly reminded I was so fragile left me in a unending state of terror."

Relic nodded knowingly, but I had trouble imagining a fragile, frightened Infidel.

She sighed. "I wanted to do this treasure hunt as a quick smash and grab, making stuff up as we went along, the way Stagger and I always played it. Events never got out of control when we were together, because we never tried to control them. We just moved on whim and instinct, living fast and fearless. Now, Tower is talking about destiny and history, the Black Swan is playing with people's lives like they're pawns in some game, and it sounds like my father is already studying maps of this island figuring out where to build his new palace. I can't help feeling that all this planning has put things out of control. We're all going to die."

Relic rose up, stretching his back, sinews popping. His hunch disappeared as he rose to the height of an ordinary man. His body was still hidden by the tattered cloak. His eyes glowed like red embers in the shadow of his hood.

"Perhaps you're saying these things hoping I'll reassure you," he said, in a stern tone. "I need offer no comfort. All the strength you need to prevail pulses within your veins. You ceased to be a frightened little girl the second you devoured the blood of a primal dragon. A dragon soul shares your body now, a soul more powerful than the sniveling child you once were. Surrender yourself to the dragon inside and our victory is assured."

Infidel shook her head slowly as she tested the second cup. Satisfied, she worked silently with the link of chain that held the cups together, crimping the ends between her fingernails, then slipping the whole thing on from the back like a vest before pinching the final connecting link between the cups shut at the front.

She stood up. Relic, still standing straight, looked down upon her, a good head taller. She peered up into his glowing eyes. "Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"I'm the second survivor of this mission," he said.

"How can you know this? Are you a seer as well as a mind-reader?"

"No," said Relic, as his head lowered once more, returning his outline to his hunchbacked profile. "But you cannot imagine the trials I've endured to reach this moment. There is nothing left for me to fear. Not even Greatshadow."

"So tell me about the trials. Tell me who you are. Why should I keep listening to you?"

Relic shook his head. "I must remain an enigma until we achieve our goals. Greatshadow can pluck thoughts from the minds of others. If you knew my true identity, he might learn it as well. I'm the one enemy he should fear above all others... because he doesn't even know I exist."

"Why are you his enemy? Why do you hate the dragon so?"

Relic clenched his gnarled fist. "This too, must remain my secret. But know that my hatred for the beast is deep and righteous. Turning back is unthinkable. I cannot live any longer in a world that contains Greatshadow."

I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm really getting tired of your mumbo jumbo. Just answer her questions."

Relic ignored me.

Infidel shrugged. "Fine. I've lived with your mystery man act this long, I can put up with it for another day."

"And your fears? Can you put them behind you?"

She pulled back her shoulders and clenched her fists. "Dragons are cold-blooded. That's the only blood I've got now. So cold my heart's a block of ice, incapable of fear. Timid little Innocent has long since been devoured by the monster." She cracked her knuckles, as all emotion drained from her face. She looked like a machine once more. "Let's go kick Greatshadow's scaly ass."

# 19 - ROUGH TREATMENT

AFTER EVERYONE HAD rested, we pressed deeper into the palace complex. The rooms we passed through were mostly barren. After all this time, I suppose items made of wood or cloth would have turned to dust, but it was curious that there were no ordinary objects made of stone or ceramic, which would have endured. The emptiness hinted that the people who had dwelled here had time to pack before they abandoned the place. On the other hand, it was tough to ignore the gems and gold embedded in the countless mosaics. Certainly, if people had time to pack up their dinner plates and chamber pots, they would have taken their valuables as well.

With Aurora gone, everyone was sweating profusely. The narrow passageway we followed descended at a rather sharp angle and stretched for what must have been at least a mile. It made me wonder what the ancients had been digging for.

"It doesn't make sense," the Menageries grumbled. They were once more in their human forms, walking in mirror symmetry; as one miniature goon swung his left foot forward, the other moved his right.

"What doesn't make sense?" asked Tower.

"We're heading toward a temple, right? This doesn't seem like a good location to attract followers. Why put it so deep inside a mountain?"

"Muhskuh wuh thuh," said No-Face.

The Menageries chuckled, a sound like chattering chipmunks.

"What did he say?" I asked.

The mosquitoes were worse then, answered Relic.

"Obviously, they were a mining culture," said Zetetic. "You don't produce the gold and gemstones we've seen simply panning in streams. These people spent a lot of time underground."

Relic nodded. "There was spiritual significance to the depths as well. The trees sink their roots deep into the soil. The ancient's deduced that the earth was the origin of all life; the ground was regarded as sacred. Digging into the earth produced precious metals and priceless gems, further evidence that the divine dwelled beneath the surface. The deeper they dug, the greater the treasures produced. Temples were built as deep as possible so that the gods could better hear the prayers of the priests."

Father Ver shook his head. "How sad to live oblivious to the truth."

"A truth contained in a book your own church didn't discover until a mere thousand years ago," said Zetetic. "You have plain evidence men existed long before then. Does it strike you as unfair that your Divine Author condemned so many generations of men to ignorance by hiding the book?"

Father Ver started to answer, but Tower raised his gauntlet. "This is the wrong time and place to debate this. According to the map, we've reached the entrance to the temple." He glanced at Relic. "I assume you can verify this?"

Relic nodded. We were in a long narrow room filled with arches covered with pale blue tiles. At the end of the hall there was a circle of stone, nearly fifteen feet across. Relic pointed to the stone and said, "That stone rolls aside. Beyond is a spiral stairway built of human bones leading down seven hundred seventy seven steps. At the bottom is a natural cavern filled with gleaming crystals hundreds of feet tall; this was the most sacred spot in the kingdom."

I perked up. "If Zetetic is right, and the veil between the spirit world and the realm of the living is thin in temples, could I escape? Could I come back to life?"

Relic didn't look at me as he led the others toward the stone door. He replied mentally, saying, You've already escaped the pull of the spirit world, Blood-Ghost. Abandon hope; you will never be alive again.

"You know, you could sugar coat that a little. There's no need to be rude. You still need me as your spy, remember?"

For all the information you've so far gathered, I believe my circumstances would be materially unchanged without you.

I punched him in the back of the head with a phantom fist. It passed right through, but I felt a teeny bit better.

We reached the end of the hall. I'd seen this type of door before, a giant disk of stone sitting inside a matching groove. The ancients were marvelous engineers. Though the stone weighed several tons, no doubt it was so well balanced even a child could move it.

The disk was ringed with cup-sized indentations. Tower placed his hands into the holes, then flexed to roll the stone aside.

The door didn't budge. Maybe it wasn't that well balanced after all.

"It's locked," said Relic.

"I see," said Tower. "How do we unlock it?"

Relic ran his gnarled hand along the blue tiles that decorated the arch surrounding the stone. He found the one he was looking for and pressed it. It slid aside, revealing a shaft about six inches wide. He thrust his skinny arm into it. "There's a lever that releases the..." A muffled SNAP caused his sentence to go unfinished. He pulled out his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the rusty remains of an iron rod. He sighed. "Not all ancient artifacts are as well maintained as the War Doll."

He looked back over his shoulder and motioned that Infidel should step forward. She placed her hands into the same holes Tower had tried. The muscles of her back bulged in sculpted relief as she strained to move the door. Whatever mechanism held the stone resisted even her magnificent muscles.

"This looks like a job for a ghost," I said, poking my head into the wall to examine the lock mechanism. Unfortunately, I couldn't make heads or tails of the jumbled of rusted gears and levers embedded in the wall. I drifted through the door completely, into the stairwell on the other side. I discovered that it no longer contained a staircase; the seven hundred seventy seven steps of bone must have crumbled to dust, though I could see the spiral holes in the wall where they'd once been anchored. Far below, in what must have been the temple, there was an eerie orange light that looked like boiling lava. The heat was unbearable.

I poked my head back through the door to tell Relic that it looked like the temple had been claimed by the volcano. I flinched when I found the Gloryhammer flying toward my face. Fortunately, it passed straight through my nose and sank into the two foot-thick slab of stone I was ghosting through. Shards of rock flew everywhere as cracks spread across the surface. I drifted aside as Tower brought the hammer around once more, delivering a second blow. The door crumbled. He kicked aside shattered rock and looked down the shaft on the other side.

"There are no stairs," he said. "I do see a green glow far below."

Green? I looked back down, and found that the previously orange light was, in fact, green. As I watched, the green broke apart into blue and yellow swirls, which were washed away by waves of purple. If this was lava, it was like no lava I'd ever seen.

"Missing stairs are no problem," said twin squeaky voices. A pair of squirrel-sized spider monkeys jumped to Tower's shoulders. "I'll check it out," they said, before leaping into the shaft, bouncing back and forth across the gaps in the stone where the bone stairs once stood.

Since stairs were optional for me as well, I decided I'd beat Menagerie to the bottom of the shaft. I dropped down, passing them, the heat growing in intensity as I descended. The disk of light at the bottom continued to change colors and patterns in a chaotic, unpredictable fashion.

My ghost skin tingled as my body emerged from the shaft. What I saw defied my understanding. Relic had said the temple was in a crystal cavern, but this didn't look like any cavern I'd ever been inside, and there wasn't a crystal in sight. Imagine, if you can, a large, turbulent cloud, ever changing as it drifts across the sky. Now imagine what it would look like if you were inside the cloud. The stone around me was an undulating, amorphous shape. The walls looked solid, despite their refusal to stand still or maintain a single color. The room was full of bones, no doubt the remnants of the stairwell. Fragments of skulls, femurs, and chalk white teeth were scattered in all directions, resting on the ceiling and walls as well as the floor, though if I wasn't looking at the round opening of the stairwell, I couldn't be certain what was a floor and what was a wall. I closed my eyes, since the shifting walls left me feeling seasick. It didn't help. I lost all sensation of what was up or down. My ghost form had only a tenuous connection with gravity at best, but here there was nothing at all to orient me. Fortunately, when I envisioned the bone-handled knife, I felt its familiar tug.

I turned my face in its direction, glancing back up the shaft. The spider monkeys had reached the opening to the room, staring at the chaos with wide eyes. Further up the shaft I saw a shadowy figure clambering down the walls like some human spider. As it drew nearer, I saw it was Zetetic.

The monkeys glanced up. Perhaps feeling a sense of obligation to be first into the room, they jumped, dropping lightly to the writhing stone. The monkeys stumbled as the stone shifted beneath them. Though they didn't sink, it looked as if they were riding waves. One of the monkeys managed to rise on all fours, his tail wrapped around a shimmering polka-dotted stalagmite, but was toppled a second later when the pillar sank back into the surface. The confused monkeys tapped the stone beneath them with their knuckles, then rubbed their tiny fists. The stone was hard, despite its fluid nature.

The Deceiver's head popped out of the shaft and looked around. He dropped onto the shifting floor and landed on his knees, giggling. "By the unanswerable questions! False matter!" He looked around, delight in his eyes. "I saw a nugget of it once, preserved inside an enchanted pearl in the palace of the mer-king. I had no idea that such a large volume of the stuff still existed!"

The monkeys had been carried by the shifting floor until one now stood perpendicular to Zetetic, while another was surfing a wave of stone fifty feet away. The monkey near Zetetic looked slightly green as it said, "What the hell is wrong with this place?" He rode the chaotic stone higher, until he was looking straight down on the Deceiver. "Shouldn't one of us be falling?"

The Deceiver shook his head. "Ignore your eyes. Think of down as whatever direction you point the soles of your feet." Zetetic rose on trembling legs, holding his hands out to steady himself. His eyes were closed. A few seconds later, he cautiously opened his eyes. He grinned as the monkey was carried back and forth on currents of stone. "Imagine you are perfectly stationary. You are the center of your world; let the room orbit around you. Everything's relative here."

The monkey responded by vomiting. The clear, frothy broth pooled around his feet. He closed his eyes and moaned, "Make it stop."

Zetetic shrugged. "I don't know what else to say to help you. Your body is made of true matter. It obeys the same physical rules it always has. You can control your physical response with simple willpower."

Menagerie was still two very sick little monkeys by the time No-Face, Relic, and Father Ver made it down the shaft on a rope ladder. No-Face and Relic were quickly toppled by the changing landscape. Father Ver managed to remain upright as he dropped from the shaft, frowning as he took in the bodies in motion around him. He responded by holding out his arms and turning around slowly. The stone in a ten foot disk beneath him flattened out and stopped moving.

He crossed his arms and said, in a firm tone, "I'm standing on the floor."

No-Face, who was directly overhead, suddenly plummeted onto the circle of motionless stone, landing at the Truthspeaker's feet. The monkey who'd been speaking with Zetetic leapt from his perch on the wall and landed on No-Face's chest. I had no idea where the second half of Menagerie had gotten to. It was impossible to estimate the size of the chamber. It seemed to stretch out for miles, but the rules of perspective were completely useless. Relic was just a little speck, seemingly a hundred yards away, then he reached out and tapped the edge of his staff onto the circle that Ver had calmed and suddenly he was close enough to touch, crawling onto the island and collapsing next to No-Face.

Zetetic didn't seem bothered by the sudden emergence of a floor. He continued to ride the shifting stone, as surefooted as a forest-pygmy on a swaying vine. "Fighting it is only going to make you more disoriented."

"Fighting falsehood is my sworn duty," said Father Ver. "The truth of what has happened here is plain. The pagans corrupted the true matter of the cavern, infecting it with falseness, which has flourished in isolation. In the beginning, before the Divine Author dipped the sacred quill in the holy ink, matter was devoid of such truths as width and length and breadth. By worshipping false gods, the ancient priests weakened the walls surrounding them. The stone has gone feral."

"This is going to shock you," said Zetetic, "but I concur. We're surrounded by the original stuff of creation, matter unshaped by mind. With practice, we could mold it to anything we can imagine. This is the greatest treasure we've yet discovered, far more valuable than gold, and you're wasting it by turning it into mere rock."

"Stone must learn to respect the truth that it is stone," said Father Ver, striding forward, calming more of the undulating rock into smooth gray solidity. Soon, he had an oblong island fifty feet long and a few yards wide frozen into rather mundane looking granite.

Relic pulled himself back to his feet and said, "At least there is no question that we have found the perfect location to attack the dragon's spirit. In a place like this, we should have little difficulty ripping the veil between the physical and the spiritual worlds."

Looking around, I realized that everyone was present and accounted for except Tower and Infidel. I flew back up the shaft, homing in on the bone-handled knife. I cut a path through stone and emerged in the hall where I found Tower with his helmet removed, on his knees before Infidel, holding her hand. He was kissing her knuckles.

"My love, before I go below to face the dragon, there is something I must give you."

"Great!" she said. "I hope it's chocolate this time."

Tower brought a gauntlet to his breastplate, directly above his heart, and pressed a small panel there. A tiny door slid open and something glowing fell into his palm.

My eyes bulged as he slipped a dazzling ring studded with diamonds and glorystones onto Infidel's finger. Infidel's mouth fell open slightly, but she made no sound.

"I've carried this over my heart since the day you vanished. I always knew the moment would come when I would have another chance to give it to you."

"Um," said Infidel. "Why now?"

"I've won every battle I've ever fought, my love. Still, I can't underestimate the danger that waits below. It may be that I shall perish. But I would die a happy man if I knew this ring was on your finger, testament to all the world of our eternal love, my princess."

"Ah," she said. "Hmm. Uh, it doesn't really go with my disguise, you know? Father Ver might figure everything out if I go below flashing this around." She slid the ring from her finger.

"You won't be going below," said Tower. "The danger is too great. I want you to go back to the surface. I'll find you after the battle. I couldn't bear to see a single hair on your head singed by the dragon."

"It's a little late for that," she said, running her fingers through her spiky locks."

"That fact that you can jest is testimony to your courageous spirit," said Tower. "Still, I beg you..."

Infidel sighed. "Don't beg."

"But my love for you is —"

"You aren't in love, you idiot," she said, grabbing his gauntlet and dropping the ring into it. "At least, not with me. You don't even have a clue who I am."

"You're Princess Innocent, daughter of —"

"Stop," she said. "You know my family tree. You don't know me."

"But your lineage is part of who you are," said Tower. "Your royal breeding proves that you're a woman of beauty, grace, and wit, matchless in —"

"Please stop talking," she said. "You think I haven't heard this crap growing up? Being a princess means you stop being a real person. You're just an actress following a script written by history. In case you didn't notice, I tore up that script. I'm not sweet little Innocent anymore."

"Oh, I know this," he said, rising, looking down at her with a leer. "You've grown into a very, very naughty girl. You may even require a spank —"

"Try it and I will rip your arms off," she said, smiling sweetly.

He cocked his head, looking confused. "I'm sorry. Since you're wearing leather pants, I assumed you might enjoy such rough treatment."

Infidel sighed, powerfully enough to stir the dust in the room. She closed her eyes, rubbing them as she contemplated her next words. Finally, she said, "It's time to come clean. I'm not going to marry you. I don't like you. At least, not romantically. It's possible we could, I dunno, be friends. You seem like a decent guy who would probably make the right woman happy."

"Yes!" he said, squeezing her hand. "And you are that woman!"

"You're sure of that?"

"With all my heart."

"You know me that well?"

"I've known you since before I met you!"

"What's my favorite color?"

His face went blank. Then, he smiled softly and said, "I remember the green ribbons you wore in your hair. Green is your favorite color."

In fact, she hated green. She didn't enlighten him, however, hitting him quickly with a second question: "What's my favorite food?"

His face brightened. "Cake!"

"A good guess, but the correct answer is fried monkey."

He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out if she was joking. He waved his hand dismissively. "We have years to learn this trivia."

She shook her head. "I know I've been giving you mixed signals. You ran into me at a very confusing time. I'm still mourning the death of someone I truly loved, wondering how to move forward without him. Plus, I've been given some unexpected news about my future, and you seemed like you might, maybe, be a candidate for helping fulfill a little prophecy. Any daughter I had with you would at least have pretty eyes."

"Any son you had with me would some day be king!" Tower said. "Think of your destiny!"

"I don't really do destiny. I escaped from my father's plans for my future. The Black Swan told me something about my future that messed with my mind a little, but I really don't have any reason to take her seriously. I thought maybe you played some role in my future, but you care far more about potential kings that might fall out of my womb than you care about me as a person. I'm sorry, but I'm no longer interested."

"But... but... but..." said Tower, his voice trailing away.

"I should have told you this earlier, but Aurora thought you might have the Jagged Heart and I played along to find out if it was true. Now that she's gone, there's really no need to humor you."

Tower set his jaw as his eyes hardened into an angry stare. "Yes," he said, his voice low and trembling. "Yes, my princess, there is a need for you to humor me. You're still a fugitive, accused of crimes beyond imagining. I'm your sole path to forgiveness."

"Forgiveness is a vastly overrated commodity," she said. "Also, are you really trying to win me over with blackmail?"

Tower said nothing as he put his helmet back on.

"So, what, we fight now?" asked Infidel.

"Yes," said Tower. There was something strange about his voice. Was he crying? "Yes, we fight now. But not each other. Not yet. My first mission is to slay the dragon. Then... then I'll return to my sacred duty of smiting infidels." His shoulders sagged. "Flee if you wish. I won't pursue."

"Flee?" Infidel cracked her knuckles. "There's more proof you don't have a clue who I am."

Flashing a grin, she jumped down the shaft.

DOWN BELOW, THE Truthspeaker had carved out a hundred-foot circle of calm stone amid the chaotic false matter. The cavity seemed even larger than it had before, as if the false matter of the walls was retreating from the holy man. The heat was as horrible as ever; Father Ver's armpits were stained with dark circles of sweat. The second Menagerie spider monkey had rejoined the group; the two tiny primates were fanning one another with triangular wedges of shoulder bones to keep cool.

Infidel dropped from the shaft, landing on the stone island. She looked around, her eyes wide. I floated toward her, wondering if the veil between the spirit world and the material world was as thin at Zetetic claimed. I placed my lips by her ear and whispered, "Your favorite color is black, even though that isn't really a color. I could have answered the monkey question in my sleep. Tower might know your family tree back a dozen generations; I know ten thousand things that make you smile. And when you smile, I smile."

She didn't smile. She didn't respond at all, other than to look toward the shaft just as Lord Tower flew through the opening. He shot off sideways at blinding speed, slamming face first into a wall, sending out a rainbow spray of undulating false matter gravel. He rose on hands and knees, perpendicular to the others, and said, "By the sacred quill! What madness is this?"

A huge stalagmite grew beside him; he placed his hand upon it to try to rise. The stone fell away just as quickly revealing Zetetic, his hands behind his back, looking amused.

"You'll find it difficult to fly. If you're not in contact with a surface, up and down don't really exist. The Gloryhammer has no objective gravity to resist."

The steel spikes in Tower's boots sprung out and dug into the rock. He rose to his full height, using the Gloryhammer as an impromptu cane. He sounded nervous as he asked, "This cursed landscape is where we fight the dragon?"

"Not exactly," said Zetetic. "This is where I send the Truthspeaker into the spirit world, and open a tunnel for you to launch a sneak attack."

"When?" asked Tower.

"I can cast the spells at any time, but I assume you wish to pray or meditate or drink some holy water. Whatever it is the righteous do to prepare themselves for battle."

Tower looked toward Infidel. With his faceplate down, there was no way to tell what he was thinking. After a gaze that lingered long enough to make everyone uncomfortable, the knight said, "I'm as righteous at this moment as I'll ever be. Let's do this."

"Now?"

"Now."

Zetetic crossed his arms. "Is there some reason to rush? Maybe you feel ready to fight, but the rest of us are hot, tired, and hungry. Let's set up camp, rest a little, get some food in our bellies."

"Let's not talk about food right now," said Menagerie.

"Agreed," said Tower. "This is no fit place to make camp. The less time we linger, the better. Open the portal."

Zetetic grumbled something beneath his breath, then reached out to grab Tower's gauntlet. He turned toward the calm stone island where the Father Ver stood and towed the knight over the shifting stone to join the others.

"Maybe I'm not hungry," said Menagerie, "but I wouldn't mind a little rest before we face the dragon. What's the hurry?"

"Zetetic is no doubt gambling that more of you will die if we delay our mission," said Father Ver.

Zetetic pursed his lips tightly together.

Father Ver continued, "His powers draw on the beliefs of others. Tower and I offer him no fuel for his corrupt arts. If only the three of us had made it this far, he'd be powerless, since the Deceiver doesn't truly believe his own lies. And, if he were powerless, we'd be unable to open the doorways to the dragon. He imagines this would save his life."

"That's a pretty elaborate theory," said Zetetic.

"We both know it's the truth," said Father Ver.

"Whatever," said Zetetic, with a dismissive wave. He faced the monkeys and No-Face. "I want the two of you to give me your full attention."

The mercenaries turned their heads toward him with weary stares.

"I have... I have the power to open gateways that lead from this chamber to anywhere I wish, even the abstract realms."

The monkey's nodded simultaneously. No-Face, in his expressionless stare, also seemed convinced.

The only one who looked doubtful was Zetetic. He studied the ground at his feet, taking a deep breath, before stepping up to Tower. His face was mirrored in the knight's gleaming faceplate as he said, "I'm going to send you to Greatshadow's lair. So far, my mental shields haven't detected any of his telepathic probes. He won't know you're coming, but you only get one shot. Make it count. If you merely wound the dragon, you might condemn the entire world to burn."

Tower nodded. "I've prepared for this moment my whole life. Though some among us may doubt the purity of my intentions, I will not shirk from my duty... or my destiny."

Tower opened the compartment on his hip and pulled out his magic book, swapping the Gloryhammer for the Jagged Heart. The searing heat of the chamber instantly cooled from hellish to merely unbearable.

"Ready?" Zetetic asked again.

"Do it," said Tower.

Zetetic grabbed the knight by his biceps and jerked him from his feet, holding him overhead. He looked like he was getting ready to throw the knight, and, as it turns out, that was exactly the plan. With a grunt he hurled Lord Tower at the nearest wall. The stone swirled as Tower approached, forming a vortex, like the cone of air that forms when water drains from a tub. Tower shot down this ever-lengthening vortex, until he became little more than a speck, flying toward a pinpoint of bright white light.

"Your turn," said Zetetic, grabbing Father Ver by the arms. Their gazes met. The Deceiver's voice was little more than a whisper as he said, "You heard the speech. For the sake of mankind, do not fuck this up!"

He snatched the holy man from his feet, holding him overhead for a few seconds as his eyes studied the swirling stone, searching for the exact spot where the barrier between dimensions was at its weakest. Suddenly, his eyes brightened. He could see it. I could as well. At the edge of the platform, at a ninety-degree angle from the direction he'd tossed Lord Tower, a vortex of brilliant white light began to spin. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the radiance, but no one else on the platform save for the Deceiver seemed aware of the light show. The vortex quickly grew, becoming a hole in the air several yards across. From the other side of the hole, I could hear the wail of a terrible wind, a sound that sent shudders through my soul, though, again, the others remained oblivious.

With all his muscles straining, Zetetic tossed the holy man toward the spirit door.

The Truthspeaker never reached the portal. Instead, in mid-flight, he was struck by a flying body that shot out from the vortex Tower had flown down. Father Ver landed on the stone platform face first, then flopped to his back unconscious, revealing a huge gash along his left eyebrow. His twitching legs kicked Zetetic in the ankle and the Deceiver went down as well, cursing as he landed on his butt.

At the far end of the platform, Lord Tower, or something that looked a lot like him, slid to a halt near Infidel's feet. She jumped back, landing on the shifting false matter, spreading her arms to keep her balance. The figure before Infidel wasn't Tower, but instead a statue of the knight carved from dull gray stone. The Jagged Heart was nowhere to be seen. Infidel stared at the statue with a confusion that rivaled my own as the fluid stone beneath her carried her away. She jumped to return to the island, but wound up even further away, thwarted by the room's meandering geometry.

Meanwhile, I heard the rattle of No-Face's chain, the familiar sound that always rang out when he readied himself for a fight. The twin monkeys were suddenly replaced by a pair of snarling wolverines. I looked to the stone vortex, squinting to make out the shadowy figure approaching.

The thing that stalked toward us was human in form, mostly. It was transparent, but not invisible, more like murky water than air, so that anything beyond appeared distorted. The fluid it was composed of had a slight brownish hue, like sewer water. It was carrying the Jagged Heart, but showed no signs of freezing.

As it walked toward us, it shouted, "O stone! Be not so!" It then shrieked with laughter, a high-pitched, slurred barking that reminded me of the forced, empty cackle of a drunken whore who hadn't truly understood her client's joke.

The unpleasant sounds of the liquid man before us were matched by a shrieking behind us. It was the Deceiver, looking at the approaching figure, crying out with terror until his lungs were emptied of the last drop of air.

Just as the Deceiver's voice faded out, the liquid man stepped from the vortex and placed his feet on the stable stone island. Now that he was closer, I recognized he was formed not of water, but of booze — whiskey judging from the smell. He was an impressive figure, as tall and muscular as Aurora had been.

"If you've got a straw handy, I can tackle this," I said to Relic.

He didn't find it funny.

This is the old god I spoke of! he thought back. Nowowon, the god of destruction!

"He sounds fun," I said.

Nowowon turned his liquid eyes toward me and said, in a solemn seriousness, "I lived, evil I."

This will not be fun for anyone. Nowowon had no match for cruelty among the old gods. He delighted in tormenting the dead as well as the living.

"Party pooper," I said.

"Party booby trap!" said Nowowon, licking his liquid lips. "Are we not drawn onward to new era?"

Behind us, Zetetic finished filling his lungs with air, and screamed again.

# 20 - RAW WAR

FOR A SUPPOSED god, Nowowon didn't impress me. Except for Zetetic freaking out, no one else showed any obvious panic. That may have been because not everyone was paying attention. Father Ver was unconscious from his face-plant and Infidel had her back to the action as her repeated leaps over the false matter kept carrying her random directions and distances. Relic stared at Nowowon with the same detached calmness he showed toward most events.

Menagerie in his wolverine bodies and No-Face with his swinging chain didn't look worried as they slowly circled the old god. I wondered what they saw? It made sense, in a completely senseless, magical way, that a god of destruction would appear to me as walking whiskey. Self-destruction no doubt had a special place in his heart. He was appearing to me as my greatest weakness. Maybe Menagerie was currently looking at a ten-foot tall guy made entirely of money. Whatever he was made of, he'd taken the Jagged Heart from Tower, so he wasn't going to be a pushover.

No-Face was first to strike, leaping forward with a noise half-war-cry, half-grunt: "HRUNN!" The iron ball sliced through the air and came down dead center of Nowowon's face, bouncing off without so much as leaving a scratch, at least from my point of view.

Nowowon met the blow with a thrust of the Jagged Heart, moving at blinding speed. No-Face didn't stand a chance; the harpoon impaled his rib cage, driving down into the stone beneath him until the icy blade was completely embedded, leaving only the shaft exposed. Blood bubbled around the wound, then froze, as the ball and chain slipped from his fingers. No-Face sank to his knees, pinned by the shaft, unable to fall completely. No ghost appeared; as horrific as the wound was, he wasn't dead yet.

The wolverines let loose angry howls as they launched themselves at the god, sinking their teeth into his throat. Nowowon grabbed them, then tossed them away, shouting, "Ooze zoo!"

As the beasts spun through the air, they began to break apart into dozens, if not hundreds of animals. Instead of two wolverines hitting the ground, the floor was suddenly covered with countless pint-sized creatures, no larger than they'd been depicted on the original tattoos. There were kitten-sized lions, wolves smaller than mice, and sharks no bigger than goldfish flopping on the floor.

As bad a development as this was, it was followed by something far worse as the miniature animals launched into a feeding frenzy. The lions leapt upon the sharks, the bug-sized boars were stomped by ankle-high elephants, and worm-like anacondas wrapped themselves around tiny eagles. Blood, fur, and feathers flew in a bloody whirlwind.

"Bad animals I slam in a dab," Nowowon laughed as he stomped over the surviving beastlets, smearing them to paste beneath his heel.

No-Face groaned as he writhed on the harpoon, sinking lower, until his trembling, outstretched fingers reached his fallen ball and chain. With a muffled groan, he flung the weapon, bouncing it off the old god's ear.

Nowowon stopped laughing as he paced back over to No-Face. He stared down at the impaled mercenary and growled, "Lived as a dog, reviled? Deliver god as a devil!"

He placed his thick fingers beneath No-Face's chin flap and gave a sudden yank. With a sickening slurp the tumorous mask tore away, revealing... nothing. A completely blank, unblemished mass of skin, unmarred by scars, devoid of mouth, nostrils, or even eyes, despite the fact he'd always had one showing.

"I know how the god's power works!" I shouted at Relic, hoping that my insight might be of some help. "No-Face was afraid there was nothing under his skin flap! Menagerie was afraid that there was nothing human left in him, that he was nothing but a mass of animals!"

Relic nodded. "And Tower feared that his only legacy to the world would be a statue. Nowowon destroys men with their greatest fears."

"I really hope your greatest fear is of something harmless, like squirrels," I said, as Nowowon stalked toward Relic.

Relic looked around the island; the Goons certainly looked dead, even if I hadn't seen their spirits. Zetetic was curled into a fetal ball, sucking on his fist, his face awash with tears and snot. Father Ver was unconscious, Tower was stoned, and Infidel was still leaping around like a drunken jackrabbit. Finally, Relic looked back at me. Stall him while I mentally guide Infidel back across the shifting terrain.

I felt his mental hands grab me and hold me in place as he beat a retreat for the edge of the island. I struggled to break free of his invisible grasp, and did so just as Nowowon reached me. The old god grabbed me by the throat and lifted me from my feet. He brought my face to his. I could see right through him; the whiskey fumes of his breath left me dizzy as his lips brushed my ears and whispered, "Murder for a jar of red rum?"

Though he asked it as a question, I was apparently not intended to answer. From nowhere he'd produced a glass pitcher full of what smelled like rum, but looked like blood. He pushed me to the ground, pinning my arms. He pinched my cheeks to force my lips open, then poured the alcoholic blood between my teeth.

The taste... the taste was heavenly. The booze played upon my tongue like a symphony, sweet and bitter, cool and burning, and with each precious drop I swallowed my heart beat stronger. I grew increasingly aware of the stone beneath me. I moved my legs, feeling my naked foot scrape along the cold stone, chilled as it was by the Jagged Heart embedded not twenty feet away. Goosebumps covered my skin as he freed my arms. I used both hands to grab the glass and sat up, still guzzling the precious fluid, fire burning in my veins. This bloody broth had brought me back to life!

Murder for a jar of red rum? The Black Swan had been right. I'd kill my own mother for more of this. I emptied the glass and ran my tongue around the inner rim, searching for the final molecules of goodness.

I rose, woozy, and held the glass out toward the old god.

"Thank you, sir, may I have another?"

Giggling, Nowowon pointed toward the Jagged Heart and said, "Red rum, sir, is murder."

I nodded, then stumbled toward No-Face's still body and the long harpoon that jutted from his chest. The sound of my feet slapping the stone was a wondrous thing. I nearly wept as my solid fingers closed around the cold shaft of the harpoon. Needles of ice ran up my bare arm, but even this sensation took my breath away. My breath! My breath! I heaved out great clouds of smoke as I strained to free the Jagged Heart from its sheath in No-Face's massive rib-cage, and the solid stone beneath.

The ground creaked as I withdrew the frozen weapon. No-Face's body slid down the narwhale tusk slowly. I placed my foot on his neck to pull the harpoon free. There was no question he was dead now. Maybe I had missed his departing spirit in all the excitement.

Or perhaps he'd lingered on until I'd removed the harpoon and, alive once more, I could no longer see ghosts. It wasn't a power I'd miss. Of course, who knew how long Nowowon's brew would restore me? I needed to guarantee a second glass. Who to kill? Who to kill to prolong this feeling? Zetetic, who was getting on my nerves with his rabbit-like shrieking? Father Ver, who I didn't like much, and who was an easy target in his slumber?

Relic?

Oh, definitely Relic.

I turned to face the man who'd been jerking me around like a puppet and discovered that he'd fallen into Nowowon's clutches. Nowowon was tearing away the hunchback's robes to reveal... a dragon?

I blinked. The blood rum was blurring my vision ever so slightly, but there was no mistaking what I was looking at. It was a baby dragon only a little larger than the dead one I'd seen in the hands of the lava-pygmy shamans. Unlike the earlier specimen, which had looked healthy save for, you know, being dead, this dragon was badly lamed. Its wings were tiny, twisted knots perched upon its back. Its legs were spindly and bent at odd angles, as if they'd been broken then mended without being set properly. The little dragon hung limp in Nowowon's grasp; the old god had the disfigured dragon's long spindly fingers splayed out in his palm and was bending them backwards until they snapped, one by one. Had Relic possessed a fear of dragons and been transformed into one by Nowowon? Or had he been a dragon all along, with a fear of being crippled?

"Maim? I? Him I am!" said Nowowon, giggling.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Infidel fly back onto the platform with one final lucky leap, landing near the fallen statue of Tower. She picked up the stone knight by the ankles and charged at the old god. She didn't even glance in my direction. Was I still invisible? Or, was she just locked into combat tunnel vision?

With a savage growl she leapt, swinging the statue like a hammer. She struck Nowowon squarely on the top of his head, driving his skull down into his shoulders, forcing him to drop Relic, assuming that's who the dragon was. The blow also had the effect of sending a spider web of cracks across the surface of the statue. Bits of gravel flaked away, revealing gleaming armor beneath.

She raised her knight-club again and hammered the old god once more. Now shards of stone the size of saucers flaked away from the statue. Tower shuddered and broke completely free of his stony prison. The old god had been driven into the ground up to his knees, his head flat between his shoulders. Apparently, this wasn't fatal to a god; his arms were flailing about, trying to grab his assailant. Infidel, still in her battle rage, danced around his groping hands, and either didn't notice or didn't care that her weapon was alive once more. She again swung Tower overhead and chopped him down to smash the old god even flatter.

"Stop!" Tower cried out, as she raised him once more overhead.

Infidel looked up, confused.

Nowowon's hands found Infidel's ankles and jerked her from her feet. She hit the ground hard, as Tower fell on top of her with a loud crash.

I didn't know what horrors Nowowon might be ready to inflict upon Infidel and I didn't want to find out. I charged with the Jagged Heart, driving it into his body, which still appeared to be liquid despite the mangling Infidel had inflicted. I sank the weapon in until my fingers reached his fluid skin, and twisted.

In response, two fresh arms emerged from Nowowon's armpits and pulled aside his liquid breastbone, revealing his bashed-in face beneath. He still had his original arms clamped on Infidel's ankles. She was kicking, to no avail. Her fingers left small trenches in the stone as she tried to drag herself away. I'd never seen such fear and confusion in her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder and saw me.

"Stagger?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Having seen the fate of No-Face, Menagerie, and Relic, I didn't dare give Nowowon time to get creative with Infidel's weaknesses, whatever those might be. I yelled out, "Tower! Use the Gloryhammer on this thing!"

Tower scrambled to his feet, reaching for his magic book. The Armor of Faith had resisted Nowowon's powers, protecting him from full statuefication. Maybe the Gloryhammer would prove equally effective.

"I hope this hurts," I said, wriggling the harpoon around as the Gloryhammer burst into full radiance behind me.

A grin passed over Nowowon's liquid lips. "Won't lovers revolt now?"

"I don't need your help to save her!" Tower cried. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I spun with all the speed I could muster, tearing the Jagged Heart free, as Tower swung the Gloryhammer not at the old god, but at me. With a speed that shocked both of us, I was able to raise the blade of the harpoon into the path of the enchanted hammer. There was a blinding flash, like the high noon sun dazzling on pure white snow. The force of the impact knocked the Jagged Heart from my fingers. Yet, as the light of the hammer spun off behind me, I realized my blocking action had not only spared my skull, it had knocked the Gloryhammer from the knight's grasp.

Infidel screamed, kicking uselessly as Nowowon's body restored itself, rising above us. He now had six arms; I had a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as I saw that one of these arms now grasped the Gloryhammer, and another the Jagged Heart.

Nowowon pinned Infidel's ankles to the ground as he flipped her over on her back. He placed the tip of the Jagged Heart against her sternum as he grew ever larger. The sweat that beaded on her torso instantly froze into little diamonds. He raised the Gloryhammer, ready to drive the world's biggest nail straight through her.

"I'll save you!" Tower cried, reaching for her left arm.

"I've got you," I yelled, grabbing her right hand.

We both pulled with all our might as Nowowon struck.

I lost my grip and had my breath knocked from me as I hit the ground, rolling. Nearby, I heard a loud crash as Tower's armored ass slammed into the rock. I rose on my hands and knees, looking at him. He was flat on his back, staring up at a young girl in a lacy white gown who stood before him. She had a silver tiara atop her brow, studded with emeralds. Green ribbons threaded through her platinum braids. There had still been some of Princess Innocent inside Infidel after all, it seemed.

Where Infidel had been pinned only a second before, there was now only her empty clothes.

It was then I noticed the tree trunk next to me. I gave it a closer look. It wasn't a tree trunk. It was a dark green shin, covered with thick, overlapping scales, like the hide of a rattlesnake.

I looked up. I was sitting between the legs of a woman at least twenty feet tall. Her feet and hands ended in three-clawed talons, sporting dagger-length claws black with dried gore. A long, thick crocodilian tail trust out from just above her buttocks. A fringe of dark green scales ran up her spine, to join with a mane of what looked like spiky vines.

I made a hasty retreat as the half-giantess, half-dragon reared back and roared, her voice causing the false matter of the cavern to ripple. Her jaws opened much further than an ordinary woman's should have, revealing a mouth full of glistening fangs.

Not that I'm complaining, but in a fair world, the knight in the enchanted armor would have gotten the enraged she-dragon to deal with, while the unarmed naked man got to face off with the little girl in the frilly dress.

Alas, as it turned out, neither of us had a chance to take any action at all. Perhaps a little worried about what he'd unleashed, Nowowon frowned at the giantess. "God damn mad dog," he growled, bringing the Gloryhammer around in a vicious back swing. He caught the dragon-woman in the side of her head, knocking her from her feet, sending her bouncing toward the swirling light of the spirit doorway. There was a loud sucking sound as her tail pointed straight as an arrow toward the gate. Her knife-like nails trailed sparks as the vortex to the spirit world sucked her toward its depths. Her face was a mask of rage, her eyes a bright, glowing green, as jade spittle foamed on her snarling lips. Then, as if understanding there was no escape, she smiled, casting her gaze toward young Princess Innocent. A long, slimy, serpentine tongue flicked from between her lips, flying across the gap toward the girl. The tongue wrapped around Innocent's forearm, then yanked her from her feet swiftly enough to pull her out of her white silk slippers. Innocent screamed at an octave that would have made bats wince as she was sucked into the spirit vortex in the wake of the dragon-lady.

With sickening suddenness, the screaming stopped. The doorway to the spirit world was gone.

Tower leapt at Nowowon, punching him hard in the knee. "Bring her back!"

"No sir! Prefer prison," chortled the old god, before smashing the knight in the head with the Gloryhammer. The metallic chime that rang out from the impact almost made my ears bleed. I could only imagine what it must have sounded like on the inside. Tower fell to his knees, holding his head, and Nowowon pushed him over with an oversized toe. He pinned the knight beneath his foot, then tossed the Jagged Heart so that it imbedded in the ground near my feet.

I didn't flinch. He wasn't trying to strike me.

I still owed him a murder.

"I need another drink to do this," I said, holding out my trembling hands. "All the excitement has left me shaky."

He nodded as he gave me a look of sympathy, an expression out of place on the features of a sadistic god of self-destruction. One of his free hands produced a second jar. "Regal lager," he said, offering it to me.

"Regal lager," I agreed, taking the crimson brew from him. I lifted it to my lips, inhaling one long, intoxicating sniff of the heady aroma. Never had I wanted a drink so badly.

But instead of drinking, I spun around, covered a dozen feet in three long strides, and dumped the ice-cold liquor on Father Ver's face.

The priest's eyes snapped open, his bloodied brow furrowed in confusion as he focused on me. "You're the boy who ran away after stealing the poor box," he said.

Considering that had been damn near forty years ago, I was more impressed than offended by the greeting. The bastard really was good at seeing truth.

"False god!" I said, pointing in Nowowon's direction. "Get him!"

"Was it a rat I saw?" asked Nowowon. He snapped his fingers. Instantly, my heart stopped. I moaned as my body faded back to its spectral form.

If Father Ver was bothered by my vanishing act, he showed no sign of it. He rose, wiped the blood from his eyes, then straightened his shoulders to look at the old god.

"No! It is opposition!" cried Nowowon, as he shrank back down to the height of an ordinary man. He brandished the Gloryhammer in both hands and growled, "Raw war!"

"War is not necessary," said Father Ver. "You'll drop the hammer. It isn't yours."

The Gloryhammer slipped from the old god's shaking fingers.

Father Ver walked toward Nowowon, stepping over the gibbering form of the Deceiver. He looked down on the man with contempt, but took pity as he said, "Your vision isn't real. You've been caught in a mental trap. Arise."

Zetetic's eyes opened. He pulled his drool-covered fist from his mouth and gave it a puzzled look.

Father Ver thrust an accusing finger at Nowowon.

"You do not belong here. You are a false being, and have no place in this world."

Nowowon walked backward toward the vortex of stone, looking at it nervously, as if he was considering making a break for it. But he sounded defiant as he looked back at the Truthspeaker and shouted, "Evil dogma! I am God, live!"

"We both know that isn't true," said Father Ver, as Tower crawled to retrieve the Gloryhammer. "I sense a summoning spell at work. Someone has trapped you here against your will. You faded from the memory of men long ago. There are no believers to sustain you."

"O no! O no! O no!" the old god screamed as he shrank before the force of the Truthspeaker's words.

"You're a fraud," said Father Ver, as the old god shrank to waist height.

"A perversion," he said, reducing Nowowon to the size of a house cat.

Father Ver looked down on the diminutive old god and crossed his arms. "You aren't even worth crushing beneath my sandal. You're a lie, and no one believes you any more."

Nowowon squealed as he shrank to the size of a mouse, then a cockroach, then a fly. Lord Tower's spiked metal boot suddenly slammed down, driving into the solid stone.

"I'm not wearing sandals," he said, casting the Truthspeaker a sideways glance.

Zetetic ran up, snatching the Jagged Heart from the ground. "Why is there a crippled baby dragon over there? Why is the spirit gate closed? What the hell happened? I thought the world had come to an end!"

"Why would you think that?" asked Tower.

"I threw you both through your gates. Greatshadow was ready for us. He killed you both and came into the chamber and killed the rest of us. I survived because I had told No-Face that fire couldn't burn me. But when I left this place, I found nothing but ash as far as the eye could see. I traveled the world, entirely alone, for decades without finding another survivor. Even the mermen and ice-ogres were gone. The primal dragons had joined together to strip the earth of all sentient life."

"You were trapped in a deception by the old god," said the small dragon, rising up on his misshapen legs with the help of his gnarled cane. This was definitely Relic's voice, and there was no mistaking this dragon's eyes were the same eyes I'd spied through the burlap hood. "Nowowon knew that you were vulnerable to assault with a highly detailed hallucination. You were trapped by what was essentially a lie."

"It lasted forty years!" said Zetetic, waving the Jagged Heart in Relic's face for emphasis. "And who the hell are you? Why is no-one telling me why there's a dragon here?"

He was answered with a deep voice that made the ground tremble.

"There's a dragon here because you woke me from my slumber."

Everyone turned to the vortex of stone.

A scaly head the size of a ship had squeezed through the hole. It was a deep, glowing red, the color of embers shimmering beneath a blanket of dark ash. Sulfurous smoke rose from the creature's nostrils. The dragon glared at us with eyes that burned like foundry furnaces, with a heat that caused Father Ver's robes to send up tendrils of white smoke from fifty feet away. All we could do was stare back, the moment frozen, as Greatshadow opened his enormous maw, revealing teeth like ivory stalactites and a tongue like a carpet of lava. Wind howled through me as Greatshadow sucked in air like a bellows.

# 21 - OILY BLACK SMOKE

AND THEN THERE was fire, a great red wave of flickering tendrils engulfing us in a flood of heat and light. Imagine a coal-fired oven, stoked to a cherry red, with a pot of oil boiling furiously upon it. Imagine plunging your head into this pot, the burning oil working its way into your nostrils and ear canals, into your tear ducts, searing every pore. My spectral teeth burned, my tongue scalded, and there was nothing to do but keep screaming, though I couldn't even hear my own voice. Once, I'd ridden out a hurricane in my small boat and the roar of the wind had been so loud it loosened my bowels. This devouring flame howled far louder, a crescendo appropriate for announcing the end of the world.

And the smell. As a veteran explorer of volcanoes, I knew all too well the brimstone stench and the peculiar acid tang of molten rock. Add to this the stink of vaporized hair and flesh crackling on the bone and you still cannot imagine the foulness of the atmosphere.

As suddenly as it had begun, the flame passed. The pain jangling my phantom nerves collapsed from incapacitating to merely agonizing. Blinking away the ghost tears in my scalded eyes, it appeared that little had changed. The four figures who'd been present before were still there: Relic, revealed as a dragon, was unharmed, save that his staff was but a heap of white ashes at his feet. He was standing where Infidel's clothes had been; they were completely gone. There was no sign of the bone-handled knife, though I still felt its tug... from Relic's mouth?

The Deceiver had survived as well, crouched down, hugging the Jagged Heart to his chest, its aura of supernatural cold sparing him from the flame. Tower, too, was untouched; his Armor of Faith gleamed even brighter, as if the flames had cleansed it of the dust and grime it had gathered on our journey. Somehow, Father Ver, standing just behind the knight, wasn't even singed even though his robes had burned away.

If fact, the only party member missing was No-Face's corpse. There wasn't even a pile of ash, just a small rivulet of serpentine liquid metal flowing where his ball and chain had once been.

Father Ver turned toward me. As I studied his face, I realized I could see Tower through him. I wasn't looking at a man. I was looking at a ghost.

The phantom glared at me and said, "You cannot be my guide."

"Nice to see you too," I said. "Look, you might be here for only a few seconds, so let's get to the point: it looks like you're still heading for the spirit world. When you get there, I need you to rescue Infidel. I mean, the War Doll."

"You mean Princess Innocent."

"You knew?"

He frowned deeply. "This was just one of many obvious truths I turned a blind eye toward with the goal of ridding the world of Greatshadow."

"But how could you know? Relic was reading your mind and said you were fooled."

"I sensed his mental probes instantly," Father Ver said. "It was a simple matter to command him to see in my mind whatever he wished to see."

I crossed my arms and shook my head, imitating the same pose of disapproval I had encountered so frequently in my youth. "So you not only kept quiet about things you knew weren't true, you actively took part in a deception. For shame."

"Your judgment matters to me not in the slightest," said Father Ver. "Tower was my friend. I would not deny him his chance to find his lost love. In the end, the Divine Author will deliver the final verdict on my choices. Let us hope... let us hope it was His intention to write a romance."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he looked heavenward, not caring whether I spoke to him or not. He spread his arms wide as his face was bathed in light from above. I looked to see its source, but there was nothing there.

"Ah," he said, in a tone, half joy, half sorrow. "So that's the truth of it."

He pressed his lips together in a wistful smile as the outline of his face wavered. Then he was gone, and all that was left were a few blackened teeth where he'd stood.

My attention returned to the danger at hand. I didn't want to be around if Greatshadow unleashed another inferno. Fortunately, while I had been chatting, Tower had sprung into action, leaping into the air and flying straight toward the dragon. In scale, it was like a bee diving toward a bear's nose. With both hands, he slammed the Gloryhammer into the center of Greatshadow's snout. Like a bear stung on the nose, Greatshadow winced and drew his head back. The false-matter tunnel warped and wobbled, allowing the impossibly large beast free movement as he retreated. Tower grabbed the rim of a scaly nostril with his razor-tipped left gauntlet, refusing to give the dragon a second of relief as he rained blow after blow on the creature's nose.

As Greatshadow departed, Relic spat the bone-handled knife from his mouth into his hand. It had been completely untouched by the flames. The misshapen little dragon shouted to the Deceiver, "We must give chase! Tower needs the Jagged Heart!"

"You're out of your mind!" shouted Zetetic. "I'd be dead if I wasn't carrying this. And why should I listen to you? You're a dragon!"

"A dragon maimed by Greatshadow," snarled Relic as he wiggled his stunted wings and limped toward the Deceiver. "A dragon whose sole purpose is to see his father suffer and die for the cruelties he's inflicted."

"Father? You're Greatshadow's son?"

"Possibly."

"How can you not be sure?"

"I'm definitely his offspring. But I'm uncertain if I'm his son or daughter. Since my genitals are internal and I've not yet matured, this remains —"

"Stop." Zetetic scrunched up his face and rubbed his closed eyes. "Just stop."

"You're uncomfortable discussing sexual biology?" asked Relic.

Zetetic sighed. "It's one of my favorite topics. But, maybe, right now isn't the best time to get into this?"

"Agreed. We must help Tower."

Tower was a fair distance away at this point, still maintaining his assault. There was little Greatshadow could do to remove his annoying assailant while he was in the tunnel, but the second he pulled his head free into the larger chamber beyond, a talon with claws longer than the Jagged Heart swatted Tower away.

The far end of the tunnel became a solid sheet of flame as Greatshadow tried a second time to melt the knight.

"Make yourself immune to flame," said Relic, grabbing Zetetic by the arm and tugging him.

"I can't!" cried the Deceiver, planting his feet wide to resist. "There's no one left to believe my lies! Your reptilian mind is useless to me!"

"Lie to Menagerie. He's still alive," said Relic.

"What?" I said.

"What?" said Zetetic.

"No shape-shifting blood magician would neglect to include a tick among his forms," said Relic. "I sense him now, dug in behind your knee. Nowowon's magic has robbed him of his humanity, but the Goon is an accomplished survivor."

Zetetic lifted the hem of his robe and bent over, using the Jagged Heart to balance himself as he twisted to see the back of his leg. Sure enough, there was a little black speck there. "Do ticks have ears? Can he hear me?"

Relic was silent as he stared at the bug.

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, his mental state has been greatly damaged. Perhaps he may recover once he has consumed sufficient blood, but, for now, your skepticism is justified. He'll be of no use to you."

"Do you have a second plan?" asked Zetetic.

"As a matter of fact," said Relic, running the sharp edge of the bone-handled knife along his palm. He sucked in air as a line of bright blood bubbled up.

I was floating near him, watching with interest, a bit off vertical amid the room's distorted landscape. I fell about a yard as I materialized, landing on the cracked black stone. I instantly leapt up with a yelp; the stone was hot as a furnace. I jumped closer to Zetetic and the Jagged Heart, and while my feet were spared a scalding, I became keenly aware of my nakedness and the possibility of losing toes and other more valued parts to frostbite. I hopped a few feet away, into a zone where the ground was more bearable.

"Stagger is a ghost haunting this knife. His soul manifests physically when the knife drinks the enchanted blood of dragons."

Zetetic furrowed his brow. Then he shrugged, and said, "I've seen crazier stuff. If I must work with a dead man, I'd rather not be confronted with his private bits. Luckily, I have the power to summon clothing from thin air."

Instantly, I was dressed in finery; a cream silk shirt tucked into black satin britches with calf high boots of soft leather. The whole thing was topped with a rather flamboyant red velvet cape.

"That's handy," I said. "Have you ever thought of earning a living as a tailor?"

"It wouldn't work. One limitation of my art is that I can never convince people of the same lie twice."

"There's no time for discussion!" said Relic. "We must get the harpoon to Tower. With every passing second, Greatshadow grows closer to victory."

Zetetic chewed his lower lip. He looked to be in genuine agony as he said, "Every fiber of my being is screaming I should run. But... Nowowon's little hallucination trap may not have worked the way Greatshadow would have wanted. We can't end this merely by wounding the beast, or even annoying him. Humanity may pay the ultimate price for our failure. I'm in."

"Wait," I said, grabbing Zetetic by the arm. "If you can't convince people of the same thing twice, how do we get to the spirit world? How do we kill Greatshadow's soul without Ver's scroll, and, more important to me, how do we rescue Infidel?"

"Who's Infidel?"

"The War Doll, formerly Princess Innocent Brightmoon," said Relic, holding the blade in his intact claw as he allowed drops of blood to drip one by one onto the bone-handled knife. His blood boiled and bubbled, etching the steel as it vaporized, but he timed his bleeding so that another drop had fallen before the first evaporated. "By now the dragon half of her nature has no doubt consumed the last remnants of her human self. She cannot be rescued. Killing Greatshadow's soul can be accomplished with the Jagged Heart; as Aurora revealed, it's been crafted to slay spirits. As for getting the harpoon to the spirit world, there is a magical item in Greatshadow's lair we can use."

"How do you know this?" I asked.

"Even in my egg, I could read minds. I was hatched with many of Greatshadow's memories. From the moment I first breathed air, I already had a full command of language and a deep understanding of his mystic arts."

"Precocious little scamp," said Zetetic. "Let's hope you know what you're talking about. Hurry!"

The two of them set off at a fast jog down the tunnel. I hung behind for a second, staring at the spot in the air where I'd last seen Infidel, and decided my only chance of seeing her again was to cast my lot with these two.

About a hundred yards down the tunnel, we were all knocked from our feet. A wave of lava swept into the far end of the passage, rushing toward us in a glowing river. Fortunately, since I was behind the Jagged Heart, I was spared from the heat, which rolled toward us as a shimmering wave, but stopped the second it reached the air around the enchanted weapon. The lava stopped flowing as well, freezing into a low wall about three feet tall. Behind it, the molten rock began to drain away, back into the chamber beyond.

I strained to see, missing my power to just float around and look at whatever interested me. As we climbed into the wall and rushed forward, with the ground cooling and crackling as we advanced, what I could catch a glimpse of interested me greatly. I saw Greatshadow stumbling, bleeding profusely from the side of his head, his blood coming out in great surges of liquid fire.

We arrived at a large ledge on the inner lip of a volcanic caldera open to the sky. Before us was a bubbling lake of magma stretching off as far as I could see, which wasn't all that far due to the haze of sulfurous smoke. Greatshadow had dropped to all fours, shaking his head to clear it. His eyes had a glassy look. His sheer size was almost impossible to comprehend; not even whales were this large. He was more like a landmass than a living being, though the muscles rippling beneath his crimson hide revealed the truth of his animal nature.

Above us, beyond the sulfur clouds, the sun blazed brightly. Only I quickly realized that it wasn't the sun; the light was moving far too swiftly across the sky. Suddenly the glowing object burst through the clouds. It was Lord Tower, blazing down with the speed of a shooting star. He slammed, hammer-first, into the dragon's head. The addition of speed turned Tower into something more dangerous than a bee - he was now like a bullet shot from the sling of an expert marksman, and his momentum was enough to drive his invulnerable armor deep into the dragon's skull.

The blow flattened Greatshadow, driving him down into the burning mire. He unleashed a low, mournful howl as he struggled to rise. Magma-like blood bubbled from a series of holes near the fringe of spikes along the ridge of his skull. His eyes seemed unfocused as his limbs jerked spastically.

"Plainly, we're not needed here at all," said Zetetic, turning back toward the tunnel.

"Die!" Relic shouted. It took me a second to realize he wasn't shouting at the Deceiver. Instead, he was shaking his bony fist at Greatshadow. "Your suffering is like wine to me! I drink in your agony as you die! Die! Die!"

Tower clawed back out of the hole he'd dug into Greatshadow, covered in flaming gore. He rose into the air, twirling, throwing off a halo of muck. When he stopped spinning he was clean again, his silver armor a dazzling light show reflecting the Gloryhammer, the lava, and Greatshadow's pulsing blood.

"Your final page has been written, Greatshadow!" Tower shouted, his voice echoing from the walls of rock surrounding the battlefield. "Your name shall vanish from the One True Book!" Tower shot into the air, vanishing into the haze as he rose toward heaven to summon speed.

"Do it!" screamed Relic. "Kill him! Kill him!"

The resentment I felt toward my own negligent father suddenly seemed rather mild.

Zetetic's retreat had halted only a few feet into the tunnel. He was looking back at Greatshadow. Apparently, the opportunity to witness the death of a primal dragon was overriding his desire to flee.

Greatshadow's glazed eyes suddenly focused on the ledge we stood on. With a voice like a rumbling earthquake he growled as he spotted Relic. "This was your doing!"

"Yes!" screamed Relic, spittle flying. "I've plotted your demise since the day you tossed my twisted body onto the volcano's slopes! Once you die, I shall become the new primal dragon of fire! No one will deny me my destiny!"

"Indeed?" said Greatshadow, his voice firm despite the fact he still flopped helplessly in the lava, unable to rise. "You've shielded your mind from me, but your dead companion has no mental defenses. I've just learned that the knight's armor is made of prayer."

He cast his gaze skyward as Tower reached his apex, the brightest object in all the heavens.

Relic's waving fist froze in mid-air. A sudden look of horror filled his reptilian eyes.

"The monks would be too disciplined to light a candle," he mumbled, sounding almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"I'm pretty sure none of them smoke," I said.

"They don't even cook there," said Zetetic. "All their food is prepared in a nearby village and brought to them daily."

"In that village, there is a bakery, with an oven that never grows cold," Greatshadow said, sinking deeper into the lava as the light shot back down toward him. Tower punched through the clouds, his speed so great that a thunderclap sounded in his wake. Yet, as impressive as his speed was, he suddenly had no target. Greatshadow vanished completely beneath the bubbling rock with little more than a ripple. Tower punched into the glowing surface, throwing up a white-hot splash of magma.

For ten seconds, everything was quiet.

Then, the Gloryhammer shot up into the air, pulling Lord Tower from his blazing bath. Tower spun to clear his armor then surveyed the lava beneath him, searching for his foe.

His foe found him first, as a flame-wreathed talon punched from the surface and snapped around the knight like a man snatching an annoying fly. Greatshadow rose from the syrupy rock with a growl and slammed his talon down on the stone ledge we stood on, knocking us all from our feet. Tower was pinned beneath the impossible bulk of the massive lizard as Greatshadow brought his head to the platform and said, in very satisfied tones: "Embers rise constantly from the furnace of this bakery. They dance above the chimney like turbulent stars. A few may travel far, holding their heat until they land. Sometimes, such embers set roofs aflame."

"Rrraahhhhg!" screamed Relic, as the bone-handled knife dropped from his talon. He fell to all fours and charged the larger dragon. He opened his jaws wide, to almost a perfect ninety-degree angle, before he sunk them into Greatshadow's knuckle.

He shook his head from side to side, tearing at flesh, though in scale, he was doing about as much damage to Greatshadow as Menagerie was doing to Zetetic. "Da! Da! Da!" he raged. I think he meant, "Die! Die! Die!" Though, considering the relationship, perhaps not.

"You annoy me," said Greatshadow, flicking Relic with his talon and sending him flying far across the lava.

Around this time, the last of Relic's blood bubbled away from the bone-handled knife and I faded from existence. I watched with despair as my hands once more turned to mist, though I was slightly intrigued that, for some reason, this time I wasn't naked. Zetetic's clothing had made the transition with me back to the ghost-zone I dwelled in.

Tower had grabbed one of Greatshadow's nails and was bending it back. He said, in booming, heroic tones, "You're bleeding, dragon. Your strength wanes with each heartbeat. Death is near!"

Tower was right. For the primal dragon of fire, Greatshadow didn't look so hot. He had big, gory holes on the side of his face, and his blood gushed out by the bucketful. His vital fluids no longer glowed like flame, but were now a thick brown-red stream that spilled down onto the knight's face, splattering across the platform. I looked to where the knife had fallen, to see if there was a chance any of the drops might hit it.

The knife was gone.

I spun around.

Zetetic was nowhere to be seen.

"Your allies... have abandoned you," said Greatshadow, his voice strained.

"A pure heart may face evil alone," said Tower, defiant, as the strength of the Armor of Faith snapped the nail he wrestled with. He reached out and sank spiky fingers into the stone and began to drag himself free of Greatshadow's weakening grasp.

"You aren't... alone," said Greatshadow. "Three hundred monks pray... for your victory."

"Which is why I cannot fail!"

"The monastery has a library with ten centuries full of ancient books, dry as kindling," said Greatshadow, as his eyelids drooped. "There is an open window. And now... there is fire."

"Die!" screamed Relic as he rose from the lava near Greatshadow's hips, climbing the dragon like a mountain, pausing every few feet to take a nip from his hide.

The prayer-driven gears within Tower's armor purred at a louder pitch as he finally kicked himself free of the dragon's failing grasp. He lifted the Gloryhammer above his head and shouted, "This ends now!"

At that moment, the metallic ring that covered the thumb on his left gauntlet vanished.

"One of the faithful... has abandoned his post," said Greatshadow. Suddenly, a bolt popped out of the plate covering Tower's left kneecap. "He is not alone in loving books more than duty."

Tower answered by swinging the Gloryhammer with all his might toward Greatshadow's mocking tongue. Greatshadow's front teeth splintered with a wet sound that made me cringe. The dragon drew in a shallow breath as his mouth closed around the Gloryhammer and Tower's hands.

The dragon's scaly cheeks puffed out as he exhaled. A jet of white flame shot thirty feet out from Tower's left kneecap, quickly fading into a stream of oily black smoke.

Greatshadow spit out the Gloryhammer and stared at the smoking husk of armor standing before him. With a creak, the armor tilted to the left, then toppled, landing with a clatter as it broke into scattered pieces. The interior was covered with soot half an inch thick.

Relic was now almost to Greatshadow's neck. The larger dragon grabbed the annoying assailant gingerly between two claws and placed him on the ledge amidst the scattered armor parts.

"Die! You must die!" screamed Relic.

"I sense I may have – in some fashion – offended you," said Greatshadow.

"You discovered me fresh from the egg and snapped my bones between your talons! You tossed my half-dead body from the caldera onto the slopes for the pygmies to scavenge! I was nothing but the unwelcome waste of your perversions, tossed away like trash! You will suffer! You will pay!"

Greatshadow rolled the tiny dragon between his talons, turning him to his back, taking a misshapen wing and snapping it once more. Relic screamed in agony as Greatshadow twisted the flesh back and forth, until a sharp bone punched through the surface.

"Little Brokenwing," said Greatshadow, tossing him onto the platform so that he bounced near the mouth of the tunnel. "Let the pain you feel at this moment linger. You have cost me dearly today. Nowowon required four centuries of incantations to properly enslave as my watchdog. You took him from me. I've worn my original body for thirty centuries, but the damage done by the knight may yet rob me of it. I saw your cowardly ally in possession of the Jagged Heart. You would dare bring her weapon to my lair, knowing what you know of our history?"

"I dare any price!" Relic hissed through clenched teeth. "Beginning with the pygmies who came to butcher my corpse, I've left a trail of death and destruction in my wake. My hate for you is a fire that can never be quenched!"

Greatshadow's mention of cowardly allies made me wonder where Zetetic had gone. Assuming he had the bone-handled knife, I felt for the familiar tug, and instantly found it. I flashed down the tunnel only a few yards. Zetetic was pressed to the wall, his face drained of all color; the red D tattooed on his forehead looked pink. He was shivering, and not just because he had both arms wrapped around the Jagged Heart, hugging it like a frightened child holding a doll. He had the bone-handled knife clutched in his right hand and what looked like a shard of glass in his left. He stared toward the opening of the ledge where Greatshadow busied himself with tormenting his overly ambitious offspring.

Greatshadow's blood seeped and bubbled across the stone like a dark river.

Setting his jaw, Zetetic leapt from the shadows, diving toward the stream of boiling ichor. He slapped the flat of the knife blade into the fluid. Instantly I was on my ass before him, meeting his frightened gaze. From the corner of my eye, I saw Greatshadow turning toward us, drawing a breath. The Jagged Heart had saved Zetetic before, but the dragon was so close that Zetetic's long, frazzled ponytail fluttered as the beast inhaled. This blast was coming at point blank range.

With a voice squeaking with terror he gazed deeply into my eyes and announced, "I understand the interspatial geometry of the ancients!"

He snapped the gleaming glass in his left hand, which I now saw to be a mirror.

At that second, Greatshadow breathed, a great blinding gush of fire licking around me in all directions. Yet, I wasn't burned. The flames danced behind me, swirled above me, spun before me, but I remained safe in a bubble of cool air.

The conflagration died away. It seemed to me that Greatshadow, in his weakened state, had lost much of the power of his flame. He looked odd as I stared at him, distorted and wavy. Then I realized I was seeing him through a wall of pure ice at least a yard thick.

The wall of ice had materialized from the tip of the Jagged Heart. The Jagged Heart was being held by a humanoid figure nine feet tall, broad across the shoulders, wearing a long black walrus hide coat. I looked up and saw the mostly bald, blue-white scalp and the curve of ivory tusks. Never had I been so happy to see a woman whose last words to me had been a not so subtle threat of butchery.

Aurora looked down at me. As usual, her expression was one of utter coolness; she seemed unflustered that she'd just emerged from some unfathomable extra-dimensional prison to find herself face to face with a primal dragon. "I'll ask later what you're doing here," she said, shifting the shaft of the harpoon from her right hand to the left. "Right now, it's time for Greatshadow to meet someone who knows how to use this thing."

# 22 - WORST NIGHTMARE

AURORA LUNGED, THE Jagged Heart held above her head, aiming for the gap between Greatshadow's eyes. The dragon pulled away, pressing down on the stone ledge with his massive claw. The volcanic rock cracked beneath his weight, creating a deep pit a yard wide just where Aurora's oversized boot should have landed. She fell as the ground between her and Greatshadow gave way.

Greatshadow plunged into the magma lake once more. I ran to the hole where Aurora had vanished. She'd dropped about twenty feet; her heels were balanced on a six-inch lip of stone. Fresh lava bubbled below her, fiery red.

I pulled off my cloak and dropped to my chest, my arms dangling over the edge to allow the hem to reach her.

"Climb up!" I shouted.

"Infidel thinks you're dead, you bastard!" Aurora said as she grabbed the thick velvet cloth. "Why the hell are you still alive? What on earth are you doing here? For that matter, what the hell am I doing here?"

Zetetic looked over the edge as Aurora began to climb up the cloak. My arms felt like they'd be pulled from their sockets. Zetetic said, "The pyramid trapped you in an interstitial realm where time doesn't exist as a dimension. I freed you."

"And while you're pondering that, you should know I'm a ghost, but turn solid when dragon blood gets on my knife," I explained, my voice strained as I struggled not to drop her. "I may dematerialize any second, so hurry."

Aurora furrowed her brow as she climbed. "I can't decide which of you is making less sense. Let me talk to someone sane. Where's Infidel?"

"The spirit realm," said Zetetic.

"She's dead?"

The Deceiver stroked his chin as he contemplated the question, then said, "I don't believe any existing word adequately describes her condition. She's been split into physically manifested dual aspects of her psyche then thrust bodily into a non-material realm of souls."

"You are not allowed to answer any more of my questions," Aurora grumbled as she grabbed the rocky ledge next to my shoulder with her sausage-sized fingers. My teeth chattered as she clambered over me back onto the relative safety of the ledge. "Where'd the damn dragon get off too?"

Relic crawled from the tunnel toward the bone-handled knife. He answered Aurora through teeth clenched with pain. "Greatshadow is bathing in magma to cauterize his wounds."

Aurora tensed as she saw the small dragon. She raised the Jagged Heart, looking ready to put him out of his misery.

"Wait!" said Zetetic, grabbing her arm. "He's a friend."

"I wouldn't go that far," I said.

"He's an enemy of our enemy," said Zetetic.

Relic reached the knife and moved it from the vaporizing dark brown pool it lay in, touching it to the sticky red blood coating his shoulder from his broken wing. The fresh fluid filled me with a surge of energy.

"So, can Greatshadow just wait us out?" I asked. "Could he stay under the magma forever?"

"Actually, no," said Relic. "Despite the fact my father dwells in a volcano, the elemental force he's merged with isn't magma, it's fire. His physical body and his internal flames both require air. He must surface soon."

Zetetic looked around. "Soon may not be soon enough," he said. "Tower's armor is disappearing piece by piece."

He was right. Tower's chest plate was still there, along with various nuts, bolts, and gears, but the bulk of the armor had vanished. As I watched, the hip compartment that held the magic book flickered, then turned to smoke, leaving the leather-bound volume within sitting on the barren ground. Zetetic tore off pieces of his robe and fashioned them into impromptu mittens, lifting the book.

"Technically, I'm not touching it," he said as he flipped through the book. He shook his head slowly as he studied the pages. "Not that having this will do me any good. Greatshadow is no doubt burning the monastery to the ground, killing everyone inside. When the last monk praying to keep my heart beating is slain I'll be dead, permanently this time."

"Greatshadow may have plucked that information from Stagger's mind," said Relic. "Perhaps he thinks if he waits long enough, he can face one less foe. Aurora is our best hope now. She can use the Jagged Heart to slay Greatshadow."

"This still doesn't make sense to me," I said. "Fire melts ice. Why is an icy fragment of Hush more powerful than a whole dragon?"

"Hush isn't the dragon of ice," said Aurora. "She's the dragon of cold."

"So?"

"To understand the true nature of reality, you need only look into the night sky. Darkness is the permanent state of things; light is merely a fleeting local phenomenon. The same is true of heat and fire. Flames can rage brightly for but a moment. Just as darkness will always win out over light, cold is the eternal backdrop that existed before fire, and will endure after. Flame can never win any permanent victory against cold."

"The true power of the weapon lies in more than simply its elemental chill," said Relic. "Greatshadow is the dragon who broke Hush's heart. Its frosty bitterness embodies the hatred Hush feels toward Greatshadow. It can, and will, slay him."

"I know a lot of dragon history, but I've never heard that," said Zetetic.

Before Relic could provide us with a history lesson, Greatshadow burst from the surface of the bubbling magma, his neck rising up fifty feet, a hundred, as he drew a deep breath into his mighty lungs. He was wreathed in fresh flames, his skin aglow with his newly stoked energies. The ground beneath us trembled as the lava pool began to rise.

Relic shook his head, looking as if he might be about to cry. "He's opened fresh lava vents beneath the surface! If the volcano erupts, we'll all perish!"

Aurora craned her neck up, drawing the harpoon back. Greatshadow spread his enormous wings, beating them in a powerful downstroke. Globs of molten rock rained around us as a foundry wind nearly swept us from our feet.

"His head's too far away!" Aurora shouted over the gale. "I can throw a harpoon a hundred yards on a good day, but not straight up!"

"You could if you were bigger!" Zetetic leapt in front of her. "Fortunately, I have the power to make you a giantess with an enchanted kiss!" He stood on his tiptoes, grabbed her cheeks, and mashed his puckered lips between her tusks.

A wall of flame shot down toward us as Greatshadow exhaled once more. As before, the flame was thwarted by a shield of ice as Aurora grew rapidly, doubling to sixteen feet, then thirty, as Zetetic grabbed Relic by the tail and dragged him back toward the tunnel.

I lingered behind for half a second to watch as Aurora topped out close to ninety feet tall. The Jagged Heart had grown with her, taller than any tree. Her long black coat flapped as she leaned back to throw, the hem catching me like a sail, knocking me from my feet. Flat on my back, I watched as she let the harpoon fly, aiming toward Greatshadow's open maw as the jet of flames died away.

The Jagged Heart flashed up like reverse lightning, trailing snow, entering the dragon's cavernous jaws and punching into the roof of his mouth. His head tilted sideways as he shrieked in pain. The bright, crystalline tip of the harpoon jutted from the top of his skull. His eyes rolled up, as if trying to focus on it.

Finally, Greatshadow shuddered, his body wracked with a death spasm. Zetetic ran from the tunnel and grabbed my hand, dragging me back toward relative safety as the dragon began to fall. Magma splashed up in a raging tidal wave as his body collapsed. Aurora, no longer in possession of the Jagged Heart, dropped to her hands and knees and tried to squeeze her massive bulk into the tunnel.

She was too late. The molten wave fell upon her and she screamed as her giant shoulders slammed into the tunnel entrance, plugging it, saving Zetetic, Relic, and myself from the magma bath.

I ran to her as the magic that had transformed her drained away. She returned to her normal size, inside a large cave that was a perfect negative outline of her body. The lava had hardened into solid stone on touching her, but not before it had burned away much of her skin. Her face had been spared, at least, and she was still alive as I dropped to my knees in front of her. "Hang on!" I screamed. "Zetetic can fix you!"

Her words were nothing but a whisper as she answered, "Th-the Heart... i-it must b-be returned..."

"Don't try to talk," I said.

"P-promise!" she said, straining to raise her voice. "T-take the Heart... take it... home."

"I promise," I said, taking her hands. "Now, hold still while...."

"Thank you," she sighed, as the last of her breath passed between her ivory tusks. Her eyes closed.

I pursed my lips together, fighting to keep from crying. She'd never intended to fight Greatshadow when this all began. She'd never done a thing to deserve this fate. I'd given my promise as a matter of convenience. It wouldn't have been right to argue with her. But looking at her now placid face I swore, somehow, someway, I'd keep my word to her.

Relic hobbled next to me, the bone-handled knife in his bleeding claw. "There is no time for mourning," said the small dragon. "Greatshadow's body is dead. We must act swiftly to kill his elemental spirit, before he can grow a new shell."

Zetetic wandered around the cave left by Aurora, staring up at specks of light that dotted the ceiling. He climbed a wall and thrust his fingers into one of the lights, which proved to be a hole in a paper-thin sheet of rock. He flaked it away in big handfuls, and soon had a large enough gap to climb through.

"Follow me," he said, as he wriggled out.

Relic leapt onto the wall and clambered after him. Despite his injuries and the obvious pain of every movement, the little dragon still seemed much stronger and faster than I was. I guess even a lamed dragon was a better physical specimen than an ordinary man. Or, at least in better shape than me. I was panting, my arms trembling, by the time I managed to drag myself through the hole. My legs were quivering as I walked out onto a freshly formed plain of soot-black rock still spiderwebbed with tendrils of bright red lava. The volcano seemed to have lost a great deal of its energy with Greatshadow gone. Still, I danced around, grateful I had boots. As long as I kept moving, the heat was merely blistering instead of crippling.

In the center of the rapidly cooling lava, amid rock that cracked and popped as it gave up its heat, was Greatshadow's enormous head and shoulders, frozen into the solidifying stone. One wing jutted into the air behind him like a giant black sail. The deep brick red of his scalp was now pink beneath a layer of thick frost. The Jagged Heart had returned to its normal size and lay upon his snout as if it had been dropped there by some hopelessly lost whaler.

Zetetic ran across the smoking plane, jumping over glowing cracks, scrambling up Greatshadow's scaly hide. Though it was entirely the wrong thing to be thinking about, I couldn't help but gawk at the sheer size of the dragon's skull as my internal booze calculator tried to figure out how many rounds I could buy at the Black Swan if I could somehow cash it in. A lot. A whole damn lot. Numbers weren't my strong suit.

Zetetic stood between the dragon's eyes as he snatched up the Jagged Heart. "Got it!" he shouted. "Now, we just need to get a warrior to the spirit world to finish off the dragon!"

Relic nodded, standing before the Greatshadow's toothy jaws, staring up at Zetetic. "Stagger will have to do."

"Have to do what?" I asked.

"Go to the spirit world to kill Greatshadow," said Zetetic, tossing the harpoon at me. I jumped back as the tip buried into the stone where I'd just stood.

"You almost killed me!" I shouted.

"I don't think that's possible," the Deceiver said. "You aren't alive, remember? No court would convict me."

I grabbed the harpoon and yanked it free. I held it toward Relic. "You're the one with the daddy-grudge. You do it."

"Nowowon has broken my claws. It's agonizing to hold this knife; I could never wield the harpoon effectively," said Relic. "And Zetetic is too cowardly to be trusted with the mission."

"I concur," said the Deceiver.

"I'm not exactly a prime physical specimen myself," I said, wiping sweat from my brow. "And I'll fight any man who says I'm not a yellow-bellied coward!"

"You may not need to fight the dragon yourself," said Zetetic. "The War-Doll – I mean, Infidel – is already in the spirit realm. The gate she passed through leads to the specific abstract reality where Greatshadow's soul resides. She did show a certain talent for violence. If she's somehow recovered from her psychic split, you could have her complete the mission."

My immediate thought was, screw the mission. Except for the whole end-of-the-world-by-fire thing, what did I care if Greatshadow's soul was killed? But the thought that I could be reunited with Infidel in the spirit world made my heart beat faster. I didn't want her to die, but, if she was already a spirit, I'd rather be on the other side with her than trapped here as a ghost.

"Okay," I said, holding the harpoon in a two-handed grasp. "You've made your case. How do I get to Infidel? Zetetic can't open another spirit gate. If there was a magic item here that could open the portal, isn't it buried under about a thousand feet of rock now?"

"Oh," said Relic. "That was a lie."

"Nice," said Zetetic.

"Then there's not some object here with the power to send me to the land of the dead?" I asked, confused.

"I wouldn't say that's true either," said Relic, walking toward me, wincing as he shifted the bone-handled knife around in his claw to grasp it by the hilt instead of the blade.

Before I understood his intention he stabbed me, the blade punching though my left nipple. In a second of time that dribbled by like molasses I felt the knife tear through my pectoral muscles, skim between my ribs, slice the edge of my left lung, and puncture my heart, halting it mid-beat.

The world went black.

I LIFTED MY throbbing head from my folded arms and looked around the bar at the Black Swan. I blinked my bleary eyes, attempting to focus in the dim light. The lanterns barely flickered behind soot-grimed crystal globes. A score of empty tankards were set out around me in a semi-circle of pewter and glass. My whole body was stiff and cold as I stretched, working out the kinks in my back.

I rubbed my sleep fogged eyes, then studied the bottles behind the bar, choosing what I'd drink next. I frowned when I realized all the bottles looked empty. Everything was covered with dust. Busty, one of the regular serving wenches, was at the far end of the bar, her back to me.

"I just had the worst nightmare," I said. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, covered with a dry, pasty scum. "Bring me a beer, would you, luv?"

She wouldn't. At least, she didn't. She just stood there, still as a statue. I got up from the stool and staggered toward her, keeping one hand on the bar for balance. I reached the end of the bar and suddenly sobered up.

Busty was nothing but a dusty skeleton, still standing upright, staring blankly ahead with empty sockets. Her frilly blouse hung like a sack, the generous bustline now dangling to reveal a desiccated breastbone. I spun around, surveying the silent room. There were a hundred people packed into every corner, all dead, their skeletons frozen in rough approximation of daily motion. Players gathered around a table, faded cards forever clasped in their bony fingers. A whore leaned on the shoulder of a client in a corner booth, her mummified cheeks stained with rouge, her dusty wig askew atop her skull.

"Hello?" I said, to the silent room.

No one answered.

However, as I strained to listen, in the distance I heard a long, low howl, like the baying of a wolf. I crept across the dusty floorboards to the door, looking out onto the familiar skyline of the Isle of Fire.

Only, it wasn't quite as I remembered. The boats surrounding me were all derelict husks, floating in water the color of red wine. A rotting, tilted pier ran toward the banks of the bay. The damage done by Greatshadow's attack on Commonground was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the slopes of the island were still covered with a thick jade canopy of trees, rising to a volcano from which plumes of stark white steam boiled heavenward. The sky was a light gray slate, devoid of a sun, or even clearly defined clouds. The island that lay before me seemed out of scale, smaller somehow.

I crouched down, startled, as the animalistic howl once more rolled over the bay. Wolves weren't native to the Isle of Fire, though they haunted the mountains near the monastery where I'd spent my childhood. I'd gone to sleep many a night pondering the meanings of their different songs; sometimes, they sang toward the moon to tell tales of loneliness and lost loves. Sometimes, their songs were almost joyous, a simple declaration of, "I'm alive! I'm here! And I'm a wolf!" That song was easy to distinguish from a harsher, more sinister war cry, when they howled to frighten prey, to startle them into running. This was that last type of howl.

I glanced back to the bar. The Jagged Heart was lying on the floor beside my stool. I looked down, surprised to find I was still wearing the finery Zetetic had conjured. To my greater surprise, I found the bone-handled knife jutting from my chest. I didn't feel a thing as I grasped the hilt and popped it free. No blood flowed from the wound.

"Relic?" I said, wondering if he could still hear me.

The only answer was the gentle lapping of the wine-dark sea.

Going back inside, I grabbed the Jagged Heart. I wondered how it had made the transition. I'd been holding it when I was stabbed, but when I first died, I'd passed over naked. Maybe the difference was that Relic hadn't stabbed a living man to dispatch to the ghost realms. He'd stabbed a materialized spirit. If I ever met the Divine Author, it seemed like a good thing to ask Him about over a pint of beer. Assuming the Divine Author drinks.

What am I saying? He's a writer. Of course He drinks.

Alas, He wasn't here at the moment, and my quick pillaging pass behind the bar showed that beer wasn't present either. If this were paradise, the sea outside would have been made of actual wine, but I suspected I would be in for an unpleasant surprise if I tested that. I was going to be doing this dragon hunt sober, damn it.

Back outside, I headed up the boardwalk toward the forest. Like the bar, it was eerily silent: no bugs buzzing, no bullfrogs bleating, no birds providing a serenade. I pushed through underbrush studded with fearsome thorns. The Jagged Heart proved better than a machete; vines and limbs studded with wooden needles froze solid as I touched them, snapping with only the slightest touch. Once I was through the brush, towering trees surrounded me, their smooth, perfectly formed trunks stretching high overhead into a curtain of unbroken green. It was dark as a moonless night, but my eyes soon adjusted to the dimness.

From high up the slope, the howl of the unseen beast once more rolled through the air. As the sound faded, I thought I could hear a crunch, crunch, crunch in the distance, the footsteps of something large creeping amongst the trees. I had a pretty good idea what might be making the noise.

Somewhere out in the darkness was the monster who'd lived inside the woman I'd loved.

I skulked up the slopes, holding the harpoon like a halberd, a weapon I had absolutely no experience with. Not that I had much experience with any weapons. Infidel had been my principal mode of defense, which was for the best. Given how often I'd been drunk when our fights broke out, if I'd tried handling anything sharp I'd probably eventually have stabbed myself.

I heard a shuff, shuff, shuff of something moving through the leaves and pressed up closely against an ancient tree trunk thick enough to hide an elephant. I peeked around, listening closely to see if the noise was drawing closer.

Shuff, shuff, shuff. It was right on the other side of the tree.

When I met the she-dragon, would I kill her? Could I? What if I tried to talk to her? Would she recognize me or just try to eat me?

Trusting that I would know what to do when the moment came, I grasped the harpoon and raced around the tree at top speed, which, thanks to my cape snagging on the trunk, wasn't all that fast. Still, it was fast enough to terrify the little girl in the lacy dress I found pressed up against the tree on the far side. Her eyes popped wide and her mouth gaped into an almost perfect 'O' as she filled her lungs, ready to scream. I dropped the Jagged Heart and jumped toward her, hands outstretched, knocking her to the ground as I clamped my hand over her mouth. Air gushed around my fingers as her muffled scream tickled my palm.

"Shhh!" I hissed, as quietly as I could manage. "Shhh! Do you want your other half to hear?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head, 'no.'

I couldn't believe how tiny she was, pinned beneath me. Infidel had actually been somewhat petite, I guess, but it was easy to forget this when she was juggling around bruisers and brutes. Princess Innocent was a whole lot shorter and her arms were thin as broomsticks. My hand practically covered her whole face.

"I'm going to let go," I whispered. "Don't scream."

She trembled as I pulled my hand free. I helped her stand, while I rose to my knees so we'd be on eye level.

"Are you all right?" I asked. Her dress was torn in a dozen places, and her cheeks were covered with scratches. Her long silver hair was a mess.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"You don't remember?"

She shook her head.

I weighed my words carefully. I had dreamed, should I ever reunite with Infidel, I'd confess my love and kiss her hard enough to make us both dizzy. That seemed highly inappropriate now, given her reversion to such a young age. "I was... I was a friend. My name is Stagger."

"You smell bad," she said, scrunching up her nose.

No doubt I did. Growing up in a palace, Innocent had probably never met anyone who sweated.

"Have you seen your other half?" I asked. "Is she near?"

She furrowed her brow, looking confused.

"The she-dragon," I said. "She brought you here."

"She wants to eat me," said Innocent. "But I'm good at hiding."

Which was true enough. The princess had hidden inside Infidel all these years without me suspecting a thing.

As I thought this, an idea occurred to me. Innocent had been hiding inside Infidel. Could she do so again? What if... what if the way to join her two halves back together was simply to let the dragon once more devour the princess?

"The way you're looking at me scares me," said Innocent.

I pursed my lips as I pondered my options.

Whatever was showing on my face couldn't have been good, because Innocent suddenly burst into tears. She went limp, almost fainting, as she fell against my chest, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," I whispered. "It's okay. I'll protect you. I won't let the monster hurt you."

And that was that. The vile thought of feeding this little girl to the she-dragon was banished back to whatever dark pit in my brain it had crawled from. Some fatherly instinct welled within me and I knew with absolute certainty I'd willingly die to protect this girl.

"I'm s-so tired," she sobbed. "I've b-been running and running and running."

Again, this was true for Infidel as well. The whole time I'd known her, I'd thought of her as a fighter, but, in truth, she'd lived every moment on the run from her own past. How had I been so blind?

"You won't have to run any more," I whispered, setting my jaw firmly. "I'll fight the monster for you."

I hugged her for a long time, her face pressed against my chest, until her sobs died down to whimpers, then sniffles. I finally pulled away from her, still on my knees, my hands on her shoulders as I said, "Everything is going to be fine. I'm your friend, and I'll take care of you."

She didn't say anything. She didn't move. Her mouth hung half open as her eyes were fixed at a point in space somewhere over my shoulder.

I didn't have to turn around to know what was standing behind me.

# 23 - THE WORLD CAN WAIT

I DOVE ASIDE as a three-clawed foot stomped down where I'd stood, causing the earth to shudder. My flight was brought to a choking halt by the red velvet cape, caught beneath the she-dragon's heel. I should have dumped the cloak the second the damn thing had been inflicted on me. I fiddled with the collar for half a second before slicing the clasp open with the bone-handled knife. I dropped the blade as I scrambled toward the Jagged Heart. The ground was slippery with frost. I slid across ice-etched leaves, my hand outstretched. A giant claw punched into the soil in front of me, forming a scaly fence. I slammed into it, the harpoon only inches beyond my grasp.

The she-dragon leaned down, her jaws dripping sap-like spittle, the tangles of her hair dangling like vines. Bright yellow eyes stared into mine as she paused in reptilian concentration. Did she recognize me?

"Infidel!" I shouted. "It's me, Stagger!"

Her oversized fingers wrapped around my throat as she snatched me off the ground. Her nose was merely two holes flat against her face, like the nose of a snake. The emerald green scales that glittered around her eyes were weirdly beautiful, in a terrifying, inhuman way.

"I love you!" I shouted. "You loved me!"

The creature licked her lips, her eyes twinkling with the same delighted hunger I'd seen in Infidel's face when Tower had produced the cake. Her head tilted back as her jaws opened to an impossible angle. I flailed helplessly as she brought me toward her jagged teeth.

"Leave him alone!" a tiny voice shouted below my feet.

The she-dragon closed her mouth and looked down. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Princess Innocent with her hands on her hips.

"He's my friend and I won't let you hurt him," the princess shouted, a stern look in her eyes.

A low growl rumbled from the she-dragon's chest as she eyed the annoying creature.

The princess stomped her feet, obviously furious at the delay. "My daddy's the king and you have to do what I say! Put him down!"

"You really should listen to her," I squeaked.

The she-dragon responded by flinging me aside. I went flying above the canopy of trees, feeling profound déjà vu as I reached the apex of my flight and began to plummet toward the blood tangle vines far below. My re-entry was thoroughly unpleasant. If I'd truly been alive, it's possible it would even have been fatal, as I slammed into a tree trunk hard enough to knock off bark. But, just as the wound had been clean when I pulled the bone-handled knife from my ribs, the cuts and scrapes that crosshatched my arms beneath the shredded remains of my sleeves didn't ooze a single drop of blood.

I rose on rubbery legs as a high-pitched shriek of pain reached my ears. I struggled back up the slope, limping, my ankle twisted, though the pain I felt was muted by the same general gauziness that wreathed all my senses in death. Then, for no apparent reason, my ankle suddenly hurt like the devil. In fact, my entire body felt like I'd gone two rounds in a pit fight with No-Face. Blood bubbled up from my various cuts, though almost a minute had passed since the wounds had been inflicted.

A hundred yards ahead there was another ear-piercing scream, far louder than before.

"Infidel!" I shouted, hopping back up the slope with all the speed I could muster. "Infidel!"

At last I spotted the elephantine tree I'd hidden behind only a few minutes before. I moved to one side and saw the Jagged Heart still on the ground, near freshly fallen trees.

I hopped a little further, my heart growing cold as I realized how utterly silent the forest had become. The shrieking I'd heard earlier had stopped, and now the quietness was broken only by a wet, crunching sound, repeating every few seconds, a sound that I imagined might come from the jaws of a she-dragon devouring meat and gristle.

Braced for the worst, I stepped into the clearing.

Sitting atop one of the fallen trees, her face covered in bright green goo, was Princess Innocent. She lifted the bone-handled knife overhead and gave a solid punch down with both hands, planting it to the hilt in the tree trunk, creating the sound I'd heard. I wondered if, for some reason, my blood was pumping in my body because the knife blade was wet again, though with what looked like green slime instead of blood.

I then realized the tree trunk the princess was hacking into was covered in dark green scales and shaped like a woman. It wasn't sap coating the knife.

I sagged, resting my hands on my knees, catching my breath, as Princess Innocent placed her mouth against the fresh wound she'd gouged in the she-dragon and sucked up the oozing blood. With every mouthful, she grew a little larger. The gown she wore tightened, then split along the seams.

After a moment the princess sat back and wiped the bright green blood from her face. She had a woman's body now, over a foot taller than when she'd started her feast, with magnificent breasts I instantly recognized. Before me was the woman I'd known all these years, her silver hair long and gleaming, her skin pale beneath blood and shredded gown, completely free of pygmy dyes. Innocent looked like Infidel once more.

I smiled at the perfect logic of the magic unfolding before me. Infidel hadn't been created when a dragon devoured a princess. Infidel had been born when a princess devoured a dragon.

Infidel looked slightly drunk, oblivious to her surroundings as the dragon blood settled into her belly. Yet, as she surveyed the forest with her glazed eyes, her face broke into a giant grin as her gaze reached me. She cried, "Stagger!"

"Infidel!" I answered, throwing my arms open as I hobbled toward her.

She jumped from the corpse and bounded toward me like a sprightly gazelle. I flinched as she reached me, her arms wrapping around me, braced for significant damage to my ribs. However, her hug, while robust, seemed to have only ordinary strength behind it. I bent my face down to gaze at her in wonder, but instantly closed my eyes as she pressed her lips to mine. The green blood still on her cheeks smelled like papaya. Her sticky tongue slid between my teeth. I hugged her back with all my might and kissed her till we were both dizzy.

Not metaphorically dizzy, mind you, but actual stumble and collapse from lack of air dizzy. We fell, landing atop the red cape that lay over the leafy earth like a bed-spread. Only the impact of the ground made our lips pull apart. I was on top of her, staring down into her sea-gray eyes and all the words and wisdom and wonder that they contained. Her body beneath mine was hot as a furnace. Where our skin met through our tattered clothing, it was slippery from dragon blood and my own blood and a copious amount of sweat. Our breaths intermingled as we studied each others faces and for the span of several heartbeats it felt as if all was right with the universe.

Except, alas, it wasn't.

"As much as I hate to ruin this moment, the world might come to a fiery end if we don't go kill Greatshadow's spirit," I whispered.

"The world can wait," she replied, as she placed her hand in my tangled hair and drew my mouth to hers once more.

Fortunately, she'd left the bone-handled knife in the dragon's blood. For the events which followed, it was useful to be in full, unmuted possession of all my senses, and to have a heart free to pump blood to wherever it was needed.

As we kissed, her gentle fingers slowly pulled away the damaged rags that had once been my shirt. My own fingers slipped into the strained seams of her gown and completed the tearing, freeing her from her silken confinement.

And then...

And then...

And then...

Shall I tell you how she looked, bare beneath me, the body of an angel wearing the grin of a devil, hungry for pleasure? Shall I tell you of the noises that came from deep within her, the guttural growls, the sibilant songs, the barely-voiced moans as my mouth fell against her skin? Shall I tell you how she tasted, all sweetness and salt, of the wine that was her sweat and spit and tears? Or how she smelled, like earth, like ocean, like sunlight, a symphony of aromas where every scent note built to a perfect crescendo?

And shall I tell you how she felt? Do I even possess the vocabulary to describe the smooth, slick landscape of her body, the warm terrain so full of curves and creases, the silken softness overlaying muscle and bone of breathtaking artfulness? Can I possibly find the vocabulary to describe the magic of feeling her heart beating as I pressed my lips against her throat, the steady thump, thump, thump a drum beating out a single message of life, life, life, so elegant and simple it moved me to tears?

No. No, I don't believe I can tell you of these things, and I don't believe that I should.

But they happened all the same.

SINCE I CANNOT tell you about the unspeakable wonder of the moments that followed my reunion with Infidel, allow me to fill you in on what was occurring back in the real world with Relic and Zetetic. While I wasn't personally witness to these events, I've since learned enough to reconstruct the moment: Zetetic and Relic had freed the Gloryhammer from where it was partially trapped beneath freshly cooling lava. I had wondered if the Gloryhammer would vanish like Tower's armor, but, apparently it was a far older creation, an enchanted weapon with a history dating back centuries, and Zetetic recounted this history to Relic with his usual enthusiasm for obscure magical lore.

As they spoke, Zetetic and Relic retreated to a perch atop Greatshadow's skull, which rose like a little island from the lava plane. They amused themselves for a time by pulling possessions out of Tower's sketchbook, including the Immaculate Attire, which Zetetic used as a seat on the still hot skull. Several more slices of cake in various flavors were also retrieved, which they devoured with gusto.

As daylight faded they passed the time speculating as to what was happening elsewhere. For instance, Zetetic put forth the theory the fire Greatshadow had started in the monastery must have been brought under control, even though the last bolts from Tower's armor had finally faded away. Some monks had survived, Zetetic argued, since his heart was still beating.

Relic chuckled lowly in response and said, "You never died."

"I was hanged," said Zetetic.

"Yes. But your neck didn't break. You suffocated and merely passed out."

"My neck was pure agony for a week after," said Zetetic. "It certainly felt broken."

"No doubt you'd injured some ligaments," said Relic. "But Father Ver knew the truth. When they hung you, the noose was designed to suffocate you without severing your spine. You passed out from asphyxiation, feeling as if you were dying. When you woke up, you were told of your death, though it had never occurred. No monks have ever had to pray to keep you alive. I snatched the truth from Ivory Blade's mind."

"Oh," said Zetetic, then burst out into raucous laughter.

"You're relieved you need not fear imminent death?"

Zetetic wiped a tear from his eye. "There's that. But I also appreciate the irony. How appropriate that I should be ensnared with a simple lie."

They both sat quietly for a while, listening to the crackle of the stone cooling around them, until Zetetic asked, "How are we going to know if Stagger succeeds?"

"We shall know when the world doesn't end," said Relic.

"It's not ending right now."

"That we know of," said Relic.

Zetetic nodded, pondering this. Then he said, "Do you think Stagger ever found the she-dragon or the princess?"

"Let us hope not," said Relic.

"Why?"

"Because the princess would distract him. He would probably try to protect her from danger, which means he might not do what is needed to slay Greatshadow."

"But maybe he'll find the she-dragon," said Zetetic.

Relic sighed. "In that case, the creature is probably chewing his flesh right now."

And, in a way, he was right, since as my reunion with Infidel unfolded, I became increasingly decorated with bite marks.

But I'm not telling you of such things, am I?

ONCE WE WERE too exhausted to continue the more athletic portion of our reunion, we wrapped our tenderized bodies in the red cloak, our limbs entangled as we slipped into a dreamy haze in which time lost all grip upon us. Infidel's face was pressed up against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. She was so still and quiet I thought she'd gone to sleep, until she whispered, "You smell nice."

I chuckled. "Innocent didn't think so."

"Innocent didn't know what was good for her. You, Stagger, are good for me. I was so lucky to know you."

"Why are you speaking in the past tense?" I asked.

"You're still dead, right? That wasn't just some bad dream?"

My mouth went dry. "It wasn't a dream," I whispered. "I am dead. But I never left you; I've been with you every moment, haunting the bone-handled knife. And now we can be together forever."

"Can we?" she asked, sounding skeptical.

"Can't we?" I asked. "I guess, honestly, I don't know. I don't understand how things work here in the spirit world. Maybe there will never be any ending here."

"But I don't belong here," she said. "I'm still alive. At least, I think I am. There's this... tug... inside me. I feel like my time here is limited. Eventually, I'll be drawn back to the real world."

"I understand," I said. "I wish I could come with you."

"I don't see why you can't, if I can take the knife back. Haunting the blade that killed you. That's kind of weird."

"This coming from a woman with a belly full of dragon's blood."

Infidel sat up, frowning as she noticed the tangled green ribbons in her long hair. As she worked to unknot them, she said, "The first time I swallowed Verdant's blood, it was dried up and concentrated. I could feel the power surging through my body. This time, it turned me back to my correct age, but I don't feel super-strong." She ran her fingers along a line of hickeys on her neck. "And I'm definitely not invulnerable."

"Maybe things work differently here. Hopefully you'll be back to your arm-ripping self when you get home."

She looked up the slope toward the caldera. "I wish I knew how to get home. The only path I can think of leads straight through Greatshadow. The dragon must know how to travel between the spirit world and the material world, or Zetetic wouldn't be worried."

"We still have the Jagged Heart," I said. "Even with just normal strength, we can take him."

She sighed as she pulled the last ribbon free from her hair and tossed it away. "That's so sad about Aurora," she said, referring to a conversation we'd had during an earlier pause.

I sat up and rubbed her back. "She was a good friend."

"She was my only friend," said Infidel. "Except you."

"I'll always be with you," I said.

She nodded gazing off into the distance. "Especially if the Black Swan is right."

"About what? The dragon apocalypse?"

Infidel rolled her eyes. "About us having a daughter."

Somehow, despite everything that we'd done together since our reunion, that possibility hadn't crossed my mind. Could I really impregnate Infidel? Did this half-alive, materialized phantom body of mine have that power?

"You're quiet," she said, as I grew lost in thought. "Don't you want her to be yours?"

I smiled as I lay back, pulling her down with me. "I want it so much, I think we should take at least one more run at increasing the odds."

And then there was another hour that I can't talk about.

"STAGGER MUST HAVE gotten the job done by now," said Zetetic. By now it had gotten really dark in the caldera. Outside the small circle of light cast by the Gloryhammer, ghostly flames flickered and danced above cracks in the ground, as gasses beneath the earth seeped free and ignited.

"I'm not so certain," said Relic. "I don't feel... a release."

"A release?"

"Like all dragons, I'm attuned to elemental forces. Greatshadow is still present in the flames surrounding us. He simply hasn't gathered the strength yet to control them."

"If he died, you could take over the element of flame? Just like that?"

Relic shrugged. "It would require time. How much is difficult to say."

"How long did it take Greatshadow to master the element?"

"Though I have many of his memories, I can't judge the time, since time as we know it wasn't invented when my father was young."

Zetetic looked perplexed.

"Before Glorious merged his spirit with the sun, the sun's path was more chaotic. Years and days had no fixed length. Glorious inadvertently gave birth to human civilization when he guided the sun into a fixed path, making seasons predictable and agriculture possible."

"Amazing," said Zetetic.

"Still, to answer your question as best I can, I expect it will take a decade or more to merge my soul with fire."

"A decade doesn't seem very long to achieve such power."

"To you, perhaps. I've only been alive a few months. A decade seems unbearably long."

Zetetic stroked his chin as he contemplated the small dragon. "You're an interesting infant, Relic."

"I don't want to be called Relic any more."

"Why not?"

"I used that name because I never was given another. But my father finally fulfilled this simple obligation, at least. He called me Brokenwing."

"So he did. Little Brokenwing."

"I won't be using the 'little,'" said the dragon, somewhat indignant.

"So, if Stagger fails, what are we going to do?" asked Zetetic.

Relic shook his head. "There's no point in asking. Stagger is our only hope."

Zetetic looked up into the darkness. "I wonder what's taking so long to get the job done?"

If I'd been there to answer, I'd have reminded him that at fifty, my body isn't quite as robust as it once was. It takes a little longer to get the job done.

AND EVEN LONGER to get the job done a third time. This dayless, nightless land provided few clues as to how much time had passed as we rested, utterly exhausted.

Infidel was using my hairy belly as a pillow, looking up at me with a dreamy gaze. Suddenly, her eyes widened.

"It's so obvious!" she said, jumping to her feet.

"What's obvious?"

"Dragon's blood! You come back to life when the knife touches dragon's blood. And, you came back to life when Nowowon gave you a drink of blood. So, to come back to life permanently, you need to drink dragon's blood!"

I sat up, scratching my head. "You think it's that easy?"

"Who's the brain in this operation?" she said, placing her hands on her hips.

"Um," I said, deciding to pretend I didn't understand the question. Anyway, what could it hurt? She scrambled toward the fallen body of her dragon-self.

"Ow, ow, ow!" she said as she crossed over the ground. "Lot's of sharp rocks under these leaves. I'm not used to being tender-footed."

"You want to wear my boots?" I asked, wrestling to put on what remained of my pants.

"I'd slip right out of those things," she said, scrambling onto the dragon corpse. "I'll wrap my feet in some cloth from the cape. Right now, you need to suck some dragon-blood."

She grabbed the bone-handled knife, struggling to free it. She gouged a new hole on the side of the hip. Gore the consistency and color of pea soup oozed out.

My lips were tender from Infidel's nibbles, but I heroically pressed them to the scaly hide of the corpse and sucked. The blood was sticky, as difficult to swallow as molasses, and the fruity flavor I had tasted on Infidel's tongue had a sourness when drank directly that grew more unbearable the longer it sat in my mouth. It took a few moments to force down a cup of the stuff.

"Ugg," I said, wiping my lips. "I'm used to putting bad things in my mouth, but this is fairly rotten."

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fantastic!" I said. "But I've felt that way ever since we've been back together. Just being able to talk to you again is more magical than dragon's blood."

"Maybe you won't notice any changes to your body until we get back to the real world," she said, studying my bruised frame with a critical eye.

"That's probably how it works," I said, hoping it was true.

She sat down on the she-dragon's log-like foot and began to cut the lower edges of my cape into strips with the knife. She wrapped her feet in the thick velvet, forming what could have passed as ballerina slippers. They looked surprisingly functional; Infidel had a lot of experience improvising with clothing. She took what remained of my shirt, tore off the shredded sleeves, and wore it like a tunic, cinching it at the waist with a belt made from the braided sleeve rags.

I dressed while she worked, slipping my boots back on. Since I was shirtless, I decided I'd wear what was left of the cape. I brushed off the twigs and leaves and noticed a snarl of long, tangled hair. I looked at it closer, unable to tell if it had come out of my scalp or hers, and finally decided it was a little of both. Inspired by the intertwined fibers, I wrapped the long strands around my little finger, tucking and twisting them until I formed a small braided ring. It barely fit on my little finger. I braided another, slightly larger. I finished my efforts just as she jumped down from the log.

I dropped to one knee before her and took her hand.

"I don't know if this counts, since there's no church, no priest, and, alas, no wedding cake. But, my parents never got married, and I want our daughter to grow up respectable. So, Infidel, with this ring, I thee wed, if you'll have me."

I paused before I slipped the smaller hair ring onto her finger, looking into her face. Her eyes were wet as she nodded and said, "I do."

The ring fit perfectly; the silver in her hair and the gray in mine even gave it a bit of sparkle. "It's not exactly gold and glorystone," I said.

"It's far more precious," she whispered, pulling me close. I handed her the larger ring. She slipped it onto my finger.

At this point, I should probably switch to another interlude in the material world, but, alas, there really wasn't anything interesting going on there. So I'll just skip ahead to the part where we got dressed again.

She finished binding up her slippers as I finished fixing the clasp on my cape. She tossed me the bone-handled knife, which I stuck in my belt, then went to grab the Jagged Heart.

"Wow," she said, lifting it, a bit off balance. "It's kind of heavy."

"Yeah," I said. "I should probably carry it. You carry the knife."

"Nah. Even if I don't have supernatural strength, I still have more experience jabbing holes in things than you do."

"Conceded."

She looked toward the caldera. "You're certain the world will be destroyed if we don't do this?"

"I'm not certain of anything. But Zetetic thinks it's a real possibility."

"Yeah, but he's, you know, a Deceiver. He's got the tattoo on his forehead and everything. What if he's tricking us into doing something awful?"

"I don't have an answer for that. But what's our alternative?"

She shrugged, but still didn't look eager to tramp up the slope.

"We have the best reason of all for doing this," I said. "Assuming you're pregnant, I don't want my daughter being born in the land of the dead. For her sake, we have to get you home safely, and we have to make sure that there's still a world left for us to raise her in."

Infidel nodded as she pressed her lips together in a look of grim determination.

"Let's go find this oversized iguana and get out of here," she said, marching up the slope, the harpoon resting on her shoulder like a soldier's pike.

THE PECULIAR GEOGRAPHY of this corner of the afterlife meant we didn't have far to go. Barely a hundred yards passed before we pushed through a wall of thorny brush onto a steep rocky ridge that led to the caldera. We advanced arm in arm, in part because it's the way lovers like to walk, and in part because we were each having trouble walking individually. My ankle still hurt like hell and Infidel was leaving bloody footprints from where thorns had punched through her satin shoes. Not to mention, we were both tender and chaffed and raw. In places.

As we limped our way past the lip of the caldera, we looked down over a field of black rock, dotted with vents of steam. In the center of this barren landscape there was what looked to be the remains of the world's largest bonfire, a half-mile-long hill of soot-covered coals and glowing embers wreathed in a skin of pale blue flames.

The bonfire crackled with sparks as we approached. There was a peculiar rumble, low and rhythmic, that I had difficulty identifying. Then, Infidel grabbed my shoulder and pulled my ear down to lip level. She whispered, softly, "Is that fire snoring?"

I nodded. Of course it was snoring. This was Greatshadow's spirit and it was asleep. Infidel always crashed into a corpse-like slumber after a tough battle. Greatshadow probably did the same.

Our eyes locked. Would it really be this easy? Did we just have to sneak up on an exhausted dragon and punch the Jagged Heart between his eyes?

Infidel placed her hand on the back of my neck. She tilted her face to meet mine and gave me a long, lingering kiss. In the aftermath I stared at her, moon-eyed. There was frost in her long platinum locks. Her breath came out as mist. And her eyes, her eyes glistened like deep and mysterious pools in a cavern as she said, softly, "Trust me."

I nodded. There was never any doubt. My fate, her fate, the fate of our daughter, the fate of all mankind: I surrendered them willingly into her hands.

She motioned for me to wait where we stood, a good fifty yards from the smoldering flames, as she lowered the harpoon to attack position and crept forward. I held my breath as she inched closer, my eyes flickering from her to the slumbering dragon. Now that I understood the true nature of the flaming hill before us, it was easy to make out the dragon's long neck and ship-sized head. Infidel was marching straight toward his mouth.

Thirty feet away, she knelt, placing the harpoon on the ground before her.

"Greatshadow," she said, in a very loud voice. "Wake up."

She didn't reach for the Jagged Heart as enormous eyes flickered open, great orbs glowing like furnaces, to focus on her with a hate-filled stare.

# 24 - WE FELL

"YOU'VE BEEN SENT to kill me," said Greatshadow, smoke rising from his jaws. His teeth looked like ash covered logs glowing with internal fires.

"Yes," said Infidel, still kneeling, her head bowed low. "But I'm not going to. I don't wish to hurt you."

"Yet you've brought the accursed Heart to my elemental realm. Merely looking upon it causes my soul to weaken. You must know the agony it brings me."

Infidel shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't personally bring the harpoon here, though I was told it could hurt you. I confess, however, I don't really understand why."

The ashen heap that was once the most feared dragon in the world turned his enormous head away, so that the Jagged Heart was no longer within his line of sight.

"It's a part of her," he sighed, his voice crackling like a campfire stirred by a breeze. "Long ago, before we dragons entangled our souls with the elements, we were mortal creatures. Like all beasts, the most important goal of our lives was to mate. Unlike other beasts, we dragons prided ourselves on the spiritual nature of our relationships. We weren't mere animals, slaves of our instincts and lusts. We based our coupling on refined courtship that insured that we were perfectly paired: mentally, spiritually, magically, and physically."

"I was told that you and Hush were lovers?"

Greatshadow shook his ragged head as cinders fell from his eyes like dark tears. "More than lovers. Alone, we were incomplete beings; together, we were one perfect soul. Her cold balanced my heat. My wrathful nature was calmed by her grace, while my brash and sudden passions could stir her cool and logical heart. When we lay entangled together in our coupling, staring into one another's eyes, there was no loneliness. We were a universe in total, beyond all cares. Or so I thought." Greatshadow swallowed hard as the ground trembled beneath my feet.

Infidel cast a glance back at me. I studied her face for some clue as to why she hadn't attacked. I longed for Relic's telepathy. I didn't know why she was taking this risk. And yet... and yet she gave me a slight nod, with her eyes locked on mine, and the message was plain. Trust me.

I nodded back, and waited.

Greatshadow's voice was almost a whisper as he said. "Our universe was not so complete as I thought. There was... another. As I stared into the eyes of Hush, she dreamed she was looking into the eyes of Glorious, the dragon who was to become the elemental partner of the sun. My flames, it seems, were not enough for Hush. Her cold, logical heart judged that Glorious would be her perfect mate. So, she abandoned me, and flew to him, to profess her love."

"I'm sorry," said Infidel.

"What is there to be sorry of?" Greatshadow growled. "It proved a great stroke of good fortune, at least for those of us who were to become the primal dragons. Glorious rejected Hush; he was on the verge of merging his spirit with the sun, and had no time for such trivia as love. In her anger, Hush struck Glorious, killing his body, which freed his soul to fully merge with the sun. Such was the violence of Hush's blow that fragments of solar material fell to earth."

"The glorystones," said Infidel.

Greatshadow nodded. "While I was not yet the dragon of fire, I studied all flame, and saw the blaze of the glorystones as they fell. I flew to investigate and found Hush standing over the mortal shell of Glorious. Hush tried to convince me that Glorious had attacked her, but my telepathy was superior and I saw the truth. My rage was so great that I felt my soul burst into flame; I became the elemental embodiment of wrath. My first act upon wielding this power was to lash out at Hush for her betrayal. Even then, her mastery of cold helped protect her from my physical assault, but the emotional pain of that moment forever altered her. Understanding the source of my primal rage, her heart literally froze when she realized she'd driven away the one dragon who truly loved her. As her ice-bound heart shattered into a thousand sharp shards, the unfathomable chill that filled the vacant spot within her soul triggered Hush's transformation into the primal dragon of cold."

"I'm sorry you've felt such pain," said Infidel.

Greatshadow let loose a low rumble that might have been a rueful chuckle. "We've become much greater beings as a result of her betrayal. Though I wonder, at times, if we aren't also something less."

He cast a baleful glare at the harpoon. "Just as everything I cherish eventually turns to ash, everything exposed to her cold heart will eventually wither and perish. Even I."

"If I knew how, I would remove it from this place to stop it from hurting you," said Infidel.

"I know," said Greatshadow. "I see your thoughts so plainly. You have not come here with hatred in your heart."

"No," she said. "I set out on this quest to find comfort for my own broken heart, not because I held any animosity toward you."

"You came to steal my treasure," he said.

"Yes."

"But you've decided you no longer want it."

Infidel touched the band of hair on her finger.

"Gold and glorystones are wealth, not treasure. I can see that I was surrounded by genuine treasures all along. I just had to learn how to recognize them."

"How sorrowful to find these truths only once you are in the realm of the dead," Greatshadow said.

"But I'm not dead." Infidel looked up to meet his gaze. "I arrived here by accident and I need to go back. You must possess the power to send me home. You have the ability to travel between the spiritual and physical worlds, or else Zetetic wouldn't be so worried."

"Traveling between the worlds comes at a cost," said Greatshadow.

"Name the price," she said. "Send us back and I promise that we'll never bother you again. I promise to take the Jagged Heart as far away from you as possible, and I promise to fight anyone who even whispers of making an attempt to kill you."

"You would kill my offspring? The one you call Relic?"

"Consider it done," she said, snapping her fingers.

Greatshadow pondered for a long moment. "No. Tell the pathetic broken-wing that I shall have my revenge at the time and place of my choosing. The thought of the sleepless nights the young one shall endure pleases me. A swift death shall not slake my smoldering rage."

"Consider the message delivered," she said. "Just send us back."

Greatshadow eyed the Jagged Heart. "You must take this weapon from this place. I cannot recover while its bitterness poisons the energies of this land."

She gingerly lifted the harpoon, making sure not to point the tip toward him.

"Some people are worried you'll destroy the world because of what we've done to you," she said, softly. "I could have killed you as you slept. I chose mercy instead."

"Mercy is not a quality often attributed to flame," growled Greatshadow.

"Is it not?" asked Infidel. "Many a wound has been cauterized by fire. Meat half-gone to rot becomes a safe meal once it's cooked. Men couldn't survive harsh winters without your help. There's more to flame than wrath and destruction."

"Too many men think this way," said Greatshadow, sounding indignant at what I thought had been a compliment. His eyes began to blaze as he said, "Men believe they've tamed me, trapping me in hearths to bake their bread and in foundries to forge their steel. They forget that I am a wild thing that won't remain in a cage. I've killed many men to remind others of this truth."

"Perhaps you need reminding, too," she said.

The dragon tilted his head in a quizzical look.

Infidel said, "The wind, the sea, the frozen wastes... these elements are used by men, but none are worthy of the partnership that man has formed with flame. Thanks to mankind, fire is everywhere. In the middle of the trackless ocean, fire can be found in lanterns aboard a ship. On the most frigid, snow-capped mountain, you'll find fires glowing on hearths. Right now, at this moment when you're at your weakest, men light candles, torches, and bonfires, all of which help restore you. There's far more fire in the world due to the actions of men than there would be without us. You may be a wild thing that doesn't wish to be tamed, but certainly, even the wildest beast enjoys being fed. We nourish you with coal from far beneath the earth, we cut down forests to fill our fireplaces, and sometimes we even offer you our dead."

Greatshadow nodded grudgingly. "You are wise, Princess Innocent, though you tell me a truth I already know. Even in my darkest moments of smoldering anger, I dare not destroy mankind. In a world without men, I would be very hungry indeed."

"I don't know that I'm wise," said Infidel. "I just think we're alike in some ways. We both hate anyone who tries to tame us, but understand we sometimes must do things we dislike in order to keep a full belly."

Greatshadow lifted his head high, sparks flying from his jaws as he roared, a sound like a blast furnace in great, puffing gusts. The noise nearly deafened me, but I felt no fear. It was obvious from the expression in his eyes that he was laughing.

"That a mere mortal thinks she is in any way like me is an amusing notion, Princess," said the dragon. "It's been many centuries since I laughed so freely. You've earned your passage home."

With these words, he extended his talon and used a long glowing claw to trace a large circle upon the ground before him. The stone inside that circle fell away, revealing a black pit, full of stars.

"The material world lies through this portal," said Greatshadow.

Infidel turned her head toward me and motioned with her eyes that I should join her. I ran up and clasped her hand, giving her a swift kiss. She dragged me closer to the ring of fire. Fortunately, the Jagged Heart shielded us from the heat. Hand in hand, we stared into the abyss.

"Is it safe to jump?" I asked.

"When have we ever worried about that?" she said with a grin, falling forward, her fingers wrapped in mine. She dangled on the edge for the barest instant as my weight held her. Then, in total confidence, I leaned forward and we tumbled into the darkness.

INFIDEL RELEASED THE Jagged Heart and it fell beside us in a lazy spin. We hugged each other tightly as we flew past stars, past moons and suns and comets. We tumbled though airless voids, hugging one another in terror, awe, and wonder. We were neither in the spirit realm nor the ordinary world of matter; we were two isolated souls, entangled, entwined, a whole and complete universe where seconds and hours had no meaning. Yet, despite our inability to measure time, our eternity of togetherness drew to a close as a great blue jewel of a world emerged from the void beneath us. We clung to each other as the world grew large enough for us to make out the shapes of landmasses beneath the wispy white oceans of clouds. We fell toward a small green speck amidst a vast blue sea, the wind tangling our hair as we slowly emerged from the abstract realms. Far below, we spotted a smoking caldera atop a high mountain that seemed to be the bulls-eye where we'd land.

We looked into each other's eyes. There was no hope of speaking amid the howl of the wind whipping past us. We both knew that Greatshadow had cared nothing for our safety by sending us back along this path. Dropping to earth was no problem for him; he had wings. It was going to take more than a net of vines to save us this time.

Despite this knowledge, all I felt looking into Infidel's face was joy that we would once more be together in the land of the living, however brief that experience might be.

She kissed me.

I kissed her back.

Her lips grew softer and softer until, suddenly, her lips were gone. My arms closed around empty air. I opened my eyes and she was still inches away, her eyes wide, searching. I raised my hand to her cheek and it passed right through, as if she was a ghost.

Or as if I was. Infidel had fully emerged into the physical realm, but I was left behind, still a phantom.

"Infidel!" I screamed, as she dropped away, feeling the full tug of gravity. The Jagged Heart flashed past me, following its parallel path. I hovered in mid-air, no longer touched by gravity. I felt for the spirit tether of the bone-handled knife to pull me closer to Infidel but didn't move at all. I looked down and saw the knife tucked in my belt. My link to the material world was trapped with me on the other side.

I gave chase with all the speed I could muster, drawing close enough that I could see genuine fear in Infidel's eyes as she tumbled toward the black caldera below. Even if Infidel had still been invulnerable, I don't know if she could have survived a landing on volcanic stone without a net of vines to cushion her.

Then, rising from the caldera in a pale blue mist, a humanoid shape flew to intercept Infidel a half mile above the ground. The foggy wraith reached out with ethereal fingers, stroking the shaft of the Jagged Heart. Light flashed from the tip of the harpoon, striking the stone below, and suddenly there was a hill of snow heaped a hundred feet tall, its base sizzling on the black rock. A second later, Infidel punched into the snow mound, leaving the perfect outline of her splayed limbs in the surface. The Jagged Heart dropped into the snow several yards distant, far enough away I didn't worry she'd been impaled.

The ghost of Aurora continued to drift upward, raising a hand in greeting as she saw me. "You can see why my people built a temple around the harpoon."

"Will she be all right?" I asked, staring down into the hole Infidel had left in the snow mountain. I couldn't see anything in the shadows. The whole pile was melting at a frightening pace, an ever-growing puddle boiling off at the edges.

"It was like she fell onto a mountain of feathers," said Aurora.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. You've stuck around longer than the others did after they died," I said. "Does that mean I'll have some company from now on?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't leave until I saw the Jagged Heart had returned from the land of the dead. I assume your efforts were successful?"

I shrugged. "We'll need to wait a few weeks to find out if she's pregnant."

Aurora gave me a blank stare.

"Oh! You mean did we kill Greatshadow?"

She nodded.

"She let him live. He let us go."

She raised a blue eyebrow. "Why?"

I shrugged. "She had her reasons." I didn't want to admit that I didn't fully understand Infidel's choices. I hoped Aurora wouldn't ask any follow-up questions.

Aurora looked north. "It doesn't matter. The call of my ancestors is strong. I hear the songs they sing as they chase the ghost whales in the Great Sea Above. I want to join their hunt."

"Go," I said. "The Jagged Heart is in good hands. We'll see that it gets home."

Aurora gave me a smile that said, I know, then faded from my sight.

A half-mile below, Infidel climbed from a pile of slushy snow now only a few yards high. Her lips and fingertips were completely blue. She stumbled forward, dragging the Jagged Heart behind her, limping toward the circle of light atop the dragon skull where Zetetic and Relic waited. I flew toward Relic and said, "You're in big trouble."

He didn't respond.

"Hey!" I shouted, waving my fingers in front of him.

Nothing. Yet, I was still relatively solid, as a phantom goes. I could see my own fingers, and was pleased to see I was still wearing my braided wedding ring. I seemed to have my full phantom body; I even had the clothing Zetetic had dressed me in. Why couldn't Relic hear me? Or, maybe he could, and was just being spiteful?

Infidel climbed up onto the skull, her teeth chattering. She tossed the harpoon to Zetetic and said, "You. Carry this. Carry it over there, in fact. I'm freezing."

He nodded and backed up about ten feet, so that she was no longer in the range of the harpoon's aura of cold. He said, "You've changed since last we met. I like you with long hair. You could use a comb, though."

"I could use a jacket even more. Brrr." She leaned down and picked up the Immaculate Attire. "I wondered where this went." She slipped the pants and vest on and the magical leather adjusted to fit her. With her arms outstretched as she dressed, her eyes lingered for a moment on the braid of hair still on her finger. I wondered why it had made the transition while mine didn't?

Infidel didn't dwell on the ring for long, however. Instead, while she pulled on the boots that went with the armor, she eyed Relic (we didn't yet know he'd changed his name). "Your daddy is going to kill you one day. But he wants to build suspense first."

"Greatshadow's alive? How can he still be alive?"

"You're the mind reader. You already know why I did what I did."

His reptilian eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at her. "I... I can't read your thoughts."

She looked surprised.

"Oh no," said Relic, rising up. "I could feel it earlier. During his sadistic assault, his spirit moved within me, ripping my mind as he snapped my body. But, with no other minds near that I could look within, I didn't realize what he'd done. He's torn the part of my mind that senses the thoughts of others! I'm blind!"

"It won't matter once you're dead," said Infidel.

"Isn't it enough he crippled me physically?" Relic growled, as his eyes burned like cinders. "He had to cripple my mind as well?"

Zetetic cleared his throat. "You may not be as crippled as you think. One of my teachers was the world's foremost scholar on dragons. I could introduce you to him, if you'd like. He's studied dragon skeletons at every stage of development. Reptiles possess amazing powers of regeneration. He might know how to break your bones and reset them properly."

"That sounds painful," said Relic.

Zetetic shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

Relic nodded. "I will... consider the offer."

He looked back toward Infidel. "I don't suppose my father... that he... did he, by chance..."

"What?" she asked.

"Did he happen to mention my gender? Did he refer to me as 'my son' or 'my daughter?'"

"Um, no. He called you 'offspring.'"

Relic looked crushed by this news.

Infidel leaned over and picked up the Gloryhammer. She slung it over her shoulder. "This is mine now."

"Really?" asked Zetetic. "What gives you a claim to it?"

"The fact that I'll flatten anyone who tries to take it from me."

"I find your reasoning quite persuasive," said Zetetic.

Infidel's feet lifted from the ground a few wobbling inches. The light of the Gloryhammer gleamed on the silver trim of her new boots. "This hammer will come in handy. Flying will make getting to Aurora's homeland a lot faster."

"Why are you going there?" asked Zetetic.

"To return the Jagged Heart," she said. "Stagger told me that Aurora's dying words were a plea to see that the harpoon was returned to its rightful home. I intend to make this happen. I need to do this mission fast. I can't afford to spend a few months aboard a ship."

"Why not?" asked Zetetic.

"She thinks she's pregnant," said Relic.

"I thought you couldn't read minds," she said.

"I knew of the Black Swan's prophecy. I take it you reunited with Stagger?"

"I have the Jagged Heart, don't I?"

"But he remains in the realm of the dead?"

She frowned, looking down at the braided band on her finger. "He sort of... faded out on the way back. But... but I..." She swallowed hard. "He'll always be with me in my heart."

"I'm here," I whispered near her cheek. "I'll always be here."

"The bone-handled knife is gone?" asked Relic.

She looked a little pale as she nodded slowly.

"Then he's lost forever," said Relic.

Infidel rose a few feet higher in the air, looking straight overhead, toward the last place she saw me. "He trusted me," she said, her voice faint. Then, she looked down, her face firm with resolve. "And I'll spend every day of my life proving I deserve that trust. My leap-before-I-look days are behind me. I'm going to be a great mother."

"Says the woman who just made a spur of the moment decision to fly to the North Pole via enchanted mallet," said Zetetic.

"Just for that, I'm not giving you a ride out of this volcano."

"That's fine. I have the power to fly and I'm finally over my fear of heights," he said, as their gazes locked. He jumped into the air and stayed there. "You warmed up?"

"Warm enough," she said.

He tossed her the Jagged Heart, which she caught in one hand. Her flight grew wobbly as she rose another couple of yards in the air. "Thinking-ahead Infidel sure wishes she had Tower's little magic book to carry the harpoon," she said.

Zetetic shrugged as he rose to her level. "Too bad it got incinerated."

"No!" I shouted. "He has it!"

But, I hadn't mentioned this to Infidel, so she merely said, "I guess I can rig up some kind of sling."

Zetetic sank back down and offered a hand to Relic. "Can I offer you a ride?"

Relic sighed as he raised the claw that Nowowon had mangled least. "Any place in the world is safer than here."

I floated next to Infidel as the three of them rose like balloons toward the edge of the caldera. The shadows of the vast pit fell away as we reached the sky and found the sun rising on the eastern ocean. Pale golden rays danced over a shimmering sea, bathing the tree tops below with a radiance that made the dewy canopy look as if someone had spilled a bucket of glistening jewels.

And I finally got it. I understood what Infidel had meant when she said she'd already discovered Greatshadow's treasure. It was the island itself, the last wilderness, and I knew, with the same certainty that I knew that stone is hard and fire is hot and water is wet, that there would be no better place on the planet for our daughter to grow up.

"I'm dying to hear the details of what happened in the spirit realm," Zetetic said.

"What happened between Stagger and me is private, you creep," said Infidel, sounding genuinely offended.

Zetetic shook his head. "I mean, the details of your confrontation with Greatshadow. The Jagged Heart should have killed him. You got close enough for conversation; presumably you were close enough to strike. Why didn't you finish him? You've gambled the safety of the world by sparing him. What possible reason could have stayed your hand?"

"If I'd killed Greatshadow, all this would be gone," she said, her eyes scanning the jungle as they slowly flew down the slope at about the pace of a good jog, heading toward Commonground. "My father's men would come and set up lumber mills and mines. Before you know it, there would be farms everywhere. The priests would follow and build churches, and in a couple of years, this place would start to look civilized."

"Indeed," said Zetetic. "That was precisely the plan."

"Well, it wasn't my plan. I've spent the best years of my life here. I like the island as it is: untamed and untamable. I grew up in a world of castle walls and armed guards. Now that I've tasted freedom I'll never give it up. I want to raise my daughter in a world that still has a place where the wicked may hide from the righteous."

Zetetic slowed a bit. "Damn," he said, with a nod. "That's not a bad reason at all."

Infidel shrugged, with an expression that told me she didn't particularly care if he approved of her reasons or not. She flew on a little ways, until, suddenly, she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes wistful as she stared at the sky above the caldera, toward the spot where I'd vanished.

Then her distant gaze shifted, looking much closer, not quite to where I hovered, but not so far off either.

"You aren't in this alone," I said, with a reassuring smile.

I'm sure it was only a coincidence that, at that exact second, she smiled back.

# HUSH

BOOK TWO OF THE DRAGON APOCALYPSE

From perfect cold,

dark and silent,

the world has flickered.

Now it sputters; soon it fades.

The hush of an unending winter night

is the only true eternity.

# 1 - A DANGEROUS SPLINTER

A PRINCESS, A SHAPE-SHIFTER, and a ghost walked into a bar.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward the princess. The bar was the Black Swan, the most prestigious saloon in Commonground. While the house wasn't as packed as it would be come midnight, scores of hardcore gamblers crowded around the poker tables. Ordinarily, you could march a two-headed tiger through the joint and the players wouldn't glance up from their cards. The gamblers made an exception for the princess, known in these parts as Infidel, who was much more dangerous than a tiger no matter how many heads it might have.

Infidel looked imposing as she stood in the doorway with the evening sun as her backdrop. She was a woman who wore her three decades well, with sculpted curves, generous platinum curls, and enigmatic gray eyes. The money-hungry men in the room wouldn't linger long on her face, however. Infidel wore the priceless Immaculate Attire crafted for Queen Alabaster Brightmoon nearly three centuries before. Formed from the hide of the last unicorn, the legendary armor, milky white, clung to Infidel's body like a second skin. Slung over her shoulder was another famed artifact of the Silver Isles, the Gloryhammer, glowing with a pale yellow light.

Despite her impressive armaments, it was Infidel's reputation that brought the room to a standstill. On her first night in this bar, ten years ago, she'd ripped the arm off a bruiser twice her size. The whole town soon learned that this young woman possessed magical strength and skin so tough that swords couldn't scratch her. Even as her fame grew, her beauty tempted many a fool to a place an unwelcome hand upon her. Commonground now possesses an unusually high population of one-armed sailors.

I say this as the biggest fool of all. My name is Abstemious Merchant, though everyone in Commonground called me Stagger. For ten years, I was Infidel's constant companion, moon-eyed in my adoration, but far too cowardly to confess my love. Yet, fate can be kind to fools and cowards. Beneath Infidel's white leather gauntlet, on her left hand, she wears a ring of woven gray hair. This is my hair. I wear a matching small braid of platinum-hued locks. These serve as our wedding bands, since at the time of our betrothal there were no jewelers handy.

Fate's kindness, you see, is balanced by a wicked sense of humor. In this unfolding joke, I'm the ghost. In death, as in life, I follow her everywhere.

As a phantom, I'm unseen and unheard. If I could have spoken to Infidel, I would have advised her to wear a cloak and cowl, despite the tropical heat. Wearing the Immaculate Attire in this city of thieves was like walking through a lion's den wearing a suit sewn from steaks. Worse, someone in this town wonder why she bothered to wear armor at all. If word spread that Infidel had lost her magical strength and invulnerability, her enemies would turn out in droves. Plus, as her husband, I wasn't thrilled with the way the skin-tight armor accented her breathtaking assets. For Immaculate Attire, the outfit certainly lent itself to dirty thoughts.

Infidel's silver trimmed boots clicked on the polished oak floor as she walked across the room. Ordinarily stone-faced poker players gawked and drooled, though I tried to assure myself they were hungering for the Gloryhammer in its refulgent splendor. Glorystones are fragments of the sun, rarer than diamonds and twice as hard. The Gloryhammer is literally priceless. All the gold in the world couldn't buy it. The Tower clan, a family of famous knights, had passed down the weapon for generations. Alas, the last surviving male of the line had recently been reduced to soot. Infidel now owned the hammer under the legal precedent of finders, keepers.

Infidel didn't look back at the gawking crowd as she arrived at the bar. Battle Ox was bartending. Battle was a half-seed, meaning his mother had visited a blood house to imbue her yet-to-be conceived child with animalistic traits. If the magic is done properly, a half-seed ox child should be big, strong, and tenacious. Do the magic wrong, and you get Battle Ox — a full-blown minotaur with horns wider than his considerably broad shoulders.

In the more civilized parts of the world an infant born with a bovine face would have been put to death as an abomination against nature. In Commonground, Battle's visage seldom merited a second glance. Despite the name inflicted by the pun-happy denizens of Commonground, Battle was a gentle vegetarian. While he would willingly eject a rowdy patron if the need arose, his true calling in life was drawing beers with perfect heads of foam. My mouth watered at the smell of the amber fluid.

Battle nodded at my wife. "A lot of people here won't be happy to see you back" he said, with his gruff, bass voice. "Odds were running ten to one that Greatshadow would fry you."

Infidel leaned on the bar. "How did anyone know we were going to slay the dragon? The mission was a secret."

Battle shrugged as he picked up a glass and a towel. "The Black Swan started taking bets on the outcome of your dragon hunt the second you left town. The volcano's been belching lava for the last week, so we figured Greatshadow's still alive."

"Maybe he is and maybe he isn't," she said. "The Black Swan will want the full details. Tell her I need to see her. Now."

Battle put down the glass he was cleaning. "You ever learn the word 'please?'"

"Don't mess with me. I've got one hour to get back to the Freewind and don't have time to waste. I've got something the Black Swan needs to see immediately."

Battle shook his furry head. "No can do. She's already in a meeting. Going to be a lot longer than an hour."

Infidel unclasped the top three buttons of her leather armor and peeled it back, showing the top of her cleavage. Battle's eyes bulged.

"You see this?" Infidel pointed to a black speck the size of an apple seed that nestled in the ampleness of her décolletage.

"Uh...," said Battle, his mouth hanging open.

"This is Menagerie. What's left of him."

Remember the shape-shifter who came into the bar with us? Menagerie used to be the most feared mercenary in Commonground. A blood-magician of unparalleled skill, Menagerie could turn into any of the scores of animals that used to decorate his tattooed flesh. Menagerie had barely survived our dragon hunt. Since shape-shifting into this tick, he'd yet to change back into a man. A telepath of our acquaintance informed us that Menagerie had been so traumatized by his brush with death that his mind was shattered.

Battle couldn't know any of this, of course, but Infidel didn't have to produce any further explanations. Men believe almost anything while they're looking at a woman's breasts.

"I'm the only one that can hear him since he's latched onto me," she said, while his eyes were fixed on her. "The Black Swan has a potion that will change him back to human, and he has to drink it within the next five minutes or he'll die. Do you want to tell the Black Swan she's lost her most valuable employee because you were too timid to interrupt a meeting?"

Battle frowned. No, no he did not want this, was the message I was seeing in his eyes. But he also looked as if he had his doubts. Infidel wasn't particularly gifted at lying. If Battle asked any follow-up questions, Infidel would be in trouble.

Fortunately, Battle was too cleavage-addled to notice any holes in her story. He grunted, "Wait here," then went through the curtain that covered the doorway behind the beer kegs, leaving Infidel alone. At least as alone as a woman can be with a brain-damaged shape-shifter sipping her blood and her disembodied husband hovering close behind.

Infidel turned around, leaning back against the bar.

Every eye in the house stared at her.

Even though the Black Swan was the classiest joint in Commonground, it was still a den where desperate men gathered to try to make an easy fortune. Their already questionable judgment was numbed further by generous tankards of booze. Ordinarily, order was maintained by the Swan's infamous hired muscle, the Three Goons. Even when the Goons weren't present, their reputation kept most people in line.

Of course, except for Menagerie, the Goons were now dead. If the patrons knew about the dragon hunt, did they also know that the bar's most feared enforcers weren't coming back?

Infidel reached over her shoulder and grabbed the Gloryhammer. Instantly, its enchantment kicked in. Her skin glowed faintly as she lifted off the floor ever so subtly. In addition to granting her flight, the hammer also enhanced her strength. The boost was nothing like her former arm-ripping power, but anyone looking at her had to be sizing up their odds of getting their skulls smashed.

The odds were too high even for this room full of hardened gamblers. One by one, everyone turned back at the cards in their hands. The roulette wheel spun, dice jiggled in cups, and in under a minute the saloon resumed its normal routine. Infidel slowly drifted back to the floor.

Then Hookhand and his Machete Quartet walked in from the street. If I had a heartbeat, it would have skipped. I had history with Hookhand. When I was alive, my primary revenue came from locating ruins in the jungle and salvaging lost treasures. Hookhand made his living by an uncanny knack for showing up just as I was climbing out of some god-forsaken tomb with a sack full of artifacts. I often traded my treasures in exchange for not being nailed to a tree and flayed. This arrangement lasted for years until Infidel started adventuring with me. In the intervening decade, there've been about seventeen different members of the Machete Quartet. Infidel normally doesn't let them suffer for too long. Hookhand hasn't been as lucky. When he first came to Commonground, he was known as Fairchild the Nimble. Now, he's got one eye, his nose is squashed against his cheek, and he walks with a prominent limp. He's got maybe six teeth left, and, of course, where he once had a right hand he now has a hook, a big nasty one, the sort you might use to gaff a large fish.

Despite a decade as Infidel's punching bag, Hookhand was a feared figure in the city. He recruits street urchins for his gang just after they hit puberty, when they're strong and agile enough to swing a machete like a dagger, but too young to have any fear of life and limb. Once they join the quartet they become Kid White, Kid Blue, Kid Green, and Kid Black, based on the color bandana they wear. Hookhand doesn't like to waste time memorizing names.

In theory, the black bandana is worn by the gang member with the most seniority, but I didn't recognize this kid. If I'd seen him before, I would have remembered; the boy was a half-seed, part hound-dog by the look of him. He had a nasty snout of ragged teeth, but any air of menace was diluted by his floppy ears.

"Well, well," said Hookhand as he spied Infidel. "If it ain't ol' Ripper herself. I see you killed the knight. Quite a prize, that hammer. Quite a prize indeed."

Infidel nodded. She leaned forward, resting her hand on the shaft of the Gloryhammer like it was a cane. She said, "Surprised to see you back in town. I thought you were up on the mountain, robbing pygmies."

"The volcano's been spitting lava ever since we saw you and your friends fly out. Looks like you made the dragon mad. I made the executive decision to place some distance between us and the caldera." Hookhand looked around the room. "Where are your friends?"

"Who are you talking about?" Infidel asked. "I don't have time for coyness."

"Zetetic the Deceiver. He was right by your side, carrying a baby dragon."

"Your eye's playing tricks on you." Infidel shook her head. "Never met the guy."

"Zetetic has a large red 'D' tattooed in the middle of his forehead. He's easy to recognize, even 200 feet in the air."

"Your depth perception isn't what it used to be," said Infidel.

"True enough." Hookhand slowly limped toward her. His gang spread out to the far ends of the bar. There was no way that Infidel could keep all four of them in her field of vision. Once that wouldn't have mattered; a machete would have bounced off her invulnerable hide. While the Immaculate Attire protected her body, at some point in the convoluted chain of ownership from Queen Alabaster Brightmoon to Infidel, the helmet had disappeared. Infidel's head and neck were completely vulnerable. But, Hookhand couldn't know this, could he?

Hookhand stopped about eight feet away. Infidel didn't look perturbed. Was this just for appearances, or was she overly confident?

"I want Zetetic," said Hookhand.

"You want to turn him in for the price on his head? Old news. He's working for the Church of the Book now. They don't want him dead any more."

"I thought you didn't know him," said Hookhand.

"I don't," said Infidel. "But you know I bounty hunt. I stay informed."

Zetetic had split company with Infidel shortly after getting back to Commonground. He'd promised Brokenwing, the only other survivor of our ill-fated dragon hunt, a visit with a former teacher who was the world's foremost authority on dragon anatomy. Since Brokenwing was a rather badly mangled young dragon, they'd departed on their quest with understandable alacrity.

"If you like to stay informed, here are a few facts for you," said Hookhand. "We saw eight people go into the Shattered Palace. You were part of a dragon hunt organized by Lord Tower and Father Ver."

Infidel laughed. "Father Ver's a Truthspeaker and Lord Tower's the most respected knight of the church. I, as my nickname implies, am a notorious infidel. A knight and a priest wouldn't be caught dead in my company."

"I think getting caught dead is precisely what happened," said Hookhand. "You were disguised as some kind of mechanical woman to fool them. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened. You and Zetetic betrayed the others. You're carrying Tower's hammer and dressed in armor that used to be worn by Ivory Blade. I didn't see Blade go into the Shattered Palace, but I'm guessing I'd find his corpse if I went poking around."

Blade had died a good week before we reached the dragon's lair. But, despite the fact that his conclusions were off, Hookhand had some surprisingly good intelligence. How did he know so much?

I studied his thugs closer. In addition to Kid Black being part blood-hound, Kid Green had distinctly hawkish features, including freakishly alert eyes and feathery sideburns. Kid Blue's overly long arms clued me in that he had some monkey blood. Kid White had jaguar in him, judging from his cat-eyes and the mottled patches in his close-cropped hair. A hound, a hawk, a monkey, and a jaguar would make damn good spies out in the jungle. By now, Kid Black, the dog-boy, and Kid White, the half-jaguar, were at opposite ends of the bar, machetes drawn.

Infidel retained her cool as she pressed a gauntleted fist into her palm and cracked her knuckles. The sound echoed around the room. Half the gamblers abandoned their chips and headed for the door. Infidel's brawls were hard on bystanders.

Infidel took the hammer in both hands and once more her skin went luminous. She said, "Lord Tower could fly. He had impenetrable armor made of solid prayer. If you take your accusations seriously, you might tell these children to get where I can see them. If I killed someone like Tower, what makes you think these kids stand a chance?"

"Tower wouldn't fight dirty," said Hookhand, snapping his fingers. The Machete Quartet lunged, but Infidel had anticipated the signal. The hammer flared to solar brightness as she shot up ten feet, snapping to a halt inches beneath a broad ceiling beam. Most of the machete blows that connected hit her boots, leaving little more than scuff marks that were swiftly erased by the armor's magic. Kid Blue, the monkey boy, reacted to Infidel's flight by dropping his machete and hooking his long, skinny fingers into the heel of her right boot. He used his momentum to swing his legs overhead, grabbing her belt with his toes, then flipping up to grab the shaft of the hammer with both hands. Kicking into her chest, he grunted as he tried to pull the weapon from her grasp. The speed and power of the assault caught Infidel off guard and she lost her grip with her left hand, though her right hand held on.

The monkey child placed a foot on Infidel's face as he struggled to twist the hammer away. Infidel responded by opening her mouth and sinking her pearly whites deep into Kid Blue's heel. A shudder ran along my intangible spine. Biting the bare foot of someone who'd been walking around the docks of Commonground was the most reckless thing I'd ever seen Infidel do, and I'd watched her dive headfirst into the jaws of a dragon. But, the tactic worked. Kid Blue shrieked as he let go of the hammer, dropping back down to the floor, where he landed on his outstretched hands and somersaulted back to his feet. Nimble little devil.

The jaguar kid was no slouch either. With Kid Blue clear, Kid White sprang, flat-footed, from the floor to the bar to the shelf of liquors behind, then shot toward Infidel like an arrow, with a savage swing of his machete. The chiming of the booze bottles as he kicked off caused Infidel to look over her shoulder and she spun in time to block the machete blow with the Gloryhammer. She jerked her knee up to connect a solid blow to the kid's chin. The half-seed was stunned and fell hard, landing spine-first on the back of a wooden chair, his body folding backward at an acute angle that made me wince.

Infidel pointed the hammer toward Hookhand. Her eyes were narrow slits of murder as she shot toward him. But in her rage she either didn't notice or didn't care that a slender tube of bamboo had appeared in his hand. He drew breath as he raised it to his lips. He blew so hard I thought his eye was going to pop out of his skull. A cloud of red powder caught Infidel right in the face as Hookhand dove to the side. Infidel gasped as she hit the cloud, then grunted as she slammed into the floor. Her armored shoulder took the brunt of the blow, but the impact was enough to topple chairs around the room. She bounced across the oak planks, losing her grip on the hammer. Her eyes were scrunched tightly together as she slid to a halt on her back.

As a ghost, my senses are muted, but even my nostrils burned from the cayenne cloud that hung in the air. Infidel's face was blood-red with the pepper. She tried to breathe but her throat closed after the barest gasp. Even when she'd had impenetrable skin, she couldn't have shrugged off an attack like this.

Kid Blue, the monkey child, sprang across the room and landed on Infidel's right hand, pinning it. Kids Black and Green followed suit, pinning her left arm and both legs, respectively. If she'd still been super-strong, she could have flicked them off like fleas. Now, her limbs trembled, but her weak spasms couldn't shake them.

The Gloryhammer hung in mid-air, where it had come to rest after bouncing off the floor. Hookhand snatched it with his good hand. His eye went wide as the hammer's power filled him. He tilted back his head and laughed. "At last! At last!"

His feet left the floor as he moved toward Infidel. "I've watched a lot of machetes bounce off that pretty head of yours," he said. "I've long dreamed of seeing your brains splattered across these planks. Considerate of you to deliver the perfect tool to get the job done."

Hookhand continued to drift toward her, approaching at a speed fairly described as lackadaisical. Was he trying to prolong the moment? Was flight with the hammer harder than Infidel made it look? Or was Hookhand still afraid of her?

"Hold her tight, boys," he said, pausing a few arm-lengths away.

"She's weak as a kitten, boss," said Kid Black, the dog-boy who trapped her left arm beneath his knee as he ran his hairy knuckles through her hair. She twisted her head away from his fingers, unable to open her eyes. She'd started breathing again, rapid shallow spasms that had to be filling her lungs with fire. Sweat poured from her brow and bright red snot ran from both nostrils; I couldn't tell if this was blood or cayenne. Any normal person would have been moved to either pity or revulsion by the sight, but Kid Black was staring at her with barely disguised lust. "Such pretty hair. So soft. So pretty, pretty soft."

"She won't be soft when she catches her breath," said Hookhand.

"She's weak now," said Kid Black, stroking her chin, then tracing his fingers down the ivory arc of her throat. The top buttons of her armor were still undone. "Weak and helpless."

"Just like a dog," snickered Kid Blue, the half-monkey. "Always looking for something to hump."

"I thought he was always looking for something to eat," said Kid Green, the falcon-child.

"She could be both," said Kid Black, folding the top of the leather breastplate down to reveal her pale cleavage. He lowered his long narrow face to her throat and licked at her sweat.

I screamed in my rage, my impotence to alter things in the living world stabbing at me like a knife.

Hookhand held back, his eye a little glassy as he watched Kid Black run his hairy hand along the top of Infidel's cleavage. Infidel's face was already scrunched up as much as humanly possible, and pinned as she was I couldn't tell if she was even aware of this assault.

"Wake up!" I screamed, my ghost voice hauntingly silent in the room. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

"Ow," said Kid Black, yanking his hand away.

"What?" asked Kid Green.

"Something bit me."

"Wake... up...," my voice trailed off as I saw that the tick on Infidel's breast had vanished.

Kid Black put the edge of his hand into his mouth to gnaw at the tiny parasite digging into him.

Then his head came apart.

Menagerie could change shape faster than the eye could follow. His powers flowed from blood magic; his human form had been covered scalp to toe in tattoos inked with the blood of the animals they represented. He'd been able to switch between these forms instantly, and even vast differences in sizes hadn't been a barrier to his magic. He'd been able to change from mouse to elephant as swiftly as he could between lion and tiger. I'd never before pondered what would happen if he'd entered a person's mouth the size of a tick, then turned into a full-sized blood-hound. As it happened, Menagerie's expanding body proved powerful enough to rip Kid Black's skull open from the inside out.

Kid Black flopped backward, his lower jaw missing, his upper jaw cracked open in such a way that I could see his brains. As his body hit the floor, his ghost was knocked loose. His spirit rose above his corporeal form, looking bewildered. Since dying, I've had the ability to see ghosts as they depart the mortal world, and occasionally converse with them. I felt like saying something particularly nasty to this spirit. I know this dog-boy was poor street trash, a freak, never standing a chance at a normal life, but any pity I might have felt had vanished the instant he started pawing my wife. Unable to summon sufficiently nasty curses from my normally abundant lexicon, I lifted my middle finger to his spirit as it flickered and faded.

The hound that had sprung fully formed from Kid Black's mouth growled as he faced Hookhand. Hookhand shook off his confusion about what he'd witnessed with remarkable speed and swung the hammer overhead, aiming for the dog's skull. The hound lunged forward, sinking his teeth into Hookhand's groin as the hammer splintered the floorboards.

Infidel's eyes jerked open, bloodshot and brimming with tears. Her blurry gaze fixed on Kid Blue, who was pinning down her right forearm with both his hands. The monkey child had his eyes on Hookhand, probably wondering where he was going to swing the hammer next, and failed to notice Infidel's left hand was now free.

Infidel reached for the scabbard on her hip. Two seconds later, a dagger was hilt deep in the center of the monkey-child's chest. He looked at her with sad eyes as he toppled over. His spirit stuck around no longer than the dog-boy's.

Infidel sat up, fixing her gaze on Kid Green, the half-seed falcon who pinned her legs. Sweat from her brow washed a fresh flood of cayenne into her eyes and once more her lids scrunched shut as she gasped in pain. Kid Green leapt up, bringing his machete overhead two handed, preparing to cleave her skull in half.

Hookhand continued swinging the Gloryhammer wildly. A sledgehammer is a remarkably inappropriate instrument for removing a dog from one's crotch. It is, however, a surprisingly effective tool for bashing in the head of your own henchman if you're not careful. The hammer connected with the falcon child's skull with a sound somewhere between a thud and a splash. The machete held by Kid Green flew into the air as he fell lifeless.

I watched with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the tumbling machete fell toward Infidel's blinded face. Then a huge, three-fingered hand snatched the machete in mid-flight. It was Battle Ox. He turned with a snort toward Hookhand, who was floating now, using the power of the hammer as poorly as it could possibly be used, smashing furniture right and left with his all-powerful weapon as the hound dog between his legs twisted out of the path of every blow.

With a swift, precise chop of the machete, Battle lopped off Hookhand's remaining hand at the wrist. The hammer spun up to the chandelier, smashing the crystal, but Battle Ox's thick hide protected him from the rain of shards.

Hookhand wasn't so lucky. A finger-length dart of glass sank into his remaining eye. He fell to the ground, crying in pain, until Battle brought his whimpering to an end. Hookhand's ghost bubbled up from his corpse. Usually, spirits resembled the bodies that housed them, but Hookhand's spirit was small and gnarled, a scarred broken thing that stank of rot and despair. His pathetic yellow eyes fixed on me as his toothless mouth voiced my name. I lunged toward him and he shot downward, percolating through cracks in the floorboard, dragged to whatever hell awaited. The hound dog sensed that his opponent was no longer a threat and released his jaws. He loped back over toward Infidel.

Battle ran back to the bar and snatched up a bottle of whiskey. He pulled off the stopper as he approached Infidel. The hound leapt into his path, hackles raised, snarling.

"This is the only thing that's going to wash off that pepper," said Battle. "Water will make it burn worse."

"He's right," I said to Menagerie.

The hound went silent as I spoke, then stepped aside.

"Hold still," said Battle as he knelt, taking Infidel's chin in his massive hand. "This is going to feel worse for a minute, but it might save your eyes."

Infidel seemed to understand, growing calm as Battle tilted the bottle over her face, letting it come in a deluge that washed away most of the cayenne. He motioned for one of the barmaids to bring him a second bottle. The light in the room was dizzying as the Gloryhammer bounced around in the rafters, casting stark shadows. Battle's eyes narrowed as he studied Infidel's face. Infidel had a splinter of wood jammed into her cheek from her impact with the floor. A dozen small cuts speckled her face from where fragments of chandelier had hit her.

He washed away the remaining pepper with most of the second bottle. A barmaid handed him a dishtowel and he used it to wipe Infidel's face. She sat up and grabbed the towel, taking control of cleaning the last of the cayenne from the creases around her eyes. She let out a long sigh as she forced her eyes open and looked down into the towel, flecked with blood.

A few seconds of silence passed as she pulled the splinter from her cheek. It was, by any objective standard, a trivial wound. But, I could tell from Infidel's eyes that she understood that this splinter might be the most dangerous injury she'd ever received. Her secret was revealed. Given the speed rumors spread through the city, it was only a matter of hours before everyone learned she'd lost her powers.

"I thought you couldn't be cut," Battle said.

"You've seen me bleed before," Infidel whispered, her voice weak from pain. "That assassin with the shadow blade. The right magic can break my skin."

"The floor ain't magic," he said. Battle put the whiskey bottle into her hands and he helped her to her feet. A bare inch of fluid sloshed in the bottle. "Drink the rest of it."

"Can't," she said. "I might be pregnant. Maybe it's an old wives tale that whiskey will hurt the baby, but I'm not taking any chances."

"Damn!" said Battle, shaking his horns. "She did it to me again!"

"What?"

"The Black Swan. She bet me you'd have a baby this year. I mean, Stagger's dead. If he was still around, maybe, but I just can't believe it otherwise. Who—?"

"Stagger's the father," said Infidel as she managed to stand on her own. Her eyes were bloodshot, but worked well enough that she spotted the Gloryhammer bouncing around in the rafters.

"Help me grab that," she said to Battle. "The Black Swan's probably going to bill me for the damned chandelier. Better stop that thing before it floats behind the bar and takes out the inventory."

"Right," said Battle, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her overhead. She stretched her fingers as far as she could, barely touching the shaft of the hammer. Yet, the barest touch was all she needed to regain control. It slid fully into her grasp and she floated to the floor.

The hound dog came up to her and sat before her, its tongue hanging out.

"Whose dog?" she asked.

"Um, ain't that Menagerie?" Battle asked. "I saw him leap out of what was left of Kid Black's skull."

Infidel looked down at her chest, running her fingers along the red bump where the tick had once rested.

"Menagerie?" she asked the dog.

The dog said nothing. Menagerie had always been able to talk before, no matter what animal shape he'd worn.

"Menagerie?" I said. The dog tilted its head in my general direction, but said nothing. There was intelligence in his eyes, but dog level intelligence, none of the tactical genius that normally burned in the shape-shifter's visage.

"We'd better get him to the Black Swan fast," said Battle Ox. "She's working on the potion now."

"Riiiight," said Infidel, sounding confused. "Right, the potion."

She placed the whiskey on the bar as she followed Battle. I wasn't surprised she'd refused the drink. She hadn't drank much before. It's not so tough to give up something that you never enjoyed in the first place. But, I wondered, when Hookhand first showed up... were Infidel's taunts meant to scare him off? Or was she trying to provoke him? This was her first fight since losing her powers. Had she chosen an opponent she'd routinely beaten in the past to test her new combat style with the hammer and armor? Imagining Infidel going the next nine months without a brawl was a lot tougher than imagining her going nine months without a drink. Once word got out that she was vulnerable, was there any place in the world she'd be safe?

# 2 - OBSERVER OF DOOM

I

NFIDEL LIMPED AS she followed Battle Ox down the hall to the Black Swan's chamber. She was favoring the leg that had taken most of the machete blows. The Immaculate Attire couldn't be cut, but that didn't mean she couldn't be hurt. A machete might not be able to break her skin, but it was still like being whacked with an iron bar. It couldn't feel good.

The last time I'd seen the Black Swan she'd been nothing more than a skeleton. This hadn't slowed the old witch down much. Her spirit continued to animate her bones, though without a throat she'd been reduced to 'speaking' by pointing to letters on a board. The Black Swan claimed that death was too trivial an obstacle to stand in the way of her great mission. She says she's a time traveler, using her knowledge to accumulate wealth and power today so that she can prevent a 'dragon apocalypse' that she's lived through in the future.

I'm not sure I believe her. The Black Swan has a propensity for using manipulation and outright lies to gain the upper hand. But she'd also told us that Infidel would soon be pregnant, which seemed impossible at the time, since I was dead and Infidel wasn't open-minded to new suitors. What we could never have imagined was that Infidel's quest to kill Greatshadow would take her bodily into the spirit world, where we'd been able to reunite as the world's most star-crossed lovers. It was certainly plausible that Infidel was pregnant now, since in the ghost realms my spirit had been as functional as my old material body. On the other hand, when we left the spirit world together, Infidel had physically returned to the land of the breathing, while I'd faded back into ghosthood. If we'd conceived a daughter, as the Black Swan prophesied, would the unusual circumstances of her conception affect her?

Menagerie followed closely behind Infidel, looking and acting like an ordinary bloodhound, sniffing the floor as he walked. Shaking off his tick form hadn't repaired his shattered mind. Was there any flicker of his humanity left? His loyalty toward Infidel was a hopeful sign. During the dragon hunt, Menagerie and Infidel had formed a friendship. Perhaps the dog retained some human memories.

Battle pushed open the polished mahogany door to the Black Swan's chamber. He motioned Infidel inside but didn't follow us. The room had changed dramatically in the last two weeks. Then, the walls had been covered with tapestries and filled with antique bedroom furnishings. The place had reeked of potpourri, a concentrated floral miasma that hadn't quite masked the undercurrent of rot that hung in the air.

Now, the walls had been stripped down to the bare wood, and every last stick of furniture had been removed. Freed of its clutter, the Black Swan's chamber proved surprisingly spacious. My old sailboat could probably have fit in the space. At first glance, it looked as if someone might be testing that theory, since there was a white canvas sail covering the floor.

In the center of this canvas was a small cloaked figure kneeling before an iron sculpture. The sculpture drew my eye first. It was a shapely woman, slightly larger than life. It was cast iron, black as soot, highly articulated, so that there was a separate plate for each rib of the torso. Both arms were finished, ending in delicately formed hands sporting long, slender fingers, though the sharpened steel nails provided a detail of menace to a work of art that would otherwise have been noteworthy for its beauty. The face was mostly done, with separate plates for each cheek and a small nose that sat above intricately jointed steel lips. The eyes were closed and I noted the fine detail of the wire eyelashes. The top of the head wasn't finished, and as I drifted around I noticed that the back of the head was open. Sitting in the cavity of the dark steel was a stark white skull.

I looked down at the cloaked figure, whose hands were busy working on the right ankle. The left leg was finished, a sleek curvy gam that would have been the pride of any bride when her groom had hitched up her hem to remove her garter. A row of rivets ran up the back of each leg like the seam of a stocking. As I drifted lower to admire the workmanship, I confess that my eyes lingered a moment on the heart-shaped buttocks, so smoothly finished and perfectly formed that they looked soft, despite being formed of iron. The illusion of softness vanished, however, when one reached the unfinished right leg, which was nothing more than a jointed steel rod jutting from the hollow of the hip. Floating lower to better observe the sculptress (for, despite the cloak, it was apparent that the artist was female, given the slenderness of her form and her delicate fingers), I saw that she had no tools. Instead, she was shaping hard ingots of raw pig iron with her hands as if it was mere clay. Her fingers moved in a dizzying dance as they twisted and kneaded the metal, forming and fastening ankles to a feminine metal foot that sported razor toenails.

The sculptress completed the ankle by scraping away a bit of the iron rod of the leg and exposing a patch of pure bone. The lower half of the rod, apparently, enclosed a skeletal tibia and fibula. The Black Swan's leg bones, no doubt. The sculptress spun delicate silver wires to link the bone to the ankles, which sat like bracelets upon the foot.

"Wiggle your foot," the sculptress said, looking up.

The Black Swan lifted her skeletal right leg and twisted her foot from side to side. She wiggled her toes in an eerie approximation of life, though with the plates of the various pieces sliding silently across one another, her toes reminded me more of hard-shelled beetles than human flesh.

"Excellent," the sculptress said, guiding the Black Swan's foot back to the floor.

With her head tilted up, I could see the artist's face. Her most striking features were her eyes, a shocking emerald hue that was almost certainly the result of magical manipulation. Yet if she'd manipulated her eyes to be such gems, it made little sense that the rest of her features were, shall we say, less felicitous. Her age was difficult to judge; the right half of her face could have belonged to a teenage girl, but the left half of her face was slack and wrinkled, the flesh a pale gray as opposed to the rosy hue of her other cheek. Though her cloak concealed much of her scalp, she appeared to be completely bald, with her head speckled by large dark warts.

The sculptress rose, stretching her back. The sleeves of her robe slipped down, revealing that her left arm and hand were supported by an iron brace. She glanced back at Infidel. "I'll step outside so the two of you may talk."

The Black Swan's iron eyelids clicked open, revealing empty orbs of bone. There was a sucking sound within her chest, like a bellows drawing in air, followed by reedy musical notes, something like an accordion. The sculpted jaws jerked open and snapped shut as the overlapping plates of the steel lips sliced up the notes pouring from the mouth. The resulting sound was almost, but not quite, completely inhuman. Yet, however inferior the construct's vocal apparatus might have been when compared with a living human throat, I found, with grudging admiration, that I could understand individual words. "Stay and work, Sorrow. The princess and I have nothing to hide."

Infidel frowned. She, of course, had many things to hide, including the fact that she was a princess. But, she shrugged and said, "I can't stay to chat. I need the money you owe me for the dragon skull."

"You traded those funds to Menagerie," said the Black Swan. "You used them to purchase the silence of the Three Goons when you infiltrated Lord Tower's party in a disguise Menagerie helped to design."

"Fine," said Infidel. She nodded toward the dog. "This is Menagerie. Give him all the money he's owed. Since he's a bit impaired in the hand department for the time being, I'll carry it."

"This isn't Menagerie," said the Black Swan, turning her vacant gaze upon the hound. "This is merely a physical echo of his blood magic, a spell lingering on after the death of the spellcaster. Soon its magic will burn out and this soulless thing will vanish."

"Or you could help him," said Infidel. "He's worked for you for years. Use your magic to restore his memories."

"This isn't a question of memories. It's a question of soul. There's no spirit within this creature. It looks like a dog, but it isn't truly alive. Any funds due Menagerie will be sent to his family. As for this sad little pseudo-dog, I recommend you kill it swiftly and put an end to its miserable half-life. I owe it nothing."

"How about Aurora? Do you owe her anything?"

"She collected the last of her wages when she left my employment."

"I'm not talking about wages. I'm talking about the fact that she was your loyal companion. She's dead now, killed by Greatshadow. I'm in possession of the Jagged Heart, the sacred relic she died to defend. Stagger made a promise to return it to her homeland. I intend to keep this promise. I'm hoping you'll help."

The Black Swan shook her iron head in a smooth, mechanical motion. "Stagger could make no such promise. He's dead. You killed him."

"You of all people should know that being dead isn't the same as being done. Stagger's ghost has been following me. He's with us right now, I think. We were reunited in the spirit world." She rubbed her ring finger where the band of hair I'd woven for her sat. When we'd returned to the land of the living and my physical form faded back to nothingness, the ring of hair had remained intact. Why this should be, I don't know. Perhaps there's genuine magic in a wedding vow after all. "We were married there."

"Now you're merely a widow." The Black Swan sounded mocking with her squeaking, artificial voice. "And you're pregnant, as I foretold."

"On the assumption that I'm pregnant, I need to return the Jagged Heart as quickly as possible. I'd rather not be adventuring in some faraway land when I start dealing with morning sickness. But that doesn't kick in for about a month, right?"

"I'm uncertain. I was childless," the Black Swan said.

"A month. Six weeks," said the sculptress as she fastened the plates of the calf to the shin plate. "Not that I've had personal experience."

The Black Swan's empty orbs gazed toward the Gloryhammer. "My dear, I can't help but notice you're in possession of a magic artifact known to grant its owner the power of flight. Why do you need my help? You can simply fly to Aurora's home in Qikiqtabruk."

Infidel shook her head. "Flying isn't as easy as it looks. If I go too fast, I can't breathe. Even flying slow wears me out. Flying for an hour is like hanging from a branch for an hour. I'd rather not have my arms give out when I'm over the middle of the ocean. I need a ship, a very fast ship, if I'm going to complete this mission. As luck would have it, the Freewind is in port."

"The Freewind?" The Black Swan tilted her head and gave what might have been a look of skepticism, though her empty eye-sockets made it difficult to interpret her expression. "You can't seriously intend to seek passage aboard the most wanted pirate ship on the seas. Every navy on the planet is hunting the Romers."

"No navy can catch them," said Infidel. "The Freewind is the fastest ship in the Shining Lands. And we both know that the charge of piracy is bogus. Gale Romer is an honest woman who's been branded a pirate because of her opposition to slavery."

"She's scuttled entire ships and stolen their cargo."

"She's raided slave ships and released men from their chains," said Infidel, crossing her arms. "The fact that she's an outlaw is an indictment of the law, not of her."

The Black Swan nodded slowly. "Captain Romer's moral code isn't the issue. Whether the charges against her are just or unjust, you place yourself in danger by seeking passage on her vessel."

Infidel shrugged. "It's not like I'm safe anywhere. I'll take my chances with Captain Romer. She tells me the Freewind was chartered weeks ago by a single passenger; she's not at liberty to tell me whom. But, her employer didn't show up to depart this morning at the prearranged time. If they don't show up by sundown, the contract's broken. She says that if I'm there with money in hand when the sun sets she'll let me hire the ship."

"Very well. While I question your wisdom, I must admit that the Freewind's speed is unmatched. Since the Gloryhammer is of no use to you as transportation, I'll give you the money you need in trade."

Infidel laughed. "I'm in a hurry, but I'm not an idiot."

"What else do you have to offer me?"

"Information. You must be dying to know what happened with Greatshadow."

"I know the dragon is alive. You failed in your mission to kill him, placing the world in great peril when he seeks revenge."

"That's nowhere near accurate. I'll give you the complete story for the money."

"My dear, I employ the most gifted diviners from the furthest reaches of the known world. I personally have lived though the events of this day a dozen times in my efforts to avert the impending apocalypse. I know all I need to know of your dragon hunt."

Infidel crossed her arms. "You didn't know Stagger is still around."

"What does it matter if his spirit lingers? He's hardly the only ghost in this port. What's more, he can't endure for long if he has no anchor to the material world."

"I'm his anchor."

"This isn't accurate. The bone-handled knife was his anchor, but you lost this in the ghost lands."

Infidel furrowed her brow. Zetetic and Relic were the only other entities to know that my soul had become trapped in the dragon bone in the handle of my grandfather's hunting knife. Technically, we hadn't lost the knife. It was tucked into the belt of the pants I was wearing when we came back to the material world. It stayed in the ghost realms with me. The pants, too. I can take the knife out and hold it, despite the fact it's as much a phantom as I am now. What good an intangible knife does me I can't say. If I had some intangible toast perhaps I could butter it, assuming I had some intangible butter.

But I digress. The Black Swan continued scolding Infidel. "You also lost the battle against Greatshadow in the spirit realm. Lord Tower dealt Greatshadow's physical body a mortal blow with the Gloryhammer; Aurora slew the beast with the Jagged Heart, but was killed by the creature's death throes. Father Ver's mission was to kill Greatshadow's spirit before the beast could grow a new body. But, he died, so the mission fell to you. However, Greatshadow banished you back to the material world before you could strike the final blow. Have I missed any significant detail?"

A few. Greatshadow hadn't banished Infidel; he'd opened a portal for her after she spared his life in exchange for a promise not to seek revenge. Infidel had convinced the beast that the element of flame was well served by mankind. We cut down forests and hollow entire mountains of coal to feed Greatshadow's appetites. Were he to wipe us out, he'd be one hungry dragon. We left the spirit world with Greatshadow feeling a grudging appreciation of mankind rather than a deep blood lust for revenge. We count that as a win.

Infidel had a few bits of information the Black Swan hadn't hinted at. She knew that Relic had turned out to be Greatshadow's own child, an infant dragon named Brokenwing with genius level intelligence and an excess of ambition. And, she knew that Zetetic, the Deceiver, had also survived, and where he was heading next. Would she try to barter this information?

Infidel pressed her lips tightly together. With what looked like great reluctance, she said, "Fine. You've forced my hand. I do have one thing left to trade. Stagger's boat is stuffed with old books, maps, and notes detailing his explorations. Plenty of treasure seekers would pay through the nose for these documents. I'll trade you the entire collection for the Freewind's fee."

The Black Swan shook her head. "You can't seriously believe that a heap of mildewed notes scribbled by a notorious drunkard are worth anything."

"We both know they're worth a great deal. Stagger recovered hundreds of artifacts from the ruins of the Vanished Kingdom. He left behind hundreds more too big to carry. He documented his explorations carefully, just like his grandfather."

The sculptress looked up. "This Stagger... is he the grandson of Judicious Merchant?"

My grandfather was famous throughout the scholarly world for his masterwork, The Vanished Kingdom. The legend surrounding him and the book had only grown larger when he disappeared four decades ago, swallowed by the jungle-draped ruins he'd spent his life exploring. We'd recently discovered Judicious still alive, living in a treetop village with the Jawa Fruit tribe. Just shy of a century old, my grandfather spends his retirement lounging naked in the sun, attended by his countless pygmy offspring.

Infidel studied the sculptress for a second, her eyes lingering on the woman's withered face, before she answered, "Yes. Stagger was an explorer like Judicious."

The Black Swan released a single high-pitched accordion note. It took me a second to recognize the squeak was intended as a scoffing laugh. "Judicious Merchant was a scholar who braved the dangers of this island in search of knowledge. Stagger was a wastrel who exploited his grandfather's research to loot ancient treasures to slake his thirst for whiskey."

"Don't hold back, Swan," I said. "Say what you really thought of me." She'd been much more diplomatic when she'd haggled for some of the junk I looted. I mean artifacts I looted. I mean artifacts I rescued from their forgotten tombs and brought back so they could be properly studied.

"I want those papers," said the sculptress. "I'll pay for your use of the Freewind. I'm the mystery client who failed to show up. This project has taken longer than I'd anticipated. I fear I've lost track of time."

"Indeed," said the Black Swan. "I hope you don't plan to pass on the expense of your additional hours to me. I'm not to blame for your poor time management."

"I certainly believe you are to blame," said the cloaked woman. "You made me rework your breasts eleven times!"

"I remain unsatisfied," the Black Swan grumbled. "They don't look natural."

Given that they were cast iron, it was impossible to dispute this. On the other hand, I thought they looked like a reasonable approximation of boobs, about the size of grapefruits, nicely proportioned to her chest, with decorative floral rivets for nipples. Still, no matter how well sculpted in size or shape, they lacked a certain quality – Pillowiness? Jigglability? — that reduced their ability to stir lust.

The sculptress sighed and rubbed her eyes. She turned from the Black Swan and approached Infidel, extending her hand. "We've not been introduced. I'm Sorrow Stern."

"My friends call me Infidel," said Infidel, with a handshake.

Menagerie raised his left paw.

"How cute," said Sorrow, shaking the paw. "You've trained your dog well."

"I can't take credit. I can't even call him my dog. No matter what this old witch says, Menagerie's a person. Somehow, I've got to help him remember this."

"Hmm," said Sorrow, taking the dog's head between her hands and staring into his dark eyes. "The Black Swan's right. I sense only magic animating this creature, not a soul."

"Menagerie once told me he felt like his soul had been long ago devoured by all the animals that lived inside him. I'd be happy at this point if we can change him back into his human form. I think if he could see his human self in a mirror, it might jog his memory."

"I'm afraid I can't help. I've yet to master the art of sculpting living flesh."

"Wouldn't that be easier than sculpting solid iron?" asked Infidel.

"To the contrary," said Sorrow. "You're familiar with the teachings of the Church of the Book? The foundational belief that all of reality is formed of four base elements, matter, spirit, truth and lies?"

"I just spent a few weeks in the company of a Truthspeaker and a Deceiver. I've heard the subject debated, yes."

"I'm a materialist," said Sorrow. "By manipulating the proportions of truth and falsehood in matter, I'm able to shape it to my will. Iron is simple, being almost completely devoid of spirit. It possesses no internal conception of itself to resist alteration."

"I'm sure this is a fascinating subject," Infidel said, "But sundown is, like, ten minutes away. Let's talk about our deal."

"Of course. As I said, I'm the client who reserved the use of the Freewind, paying for passage both to and from the island with the advance given me by the Black Swan. There's no need for money to exchange hands. I'll simply write a letter informing Captain Romer that you're representing my interests and taking command of the charter. Supply her with whatever destination you wish. I'll be remaining on the Isle of Fire for some time, if Stagger's papers are as extensive as you say."

"You won't be disappointed."

"I'm sure I won't be," said Sorrow. She walked back to the Black Swan and knelt. On the floor lay a notebook covered with elaborate sketches of an iron woman. She turned to a fresh page and, using a razor freshly minted from raw iron, cut free a sheet of white parchment. She then ground the razor to dust between her fingers, allowing the black filings to sprinkle on the page. With a fingernail, she twirled the iron dust around, lining it into looping letters. I admired the crispness of her handwriting, and felt a stirring of familiarity as I watched the care with which she crossed her T's and dotted her I's. While the shape of her letters were softer and more rounded than my own handwriting, I recognized the same underlying rigidity that had been drilled into my penmanship by the monks at the orphanage in which I was raised. The whole authority of the Church of the Book rested upon the sacredness of the written word. Learning to write correctly akin to learning to pray. Sorrow's handwriting would have delighted any monk. Booze, a lack of piety, and general laziness had rendered my own once neat calligraphy somewhat less pleasing to the eye.

She finished the letter, rolled it up, and sealed it with a band of iron foil. She handed it to Infidel. "I'll finish my work this evening. I'll meet you at Stagger's boat in the morning so I can take possession of his papers."

"Agreed," said Infidel.

Infidel departed, limping on the leg that had taken the machete blow. I was nervous about her passing through town noticeably wounded, with visible cuts on her face. This isn't a good town to show weakness. But, once she was outside, she'd no doubt use the Gloryhammer to fly to the Freewind. Not exactly stealthy, but the skies of Commonground were safer than the gangplanks.

Since I knew where to find Infidel, I lingered behind. I had a hunch I wanted to follow up on. I moved my face before the Black Swan's vacant eyes.

"You can see me," I said.

Slowly, the hollow sockets filled with translucent fog, knitting into ghostly orbs that burned with a soft glow. The fog flowed over the iron cheeks and lips, growing denser, until I found myself staring at the face of a young woman rather than the mechanical mockery of one. The woman had thick black eyebrows and an angular nose a bit too large for her face. The iron lips didn't move; the bellows stayed silent. Yet, as the woman's ghost lips parted, a voice in my mind said, "I'm aware of you."

"I thought you might be. Your barbs seemed a little gratuitous if you didn't think I was around to suffer. Why didn't you tell Infidel I was here?"

"I don't wish to encourage her memory of you. The sooner she forgets you, the sooner she'll be free to master her own destiny."

"She's free now."

"No. She's undertaking a dangerous quest to fulfill a promise you made. It's an unnecessary risk and a pointless distraction."

"Distraction from what?"

"The dragon apocalypse! Have you failed to pay attention at all?"

"Greatshadow isn't angry at humanity. Infidel showed him mercy when he was at his weakest. He's promised not to seek revenge."

"And yet, again and again, I've lived through the day in which the primal dragons rise against humanity. I'll never be able to erase the memory of blizzards blasting even the southernmost islands, the sea rising to swallow whole cities, and mountains crumbling like sand castles as the earth shakes off mankind like an annoying flea."

"Tragic. But why must Infidel be the one who stops this?"

The Black Swan sighed. "Infidel's former power was derived from dragon blood flowing through her veins. She alone possessed the sheer physical might to perform the heroic undertakings required to spare mankind. Behind the scenes, I arranged that she would come to Commonground so that I might oversee her training. But instead of becoming a focused, highly skilled warrior under my command, she met you and was seduced by your slovenly ways. Now, she's an undisciplined brawler, though stripped of her powers she'll not remain one for long. Unfortunately, in the timelines where I had you killed, Infidel is corrupted by her rage and assassinated by the Church of the Book long before her powers mature to the point that she can slay Greatshadow."

"Well, she has no powers now," I said. "You'll need some new pawn for your game."

"True. Which is why I'm placing my hope in Sorrow." She motioned to the sculptress still shaping her thighs. "Unlike Infidel, her talents are meshed with a driving ambition and a grand vision. As Princess Innocent Brightmoon, Infidel's childhood was too sheltered and pampered to allow her to grow into a serious adult. Sorrow has been tempered by tragedy from an early age. Her hatred and bitterness that spurs her ever onward toward her goals of revenge."

"She seems nice enough."

"Nice is a word seldom used to describe Sorrow. And, unlike Infidel, she loathes men; foolish love will never distract her from her greater destiny."

I shrugged. "What you do with this woman is of no concern to me. I want you to leave Infidel alone. If you don't...." I let the thought trail off. I felt like I should be inserting a threat, but couldn't really think of one.

"Are you attempting to be menacing?" she asked.

"Maybe."

"You're failing at it. I've nothing to fear from you. You'll not linger in this world for much longer."

"You've managed to stick a long time. Why can't I?"

"I never surrendered my hold on my bones," she said. "I renew my energies by bathing my skeleton in blood. You performed a similar trick with your knife. But now that you've foolishly removed it from the mortal world, you're fated to fade away. All actions require energy, even the actions of a spirit. Currently, you're empowered by the dragon blood that the bone-handled knife drank in Greatshadow's realm. That magic may sustain you for some time. But, with no further source of blood, your energies will fade. One day you won't even have the power to remember your name. Soon after, you'll vanish from this world forever."

I ground my ghost teeth. Could I believe her? Where was the profit in lying to me? On the other hand, what was the profit in telling me the truth? "My actual bones aren't all that far from here. What if Sorrow builds me a new body like yours?"

"I think cast iron breasts would look even more ridiculous on you than they do on me."

"You know what I mean."

"Abandon hope, Stagger. Though I despised you in life, I'm not so hard-hearted I take pleasure as you suffer in death. You love Infidel, but her love for you will only lead to a tragic end. In the most probable future, Infidel will die on her journey to Qikiqtabruk. Your daughter will never be born. Do you wish to linger as an impotent observer to the doom of those you hold dearest? Move on, poor ghost, to the great unknown."

"I can't help but get the feeling you're manipulating me," I said. "You're taunting me so I'll do something. But what? Just tell me what you want. Maybe if you'd tried that with Infidel, she would have become the savior you wanted her to be. By trying to treat her like a puppet, you've gotten her strings all tangled."

"There is nothing more I need from you, Stagger. Return to your bones."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She raised her ghostly hand and waved me away.

Suddenly, I was on a sandy bluff, overlooking the sea. This was where Infidel had buried my body. The sun was low against the water, almost gone. My grave of white sand had been somewhat flattened by wind and rain, but there was a man-sized bulge in the earth that hinted that bones lay beneath.

"Maybe you can get rid of me that easily," I said, scratching my ghost scalp. What now? Was Infidel really in danger? Or was the Black Swan trying to trick me into stopping her mission? If so, how? What could I do?

Impotent observer of doom. That didn't sound pleasant at all. But as long as that little band of hair was on Infidel's hand, there was at least some small part of me left in the world. Blood wasn't the only source of magic. I was determined to hold on powered by nothing but love.

# 3 - SERIOUS, HARD-WORKING PEOPLE

THE SKY REMAINED luminous as the sun vanished below the horizon, casting eerie shadows across the hill that held my grave. In the dimming light I stared at the ground, imagining my body six feet below. Not even a month had gone by. How much of me was recognizable underneath this mound of sand? I'd done a lot of digging around the island. In the jungle, a corpse might disappear inside a week in the dank and worm-ridden soil. Here, on a windswept hilltop, in salty sand baked daily beneath a tropical sun... perhaps my corpse had mummified. Certainly my bones were intact. Probably my teeth and nails and hair. The colorful shroud Infidel had fashioned from a stolen pygmy blanket might still be recognizable.

Why I found it comforting to think that I might be slowly turning into jerky instead of jelly I can't say. I suppose that as long as I have bones, I have hope. I've heard that on the island of Podredumbre, the natives dig up the skeletons of their ancestors on the winter solstice and bring them back into their homes for a feast in their honor. Perhaps one day that ritual would catch on here. In fact, winter solstice was only a few days away, though in the eternal summer of the Isle of Fire I doubt many of the residents of Commonground would even notice.

For a moment, I contemplated thrusting my head underground. I'd discovered while exploring the pygmy tunnels as a ghost that, in pitch darkness, I could see the faint aura given off by all material objects. Given that mirrors weren't any use to me now, it might be interesting to see my face once more.

Instead, I clenched my fists of fog and turned away, floating upward. Some things are best left unseen. Above me the boldest stars were starting to glow in the darkening sky. I drifted on the sultry wind that flowed down from the jungle slopes, the moist air infused with the redolence of a thousand species of orchids. I rose nearly a mile before I spotted Commonground, roughly twenty miles away. Even at this distance, the city sparkled with the lanterns of countless ships. The beaches around the bay blazed with funeral pyres. It had been weeks since Greatshadow attacked the city, but new corpses washed ashore with each tide.

I set off for Commonground at a leisurely pace, lost in thought, wondering if Infidel had done the right thing by sparing the dragon. I was shaken from my reverie by a faint high-pitched wail. I scanned the horizon. Was it some sort of bird? It sounded almost human, and was definitely getting louder.

Then, I spotted what looked like a man flashing toward me against the darkening sky. At first glance, it looked like Battle Ox tumbling head over heels through the firmament. As the flying figure hurtled closer, I saw it was instead a heavyset man dressed in a bear skin vest and wearing a horned helmet, a two-handed axe clamped in his sinewy hands. As he tumbled past, I saw that his beard was flecked with vomit as he shrieked at a much higher pitch than one would expect from such a bruiser. In his wake, he left a strong odor of piss. I had the distinct impression his flight was involuntary.

I could have given chase, but I was more interested in who'd launched the man into the atmosphere rather than where he was going to land. Ordinarily, if bodies flew this sort of distance, Infidel was involved.

Though Commonground was thick with ships, it didn't take long to spot the Freewind. A long, square-rigged clipper with three masts, the vessel possessed a distinctive burgundy hull. I've heard that the boards were soaked in red wine before it was assembled. This isn't a standard building practice among the Wanderers, and I've no idea what advantage it might have given the ship, but it certainly helps the boat stand out in a crowded harbor.

To my utter lack of surprise, the Freewind was under attack. While Commonground was a sanctuary city among the Wanderers, meaning that even the Freewind wouldn't be molested while at port, the attackers plainly weren't from around here and probably didn't understand the rules. Two long ships with figureheads carved to look like angry dragons had pinned the Freewind against the docks, rendering the ship's legendary speed moot. The attacking boats had hulls wrapped in what looked to be oily hides. At least a hundred burly men wearing bear skin vests and horned helmets swarmed from the boats, running along boarding planks or climbing the numerous grappling ropes that now draped the Freewind. They roared deafening battle cries at a pitch more dignified and manly than the shrieker who'd passed me seconds before. While I didn't understand the language, the raiders matched the description of a race of warriors from lands north of the Silver Isles who called themselves Skellings. The only thing I really knew about them was that they were supposedly cannibals. Since their homeland was two-thousand miles away, I doubted they'd come this far looking for dinner.

At first glance, the Skellings appeared to be attacking an empty ship, which made it embarrassing that they were failing to get on board. Those climbing ropes had the misfortune of having the knots slip free from their grappling hooks inches before they reached the railing. Those attempting to run up gangplanks were snatched from their feet by hurricane winds on a bay that was otherwise calm. The waters around the ships grew crowded with flailing bodies.

One of the grapplers, however, had managed to leap for the railing as his rope broke. I watched as he climbed aboard the all but empty deck. Suddenly, a child dropped out of the rigging, hands first, grabbing the warrior by his horned helmet. The Skelling staggered around, cursing, as the slender figure maintained a perfectly balanced handstand. As I drew closer, I saw that the mysterious gymnast was a girl, perhaps ten years old, with a very stern grimace on her face. She had curly black locks that spilled out from a wine-red beret that marked her as a member of the crew. Her agility at riding her unwilling mount was all the more remarkable for the fact that she was wearing a belt studded with lead sinkers that had to weigh at least fifty pounds.

After balancing on the Skelling for a few seconds, she dismounted with a summersault. The second her fingers left the helmet, the confused warrior shot into the air as if he'd been launched from a catapult. He vanished into the night so swiftly that he was gone from sight before the girl's feet even touched the deck. She bounced as if she had springs in her toes, with her hands stretched overhead. As if by magic, a rope swung toward her. She grabbed hold as it lifted her once more into the rigging.

Perhaps the phrase 'as if by magic' is a bit too coy, since I knew damn well that every member of the Romer family that owned the Freewind had been given magical powers as a gift for rescuing the mer-king's daughter. Though I normally avoided sea-travel, Infidel had done a stint aboard the Freewind as a sword-for-hire during the so-called Pirate Wars. The Romers were serious, hard-working people who neither drank, gambled, nor trafficked in stolen merchandise, which meant I didn't know them personally. Luckily, thanks to Infidel's tales, it wasn't hard to piece together who was who.

The girl had to be Poppy, the youngest Romer. The mermen had given her one of the stranger magical abilities I knew of. Basically, anything she pressed down on would spring into the air with a hundred times the force she'd applied to it. From what Infidel had told me, Poppy was ten years old, and something of a tomboy.

The ropes were being cooperative with Poppy and uncooperative with the Skellings thanks, no doubt, to another family member, Rigger. He was only seventeen and purportedly something of a worrywart. I'd likely find him at the wheel. I flew to the back of the boat and found what had to be him, along with two other family members. All had the same kinky black hair and red berets, along with sharp noses and blue eyes. Rigger had a narrow face adorned by an unflattering scraggle of beard. With his slender limbs he looked like a puppet, with a score of thick ropes wrapped around his arms and legs. He was drenched with sweat, his teeth clenched, as he drew upon his mer-gift, which was the ability to manipulate ropes with his mind. Ordinarily a ship the size of the Freewind would have required a crew of at least twenty, but Infidel told me that Rigger was capable of sailing the boat alone.

He wasn't alone in defending the boat, however. Standing beside him was a young woman holding a long spyglass pressed to her right eye. She was a bit younger than Rigger, perhaps fifteen, and was staring into the glass with the same sweaty intensity Rigger showed in manipulating the ropes. Perhaps the fact that she had the cover over the lens explained her effort. But even with the cap she was seeing something, since she shouted out, "Another grappling hook starboard! Three men on the rope!"

Rigger nodded. "Anyone else? Should I drop them?"

"Wait... there's a fourth climber getting on... now!" She looked pleased as the screams of men falling toward water reached the wheel. It was easy to deduce that this young woman was Sage, the clairvoyant of the Romer clan.

"The attacks are slowing down," shouted the third person at the wheel, an older woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair, her skin tan and deeply lined by a life at sea. This was Gale Romer, matriarch captain of the Freewind, and the reason the Skellings kept getting gusted off their gangplanks. Gale controlled winds, which helped explain the Freewind's reputation for speed. She looked at Sage and cried, "Give me a count of the dead!"

"Thirty-seven," said Sage. "Mako and Jetsam are making short work of them."

"How's Infidel doing against those ice-serpents?"

"Hard to say," Sage answered. "The Gloryhammer's so bright I can't see through the glare."

"What's that about Infidel?" I asked, forgetting I couldn't be heard.

Fortunately, I wasn't kept in suspense long. The hatch to the cargo hold was wide open and a bright beam of light shot up from the guts of the ship.

With a whoosh, Infidel flew from the hatch, completely enwrapped by what I can only describe as a python covered in thick silver fur. Three or four pythons, in fact, though it was difficult to tell where one snake ended and another began. Infidel had only one arm free of the tangle, but she had a death grip on the Gloryhammer as she rocketed into the sky, then dove, heading for the shore. I gave chase, unable to tell if she was in control of her flight or not. She flew directly for a large bonfire. In a flurry of sparks and flames, she dropped feet first into a pygmy funeral pyre, shielding her face by pressing it into the crook of her elbow. She stood there for only a second, protected by her armor as the serpents screamed. Their squealing voices were disturbingly similar to those of human babies as their oily fur ignited. Infidel leapt from the thick of the flames. The writhing serpents slipped from her torso to bunch around her legs. She rubbed her eyes and coughed for a few seconds, then spat out a gob of spit that looked like blood, though that might have been due to the firelight. Without waiting to catch her breath, she shot off like a comet. The burning serpents couldn't hold their grip against the acceleration and fell, crying as they tumbled.

In the blink of an eye, Infidel was back at the Freewind, barreling through a line of a dozen burly warriors struggling against the wind up a gangplank, tossing them like tenpins. The water below was thick with bodies. A boy maybe sixteen years old ran atop the waves, jumping and skipping over the reaching arms of drowning Skellings. He wore no armor and was armed with only a slender rapier, but his skill with it was, literally, eye-popping. This had to be Jetsam. He had the power to run on water as if it was solid earth, and from his relatively solid footing he was moving among the struggling barbarians and driving the tip of his blade into their brains. I'd seen my share of eye-gouging in Commonground, so I wasn't too horrified by Jetsam's battle tactics, but I was slightly put off by the fact that as he danced around the waves he was singing, a rollicking sea shanty I'd heard a time or two sung drunkenly in bars:

And all my enemies,

Will sleep beneath the seas

Around me waves turn red

As they sink down to their bed

While it was good to see a young man enjoying his work, I couldn't help but think his light-hearted manner wouldn't contribute to a long life span. Almost as quickly as I'd had that thought, a Skelling reached up from bobbing in the waves behind Jetsam to try to grab the young Romer by his leg.

I shouted out a warning, despite the futility. Then, with the Skelling's fingers mere inches from Jetsam's ankle, the sea boiled and a dark shape burst into the air. Before I could even understand what was happening, the Skelling's hand was gone and all that was left was a bloody stump. Meanwhile, the shark that had bitten it off continued to fly skyward. Only, it wasn't a shark. It was Mako, at nineteen, the eldest of the Romer children still calling the ship home. He was a large man in what looked like black cotton pajamas plastered to his skin. He was heavily muscled, with an angular face and a mouth twice as wide as it should be. His hair was long and perfectly straight, clinging to his muscular neck like a coat of black ink. From sheer momentum he'd thrown himself ten feet into the air. He twisted to face Jetsam as he fell back toward the water. "Pay attention!" he growled.

As the water swallowed his brother, Jetsam called out, "I saw him, Mako! I was about to take him by surprise!"

Mako's head thrust back to the surface. "This isn't play-fighting," he growled. "These fools want to kill you!"

"They can't touch me," said Jetsam. "I saw him coming, I swear. I've killed twice as many of these guys as you have tonight."

"We aren't keeping score," Mako grumbled as he sank back beneath the bloodied water once more.

"We would be if you were winning," said Jetsam.

Meanwhile, one of the Skelling dragonships had capsized, thanks to Infidel's aggressive hammer work. She, too, looked like she was enjoying herself. As the ship sank lower into the water, she eyed the remaining vessel. She started toward it, until a blond-haired man with no shirt popped up on the deck and held his right arm overhead with his thumb pointed upward.

"I've got their boss!" the man shouted toward the Freewind.

Gale appeared at the railing of the boat in seconds. "Good job!"

She gazed out over the water. Only a few stragglers remained. One by one, they vanished beneath the waves, as Mako's shadow flitted beneath the surface. Given that a crew of a half dozen teenagers had finished off a hundred heavily armed warriors without suffering a scratch, I could see how Jetsam might have developed his streak of cockiness.

Gale cast her gaze toward Infidel. "Friends of yours?"

"I've never seen them before in my life!" Infidel said. "I thought they were after you!"

"They're Skellings!" the shirtless blond man called out. "They conduct random raids for a living."

"I figured they were after the bounty on our heads," said Jetsam.

"A reasonable theory," said Gale. "If they weren't so far from their homeland."

"Luckily, I've got their warlord tied up," said Shirtless.

"How do you know he's their warlord?" Infidel asked, drifting nearer.

"It will be pretty obvious when you see him."

It bugged me that I didn't know who this blond guy was. Gale obviously knew him. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and he might have been the first man in Commonground I'd ever seen without a single scar. His body was flawless, his muscles perfectly symmetrical beneath taut tan skin. He had a square jaw, sharp cheekbones and teeth so white it hurt to look at them. I instantly felt a gut dislike of the man, despite no longer having a gut.

His white cotton britches were practically painted onto his skin, and it was difficult not to notice an unusually large bulge along his inner thigh. Infidel stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. My gut dislike hardened to outright hatred.

Gale grabbed hold of a rope and swung to the Skelling's boat. I drifted overhead and saw a large warrior hog-tied on the deck. I had to admit that the blond guy was good at spotting warlords. His captive was completely bald and his face was riddled with scars. Around his neck he wore a chain of what, at first glance, might have been dried fruit, but on second glance were mummified human ears. His bear skin vest sported gold buttons, and he had gold earrings as well. His gray beard and mustache were braided together and reached down to his belly button. Gold trimmed his horn helmet, almost enough to call it a crown. He glared at his captors with utter hatred.

"Good work, Brand," said Gale, stepping forward and kissing the shirtless guy on the cheek. Gale was old enough to be the man's mother; indeed, Mako and Brand looked about the same age.

Brand flashed his brilliant teeth in a broad smile. "I couldn't have done it without your tactical brilliance, my captain."

Gale blushed as he batted his eyelashes at her.

Infidel cleared her throat as she floated to the deck. "I don't think we've met."

"Infidel," said Gale. "This is Brand. Brand, Infidel."

"You must be new," said Infidel, stretching out her white leather gauntlet for a handshake.

Brand grasped her offered hand by the fingers and bent to kiss it. "I was hired on the journey here," he said. "It's my pleasure to meet you."

"Brand is my new dry-man," said Gale.

"What happened to Boggy?" asked Infidel.

"Tiger shark got him when he went for a swim," said Gale.

"Guess he should have stayed dry," said Infidel.

Brand didn't look like a dry-man. Most members of this profession were older gentlemen noted for their soberness, with a reputation for stinginess rather than charm. Wanderers were a sea-faring race who'd long ago made a pact with Abyss, the primal dragon of the sea. As long as a Wanderer never set foot on land, Abyss promised that they would never drown. Most Wanderers lived their lives completely aboard ship. They would band their boats together in remote harbors like Commonground to form impromptu cities where they socialized with one another. To conduct business with the rest of the land-bound world, most Wanderer ships hired dry-men. Somehow, as I watched Gale eye her employee with a look of school-girl giddiness, I got the impression that Brand had been hired for talents other than his skill at haggling for supplies.

"Is everything okay now?" a girl's voice called out from the other ship.

I looked back and saw a hound dog with two paws balanced on the rails of the Freewind. Menagerie? He could talk again? Why did he sound like a girl?

Then, an actual girl walked up behind the dog. She had kinky hair like the other Romers, but red instead of black. I guessed her to be about thirteen years old. She looked worried as she gazed out over the corpse-filled water. "Did you get them all?"

This had to be Cinnamon. Infidel had said that Cinnamon was the most timid of the Romers. Perhaps it was because she had the least useful magical ability. I was told that she had the power to control other people's sense of taste. No doubt she'd been hiding below deck. The others probably didn't want her underfoot in battle.

"I kept your dog safe like you asked, Infidel," she called out.

"Appreciate it," Infidel said, with a salute.

Gale, meanwhile, had knelt before the captive warlord. She grabbed him by the beard and turned his face toward her.

"Why did you attack us?" she asked.

He responded by hocking up a gob and spitting in Gale's face.

The stink was powerful enough to wrinkle my nose in the spirit realm.

"Oh lord," gagged Infidel, covering her mouth.

Gale calmly wiped her cheek.

Brand stepped toward the far end of the boat. "How can anyone's breath smell so bad?"

Gale shrugged. "The main meat in a Skelling's diet is rotten fish soaked in lye. It has a distinctive aroma."

"I'd heard they were cannibals," said Brand.

"Don't believe everything you hear," said Gale. "The Skellings come from an island where nothing grows but grass and thistles. They don't have a lot of dietary options."

"I'd eat thistles before I'd eat rotten fish," said Brand.

"They eat thistles for breakfast," said Gale. "But I think we're getting sidetracked."

She turned her attention back to the warlord.

"Mako," she said, picking up his horned helmet from the deck.

Mako had slipped aboard when I wasn't looking. He stepped forward and took the helmet. Then he opened his jaws far wider than any man should be able to, revealing saw-rows of teeth. Without bothering to say grace he bit into the helmet and devoured it in a half dozen bites, horns and all. He spat out the golden bits into his palm. "No sense in wasting these."

The warlord's eyes grew rather large.

Gale tried her question again, this time slipping into a language I didn't understand. "Jabber jabber," she asked.

"Jabber jabber," the man growled in response. "Jabber jabber jabber!"

They went on like this for five minutes. The warlord's answers kept getting shorter and shorter. Gale paused for a moment and had Mako chew up the warlord's battle axe. The man looked distraught. I got the impression the weapon might have been a family heirloom.

The questioning resumed. Finally, the man answered with what turned into a monologue of utter gibberish that ran on for ten minutes.

Gale nodded, then stood from her squatting position, stretching her hands overhead to work the kinks from her back.

"What'd he say?" asked Infidel.

"It's a little convoluted," said Gale. "Apparently, they came here to set up an ambush. He says there's a two-hundred year old witch named Purity who's enslaved all their women and turned them into a brain-washed army. She's got a grudge against Ivory Blade, since he stole some kind of sacred harpoon, and she's heading to Commonground to capture him. They want to find him first to use as bait to get their women back. When they got into port, they saw Ivory Blade fly onto my boat. They sent the ice-serpents in to take him by surprise, then decided to raid the boat when they realized there were only a handful of men on board."

"Ah," said Infidel. "They must have mistaken me for Blade since I'm wearing his armor. And the harpoon this witch is after must be the Jagged Heart."

"So you know more about this than you've let on," said Gale.

"And yet I really don't," said Infidel. "Here's everything I know. Aurora told me that the harpoon was carved from the shattered remains of Hush's broken heart. Hush became the primal dragon of cold after her heart splintered into a thousand pieces when she was jilted by Glorious, the sun-dragon. The ice-ogres used the largest fragment of the heart as the tip of a harpoon that Aurora said was used to hunt ghost whales."

"Whales have ghosts?" asked Brand.

Infidel didn't answer him. She said, "Aurora said the harpoon had been stolen by raiders, but she didn't really describe them. Maybe it was this witch who took it. All I know is, Lord Tower had possession of the harpoon during our dragon hunt. It was the only weapon capable of killing Greatshadow."

"Wouldn't a harpoon tipped with ice melt once it got near a dragon made of fire?" asked Gale.

"Nope," said Infidel. "I'm not an authority on the pecking order of primal dragons, but apparently cold trumps fire when it comes to elemental forces. Aurora said that cold was the eternal backdrop of all creation, while heat and flame were merely flickering aberrations."

Gale sighed. "You're leaving out one little detail, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You now have the Jagged Heart. You're wearing Blade's armor and using Tower's hammer. I assume you stole the harpoon as well."

"I most certainly did not steal it. Aurora was the high priestess of the ice-ogres. She died recovering the harpoon since it was the most sacred relic of her people. I've made a promise to see that it gets returned to her homeland."

"When you said you wanted to book passage to Qikiqtabruk you didn't mention that you'd be transporting a treasure that an ancient witch was hunting. You're placing my family in danger by bringing it aboard."

"I swear I didn't know there was a witch looking for the harpoon," said Infidel. "But, look, does it really matter what kind of cargo I'm bringing aboard? Everyone here is being hunted by the Church of the Book, the Storm Guard, and the slaving Wanderers. What's one more enemy?"

"If you're my passenger, I have an obligation to defend you. I can't do that if you're keeping secrets."

"I don't need defending," said Infidel.

"Don't you?" Gale asked. "I've been too polite to mention it, but your face is covered with cuts and bruises. When you were last aboard my ship, swords bounced off your skin. You didn't bother with armor."

Infidel crossed her arms. "You Wanderers make a big deal out of privacy. I'll ask you to respect mine."

"Don't speak to me of respect. You're asking me to risk my family. It's easy to forget this here in the tropics, but the northern kingdoms are in the thick of winter. The coast of Qikiqtabruk is completely ice-locked. There will be no safe harbor."

"Aw, Ma, don't be like that," said Jetsam, who was no longer standing on the waves but was instead doing a breaststroke in the air above his mother. I'd forgotten that in addition to being able to walk on water, Jetsam could swim in air. "If we make another boring run between the Isle of Apes and Raitingu I'll go crazy. Let's go to Qikiqtabruk and fight some witches."

Mako stretched his lanky arms overhead to snatch his brother by the belt. He yanked Jetsam back down to the deck and said, "Speak to Mother with such disrespect again and I'll break your jaw."

"No jawbreaking, please!" said Infidel, looking embarrassed to be in the middle of a family dispute. "Look, the whole reason I'm hiring the Freewind is that I don't want to fight anybody. I want to get to up north as quickly as humanly possible, hand the harpoon to the first ice-ogre we meet, then get the hell out of there. If I liked cold weather even a little, I wouldn't live on the Isle of Fire."

"So what's your hurry?" asked Gale. "I'd be more open-minded about this mission if you waited until summer. The north sea isn't nearly as treacherous then."

Infidel bit her lower lip. She stared at Gale for several long seconds. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "If you must know, I'm pregnant. I think. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible before my health won't permit such an adventure."

Gale chuckled, then dismissed Infidel's concerns with a wave of her hand. "You'll not be so fragile as you imagine. I first sailed the Sea of Wine when I was six months pregnant with Levi. You'll be fine if you wait until summer."

"Or," said Brand, stepping forward, "Or, we can accept the mission now, but for an extra fee."

"You've already admitted that Sorrow paid a large fee for you to carry her to any destination she wanted. Just because I'm choosing the destination doesn't mean you can change the price," said Infidel.

"We negotiated that price without full disclosure of the value of the cargo," said Brand. "Due to the need for additional security, our standard fee must be doubled."

Gale didn't look upset that Brand was launching into a negotiation to sail to a place that she'd just said was too dangerous to sail to. Wanderers were notorious hagglers; Gale probably voiced protests as an opening for negotiating a higher fee. Brand was now doing his job by double-teaming Infidel.

Infidel smirked. I could tell she was aware of the game being played. "Double is outrageous. I'll offer a five percent bonus if, but only if, we get attacked by... what was the witch's name again?"

"Purity," said Gale.

"Right. If Purity attacks, and if I can't handle things myself, you get a bonus. These Skellings took us by surprise, but out on open water, I could have sunk both vessels before they even got near."

Gale shook her head. "Five percent isn't a serious offer. Forty percent is the lowest I can go. The safety of my family is paramount. I'll not risk their lives for petty sums."

"And the fee should be paid whether or not we see combat," said Brand. "Sage is capable of spotting enemies long before they spot us, giving us an edge on evasion. This is a valuable service. We shouldn't be penalized for being good at our jobs."

"If she's so good, why didn't you see these Skellings coming?"

Gale frowned. "She took note of them. It's my own fault for not believing they would attack in Commonground. Here, all Wanderers are sworn to come to the defense of other Wanderers."

"And yet, they didn't," said Infidel.

Gale gave a weary sigh. "These damn slave wars are ripping the very foundations of Wanderer society to shreds. I've blood relatives on at least a dozen ships in this port. That none would come to our aid is a heavy burden. And further proof that defending you against attacks will be a burden that falls completely on my immediate family. A twenty-five percent bonus paid up front would be the absolute bare-bones sum I'd consider fair."

Before Infidel could make a counteroffer, I was distracted. Something was crawling on my right hand. The sensation of being touched was unnerving after my weeks of intangibility. I stretched out my arm and spied a large silver mosquito perched upon my knuckles. I froze, paralyzed by the strangeness of the moment. I was no entomologist, but could any bug be agile enough to alight upon something with no more substance than a cloud? It had to be an illusion that the mosquito was crawling on my hand. It must be flying in the spot my hand occupied, and I only imagined that I could feel it.

It was a fine theory. I might have convinced myself if the creature's wings had been moving.

Shaking off my paralysis, I brought my hand closer to my eyes. The mosquito wasn't a living insect, but was instead a finely constructed bit of jewelry, with a body of silver and legs of jointed copper wire. Its delicate wings were formed from gold leaf so thin it was translucent. The mosquito had glass eyes that served as tiny mirrors reflecting my ghostly visage as we stared at one another.

"I... I've seen you before," I whispered.

To my utter astonishment, my phantom breath fogged the delicate wings.

The mosquito didn't react.

I swallowed hard.

After I'd died, when Infidel had first returned to town, she'd fought an undead giant. The unliving thing had been sewn together out of multiple corpses, a patchwork monstrosity with inhuman strength in its misshapen limbs. The giant had given Infidel quite a beating, but she'd eventually pounded it to pulp using its own torn-off arm as a club. When she'd dismantled the torso, she'd found a small cage, and within that cage was a glowing mosquito. This one lacked the inner radiance, but how could it not be the same creature? How many magical mosquitoes could be flying around this town?

"Wh... what are you?" I asked. I felt certain that some higher intelligence gazed at me through those glass eyes.

The thing answered by doing a little dance back and forth. A tongue like a tiny corkscrew worked itself out of the construct's mouth. I shook my hand to throw the thing off, too late. The mosquito sank the corkscrew into my skin. My frantic hand waving failed to loosen it. I watched as a bead of ruby ichor rose around the tiny hole augured in my wraith flesh. I reached out with my other hand to tear the insect loose.

Before my fingers could close upon it, the mosquito placed its mouth against the small pearl of blood that sat upon my knuckle. Nearly microscopic jaws snapped open and a glass pipette thrust down into my ghost blood, drawing the bead up into its belly.

The jaws clicked shut. The noise was too faint to truly hear, but in my imagination it echoed like the lonely clang of dungeon doors. I recovered my wits sufficiently to flick it with my fingers. The blow tore the insect from my skin. As it tumbled, the tiny mosquito spread its wings and took flight. I was none the worse for wear, save for a small smear of blood where the creature had feasted. I watched it buzz a drunken path across the deck, unseen by the assembled Romers. I cast one last glance at Infidel. Though my instincts were to stay at her side I threw myself into the air, narrowing my eyes to concentrate on my ever-accelerating target. I didn't know why it wanted my blood or where it was going. Despite my normally inquisitive nature, I honestly didn't want to learn. I had to stop this thing.

# 4 - AN EXCEPTIONALLY UGLY BIRD

THE MOSQUITO DOVE over the edge of the railing. I gave chase as it flitted above the stinking tide. The bay of Commonground emits an open sewer aura under the best of conditions, but since the tsunami churned up the muck it's been especially gag inducing. The mosquito flew barely a foot above the water, darting around pilings and between boats and their anchor chains with an agility that might have shaken me if I'd been a bat or a bird. I ghosted through these obstacles as if they weren't even there.

The fact that this mystery bug had touched me meant that I could touch it back. I gave it a good swat with my right hand. It darted to avoid the blow, but the tip of my middle finger managed to clip its wing, sending into a tailspin as it neared the hull of a boat. To my chagrin, it passed straight through the tar-impregnated wood without leaving a scratch.

I flew into the ship's hold, spotting the mosquito easily in the pitch-black interior, despite the jumbled maze of barrels and crates. The thing glowed with an internal magic that my phantom eyes could easily track. Even if I hadn't been able to see it, I could have followed the high-pitched buzz of the mosquito's golden wings.

The mosquito zipped out of the hold, then shot strait up, disappearing though the pier above. I emerged onto a boardwalk crowded with bodies. Now that night had fallen, the denizens of the city were out in force. Cutthroats and whores stumbled groggily along the pier, searching for breakfast at a time when law-abiding men sought out supper. The area was crowded with ramshackle shacks slapped together by river pygmies, who cooked plantains, turtle eggs, and crabs on charcoal grills stoked to ruby heat. Dark amber rum with a whisper of coffee was the beverage of choice for this clientele, and I felt a pang of longing as I caught a whiff of this much cherished elixir.

I lingered for a fraction of a second, distracted by the aroma, and spotted faces of former friends among the crowd. Ol' Scummy Stone was sitting on a bench, drinking from a silver flask he'd won from me in a game of darts. Scummy was in his sixties and had survived for decades in this rough and tumble town using the same strategy I'd employed, which was to be obsequious enough that no one had reason to kill you, but not so pathetic that you aroused actual hatred. Further down the planks I saw Rose Thirteen; by this point she'd had twenty husbands, but her name had gotten locked down after she botched the job of poisoning husband thirteen and had to finish him off with a hatchet in the door of the Drunken Monkey Saloon. Her hair was streaked with gray now, but she still had the same lushness of figure that had caught so many men in her orbit. Despite her propensity toward murder, she was welcome company on a night of drinking, since she knew more dirty jokes than a sailor. She was also Commonground's only competent seamstress – she'd mended the pants I'd died in.

If the mosquito had meant to distract me by tracing a path through places and faces familiar to me, I'm vexed to confess that it succeeded. It had gained a hundred feet of distance as I paused to reminisce. I caught one last glimpse of the tiny beast as it zipped into Big Blue's Bug and Bun Barn at the end of the pier. I flew after it, but the second I entered the restaurant I lost focus. My mouth watered as I caught sight of plates full of yeasty fried dough stuffed with bananas and lemon spiders. Unfortunately, for a ghost, concentration equals movement. For the briefest second, the mosquito vanished from my mind and I found myself stalled in the middle of the bug barn, stirred to hunger.

It took only an instant to shake off my reverie and zoom out the back wall but it was too late. I couldn't spot the mosquito amid the chaos of lights and bodies, nor hear its faint buzz beneath all the laughter and shouts. Outwitted by an insect!

The creature had been heading due east when it first took flight. There wasn't much left in that direction. Once, Bigsby's fish house had been the central feature of that area, but the tidal wave had left nothing but slanted timbers thrusting up from the water. I wondered if Bigsby would rebuild, assuming he was even alive. Between the volcano erupting, the tidal wave, and the avatars of Greatshadow burning everything in sight, the population of Commonground wasn't what it used to be.

Flying over the barren water, I noticed a dim glow on the shore no more than a mile distant. This was no funeral pyre or bonfire; I guessed it to be the faint, flickering light of numerous candles.

Which, indeed, it was. Hundreds of slender tapers formed a large spiral in a circle of raked beach sand. I flew higher to better perceive the design and found myself mesmerized by the snail-shell shape, unable to turn away.

At the center of the whirl of light was a familiar figure. Sorrow Stern knelt on the beach, laying gnarled bits of driftwood together into a shape that bore a vague resemblance to a man. Its legs were splintery remnants of a mast split by lightning. Its arms were thick branches of dark teak, the fine grain looking almost like muscle beneath a thin coat of damp sand. For a head it possessed a large coconut still in its husk, given a jagged mouth by a machete chop and what could pass as eyes formed by two oval pecan shells. The twin iron nails that held the false eyes to the surface glinted like irises in the candlelight. To the sides of the head were curled tamarind seedpods that served as makeshift ears.

For the first time I saw Sorrow free of her hood. She'd stripped off her cloak and wore a bright red dress that left her shoulders bare. The garment looked more appropriate for a ballroom than a beach. She was smaller without the cloak, with a figure best described as girlish, but I found her age a mystery. The left half of her body was withered, the limbs supported by iron braces, but her right half looked young and strong. Her head was shaved, which added years to her appearance. Her scalp was dotted with dark studs, some of which flashed as they caught the candlelight. I found myself drawn in along the spiral, fascinated by the bumps on her head. They looked, for all the world, like the blunt heads of nails jutting up. There were half a dozen, one gold, another silver, another rusted iron, one green copper, one that might have been glass, and the last with the appearance of polished wood.

She stood, lifting her hand straight up as if she were reaching for me as I hovered overhead. I heard a buzz and the silver mosquito flashed toward her fingers, alighting gently on her outstretched palm. She knelt once more, opening the barrel chest of the driftwood man she'd built, revealing a small cage of golden wire. She opened a tiny door and the mosquito crawled inside.

"Wandering spirit, thou shall roam no more," said Sorrow, her voice deeper than what should have come from her slender throat. "By thy blood I bind thee to this body of wood. Thy soul shall be its soul."

She shut the door to the cage.

Long ago, before arriving in Commonground, I worked on a fishing vessel in the Green Straights, where swordfish are caught with hooks of tempered steel fed out on long weighted lines. I'd had the misfortune of running one of those hooks through my hand, the point slipping between the bones of my little finger and ring finger just beneath my knuckles. I'd been beaten by professionals during my years at the monastery but nothing quite prepared me for the pain as the weighted line played out and snatched me overboard.

That same pain now seized me in every pore. I felt invisible hooks slip into my mouth, scraping across tooth and tongue and bone. Hooks pierced my eyes and ears, slid into my neck bones, tangled in every rib. I thrashed against the unseen barbs that tormented me, beating the night air with my ghost limbs, to no avail. Fine silver threads appeared all around me, connecting my wraith-form to the driftwood man. With a sound like fingernails dragged along guitar strings, these lines went taut and reeled me in.

For a moment, everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again the world was painted in shades of amber. My limbs felt numb and heavy. I could barely turn my head... and yet, to my surprise, I did have a head to turn. I was a physical being once more, my body cold and stiff, but undeniably present. I raised an arm that felt weighted with iron and brought it to my face. With my monochromatic vision, I could make out the gnarled remnants of the base of a mangrove tree, with five finger-length roots jutting out. Such was the resemblance of the root to a hand that I imagined I could close the fingers into a fist, and, at the thought it happened. I felt the friction of finger against finger, felt the damp grit that coated the limb grinding into wooden flesh.

Sorrow loomed above me. Unlike the rest of my monochrome world, she looked crafted from a rainbow, a being of pure energy swirling within the translucent flesh of a woman. Her voice was thunderous in my seedpod ears:

"Ghost, you are bound to this body of wood. It was alive once, but devoid of spirit, as you were alive once, but are devoid of body. I give you dominion over this form for a time, till decay and entropy reduce this shell to dust, and the last spark of your animating spirit fades from this domain. Until you meet this final death, you are my property, and shall obey my commands."

I attempted to offer my opinion of her demands in the form of a string of artfully delivered curse words. No sound emerged from my coconut lips. Despite having a mouth, I discovered I had no tongue. I sat up, feeling clumsy and disoriented. My eyes had difficulty keeping the world on the level as I swayed first to the left, then the right. I had only a muted sense of proprioception. I stretched out my driftwood arms, fingers splayed, to steady myself on the sand.

It felt, I must confess, a good bit like being drunk. Had I really spent fortunes in pursuit of this sensation when I was alive? This had been my preferred state of existence, listing through the world like a ship with a damaged keel?

Perhaps I'd paid freely for this sensation in life, but in death I'd grown used to sobriety, and wanted it back. Still seated, I scraped out letters on the sand using my gnarled fingers.

P-L-E-A-S

I don't know what she thought I was about to ask, but Sorrow dropped to her knees before my wooden body and placed her lips upon the jagged gash of my new mouth. She sucked in air from my coconut and I felt dizzier than ever.

She broke off the kiss and stood, turning her back to me. Yet, due to the quirk of my new vision that saw her as radiant energy, I could see through her clothes, her skin, her ribs and lungs, all the way through to the other side, where her hands were busily knitting something dark and cold. It took me a second to understand it was a little doll made of twigs and grass. She brought it to her lips and breathed into it.

My own body suddenly felt warm.

She stood the tiny doll in the palm of her hand and said, "Rise."

I rose, feeling as if unseen hands had taken me by the arms to help me stand. The world was askew, with my head lopsided upon my shoulders, until she adjusted the head of the miniature and my own skull rolled to right the world. I glanced down at the letters I'd written; they seemed very far away. My new body was a good foot taller than my old one. Sorrow looked tiny as I loomed over her. But, despite our different statures, there was no question that she was the dominant entity in our new partnership.

"Those letters," she said, glancing at the sand. "Erase them."

I wanted with all my soul to disobey, but instead my left foot dragged across the letters, blotting out my pitiful attempt at communication.

"You remember how to write," she said, softly. "Perhaps you have other memories from your former life. I've no power to force you to forget them. But forget them you must, or your days will be agony."

I slowly shook my head. I could still say, "No," at least.

"Whoever you were, that person is dead," she said, sounding defiant. "You had your chance at life, and you had your chance to move on to the abstract realms when you passed away. It's your fault you've lingered and become fuel for my creation. I'm not to blame for the fate that has befallen you. I'm simply a weaver, a materialist who is able to sculpt lifeless matter into useful forms. Your soul no longer served a purpose; its energy was wasted on aimless wandering. I've done you no harm, ghost. Indeed, I've given you a gift; a few final days of purpose."

I again shook my head, "No." The grinding sound of my coconut skull swiveling on my wooden shoulders was unnerving.

She didn't look directly at my face as she said, "You've no choice. In the morning, I shall take possession of a large quantity of manuscripts. I don't trust the scoundrels of this port sufficiently to hire assistants to move them. You'll serve as my porter, as well as my bodyguard. Just as wood is tougher than muscle, so too are you stronger than a man, and impervious to pain. You'll make a formidable warrior if needed. Fortunately, I'm not one who behaves recklessly. With luck you'll never need to expend your energy in battle."

She walked off beyond the edge of my vision. I couldn't turn my head sufficiently to follow her. She returned a few minutes later with a bundle of clothing. "Get dressed. You won't pass for human, but in Commonground that's not such a rarity. In this garb, you'll draw less attention."

The paralysis that inflicted me vanished and I was able to take the clothes she offered. Unfortunately, my freedom of movement was decidedly limited. Any of the ordinary actions one might take while dressing seemed permissible, but when I wanted to wheel around and dash for the forest, my body proved deaf to my commands.

The clothing was surprisingly fresh and clean. Given my resemblance to a scarecrow, I'd expected nothing more than rags, but there was little evidence that these clothes had ever been worn before. Perhaps she was as adept at knitting cloth as she was at molding steel or shaping wood. The pants were heavy wool; they no doubt would have been hot and scratchy if I'd still had skin. The shirt was even rougher; fabrics aren't my specialty but I believe it was woven from jute, more suited for burlap bags than clothing, though given the splintery nature of my new joints perhaps the thick fabric was a good match. Heavy cloth gloves and sturdy leather boots hid the plainly inhuman nature of my limbs. The final touch was to cover my coconut skull with a tri-corn hat, matched with a large bandana hiding most of my face and neck. I imagined I looked a bit like a bandit in the get-up.

"You're rather dashing with that crimson bandana," Sorrow said, adjusting the way it rested on my cheeks, if a coconut had cheeks. I found myself curious about what other colors I might be wearing. With my amber vision, I'd thought all my clothing was shades of brown, but for all I knew she might have dressed me to rival a peacock.

"Follow," she said, and I followed.

WE PASSED THE night in one of the luxury suites aboard the Black Swan. I'd been in similar suites before. During the times in my life when I was blessed with money, I saw little reason to hoard it. "Seize the day!" was my motto, though in practice this usually meant, "grab the bottle!" The old Black Swan had been destroyed when Greatshadow attacked Commonground, and this new room was so clean and polished that the light of a single bedside lamp hurt my new eyes. Sorrow hadn't bothered to give my coconut face a nose, but when she hung her cloak in the closet the scent of fresh cedar was powerful enough I could taste it in my false mouth despite my lack of a tongue. Formerly, the rooms I'd stayed in had sported artwork with scantily clad pagan goddesses as a popular theme. Now, the paintings on the wall were all landscapes in muted colors. I suppose it was more tasteful, but also a little dull.

Sorrow placed me in the corner of the room and told me to sit. She returned to the door and sealed it shut by molding the frame to the wood of the door itself. She stripped down unselfconsciously before me, changing into a simple cotton nightgown. Again, I noted the health of the right half of her body, and the dark veins, wrinkles, and amber blotches of her left side. "You may not move tonight unless danger arises while I'm sleeping, in which case you are free to defend me. Remain alert; your senses may be dulled by your new encasement, but you have far less to distract you than you did in life. You've no need for sleep or food or water now; focus your attention on any noises from the hall."

She climbed into the bed of silk and was asleep in moments, the covers pulled almost to her chin despite the tropical heat. A veil of mosquito netting surrounded her bed, but I could see her easily enough, even in the darkness. Like Infidel, she proved to be a restless sleeper. All through the night, she tossed and mumbled.

I wondered how she had come to be named Sorrow. It seemed off-key for a nickname, since it was neither cruel nor funny, and it didn't strike me as the sort of name a person would willingly choose for herself. But it made little sense as a given name, either. What mother would wish such a label upon her daughter?

SORROW ROSE BEFORE dawn, lingering a while before a mirror as she ran her fingers around the dark, inflamed flesh surrounding one of the nails driven into her scalp. This was the nail that looked like it was carved from mahogany. To judge by her wincing, the wound felt as painful as it looked. She applied a bit of pressure and a bead of thick amber puss bubbled up. She wiped this away with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol as a deep frown once more lined her face. As she worked the last of the puss from the wound, she took a moment to drag her fingers around her scalp. Even in the dim candlelight, I could see a haze of stubble had arisen during the night. Her baldness was the product of a razor.

An hour later we were back outside, amidst a cacophony of hammers and saws. Commonground was busily being rebuilt by the river pygmies and the Wanderers, both of whom relied on the town as an economic hub.

I followed Sorrow to the shore and recognized the path she was walking toward a tangle of dense trees. Sitting in the upper branches of one particularly robust mangrove was what was left of a sailboat. The ground beneath the boat had been picked clean by river-pygmy scavengers, but despite the relative ease of climbing the gnarled and knotty trees, it looked as if the boat was unmolested. Even out of water, everyone would have recognized this as my boat. In life, I was hardly a fearsome enough figure to discourage looters. Infidel, however, had a reputation as someone who didn't trifle with thieves. She'd lived here a few days following Greatshadow's attack and had made it her home since returning from the hunt. Until word got out that she'd lost her powers, the place was safe.

"Climb," said Sorrow, as she hopped upon my back. Her arms wrapped around my neck in a way that would have choked me if I'd needed to breathe. I barely felt her weight upon me. Nor, I should note, did I much feel my own weight. The soggy driftwood had dried a good bit during the night and my limbs felt stronger and steadier than they had before. In one of the few civil conversations I'd ever had with Hookhand, he told me that when he'd first put on his hook it had been a lifeless weight strapped to the stump of his arm, but over time he felt as if the ghost of his hand had flowed into it, and that, impossible as it seemed, he'd been able to feel things with the cold iron.

While there was no mistaking my new body's crude sense of touch for the nuance of actual flesh, I found that there was some truth to Hookhand's story. My phantom fingers had flowed into the roots beneath my gloves and I could sense pressure as I grasped the branches, and feel the spiky bark digging into my wooden palms. My sense of hearing had improved during the night, and though I was hampered by my vision possessing a single hue, my ability to focus was improving.

I climbed over the railing of my boat. The vessel had been in poor repair for years, but a few weeks in the branches had warped and twisted the deck into a surface where not a single plank could be described as flat. It looked as if the whole thing could fall apart in a good stiff wind, though that was currently being tested, as the omnipresent sea breeze kept the whole structure swaying. Sorrow dropped from my back and called out, "Hello?"

There was no answer. She looked around, then crouched down to enter what remained of the cabin. I knelt to watch. I was never fastidious in my housekeeping, but the place was a disaster even by my slovenly standards. The boat had obviously flipped end over end when the tidal wave carried it here. Everything had been drenched as well, and what books I could see were coated with mold. My heart ached as I contemplated the ruined pages. Despite my early years in the monastery orphanage where I was taught to read and write, I've always considered myself an autodidact. I've stuffed my skull with information both trivial and profound without the guidance of any teachers other than these books. I mourned their death as much as I would have mourned the passing of a human friend.

I couldn't blame Infidel for the poor state of my belongings. Even if she'd emptied out the cabin and tried to salvage the books, the truth was most had mildewed long ago, as I tended to keep my reading material in tottering stacks by my bedside rather than safely arranged in glass cases. Perhaps it was the combination of my lax housekeeping and the tidal wave destruction that led Infidel to simply ignore this mess. She'd been sleeping in a hammock she'd strung in the branches above the deck, with a patch of sail stretched above serving as a roof.

Sorrow sighed. She grumbled, as much to the wind as to me, "My grandmother used to say one should never buy a pig in a poke. I'd imagined the grandson of Judicious Merchant would have taken better care of his writings."

I silently chuckled inside my driftwood cage, delighted at her consternation. For while I'd been a lackluster guardian of my reading materials, I was far more diligent with my own writing. Somewhere under all the clutter and debris was my grandfather's sea chest. It was tightly constructed from high quality cedar and utterly airtight. All my important papers were probably safe inside, but she had no way of knowing this. It was her own fault for not carving me a tongue, or even allowing me to write in the sand.

Sorrow cast her gaze upwards, shielding her eyes with her hand. Infidel was coming near, the Gloryhammer glowing like a second sun. A darker shape followed closely behind, flapping awkward, ungainly wings. Some sort of injured pelican?

Infidel covered the half mile that separated us in mere seconds, wisely choosing to land on a thick limb beside the boat rather than on the deck itself. She nodded in greeting toward Sorrow, then looked at me. "Who's this?"

"A little extra muscle," said Sorrow. "I haven't bothered to name him yet. I guess I'll call him Drifter."

"You can't just ask him his name?"

"He's the strong silent type. Very, very silent."

By now, the flapping shape that had followed Infidel caught up, lighting on the branch beside her. It was a creature I'd never seen before, with the body, legs, and ears of a hound-dog, but with wings, big webbed claws and a long, ungainly beak like a pelican. The overall appearance was comical, but also unnerving, for the creature's form was ever shifting, with the margin around his neck and chest where feathers transitioned into fur ebbing and flowing in slow, rippling waves.

"That's your, uh, man-dog?" asked Sorrow. "The shape-shifter? Menagerie?"

"Yeah," said Infidel. "This morning I found him on deck chewing on a freshly killed pelican. His face was coated with the blood. I was going to leave him at the ship, but when I jumped into the air to fly here, he turned into this and gave chase."

"Maybe the pelican blood gave him a new form?" Sorrow said.

"Maybe. But he also sucked my blood when he was a tick, so why didn't he change back into a human?"

"I'm not an authority on blood magic," said Sorrow. "But, I can see the auras of living things, and this creature has not even the faintest hint of a human aura. It doesn't possess the spiritual template to change into a man."

"Whatever," Infidel said. "Humans are vastly overrated in my book. I hope Menagerie gets better, but for now you have to admit it's kind of cool that I have a flying dog."

Sorrow shrugged and looked back into the cabin. "That's a very positive attitude. It would be equally accurate to say that you merely have the affection of an exceptionally ugly bird."

"There's no need to be nasty," said Infidel.

"Is there not?" said Sorrow. "I entered into this deal foolishly, I admit. The citizens of Commonground aren't famous for their honesty. There was something about your aura that led me to trust you. Most dishonest people have feeble and dirty auras. Yours was bright and clear; I thought that in this city of sin, I'd somehow stumbled upon a true innocent. Yet, rather than finding the organized collection of books and maps I thought I was purchasing, I find only rotting litter."

Infidel stepped gingerly onto the deck. "I didn't cheat you," she said, ducking into the cabin, motioning for Sorrow to follow.

Sorrow glanced at me and said, "Don't move," then followed.

Menagerie lingered behind, perched on the branch, staring at me, his head tilted.

Though I couldn't move my physical form, I tried to speak. A ghost voice tore from my ghost throat and echoed in my ghost ears, though the morning air was silent save for the chirping of birds and the distant stir of the waves.

"Menagerie!" I called to the dog-bird. "Can you hear me? Can you hear me?"

The dog furrowed his brow as it loped onto the deck. Its head became almost fully hound as it took the time to sniff me, then flowed back toward pelican as it sat on its haunches and looked up at my face.

"Can you hear me? Say something," I said.

He didn't say anything.

"Speak!" I said.

Nothing.

"Roll over!" I said, feeling bad that I was treating a man who had once been a brilliant mercenary as if he had only the intelligence to do canine tricks.

He kept staring. Did he not hear me? Did his dog form not understand that command? What other commands could I try? I couldn't tell him to heel or fetch since I was immobile. Telling him to sit was pointless since he was already sitting.

"Shake?" I said, rather tentatively since I couldn't move my arms.

Menagerie raised his right front leg with its webbed bird's foot. With his hound dog eyes, he looked heartbroken when I left him hanging.

# 5 - SORROW WOULD SOON KNOW MY NAME

BY THE SACRED quill," gasped Infidel as she dragged my sea chest out onto the deck. The thing was five feet long, three feet tall and wide, solidly constructed and stuffed to the brim. I'm surprised she could move it without her old powers. She collapsed against the railing and wiped her brow. "That wasn't fun."

"I'm learning not to believe everything I hear in Commonground," Sorrow said as she, too, emerged from the cabin.

"Look, don't get distracted by all the ruined books," said Infidel. "The real treasure's in this box."

"I was referring to the stories I'd heard of your strength," said Sorrow. "I'd been told you were as strong as a score of men, but even one man could have gotten that sea chest out of the cabin with less effort. I'd also heard that swords bounced off your skin, but your face certainly doesn't lend much credence to that claim."

"Oh," said Infidel, sliding her fingers along the thin brown scabs that lay upon her cheeks. "My powers, uh, only kick in when I'm fighting. I don't waste magic on moving furniture."

"I see," said Sorrow, kneeling in front of the chest. She contemplated the big brass lock on the front. "Do you have the key?"

"Sorry," Infidel said, shaking her head. She grabbed the Gloryhammer. "Stand back and I'll knock the lock off."

"That won't be needed. If you're willing to damage the lock to open the chest, there's no need for me to respect its integrity."

She grasped the padlock, squishing it between her fingers like a ball of clay. She twisted the metal and tugged it away from the chest, stretching it like taffy until it snapped.

"Looks like you've got some inhuman strength of your own there," said Infidel.

"Nonsense," said Sorrow. "My strength is unremarkable. As a materialist, I comprehend ordinary matter in a way that your untrained eyes cannot. You believe the illusion that the material world is made of solid objects. I see through this illusion."

"You sound like Zetetic," said Infidel. "In Greatshadow's lair, we encountered a room carved from false matter. It had no fixed form or color. He said this was the original state of all matter."

"I sound nothing like Zetetic," said Sorrow. "Though I never met the man, Deceivers believe all of reality to be a shared fiction, lacking objective truth. I don't dispute the reality of the material world; indeed, I study it and understand it. The key concept is that the things we think of as solid objects are composed of much tinier particles. If you could shrink to the size of a flea, the smooth surface of this lock would be revealed as a rugged landscape of boulders. Shrink to the size of a dust mote, and you would find that the boulders are built of individual grains. If you could become so small as to be invisible, you would find that these grains cling to one another like damp sand. Even a child on the beach can sculpt and mold damp sand using only their bare hands."

"But that lock wasn't made of sand," said Infidel.

Sorrow shrugged. "My analogy is difficult for the uninitiated to follow. The true nature of matter is so counterintuitive that our language lacks words to accurately describe it." She pulled her cloak back, revealing the scalp full of nails. "Even I couldn't learn the truth through mere language. I had to have reality driven into my brain directly. Every nail in my skull is made from a pure material form. These have been placed in contact with the portion of my mind that perceives the corresponding substance. The copper nail gives me command over copper, which was the primary component of this brass lock."

Infidel grimaced when she saw Sorrow's scalp. I was a little queasy myself, since the wooden nail that had been infected this morning was now even worse. Dark veins ran from the wound, which was now an ugly bruise, almost black, fading to lighter hues of amber at the edges.

"Most metals are simple," said Sorrow. "In their natural state they hold a faint echo of the primal spirit of Krag, the dragon of earth, but this spirit is driven out in the smelting process. Thus, they have no will to resist my magic. I recently expanded my repertoire to include wood. It's been 1000 years since Verdant, the primal dragon of the forest, last spread his spirit into trees, but even so, as once living material, wood possesses a cellular memory that can fight my manipulations. It's exhausting in both body and spirit to make use of it. However, it's worth the price since wood can be imbued with a persistent animating spirit, unlike iron or copper."

Infidel's brow wrinkled. "I'm not sure I'm following you. Are you saying anyone could bang a nail into her head and gain your powers?"

"With the right nail, in exactly the right place, to precisely the right depth," she said. "But not anyone. Only females are able to master the art. Feminine prowess in magic is a threat to the male assumption of superiority. Thus, the patriarchal powers-that-be label me a witch and a heretic. So be it. I wear their slurs as a badge of honor."

Infidel grinned. "I know where you're coming from. I hated it at first when people called me 'Infidel.' Now I've come to like it. I guess it was your enemies who named you Sorrow?"

As she spoke, Infidel repeatedly scratched the scabs on her face. It was almost impossible to look at Sorrow's scalp, with its festering wound and stubbled hair, and not feel itchy. If my own hands hadn't been paralyzed, I'd have been scratching my coconut dome.

Sorrow frowned. "I thought it was impolite in Commonground to inquire about the pasts of others."

Infidel shrugged. "Yeah, it is. But I'm curious. From your accent, you must be from the Silver Isle. Most girls there get named something churchy, like Faith, Hope, or Innocent. Sorrow isn't a name I've heard before."

"My father was especially, as you say, 'churchy.'" Sorrow looked down at the mass of copper in her hands. She'd wadded it up into a tight ball. "Have you heard of Judge Adamant Stern?"

Infidel raised an eyebrow. "The commander of the Judgment Fleet? The guy who hung his own mother?"

Sorrow nodded. "You know of him."

"Who doesn't?"

"Indeed. His story is well known. As his daughter, I've witnessed his infamy first hand. An accusation was made that his mother was a weaver... a witch. He had her head shaved, but found no nails. He did, however, find scars. My grandmother claimed these were childhood cuts and scrapes, but the letter of the law was that if her head weren't free of blemish, she was to be hung. I was nine years old at the time. My grandmother was everything to me. My mother had died giving birth to me... this is why my father named me Sorrow."

"Harsh," said Infidel.

"He never showed me kindness. He barely spoke to me, allowing my grandmother to raise me as if I were her own daughter. After he hung her, he left me in the care of the family maid to raise me as he pursued his career upon the seas. What he didn't know was that our maid was an actual weaver. She gave me my first nail, of silver. Not long after, she was discovered. She was tortured to death and confessed to converting me to the dark arts. But this I learned second-hand, since I was on a boat to the Isle of Grass by the time her head was being shaved by my father."

"The Isle of Grass? The Freewind was attacked by Skelling's earlier tonight."

"This far south?"

"Yeah. About a hundred of them. They used furry white pythons for attack dogs."

"Snow-wyrms. Despite their reptilian characteristics, they're actually a relative of otters. Why would they venture so far from home?"

"They said some witch named Purity had kidnapped their women and they'd come here to find her."

Sorrow's mouth fell open. Then her eyes narrowed as she said, skeptically, "So you know of my past. I would prefer you confront me directly with your questions rather than take such an oblique approach to your queries."

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Infidel. "Wait? Are you Purity?"

"Don't be stupid." Sorrow rolled her eyes. "Purity was a weaver of great renown. It's said that her magic kept her alive for two hundred years."

"Hmm," said Infidel, studying Sorrow closely. "Your age is kind of hard to pin down."

Sorrow frowned. "If you must know, I'm only twenty-two. The left half of my body withered when I unsuccessfully tried to master bone-weaving. Unfortunately, I mistakenly inserted the bone into the portion of my brain meant to command wood. I've paid a terrible price for this failure."

"Tough break," said Infidel. "So, you're not a two-hundred year old witch. But from your reaction to her name, I'm guessing you know her."

"No," said Sorrow. "I know only her legend. She was originally a maiden dwelling on the north shore of the Silver Isle, until she was kidnapped by Skellings. She was brutally raped during her time in captivity, but eventually a drunken Skelling carelessly placed his sword by her bed as he prepared to abuse her. She killed him and a dozen other men on her escape. She nearly died upon the high seas in an open boat she'd stolen until she was rescued by a mysterious old woman with strange powers. This was the legendary witch Avaris; she took Purity under her wing and taught her all the arts of weaving. Purity returned to the northlands with her newfound powers intending to exact revenge upon the entire race."

"Avaris? I've heard that name before. The Black Swan supposedly learned to travel through time with her help."

"Yes," said Sorrow. "Time-weaving is one of the abstract arts, the highest class of witchcraft. I manipulate material objects, but dream of one day expanding my powers to the manipulation of abstract forces. Avaris is the only witch to have mastered all the material and abstract realms. If I could speak with her for even five minutes, I'm certain the knowledge I could gain would transform me."

Infidel nodded. "So, when you went to the Isle of Grass, you were looking for Purity. And, if you could, you'd like to learn a few things from Avaris?"

"I sense a hint of disapproval in your tone."

"History is a subject that bored me, but even I've heard stories about Avaris. She's one of the most evil women who ever lived. She used to eat children!"

"History is written by victors," said Sorrow. "Once, the weavers were a force to be reckoned with, willful females with powers rivaling those of gods. The men of this world couldn't tolerate the threat to their sovereignty, and used the Church of the Book to turn the world against the weavers and hunt them down. Unfortunately, men possess a greater stomach for bloodshed and brutality than most women. They ended the era of weavers through a campaign of violence. They now ensure the subservience of women through a phallocentric mythology that treats females as inferior beings."

Infidel cracked her knuckles. "I like to think I'm doing my small part to help women get back into the bloodshed and brutality business."

"I'm not content with playing a small part," Sorrow said, clenching her fists. "The world I was born into is fundamentally corrupt. The grand crimes committed against humanity are so audacious that all notions of right and wrong are upended. The rich and the powerful build their civilization upon the backs of the weak, justifying their cruelty and theft with a fictional moral code supposedly enshrined in a book that no man has read."

Infidel nodded. "Sister, you don't have to preach to me that civilization is screwed up. That's why I do everything I can to avoid it."

"I'm not content to run. I'm going to tear it all down." There was a hard determination to Sorrow's voice I found chilling. "I'm going to destroy the Church of the Book, topple the kingdoms of men, and establish a new golden age."

Infidel stared blankly at Sorrow for half a minute, uncertain what to say. Finally, she cleared her throat. "It's good to have goals."

"Yes," said Sorrow. "But I need more than goals. I need power, and I need allies. If you're truly aware of the unjust nature of the world, and even half deserving of your legend as warrior, why not join me in my battle?"

"Because it's a stupid battle," said Infidel.

"How can you be so blind?" asked Sorrow.

Infidel crossed her arms. "I think you're the one who might be missing her own contradictions. You think you're wise enough and smart enough to remake the world? Don't you see that anyone arrogant enough to think that is likely going to wind up making things worse?"

"I'd rather try to remake the world and fail than hide in this remote backwater and avoid the struggle for justice."

"If you think I avoid struggles on the Isle of Fire, you've got a lot to learn."

"You fight pointless battles against freaks and scoundrels. It's hardly a worthy struggle."

"There's a difference between battles and struggles," said Infidel. "Fighting is easy for me. My struggle has been to learn to love and trust after being raised in a life where these words had been stripped of meaning. My struggle now is to rise above a life where my main pursuit has been to amuse myself, and remake myself into a mother who can raise a child. I've lived most of my life stuck with the same attitudes and emotions I had when I was fifteen. My struggle is simply to grow up."

"Don't you owe your unborn child a chance to grow up in a better world?"

Infidel shrugged. "This world isn't so bad. Stagger used to take me up into the jungle, where we'd explore vine-draped ruins and eat fruit fresh straight from the tree. We'd make our beds under stars so bright and crisp it looked like the sky was full of glorystones. Civilization might have its problems, but the world... the world's all right."

"You're wasting your talents," Sorrow said.

"It sounds like you've got more powerful allies in mind anyway. What about Purity? Did you find her when you visited the Isle of Grass? Was she able to help you?"

"No," said Sorrow, sounding bitter. "I found only Purity's grave. Tales of an ageless witch who tormented the northern land proved only a myth."

"Those Skellings were pretty insistent that someone was stealing their women." Infidel stood up. The hammer glowed as she lifted slowly into the air. She drifted over to the long beam of what had once been the mast of my sailboat, now straddling the branches of three different trees. I noticed for the first time the long, skinny roll of canvas lashed to the mast. Odd. I hadn't had sails rigged on the boat since I owned it.

She untied the rope and the canvas dropped into her hands. I noticed that the white cloth sparkled like it was coated with diamond dust... or frost. She unrolled the canvas above the deck and the Jagged Heart dropped down, tip first into the wood. The harpoon stood like a second mast, carved from a spiraling narwhale horn.

"Purity is supposedly stealing their women to build an army because she's looking for this," said Infidel. "It's the Jagged Heart. Belonged to a friend of mine named Aurora. The Church of the Book stole it. I've made an oath to take it back."

"The ice ogres may not give you a warm reception," said Sorrow.

"I'm armed with a big hammer made of solid sunlight," said Infidel. "They won't give me any guff."

"I admire your confidence," said Sorrow. "But the northern realms are dangerous. Your quest may not be as simple as you think."

"I think it's a more realistic goal than wiping out the church and overthrowing all the kingdoms of the world."

Sorrow sighed, then turned back to my sea chest and opened it. I could taste the clean odor of cedar in the roof of my mouth as she gingerly lifted the lid.

The contents were mostly intact. From my limited view, it looked as if a bottle of squid ink had broken as the boat had tumbled, but the damage was mostly to the items packed on the right side of the chest where I kept blank parchment and writing material. Three quarters of the chest looked untouched by the spill, and this was the section where I'd stored a life's worth of maps and notes. Two life's worth, since at least half the material had been drafted by my grandfather, Judicious Merchant. Waves of nostalgia washed over me as Sorrow gingerly lifted papers from the chest. Her eyes grew wide with excitement.

"Marvelous," she whispered, as she unrolled a master map of the island. "Well worth my investment if it leads me to my quarry."

"You know, I've been almost every place Stagger's been," said Infidel. "You might save some time if you just ask me the location of whatever it is you're looking for."

"Perhaps. But you're unfamiliar with the witch nails in my scalp. You've never seen them before."

"So?"

"So I'm looking for more of them. Somewhere on this island, I believe I shall find the grave of Avaris."

"She's dead? I thought she was still out there handing out magic powers to mean girls like Purity and the Black Swan."

"Those leads have proven elusive," said Sorrow. "The Black Swan denies any connection to Avaris. But there's another oral tradition that says Avaris once had a palace here on the Isle of Fire where she commanded an army of witches until they were wiped out by the Church of the Book. According to legend, this island is home to a vast graveyard of weavers. My study of witch nails is hampered by the fact that there are so few weavers left. Much of the knowledge I seek has been lost. My hope is that I will discover nails in the skulls of old weavers that will provide a template for me to take my studies further."

"Hmm," said Infidel. "Can't say I've heard about a witch's graveyard."

Sorrow flipped through the notebook in her hand. "Did Stagger have any sort of indexing or organizational system?"

"Sure. If he thought it was important, he put it in the sea chest."

"This might take a while," Sorrow grumbled, as she looked at the reams of parchment.

"This might be a waste of time," said Infidel. "Stagger used to give me long, drunken lectures on pretty much every scrap of stone or bone we yanked out of the ground. He never said a thing about Avaris."

"He was older than you, correct? He'd explored the island before you met him."

"Yeah, but you didn't know him. Stagger was... uh... what's the word I want?"

"Loquacious," I offered, from my ghost cage.

"Chatty. Get a few pints in him and he wouldn't shut up. I've heard about every damn rock he ever turned over in this jungle." She sighed, placing her arms across her chest in a way that looked almost like she was trying to hug herself. "By the sacred quill, he used to bore me, but it was worth sitting through an hour of meandering drudgery for the five minutes of brilliant wit that would suddenly spill from him. He'd make me laugh till my face hurt." She shook her head. "Now, I even miss the boring lectures."

"I wish I could have met him," said Sorrow. "I've heard he was the best authority on the secrets of this island."

Again, I appreciated the irony that Sorrow had stripped herself of the chance to have what she really wanted, which was a conversation with me. Of course, I would have disappointed her. I'd never found the legendary witch's graveyard. I took a little delight in knowing that the woman who'd imprisoned me had wasted her money buying my papers. There was nothing in those notes or maps that would direct a person to Avaris.

Which isn't to say I didn't have some idea of where to look. I do know my history, after all. Supplement this with a little legend and rumor, and I knew where I'd start looking, based on three pieces of evidence.

Item One: The weavers had reached the peak of their collective powers 500 years ago, during the rein of King Glorified Brightmoon. Ol' Glory, as he was called, vowed to wipe out all the witches in his kingdom, and commissioned a blacksmith to craft a weapon up to the job... the Gloryhammer. He entrusted the weapon to one of his best knights, Stark Tower, ancestor of Infidel's former fiancé. As impressive as the Gloryhammer might be, Stark actually took his duties so seriously that he had an even more dangerous weapon commissioned, an ebony sword called the Witchbreaker. This blade was said to be forged from iron stolen from the gates of hell. Anyone killed by the blade was instantly banished to the pits.

As you might guess from someone who felt the need for such a weapon, Stark took a no-nonsense approach to his job, and eventually people started calling him Witchbreaker instead of the sword. According to legend, he killed over 10,000 witches. He was allowed to keep any valuables his victims might have had. If they had children, he had the legal authority to sell them into slavery. The Tower clan remains obscenely wealthy to this day.

Like any rich person, Stark liked to travel in comfort. When Avaris fled more civilized climes to set up shop on the Isle of Fire, it's said that Stark gave chase in nine ships filled with servants and building supplies and erected a castle for the duration of his stay.

Item two: The bay of Commonground is the only place on the island with a safe harbor for cargo ships carrying enough swag to equip a castle. Odds are excellent he would have built his home near the bay.

Item three: There are, in fact, several big stone ruins a few miles upriver from the bay that are sometimes called "the Knight's Castle." They're so close to Commonground, they're the first place every amateur treasure hunter strikes out for. I've done some poking around, but didn't waste much time because my grandfather's notes indicated he'd explored the place and found nothing. He also recognized, architecturally, that the walls were the work of middle period stone masons from the Silver Isle, not remnants of the Vanished Kingdom. He'd moved on to more fruitful targets deep in the jungle. But about a half-mile away from the Knight's Castle there are hundreds of earthen pits grandfather noted as possible burial sites. He never made any notes about digging them up. I did a few test digs, but they didn't strike me as particularly promising. There were no headstones. The fate of Stark Tower is unknown; there's at least six different legends of how, where, and when he died. But, if he'd been buried, he almost certainly would have had a stone monument. I'd assumed the unmarked graves had been for his servants and slaves. But what if it had been where he'd buried his prey?

I strained to move my wooden limbs. Not long ago, this would have been exactly the moment in my thought process where I charged into the jungle with a shovel, a dozen flasks of rum, and my invulnerable best friend. I sighed heavily, then rattled the invisible bars of my ghost cage and shouted out a common four-letter word for excrement.

This triggered Menagerie, who'd been perched on the rudder. He hopped over to me and raised his left paw toward my gloved hand.

"I didn't say 'shake,'" I grumbled.

Infidel had turned her head when Menagerie went into motion. Sorrow too glanced up from the pile of papers she had spread out before her.

"Looks like your dog wants to practice his tricks. Though why he's trying to shake hands with my golem I have no clue."

"Twenty-four hours ago whatever brains Menagerie had left had were squeezed into a tiny bug," said Infidel. "Cut him some slack."

Sorrow shrugged and looked to the sky. "No point in trying to make sense of this here."

"Golem?" said Infidel.

"Hmm?" asked Sorrow.

"You said Drifter is a golem?"

"Yes," Sorrow said.

"I took apart one of those a couple of weeks ago. It was made mostly of bone; Relic called it Patch. But, I had the impression he'd stolen Patch rather than making him. Was he your work?"

"If only," Sorrow said, shading her head. "My attempts at bone-weaving were where all my troubles began."

"I think your troubles might have started when you hammered nails into your skull in order to get back at your father," said Infidel. "But who am I to judge?"

Sorrow frowned deeply. "The avenues of the Silver City are lined with statues of men like the Witchbreaker, whom they praise for his wisdom and courage because it would be unseemly to openly recognize his true accomplishments, the mass slaughter of women who dared dream of a better world. I'd gladly drive a hundred nails in my head — a thousand — for the power to set things right."

"You've got a ways to go," said Infidel. I could tell she was counting the studs; I had as well. Sorrow had six.

Sorrow closed the lid of the sea chest. She looped a finger-thick strand of copper trough the clasp and closed it into a solid ring.

"You see only the physical nails," said Sorrow. "Each weaver must master seven physical elements. Iron, copper, and glass are the simplest arts. Gold and silver are also highly valued, as mastery of these materials provides a life of comfort. There are very few fragments of glorystone large enough to craft a nail from, but a weaver who did so would be welcomed in the court of any earthly king. There are over twenty potential materials to master, but it was my intention to round out my five minerals with two spiritual transitions — wood and bone."

Her voice grew quieter. "Since the church has been ruthless in its suppression, I had no one to guide me on my sixth nail, one of bone. I later discovered that the codex I'd stolen to guide me had been deliberately sabotaged by the church. The irony, of course, is that if I had mastered bone-weaving, I could cure my physical ailments. I'd be healthy again, free of this half-crippled body."

"Can't you get another bone nail?"

"Yes. But I dare not move forward without the guidance of a more experienced weaver."

Sorrow turned to me and said, "Carry this chest to the Freewind."

"Why the Freewind?" asked Infidel.

"I've footed the bill for its services. I need a quiet place to rest and study Stagger's notes at my leisure. The master cabin isn't luxurious, but it will serve my purposes."

"You said I could have the ship! I've already got my stuff in the master cabin."

"I said you could direct the captain to sail you wherever you wished. You may still do so. I'm only using the master cabin as an isolated and safe place to study. I can return to the Isle of Fire once I've read these notes."

"Where am I supposed to bunk?"

"Where did you bunk when you were a mercenary during the Pirate Wars?"

"They'd set up bunks in the hold. But I wasn't pregnant then."

"I'm sure you'll find someplace comfortable to sleep," Sorrow said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

By now, I'd picked up the sea chest. I'd never been able to lift it when it was full, but my wooden body flicked it from the deck as if it weighed no more than a pillow. I balanced it on my shoulder as I headed over the rail. The drunken feeling of the previous night was almost gone. The women's voices above me grew fainter as I climbed down the tree. Infidel sounded determined to keep possession of the cabin.

Eventually I couldn't hear their voices at all. Perhaps I was too far down the beach. Or perhaps Sorrow had won the argument. I knew she wouldn't back down; it was obvious to me that she was heading north in hopes of learning more about the mystery witch the Skellings were after. Infidel could be pretty stubborn, but she was debating a woman who practiced self-inflicted brain damage as a hobby. You can't win against crazy.

Two seconds later, Infidel flashed overhead, the Gloryhammer blazing before her, the Jagged Heart leaving a trail of snowflakes in her wake. Menagerie flapped past a moment later, so close I could probably have jumped up and grabbed his tail.

I had nothing to lose. I shouted out, "Heel!"

Menagerie spun in mid-air, tracing a long, gliding arc back to me. He landed on the black sand I trudged across and fell into a loping pace beside me. With all four paws on the ground, his bird-like elements slipped into his larger mass and he was almost full dog again, save for a few stray feathers in his fur.

"Good boy!" I shouted.

He looked at me as if awaiting another command. I've always been indifferent to dogs. On this island, I'm more used to eating them than befriending them. But this dog had a bright look in its eyes. I liked him. I'd never cared much for Menagerie as a man. He was too cold and, well, mercenary, which was a shame, since I know that Menagerie was an avid reader, and under different circumstances perhaps we could have discussed books.

Suddenly I wondered if I was in the presence of a dog who might remember the alphabet.

"Make an 's!'" I said, in that high-pitched, overly enthusiastic tone one uses when talking with dogs. "Make an 's' in the sand, boy!"

Menagerie ran a little ways ahead, paused as if sniffing the ground, then pushed out a serpentine squiggle. If I'd had freedom to do anything other than carry the sea chest, I would have jumped and clicked my heels. Unfortunately, I didn't even have the power to sway from my direct path toward the dock, so I stepped in the newly drawn letter. I couldn't even look back to see how much survived.

"Good dog!" I cried. "Now a 't!'" He did so. "An 'a!'" Unfortunately, I was walking fast enough that I couldn't see all the letters before I marched past them. I did see that the 'r'" at the end of my name looked almost like an 'n.'"

So my name was on the beach. Infidel was probably already back at the Freewind. Would Sorrow walk this way? Would she notice the letters? Would she think twice?

Despite my growing sense of futility, I called out five more letters before we reached the gangplank that led from the beach up onto the pier.

I turned at a ninety degree angle to ascend, and with what I hope was force of will but what might simply have been my body shifting to balance on the rickety boards, I glanced back down the beach. M-E-L-O-G – R-E-G-G-A-T-S, it read, upside down, or at least something to that effect.

Sorrow was nowhere to be seen.

But as I turned my gaze back to the docks, I held out the briefest glimmer of hope that Sorrow would soon know my name.

Which sounds a little ominous, now that I think of it.

# 6 - STAGGERMANCY

IF THE RESIDENTS of Commonground were fazed by a driftwood man walking among them, they managed to hide their astonishment behind masks of utter indifference. Of course, many of these masks of indifference were on men who owned actual masks, robbers and highwaymen who eyed the sea chest on my shoulders and pondered what it might contain. Fortunately, I was protected both by broad daylight and broad shoulders. My barrel-chested form no doubt discouraged the more cowardly thieves. The fact that I was accompanied by the world's ugliest dog may also have helped keep eyes from dwelling in my direction too long. I could hear Menagerie following at my heels, his webbed claws clicking as he loped along.

As I approached the far end of the pier, I spotted the Freewind. Brand stood alone on the deck, looking around furtively, as if making certain no one watched him. Seeing no eyes upon him (I was still some distance away), he waved toward some barrels on the dock. "Hurry," he called out, in a voice that was half shout, half whisper. A cloaked figure broke from behind the barrels and scurried up the gangplank to the ship. From the person's height, I assumed this was a pygmy, but the fine silk cloak might also have concealed a child or perhaps a petite adult woman. The cloak certainly looked like it belonged in a woman's wardrobe, as it was embroidered with lacy floral designs.

Brand guided the short woman toward the hold, looking over his shoulder to see if they'd been spotted. He didn't see anyone looking at him, but I did. The Freewind, like many ships, sported a figurehead carved to look like a shapely woman. And I swear that it wasn't a trick of the light that this figurehead twisted from her bolted-on position beneath the bowsprit and peered out across the deck, her eyes narrowed as she watched Brand and his guest.

By the time I reached the gangplank, Brand and his visitor had disappeared. The figurehead slipped back into her rightful position. I trudged onto a deserted ship. The command that had allowed me the freedom to walk here wore off as I reached the middle of the deck. I stood there still as a statue. Menagerie came around and sat before me, looking up as if he expected a new command.

There was a noise off to my left. Menagerie turned his head as I strained my peripheral vision to see Brand climbing the stairs from the cargo hold. He appeared lost in thought, a bit worried. He again looked around to make sure the deck was empty. When he spotted me, his eyes bulged.

Five seconds of comic discombobulation followed as he jumped backward at least a full yard while reaching for his sword. He whipped the blade free from its scabbard in what would have been a jaw-dropping display of reflexes if he hadn't then dropped the weapon when he landed on a thick coil of rope and failed to keep his feet under him. He tumbled backward, but used his momentum to keep rolling so that he was carried back onto his feet. The sword had fallen across the coiled rope and with a fluid motion he stomped the tip of his blade with the toe of his boot, causing the hilt to fly up to his waiting hand. He pointed the blade at me and shouted, "Halt!"

Of course, I was already halted.

This sank in a few seconds later, as Brand tightened the grip on his weapon and demanded, "Who are you?"

Who am I? I wanted to shout. Who am I? I'm Abstemious Merchant, known throughout this bobbing metropolis as Stagger, grandson of Judicious Merchant, husband of Infidel, slayer of dragons! I'm an explorer of lost worlds, a scholar with a Brobdingnagian lexicon, and a connoisseur of fine spirits. That's who the hell I am!

Unfortunately, lacking a tongue, I could only glare at him with my pecan peepers.

"Could you at least growl at this guy for me?" I asked Menagerie.

Menagerie wasn't looking at me. Instead, his eyes gazed skyward. Long shadows rapidly stretched out before us.

Infidel shouted from about the level of the mast, "You can put the sword away, Brand. The big guy's coming with us."

Infidel landed on the deck with a solid thump. The harpoon was attached to her back by rope, jutting up from between her shoulder blades like a flagpole. She had three bright red skewers of grilled meat in her left hand. She tore off a chunk and tossed it to Menagerie, who caught it in mid-air and swallowed it with a single gulp.

She studied the dog intently for half a minute as he stared at her, his eyes begging for more. She sighed. "Dang. I thought he might turn into a monkey. At least part of one."

She tossed Menagerie another chunk, then tore into a skewer herself.

"Where is everybody?" she asked, her mouth full.

"Gale took her family over to the Aggressive to meet with Captain Dare. He's traveled the northern realms and can provide advice on navigating the coast of Qikiqtabruk in the dead of winter."

"I thought that Sage handled all the navigation," said Infidel, with oily chili sauce glistening on her lips like blood.

"Sage's powers work best if she knows what she's looking for. A map can save her hours of blind searching."

Infidel took a swig from the silver flask of coconut milk tucked in her waistband. "Sorrow said she's also been up north, so maybe she can help guide us as well."

"Ah. Then Sorrow does exist," said Brand. "On the voyage here, she shut herself into the stateroom the second she came aboard and took all her meals there. I never caught even a glimpse of her. Poppy says she's an aged crone with one dead eye and an iron claw in place of a hand."

"That's about right," said Infidel. "Except she just looks old; she's about your age. A shame, given your taste in older women."

Brand grinned. "Experienced women, you mean. Skinny little naïfs whose greatest challenge in life has been to decide what color ribbons to put in their hair bore me. Even if they're halfway competent in bed, their post-coital conversations are unfailingly vapid."

"Careful," she said. "I used to be one of those skinny little naïfs."

"I don't believe you," said Brand. "I've heard that you single-handedly took out one of Greatshadow's avatars by jumping down his throat and punching his brains out from the inside. I'm guessing that in the sack you must be equally bold."

Infidel's cheeks flushed. "I, uh..., hmm. If you know about the dragons, you also know I can crush men's skulls like eggshells?"

"I've heard rumors."

"Well, skulls aren't my favorite part of a man's anatomy to crush," she said.

Brand laughed, but it sounded forced to me.

At this point, I heard Sorrow's limping gait on the gangplank. With the iron brace on her leg, she was anything but stealthy.

"Now you get to finally meet her," said Infidel pointing toward the approaching witch with her last monkey skewer.

Though my back was to her, I could feel Sorrow growing closer.

Infidel said, "Brand, this is Sorrow. Sorrow—"

Sorrow raised her hand to cut Infidel off. "I know who he is. He's the captain's gigolo."

Both Infidel and Brand looked taken aback by her directness. Sensing she'd broken some unwritten social code, Sorrow tried to explain herself. "I'm sorry if I come across as brusque. I've many things on my mind at the moment. I don't have time for pleasantries."

"I'm guessing you're not interested in post-coital conversation either?" asked Infidel.

Sorrow furrowed her brow. "Are you... propositioning me?"

"By the Divine Author, no!" Infidel laughed. "You're not my type."

"So what is your type?" asked Brand.

Infidel sighed. "Tall, dark, and deceased."

"I'll be in my cabin. Tell Captain Romer to see me there for her orders." Sorrow didn't look at me as she said, "Follow."

I followed. In desperation I called back to Menagerie, "Do something!"

But Menagerie didn't even turn his head. He was focused on the third skewer of monkey.

We went below deck, into the voluminous hold. The Freewind was small for a clipper, just under 200 feet long, but the hold seemed especially large because it was especially empty. Most ships that had been in port more than a week would already be filled with cargo. I could only deduce that the bounty placed upon the Freewind was bad for business. What reputable merchant would place his cargo on a ship that the world's most powerful navies had sworn to sink?

Toward the rear of the boat, beneath the poop-deck, was a walled off section divided by a narrow corridor. I followed Sorrow down this passageway. On each side were cabins filled with bunks. At the end of the hall was an oak door with brass hinges. It opened to reveal a small but tidy room, nearly thirty feet across but only about eight feet deep. I had to crouch to navigate beneath the broad ceiling beams. Sunlight spilled through portholes upon a bed large enough for two, a sturdy looking desk with an oil lantern hanging above it, and a table in the far corner with a large pitcher, a wash basin, and a chamber pot beneath. The room was spotless, smelling of furniture polish and fresh linens.

"Place your sea chest by the desk," said Sorrow as she closed the door.

I did so.

"Go beside the table and fold yourself as small as you can manage. I've no need of you for now."

I sat by the table, folded my legs up along my barrel chest and hugged them with my driftwood arms. I found my obedience distasteful and humiliating. I hadn't enjoyed being manipulated by Truthspeakers as a child; I certainly didn't find the experience any more pleasant as an adult.

Yet, in my misery, there were two tiny flickers of hope.

Flicker one: For better or worse, I was near Infidel. If Sorrow had decided to remain on the Isle of Fire while my wife sailed north, I'd have been inconsolable. Flicker two: She'd said, "Your sea chest. Had she meant only, "the sea chest that you carry?" Or had she seen my message on the beach and now knew my true identity?

I waited. My world narrowed to the slight band of gleaming wood floor directly before me. With my head folded down, the rest of the room was blocked by the brim of my hat. I listened. Sorrow busied herself with settling into the room and sorting through the contents of the sea chest. After a time, Captain Romer visited the cabin.

"I understand you wished to see me, madam?" said Gale.

"I want you to tell me everything you can about the Skellings who attacked," said Sorrow.

Sorrow listened intently, but I couldn't notice any details that Captain Romer added to the story that Infidel hadn't also covered. True, Infidel hadn't mentioned the sea-worthiness of the hide boats, and Gale went on about their construction at length, but I sensed that this wasn't information of interest to Sorrow.

The only follow-up questions Sorrow asked were about the witch.

"And the Skellings said that this witch was searching for the Freewind?"

"Not precisely. She's hunting for a magical artifact."

"Do you think there's a chance this ship will come under assault by her forces?" Sorrow asked.

"She might try," said Gale. "But on the high seas we can evade her. If you're truly concerned about avoiding her, I do have... options. May we speak in the fullest confidence?"

"Of course."

"When you hire the Freewind, you hire the fastest ship available for travel by sail. But, for an additional fee, there may be shortcuts that would trim our travel time and make us utterly untraceable."

"I know of these so-called shortcuts," said Sorrow. "I'd rather take my chances with an elderly witch than risk my sanity in the abstract realms."

"Of course, madam. Quite wise of you."

I was a little taken aback by the way that Gale was taking such a subservient role with Sorrow. Wanderers are known for their independence and freedom loving nature. It seemed odd that the captain of a ship should be so obsequious. On the other hand, the one thing that Wanderer's loved as much as freedom was money. Sorrow was no-doubt well compensated for building the Black Swan a new body.

If the rest of the world was no longer eager to hire the Freewind, I suppose I couldn't begrudge Captain Romer for bending over backward to make her remaining customers happy, but at the same time it didn't sit well with me. I've never treated a person differently based on the size of their purse. It mattered nothing to me if you were rag-picker or royalty. If you could tell a good joke and willing to chuckle at my own attempts at wit, you were fit company to share a pint.

Perhaps it comes from having been raised by monks. Their vow of poverty took hold in me, even if their vows of faith, abstinence and chastity did not.

Sorrow concluded the conversation by giving orders about her meals. Captain Romer acknowledged these and left the cabin after thanking Sorrow for her business. Just as I learned a little bit about the captain by overhearing their conversation, I also think I learned a few things about Sorrow. It was easy to believe she'd been the daughter of a wealthy and powerful judge. I'm guessing she'd had a whole complement of cooks, maids, and butlers growing up. Perhaps she'd never been trained to be nice to the hired help.

Above, I could hear Gale shouting out commands and Rigger responding. I was near the porthole. Due to my stillness, my wooden ears caught a conversation that ensued as the sails rattled and flapped up the masts.

"I don't like setting sail with an empty hold." It was Mako's deep voice that carried these words to me. "You shouldn't have been so dismissive of Captain Dare's offer."

Gale's answer was much more difficult to hear. "It's not enough that Levi betrayed us? Now you question my judgment?"

"I'm not Levi," said Mako. "I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying. But Dare's splitting hairs. He won't take a cargo of slaves, but he'll gladly fill his hold with the shoddy food stocks the slavers purchase in order to feed their human chattel. We've sacrificed too much to engage in such compromises."

"By your logic, any cargo in the world is unacceptable," Mako said. "Most of the iron ore and the coal used to smelt it comes from mines worked by slaves. Are we never again to accept a load that includes steel? Every golden moon in the Shining Land is stamped with the image of a sovereign who supports the slave trade. Are we to refuse these coins for our future wages and be paid only through barter?"

Gale answered, but her words were lost as the ship groaned. The sails had caught the wind and the ship began to gently roll as she headed from the harbor. I wished I'd been above to see our departure. Clippers sport more sails than any other ship, making an impressive sight when all their canvas is unfurled. Plus, I welcome all opportunities to expand my vocabulary, and the sailors I've known over the years have filled my head with terms like spankers, flying jibs and mizzen topgallants. I'd enjoy the opportunity to finally make sense of all the terms and figure out which of the thirty plus sails was which.

Of course, from the sound of things above, I doubt that any of the Romers would have found the time to explain their jargon. A clipper this size normally set to sea with a minimum crew of twenty, and the Romers numbered seven, eight if you counted Brand. Even with their magical talents, I imagine they wouldn't welcome a lubber like me wandering around the deck.

Further shouts drifted through the porthole, enough to catch Sorrow's attention. She went to the small window near me and peered out.

"That didn't take long," she mumbled.

From the shouts above, I quickly deduced that the Freewind had been ambushed the second it sailed from the harbor onto the open ocean. Out here, the rules that made Commonground a sanctuary no longer applied. I wanted to ask questions about the nature of the assault, the number of ships, how close they were, etc. At the very least, I'd have liked to stand and look out the porthole. It was not to be. Instead, all I know is that the winds grew ever stronger. The sunlight through the portal brightened, and above the splashing of waves I heard a thunderous crack, like lightning splitting a tree trunk.

Sorrow chuckled. "Infidel's not half bad with that hammer."

There were further cracks. Finally, Sorrow turned away with a shrug. "That's that," she mumbled. The shouts from above had a decidedly celebratory tone. I had the feeling we weren't being chased any more.

Sorrow settled at her desk. She opened a page of a fresh notebook and a new bottle of ink. As I tuned out the noise above deck, I heard the faint scratching rhythm of her quill racing across paper, trapping thoughts into words.

Lulled by this familiar noise, I dropped into memory. Since becoming a ghost, I'd not slept or dreamed. I never grew weary. I had no eyelids to close if I wished to sleep. But now, my wooden body felt, well, wooden. Heavy. It possessed a gravity that weighed down my thoughts. I was lulled by the sound of waves washing against the hull as we swayed across the sea. The muffled shouts of Romers in the rigging sunk into my seedpod ears, sounding not of this moment, but of some long distant past. Murmurs layered beneath whispers lay beneath the pulse of water, like a heartbeat, my heartbeat, so familiar after such a long absence.

Thus, for the first time in death, I found myself perched upon the precipice of sleep...

...then, slowly, I drifted free. My ghost fingers slipped loose of my knot-root hands as if they were oversized gloves. My legs twitched and came loose of their wooden counterparts and it felt good to wiggle my toes freely once more. I craned my neck, pulling free of my coconut mask. I was loose! I rose, my spirit spilling from the boundaries of its wooden cage.

Then I stopped short.

Silver wires still jutted from my phantom flesh.

I grabbed them and tried to yank them free.

Something yanked back, hard and fast, and I was pulled into the wood, into the barrel chest, shrinking ever smaller until I was tiny enough to be fit into the golden cage, then smaller still as I passed into the belly of the silver mosquito.

Though I must have been no larger than a flea to fit in such a compact space, I felt whole. And, indeed, I still looked whole; the curved silver surface of the interior of the mosquito's belly reflected me perfectly. I looked just as I had when Infidel and I escaped the spirit realm after confronting Greatshadow. I was wearing the black boots and pants Zetetic had conjured for me, as well as the ridiculous red velvet cape, though it was now mostly in tatters. I was bare-chested; in the spirit world, I'd given my shirt to Infidel to replace her own shredded clothing.

I touched a jagged hole in my belly. This was my fatal wound, inflicted by my own knife.

And of course there was the knife.

I reached under the cape to my hip where the bone-handled knife was slipped into my belt. The knife was plain looking, simple, but elegant in its match of form and function. It had been my grandfather's hunting knife; the blade was eight inches long and sturdy, with a pattern in the metal almost like fingerprints where the steel had been folded in on itself a dozen times as a skilled blacksmith had worked in carbon to temper the edge. The hilt was a single length of yellowed bone; only after death had I learned this was dragon bone. The natural magical resonance of such beasts had trapped my soul within the weapon.

I was a ghost imprisoned in the belly of a jeweled mosquito. But how many ghosts had knives?

I rushed the wall, stabbing the silver. I laughed as my blade sank through the foil skin. Cutting through the mosquito's metallic hide was no more difficult than cutting through the hide of a wild boar, something well within the scope of the blade's intended purpose. In moments, I'd cut a flap in the side of the artificial insect. The mosquito didn't protest as I pushed my arm through, followed by my head and shoulders. In another moment, with quite a bit of kicking and struggle, I worked myself loose of my silver prison.

But, not quite free. I remained locked inside the golden cage. Worse, silver wires still hooked into my flesh. Tentatively, I grabbed the wire hooked into my left thigh. I took the knife and sliced the wire in twain.

Then screamed.

Then screamed some more.

It was the worst agony imaginable. It was as if a knife had been stabbed all the way into my thigh bone and was now twisting, digging at the marrow. I gritted my teeth to resist the pain, and tried to breathe deep breaths. In desperation, I retrieved the loose wire from the gilded floor and placed it back in contact with the length of silver line hanging from my leg. The metal ends flowed together. Instantly, the acute pain turned to welcome numbness.

I limped to the cage wall and slid down, my back to the bars as I struggled to catch my breath, until I remembered that I didn't need to breathe. I was acting purely on instinct. Calmness settled over me. I looked out beyond my gilded cage, to the barrel chest in which this strange artificial heart was suspended.

Hmmm.

It struck me as curious that, having bound my spirit to this mosquito, she'd then sealed the mosquito inside a cage. I walked back toward the insect. In relative size, it loomed over me like an elephant. Viewed at this scale, the craftmanship was even more remarkable. I could now see the tiny bolts that fastened the leg joints, and the tightly coiled iron springs, far finer than a human hair, that powered the gold foil wings. The facetted eyes were made of glass lenses flickering with rainbows as I walked around them, gathering up the silver lines in my hand.

Sorrow's powers were over gold, silver, iron, copper, glass, and wood. There was gold on the bars, the mosquito was largely silver, with iron springs and copper wings and glass eyes. The wood was the larger form, the golem itself.

What did it all mean?

This may seem like a curious statement from a ghost, but I've never thought much about the supernatural. Yes, my life was awash in magic. My best friend could jump over buildings, I'd been raised in a religion where I regularly witnessed men editing reality with their words, and I hung out on a daily basis with shape-shifters and ogres. I had no propensity toward skepticism, but I also never bothered to try to learn any magical arts. None even intrigued me. The art of truthspeaking I found morally reprehensible, the art of deceiving was difficult to unravel from the art of driving yourself insane, blood magic was an excellent avenue for contracting hideous parasitic diseases, and elemental magic was a good way to draw the unwelcome attention of dragons. I followed few rules in my unruly life, but "don't annoy dragons" was one I faithfully obeyed.

Zetetic had told Aurora he'd become a deceiver after studying forty different types of magic and finding all of them to be valid, even if the underlying premises contradicted each other. Aurora had protested that they couldn't all be true. Her fundamental assumptions about the structure of the universe were completely contrary to the fundamental assumptions of Father Ver, for instance. She'd said that some things must be false if other things were true, and asserted that it couldn't be both night and day at the same time.

"Unless the world is a sphere," Zetetic had answered.

He'd also said, "All truth is local."

I think Zetetic's point was that magic works because people believe it works. Magic flows from human faith. Maybe I wasn't well educated in existing systems of magic, but if all magical systems were just the product of the mind, could I create a new one? It wasn't as if I was completely ignorant of magical thinking. I'd spent years of my life with my nose wedged between the pages of books. I'd learned a lot of symbolism in my studies. Did my current prison have some symbolic significance?

The mosquito was obvious. It's a widespread belief that blood contains the soul. Ordinary mosquitoes drink blood, so spiritual mosquitoes drink spirit blood. As for the cage, well, a cage is a cage. It holds creatures against their will.

What about the materials? Gold was easy. It symbolized perfection and wealth, but also greed. Was I trapped by a golden cage because I was greedy? At first I shrugged off the notion. Money never meant a damn thing to me. But, were there other aspects of greed I was overlooking? Certainly, booze had been a weakness in life. I'd been more than willing to steal it, and when I wasn't stealing it directly, I was stealing other people's possessions and selling them to keep the precious elixirs flowing.

Of course, before I could ever escape my golden cage, I had the more immediate problem of losing these silver wires running through me. Silver commonly symbolized purity and innocence, but also sagacity and lies. Old men with silver hair are respected for their wisdom; smooth liars are said to have a silver tongue. The children of wealthy men are said to be born with silver spoons in their mouths.

It's impossible to think of wealthy men and not think of King Brightmoon, ruler of the Silver Isles. If he wasn't the wealthiest man alive, he was certainly in the top five. The moon is often associated with silver. The most common coin in the world was a small disk of silver ringed with gold, minted by the king's treasury, and commonly called a moon. Infidel, King Brightmoon's daughter, was named Innocent, and she has silver hair. I respect her for her purity and innocence, despite knowing that the woman I've grown to love is merely the adult mask of a damaged child.

Could the silver somehow represent her? Was I trapped here by my love for Infidel?

It seemed at once self-evidently true and also obviously false. I had no evidence the silver mosquito had been designed to capture me; I had the impression it had been looking for any old ghost it might find. I was probably over-thinking this.

But could over-thinking lead me toward a magical art?

All the magicians I'd ever known had spent their whole lives in the study of a single concept, elevating it in importance above all else. I've witnessed some pretty amazing results; Ivory Blade, for instance, and his somnomancy, rending the veil between the dream realms and our own to give life to nightmares. It was a little late for me to start studying dreams, or to seriously puzzle out the aspects of the various elements that bound me like some amateur alchemist. But I'd spent my whole damn life trying to understand myself.

If all truth was local, could I somehow understand myself so fully that I could alter my local truths and be free?

I chuckled ruefully.

"Great," I said, my voice tiny in the vastness of the wooden barrel. "I'm placing my hope in Staggermancy."

# 7 - SEA OF WINE

"WAKE!" COMMANDED SORROW.

I lifted my coconut head, feeling groggy. Had I been sleeping? Had my shrinking to explore the silver mosquito and golden cage been only a dream? The room was now dark. How long had I been out?

"Rise," said Sorrow, just as the ship shuddered strongly enough to throw her from her feet, slamming her into the oak door. The room had seemed immaculate before, but the impact was enough to raise dust hidden in the crooks and crevasses of the wooden beams and planks. Sorrow raised her hand to her mouth as she coughed. "We're under attack!"

I stood, trying to make sense of the noises coming from every direction. The whole Romer family was shouting at once. A dog bayed as if there was a full moon. The timbers of the ship groaned and popped. Above all this, I could hear a woman's voice shouting. It wasn't Captain Romer; whoever it was had a thick accent I couldn't quite place. The only words I was certain she'd shouted: "Ivory Blade!"

Sorrow braced herself against the door as she climbed back to her feet. "You're not to try to communicate with anyone. You're forbidden to write! Beyond these restrictions, take whatever actions are needed to defend this ship, its crew and its passengers!"

I nodded, acknowledging the command. I glanced toward the desk and the overturned bottle of ink. I clenched and unclenched my fingers. To be expressly forbidden to write must be the ultimate tonic for writer's block. If a quill had been thrust into my hand at that moment, I could have written volumes.

Sorrow threw herself onto the desk, stretching across it to reach her bed, tossing aside a pillow. She drew a yard long shaft of pitch-black iron from between the mattress and the wall.

"If we face who I believe we face, a sword will prove mightier than a pen. Fight with all the savagery you can muster. Infidel's life may be at stake."

She handed me the iron shaft and I saw that it was indeed a sword, no doubt forged by her own fingers and drawn to a razor-sharp double-edge.

"Make haste!" she cried.

I threw open the door and lumbered into the narrow hall. All the cabins were open and the Romer girls sat in their bunks, looking only half awake. The last door in the hall jerked open, revealing Captain Romer's quarters. Gale leapt into the hall, her tangled, sweaty hair fastened behind her neck with a scarlet ribbon. In the shadows of her cabin, I could see the blond hair of Brand bobbing as he struggled to pull on his boots.

Gale hadn't bothered with boots; she was barefoot in her cotton britches, and her billowy blouse was only tied together across her breasts. The captain bounded up the stairs to the deck in two leaps, drawing her cutlass. I gave chase, though my bulky form slowed me in the tight hall. I nearly fell as the ship lurched once more. The timbers didn't so much groan now as scream.

I emerged behind Captain Romer, who'd skidded to a stop on a deck slick with frost. It was night, as I'd guessed. Every lantern that hung in the rigging had gone dark, their flames extinguished beneath ice at least an inch thick that coated everything in sight. Of course, "in sight" was somewhat limited by the pale fog that hung in the air, narrowing the world to a circle about twenty feet around me. The only light came from Captain Romer's cutlass, which gave off an eerie phosphorescent glow.

Before us, on their knees, were the frozen bodies of Jetsam, Mako, and Rigger, Gale's three sons, their faces locked in silent screams beneath a sheen of ice. I'd seen this magic before. Aurora had frozen more than her share of unruly patrons at the Black Swan, and the magic seldom proved fatal. Victims of this spell were simply shocked into unconsciousness by the sudden blast of cold, then held upright by their rigid ice exoskeletons. As long as they were freed before they suffocated, the three Romers would likely survive.

I noticed that I could no longer hear Menagerie howling. I spotted a lump curled on the deck behind Mako's bulky form that might have been a frozen dog, though it was difficult to tell given the fog, the dim lighting, and the limits of my monochrome vision.

Continuing my scan of the scene, I saw that we were surrounded by at least two dozen women. At first they appeared to be frozen just as the Romer boys were, since they were coated in ice. But, at a second glance, I saw that the ice was instead shaped into armor and swords. They were plainly conscious, staring at us with narrowed eyes, their breath coming out in gusts of fog. Their lips and cheeks were very dark; beneath their semi-transparent armor none of them were clothed. It struck me as a rather uncomfortable way to go into battle. However, they weren't going into battle just yet, merely standing, ice blades at the ready, as if waiting for a command.

"Captain Romer, I presume?" said a woman's voice from just beyond the fog.

"What have you done to my sons?" Gale demanded.

"They are not yet dead," the voice answered. Slowly, from the fog directly before us, a trio of figures emerged. In the center was a woman also in ice armor, but unlike the others, her ice was pale white rather than clear, concealing her body. She wore a cloak of white fox pelts, and carried a sword made of jagged bubble-filled ice in the shape of a crescent moon. I realized instantly that I'd seen this particular ice before; it was the same substance that tipped the Jagged Heart.

Flanking the woman were two creatures like nothing I'd ever seen. My years of association with Menagerie had given me a decent knowledge of scores of beasts from lands I couldn't dream of. Somewhere in his travels he'd encountered rhinos and cobras and wolverines, or at least gotten hold of their blood. But given Menagerie's fondness for big, toothy predators, I can't believe he wouldn't have added the monsters before me to his arsenal if he knew about them. They looked like a cross between a gorilla and a grizzly bear, walking upright, with snow-white pelts, long arms ending in dagger-claws, and gaping jaws filled with fangs.

I was vaguely aware of the Romer sisters climbing the stairs behind me. Sage was clever enough to bring a lantern with her, which greatly improved the lighting, though not my sense of dread. The pale light made the riggings look ghostly.

Infidel hadn't put in an appearance yet. Had something happened to her? Or was she just taking her time getting dressed?

Captain Romer studied the woman in the white fox cloak. "Who are you? You obviously want something from us. State your demands."

"I'm known as Purity," the woman answered. "I've come for Ivory Blade."

Captain Romer frowned. "Ivory Blade isn't on this ship. He hasn't been a passenger of mine in three years, in fact."

"There's no time for your lies," said Purity. "Blade stole the Jagged Heart from us only months ago. He shielded himself from my seers with his somnomancy, but in his hunt for Greatshadow he's let down his guard. My most trusted seer has fixed her sightless gaze upon his armor, which is aboard this very ship. I've no quarrel with you or your family, Captain Romer. Give us Blade and we shall let you live. Defy us, and I shall command the ice sheet that has locked your ship within its unbreakable grasp to crush the hull of the Freewind. You're three hundred miles from the nearest shore, a long way for even a Wanderer to swim. Not that you'll have a chance to try. Long before your ship is torn apart my yetis and ice-maidens will finish off everyone aboard. Are you so loyal to Blade that you'd sacrifice your family?"

Captain Romer's face was completely neutral. She couldn't turn over Blade if she wanted to. But she also knew that the Jagged Heart was down below, wrapped inside a sail, and this was what Purity truly was looking for. The only reason to find Blade was to find the harpoon.

"Thank you for your offer," said Captain Romer. "You've made what I'm sure you feel is a fair bargain, trading my family and ship for a notorious spy who is doubtless guilty of the theft you're charging him with. I see only three small obstacles to making a deal with you."

"And these are?" asked Purity.

"First, Ivory Blade isn't aboard this ship. Second, were he aboard, it's against my code to traffic in human lives. And, third, you're mistaken in thinking the Freewind is trapped by ice."

Purity chuckled. "I understand your confusion. These are the tropics, after all. But the Ice-Moon Blade is a conduit for the elemental power of Hush. I could freeze a thousand earthly seas with its frigid touch."

"No doubt," said Captain Romer. "But the Freewind is known as the fastest ship upon the waves for a reason."

"What does your speed matter now?" asked Purity. "You've been taken by surprise. Don't you understand? Your ship is already icebound. The sea has been frozen for half a mile in every direction."

"No," said Captain Romer, kneeling. The ice sizzled as her sword of phosphors touched it, boiling away a saucer-sized hole to reveal the wooden deck. She placed her bare hand upon the burgundy wood. "You see, there is no ice upon the Sea of Wine."

Suddenly the sky was a violent amber-red, streaked with clouds, like a sunset seeping from every point on the horizon. The fog was gone and the chilly air banished by a blast furnace of hot, humid air. The ship rolled as it rose upon a wave and the sails above us snapped in the sudden breeze, cracking the ice that coated them. All around us the sea was full of blood dark swells topped with amber foam; the scent of wine filled my mouth, stirring old thirsts.

"We sail an abstract realm where Hush does not dwell," said Captain Romer, her eyes locked upon Purity. "Here's my bargain: Free my sons and surrender and I shall put you ashore upon a deserted isle when we return to the material world. Defy me, and I'll have you keelhauled in the Sea of Wine. Whatever hell you may believe in, this fate shall prove a hundred times worse."

"Hush," said Purity, which at first I took for a command, but then understood to be an invocation. The crescent-sword glowed like the moon and the temperature dropped noticeably as a beam of pale light flashed toward the captain. She jumped straight up, grabbing the riggings, sending a shower of melting ice down upon me as she flipped her legs up from the path of the ray. Instantly, my world dimmed as a thick sheet of ice formed on my body. I'm certain, had I been human, the shock of the cold would have incapacitated me. Instead, I simply punched myself in the face with a fist of roots and knocked the ice free.

The Romer girls joined their mother in the riggings as the ice-armored women lurched forward like zombies. It looked like the time for chatting was over and the time for hitting things had begun.

I've never been a brawler; usually, when a fight breaks out, I either hide behind Infidel or run for the nearest exit. But, after who knows how long of being trapped in this wooden body, I welcomed the opportunity to let out some frustrations. I was conflicted, however; I've enough chivalry in me to feel bad about hitting a woman, even though Purity was obviously the leader of the opposition. Fortunately, I was spared from my squeamishness by being pounced upon by one of the yetis. My barrel ribs cracked as he knocked me to the deck. His slathering jaws rushed toward my face, but I shoved my left arm between his teeth before his jaws could fully close. I felt pressure, but no pain. More importantly, though this beast likely outweighed me by half a ton, I was strong enough to push him back. Remembering that I had a sword in my free hand, I stabbed the beast in the side of its skull. The iron blade punched straight through the monster's temple and came out the other side. Its eyes rolled up in its head as it collapsed upon me.

Despite my strength, I had little leverage to push the beast off. Making things worse, as imposing as the yeti looked, its shaggy hair proved to be as soft as lamb's wool, and it apparently survived the artic cold by being built largely of blubber. On top of this, the deck was coated with ice, which completely robbed me of traction. At least half a minute passed as I fought to rid myself of the dead weight. When my head was at last free, I was confronted by a horrible site. Every last Romer daughter was frozen in the rigging, completely immobile. The second yeti had leapt into the rigging and was giving chase to Gale, who retreated ever higher, toward the crow's nest.

All around, the ice-armored women watched the battle above. Purity appeared displeased by their lack of initiative. "Mindless fools!" she shouted. "Don't just stand there! Go below! Bring me Ivory Blade!"

The woman nearest the hatch turned just in time to find a knife flying from below deck. The blade came to a sudden halt between her eyes. As she fell backward Brand jumped onto the deck, a leather belt with sheathes for a dozen throwing knives slung over his shoulder. He ducked and rolled with impressive speed as Purity shot a freezing moonbeam in his direction. He popped up to his feet six inches clear of the ray, and let loose with a carefully aimed blade, a thin one, almost a dart. The slender knife hit the gauntlet of ice Purity wore on her sword hand and slipped between the joints at her knuckles. She sucked in air as the Ice-Moon blade slipped from her grasp.

"Protect me!" she shouted as the women lunged to form a human wall between her and Brand. The others closed in on Brand, looking cautious, unsure who he'd next target with the blades he held in each hand. Then, from the hatch, came the last person on earth I expected to see. When the mane of silver-blonde hair first thrust above the deck, I thought Infidel had at last joined the fight. Instead, a dwarf waddled onto the deck, dressed in a wig and a feminine cape, wearing dark lipstick and heavy rouge. The dwarf wore plate armor, polished to a mirror gleam, and formed in such a way that the breast plate resembled actual breasts. Despite the female attire, I instantly recognized the new arrival's true identity: It was my old friend Bigsby, the fishmonger! He was armed with a mace, also polished to a silvery finish, which he brandished as he stepped between Brand and the advancing warriors.

"Back!" he shouted, in a falsetto pitch. "Lay down your arms or face the wrath of Princess Innocent Brightmoon, daughter of King Valiant Brightmoon, champion of the faithful!"

"You tell 'em, Sis," said Brand.

Then, a yeti hit the deck inches before Bigsby, knocking him off his feet. A flash of a second later, Captain Romer dropped onto the beast's chest, driving her phosphor blade deep into his gut. The beast yowled in pain, but wasn't dead. He snatched the captain by the nape of her neck and flung her skyward, on an arc that carried her out over the waves of wine. Brand again proved to have reflexes like a cat, as he grabbed a coil of rope and tossed it on a path that would intercept Gale. She grabbed at the rope as she fell past my line of sight. The line suddenly went taut.

Before Brand could reel the captain in, both he and Bigsby went rigid as a sheet of ice coated them. Purity was now holding the crescent blade in her left hand, which, in hindsight, was pretty much exactly what I'd have done if I'd been her. I finally managed to kick myself free of the dead yeti and rose to my feet. I was the sole defender left standing.

And then there was light. The sky that had once been sunsets in all directions suddenly had a single sun as Infidel shot up from the hold, racing high above the crow's nest to survey the scene.

"Am I too late for the festivities?" she shouted down. "This damn armor has, like, two hundred buckles."

"Ivory Blade!" Purity shouted, raising her weapon overhead. "You've taken what's rightfully mine!"

The enchanted blade glowed. I sensed she was about to fire a freeze ray at Infidel, who had never mastered ducking. So I grabbed Bigsby by his frozen arm and threw him. He caught Purity dead in the chest and she went down hard.

The yeti Gale had stabbed was back on his feet. He was bleeding profusely, but his injury hadn't taken him out. He turned to me with baleful eyes. I glanced down at his brother, who still had my sword jutting from his temple. Before I could bend to grab the blade, the yeti lunged toward me, jaws open wide, claws outstretched.

Then, with a flash of light and a loud WHAP! the yeti vanished. Infidel was standing in front of me and the yeti was a diminishing speck hurtling out over the waves. All the ice-maiden minions raised their hands to shield their eyes from the luminance of the Gloryhammer, which left them completely vulnerable as Infidel danced forward and began launching them over the sides of the boat one by one. A few landed near the ship. As they sunk beneath the waves, I swear they were laughing. It was a sound I knew well, the sound of my own laughter when I was completely besotted and everything tragic in the world was rendered comic.

I had no time to ponder the effects of the enchanted sea. Purity rose again, sword in hand once more. Having run out of dwarves to fling, I put aside my aversion to punching a woman. I charged across the deck, slush splashing beneath my oversized boots. The ice coating was melting in the warm air of the Sea of Wine; indeed, Mako was now almost free of ice, and I was certain I heard him groan as he fell to his knees. Bigsby had all his ice knocked off of him by the impact, and he was clearly awake, dragging himself toward his platinum wig. Not having retrieved my sword, I balled my gloved root into the tightest fist I could manage and let loose with a savage right hook, clocking Purity in the jaw. Her ice helmet proved sturdy, and didn't dent or crack from the impact. I'm certain I would have killed her otherwise. As it was, her eyes lost focus, the Ice-Moon Blade slipped from her hand, and she went down, limp.

I rubbed my knuckles, not because my hand hurt, but because I'd watched Infidel do the same gesture a thousand times and it seemed natural. I heard movement nearby and spun around. There was an ice-maiden charging toward me, sword brandished high overhead. I caught her in the gut with a solid kick that shattered her armor and she folded to her knees, vomiting on my boots.

I felt sick to my own stomach, despite, technically, not having one.

I glanced around the deck. All the intruders were down; Infidel and I were the only people left standing. Cinnamon, up in the riggings, began to slip from her frozen perch and Infidel flashed toward her, catching her just as she fell. In seconds, Infidel had peeled the remaining frozen Romers from the ropes and brought them to the deck. By now the ice that remained in the sails and riggings had turned into a rain. Water ran off the frozen figures on the deck in great rivulets. The air echoed with people sucking in gasps of air as the ice that covered their faces fell away.

I wanted to run to Infidel and hug her, to let her know I was still with her, but this lay beyond the scope of the freedom Sorrow had granted me. Fortunately, I was free to help protect the crew, so I knelt beside Mako and brushed off his remaining ice. He shivered uncontrollably, but seemed okay. I moved on to Brand. Within seconds, I'd freed his face and he sucked in air through chattering teeth.

"Everyone on this deck will survive," a female voice said behind me. "You must save my daughter."

I turned around. The nude woman who served as the figurehead for the ship had somehow crawled up from beneath the bowsprit to stand before me. Though, stand may not have been the right word since she didn't have feet. She was a ghostly form, floating, looking almost solid enough to touch from her breasts up, but with the rest of her composed of mist so fine it would likely have been invisible if the bright glow of the Gloryhammer hadn't made it shimmer.

"That horrible woman below told you not to talk," the figurehead said. "But you're not the only ghost upon this ship. I'm Jasmine Romer, Gale's mother, and the first captain of the Freewind. My spirit is now locked within these timbers. Unlike you, I've chosen my fate."

I was frustrated I couldn't ask for further details. Not that there was time for palaver.

"My daughter drowns within the Sea of Wine. You're her only hope. The inebriating spirits cannot harm your wooden form. Save her!"

I loped to the railing where Gale had gone over. The rope was now completely limp. I looked down. It's uncanny how, when collected into an ocean, wine can look just like blood.

"Where's your boss?" Infidel asked me as she helped Sage back to her feet. Sage was only fifteen, and had looked small when I saw her next to Rigger, but she was a good three inches taller than Infidel.

I wish I could have at least shrugged to answer Infidel's question. Sorrow hadn't cared enough about the outcome of the fight to help defend the ship in person.

I bent over the railing, listening. I could hear laughter, a drunken, high-pitched guffawing. I scanned the waves and spotted Captain Romer far out in front of the ship, not where I'd expected her to be at all.

"I'm bringing the ship back around!" Jasmine called out to me. "Prepare to jump!"

Gale's drunken laughter grew louder as we lurched across the waves. I pull up the slack rope that trailed in the water and wrapped the end around my wrist. As I did so, the captain's laughter suddenly died off. I looked down and saw only a single hand, stained amber, as it sank beneath the waves.

I leapt, leaving my tri-corn hat hanging in the air. I wondered if my wooden body floated. It was called 'driftwood' for a reason. Luckily, I didn't need to test my seaworthiness for long. I practically landed on top of Captain Romer, her body limp as I wrapped my free arm around her. The line around my wrist snapped taut and I wondered just how much force it would take to tear my arm free of my torso. Fortunately, Sorrow's handiwork proved suited to the task. My arm held, even when my body slammed into the hull of the ship.

Unfortunately, I was beneath the surface. Captain Romer's head bent backward as I gazed down upon her, her jaws slack, small bubbles rising from her lips. I'd heard that Wanderers had a pact with Abyss, the primal dragon of the sea, that guaranteed they'd never die from drowning, but his pact apparently didn't extend to – how had Sorrow worded it? – the abstract realms.

Far below, I saw a light; I think it was Gale's phosphorescent sword tumbling ever deeper, growing fainter. Then, for the most fleeting instant, I swear the sword came to rest upon something pitch black, undulating, serpentine, and vast. A sea monster? Whatever it was, the sword slid from its back and vanished into darkness. Whatever I'd glimpsed was free to move about without my ability to track it.

It was well past time to leave. Though it was utterly graceless, I placed Romer's limp belly against by crotch and wrapped my legs as tightly as possible around her hips. With both hands free, I dragged myself up the rope, in yard-long lunges. In seconds, I was above the surface. Instinctively, I tried to breathe. Captain Romer displayed no such instinct. As I made my way slowly to the deck, she didn't cough, or even twitch.

By the time I reached the rail, a half dozen arms reached over to grab at us. Mako and Brand both looked fully recovered from their ordeal, and as they lugged me over, Sage and Jetsam grabbed their mother and pried her free of my leg-lock. I saw that Menagerie was back on his feet, or paws at least, and Bigsby had recovered both his wits and his wig, and was currently tying Purity's arms behind her back. Infidel, I saw, had taken possession of the fallen Ice-Moon Blade. Her enchanted armory was growing rather impressive.

I found my way back to my feet and looked around for my hat. I spotted it near the bow. When I reached it, before I could bend over, the ghost of Jasmine Romer once more materialized and lifted the hat from the deck, offering it to me.

"Well done," she said.

I wanted to shake my head, but couldn't. I could make no attempt at communication due to Sorrow's command, but I was certain that Gale was dead.

"You're troubled, young spirit," she said, her voice growing soft. "You spotted it, didn't you?"

It? Was she talking about the sea monster?

"The beast that tracks us is Rott," she said with a sigh. "The dragon of entropy and decay. He passes freely between the material world and the abstract realms. He's the only truly universal elemental force."

If I'd been able to speak, I would have asked if there were a dragon of taxes. But, considering that her daughter was dead, I was grateful that my lack of voice spared her from my tasteless humor.

"Do not think that, by surviving the death of your body, you've cheated Rott for long. There is no true immortality. Things fall apart, even things that are only the memory of things. In the end, entropy will devour us all. We risk destruction any time we traverse this realm. But, for now, you've brought my daughter another day, at least."

As she said this, I heard coughing behind me. Captain Romer was flat on her back, her arms flailing limply as she spat up wine. Mako and Rigger flanked her, and Jetsam was at her feet. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she let loose a high-pitched shriek that devolved into laughter as she kicked Jetsam hard in the chest and let loose with twin uppercuts that caught Mako and Rigger beneath their chins. She sprang up as they went down. Though her motions were exaggerated and woozy, she landed on her feet and managed to snatch up a belaying pin from the pin rail. She brandished the improvised club as she shrieked, "I'll kill the lot of you!"

She let loose a fierce growl to give weight to her threat, but mid-way through her exhalation her growl changed into giggles.

"I'm on it!" shouted Infidel, flying across the deck in a single hop to land in front of the drunken captain. She said firmly, "Put the club down! You know who I am, right?"

"Infidel," Gale laughed, before unleashing a haymaker punch with the belaying pin. Infidel blocked the blow with the shaft of her hammer. Gale attempted a kick, but Infidel dodged by jumping a yard into the air and hanging there.

Suddenly a gust of wind howled across the deck, catching Infidel and throwing her back. She tried to spin in the air to take control of her flight, but succeeded only in turning her face toward the foremast as she raced toward it. With a sound like a butcher's mallet pounding a slab of tough meat, Infidel slammed into the wood. The Gloryhammer was left floating in the air as she dropped to the deck, blood pouring from her temple.

# 8 - INADEQUATE VESSELS

FOR THIRTY SECONDS, pandemonium reigned. Mako and Jetsam tackled their mother as she cursed, giggled, and got in a couple of good licks with the belaying pin before being dragged down by their weight. A dozen ropes snaked to snare her thrashing legs, until violent winds pushed them back. Cinnamon rushed forward, dodging her mother's kicks, crouching to place her hand on the bare skin of her mother's midriff. Gale's drunken giggles cut off in mid-breath, replaced by gagging. Her limbs went limp as all color drained from her face. Jetsam released his mother's arm and leapt skyward, kicking to gain altitude as she began to projectile vomit the wine she'd swallowed. Now too sick to command winds, Gale was quickly wrapped by Rigger's ropes. Even after she'd emptied her stomach, Gale continued to spit, trying to rid her mouth of whatever foul flavor Cinnamon had inflicted upon her.

Meanwhile, Bigsby jogged across the deck, holding his wig on with one hand, as he stretched his other hand toward the Gloryhammer, which hovered in mid-air six feet directly above Infidel's fallen form. "I claim the holy power that is my birthright!" he cried as he used Infidel's butt as a trampoline to leap for the hammer. Bigsby's jump was a good six inches short of his target. Please note that I do not, in anyway, place the blame on the springiness of my wife's derriere, which I assure you is more than adequate. He landed on the deck, hard, his plate armor clanging, and was pushed to his belly by a snarling dog with wings. Menagerie had finally recovered from his chill.

I moved toward Infidel, who lay limp and unconscious on the deck. I wanted to kneel and investigate her injuries, but this simple act lay outside the range of freedom that Sorrow had granted me. I couldn't even motion for one of the Romers to come to her aid.

To add further to the distractions that kept Infidel from getting help, one of the ice-maidens recovered her wits and leapt to her feet just then, grabbing Sage from behind. Sage looked curiously unworried as the ice-maiden pressed a sword against her throat and shouted, "Jabber jabber jabber!" This might have been a threat in her native tongue, but on this boat all it meant was, "I'm an idiot! Kill me!" Her request was carried out a heartbeat later by Brand, who sank one of his throwing knives deep into the orbit of her left eye.

Rigger neutralized the threat of further ice-maidens waking by having every rope in sight come to life and bind their hands and feet. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed tightly together. Despite the heat and humidity of the Sea of Wine, his lips were nearly blue, and his limbs shook beneath his black uniform, soggy with icy water.

Sage shouted, "Poppy! Go get Rigger a blanket before he freezes to death!" She ran to Rigger's side. "We have to get him out of these freezing clothes."

"We're all drenched," said Poppy, who was also shivering. "Why aren't you telling him to get me a blanket?"

"If Rigger gets sick, the Freewind's all but crippled," said Sage. "The rest of us are expendable."

"No one's expendable," Mako said. He'd already pulled off his soaked shirt and boots and his muscular body had shaken off the effects of the cold. "Bring blankets for everyone, Poppy."

Meanwhile, Jetsam had also gotten over his chill, perhaps because of the exertion of swimming through the air around the now limp sails. He dove down from near the tip of the mainmast to land beside Bigsby. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the fallen dwarf by his cheeks.

"Who are you?" he demanded as he drew his dagger.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Brand shouted, holding up his hands. "It's okay. She's with me!"

"Only if she's a stowaway," Jetsam said, shaking his head. "We officially have two passengers aboard, and she's not one of them. And why are we saying she? She's plainly a he!" He snatched Bigsby's platinum locks and shook them before the dwarf's face.

"I am too a she!" Bigsby screamed, grabbing Jetsam's sinewy wrist and twisting to no avail. "I'm Princess Innocent Brightmoon!"

"It's true," said Brand. "She's my sister. I'm Prince Steadfast Brightmoon!"

"You're both mad," said Jetsam, rubbing Bigsby's makeup off with his sleeve.

Now it was Mako's turn to join in the confrontation. He grabbed Brand by the throat and pushed him against the mast. I noticed for the first time that Mako's hands had webs between his fingers. He pushed his toothy face inches from Brand's pale blue eyes and snarled, "You're no prince! You're nothing but carnival trash! Your looks and charm may have reduced my mother's wisdom to that of a teenage girl—"

"Hey!" shouted Sage. By now Poppy had returned with a heavy wool blanket, which Sage draped over Rigger's skinny shoulders.

Mako continued: "I took care to learn everything there was to know about you once you became our dryman. Before you turned up in Commonground, you traveled the Silver Isle as a member of the Slinger Carnival. You were the show's knife thrower."

Sage glanced at the dead ice-maiden who'd tried to take her hostage. "You've got to admit he's good at it."

"Not so good that he could survive on the income from his act. My sources say his true talent lay as a pick-pocket."

Brand gave a surprisingly natural looking smile for a man on the verge of having his windpipe crushed. "You only know I'm a pick-pocket because it was part of my act. I always returned what I stole. I'm no thief, and I'm not 'trash' simply because I traveled with a carnival. I joined them because I was searching for my long lost sister who had been magically transformed into a dwarf. Dwarves frequently seek employment with carnival freak shows. It seemed like a good place to look."

"I'll admit I've heard stranger stories," Jetsam said, spitting on his captive's face as he wiped away the last of the rouge and mascara. "But this can't be the lost princess. This is Bigsby, the Fishmonger! I recognize him now that he's not painted like a tart. He's lived in Commonground since before I was born!"

"No!" Bigsby sobbed. "I've always been Princess Innocent! I only appear to be an old, ugly dwarf due to a witch's curse!"

There was a loud sigh from the hatch. Sorrow's head was just above deck. "Witches get blamed for everything," she grumbled. She climbed the rest of the way up the stairs and looked around. Her brow furrowed at the sight of all the semi-nude women bound on the deck. "The missing Skelling women, I presume?" She nudged a yeti with her boot. "That pelt should bring a nice price."

"We've captured their leader, no thanks to you," said Mako, taking his eyes off Brand, but not his grip. "What was so important you couldn't help save the ship?"

"Excuse me?" Sorrow said. "It wasn't my job to fight them. You're getting paid to protect your passengers. I thought you Wanderers understood contracts."

"If these ice-maidens had killed us all, I'm sure that you could have waved the contract in their faces and made them understand the error of their ways," Mako said.

"But they didn't kill you all, or any of you, as far as I can tell. Anyway, your charge that I did nothing is baseless. Perhaps you failed to notice the seven foot tall wooden golem who fought by your side?" She knelt and yanked my sword from the yeti's skull. "Catch," she said as she tossed me the blade, and I caught.

She looked around at the sky.

"Would someone care to explain why we're no longer in the material world?"

"No," said Mako. Then, with his meaty hand still clamped on Brand's throat, he turned to Rigger and Sage. "We're trapped here until Mother recovers. The two of you keep your eyes peeled for any trouble. We've sent many an enemy to the Sea of Wine, and I'd hate for them to show up now."

"If they do show up, there's nothing we can do," said Rigger, shaking his head sadly. "Without Mother, there's no wind."

"If there's no wind, no ghost ships can come hunting us," said Sage, trying to sound positive.

"They could have row-boats," said Jetsam.

"I'm taking mother to her cabin," said Mako. "We can do nothing but wait for her to sober up." He turned toward Jetsam and Cinnamon who stood nearby. "Take Brand and the dwarf below and place them in manacles. Ordinarily I'd keelhaul a stowaway, but the dwarf is plainly insane. I'm not going to punish a man for losing his mind."

He tightened his grip on Brand's throat as he brought his face close and smiled. It was a smile from a nightmare, saw-toothed and twice as wide as it should have been. "As for you, I haven't figured out your game. I should just rip out your throat for helping conceal a stowaway."

"Ma will tan your hide if you kill her dryman without asking permission," Jetsam said as he guided the dwarf toward the hatch. "Remember how mad she got at Levi?"

"I'm not afraid of Ma," Mako said. "But I'll wait until she sobers up before deciding this scoundrel's fate."

He stepped back as Cinnamon moved forward and took Brand by the hand. Brand's mouth suddenly puckered.

"You'll go below and play nice or my sister will put a taste in your mouth that will have you cutting out your own tongue. Understood?"

Brand nodded.

Satisfied that Brand was neutralized, Mako walked toward Purity, unconscious on the deck where Bigsby had hog-tied her. "Rigger, since she's bound, use your power to guide her down to my cabin. Once Ma's tucked in, I'll see to it that this witch is stripped of her armor and properly disarmed."

"You'll do no such thing," said Sorrow.

Mako raised his eyebrows. "With my mother incapacitated, I'm captain. The safety of this ship is my responsibility."

"That is not in dispute, but I don't care for your tone. I fear that you mean to abuse this woman in her helpless state."

Mako's face twisted into a snarl. "Choose your words with care. I've won't stand here and take your baseless slander."

"And I'll not stand by as a defenseless female is stripped searched by a lone male, no matter what his reputation."

"I can help," said Sage. "Though I assure you she'd suffer no abuse if Mako were alone."

Sorrow nodded. "This is acceptable. But search her and bind her properly so that she doesn't lose any limbs to gangrene. Gag her so that she may not speak. Don't interrogate her until I can properly construct iron bands of negation to baffle any delayed magic she might seek to trigger with her words."

"Good call," said Sage. "There's something strange about her. Her internal light is all indigo."

"You can see auras?" Sorrow asked, sounding surprised.

"I see lots of stuff," said Sage, shrugging.

"How long will it take you to construct these bands?" grumbled Mako.

"As long as needed," said Sorrow, now kneeling next to Infidel. "It's not something that should be rushed. Something that must be rushed, however, is treatment of this woman's injuries. This wound on her temple requires stitches." She looked up at me. "Drifter, take her to my quarters. Bring the hammer. Its light will prove useful."

As the various Romers vanished down the stairs with their captives, I grabbed the Gloryhammer in my gloved hand. Not having any convenient place to carry it, I improvised and shoved it down the back of my shirt. I knelt and scooped Infidel into my arms. I lifted her as a groom lifts a bride across a threshold. Whatever romance the moment may have held was negated by the two-inch gash on the side of Infidel's head that gushed blood with every heartbeat. Praying that Sorrow could mend Infidel's wound, I stepped onto the staircase and descended once more into the dark hold.

SORROW'S LIPS WERE pressed tightly together as I arranged Infidel on the bed. Sorrow removed her cape and hung it on the back of the door, then pulled the front of my shirt open. The Gloryhammer along my spine was powerful enough to push beams of sunlight through the gaps in the barrel staves that formed my chest. The gore on Infidel's brow glistened from the illumination.

"Who knew you'd make such a convenient lantern?" Sorrow asked as she slid a towel under Infidel's head. She went to the table in the corner and washed her hands in the basin. She then brought over the pitcher of water and a second towel and began to clean Infidel's wound.

"As you may suspect, I've some experience tending to scalp injuries," she said. "They always look worse than they are."

It took only a moment to dab away the blood. Sorrow then produced a razor and scraped away a few fine hairs that extended down from Infidel's scalp. She swabbed the area with clear fluid from a small bottle – vodka, from the smell of it. Infidel's face clenched despite her unconscious state.

"This wound isn't so bad," said Sorrow. "But I must work fast. She may wake soon. Move one step to your left."

I did, as Sorrow turned Infidel's head so that the light fell directly on the gaping flesh. I wondered for a moment if I was seeing bone beneath the gash, but it was all just amber on amber to my wooden eyes. Sorrow produced a silver needle that looked too large for the task at hand. I expected her to thread the needle, but instead the metal came to life, wriggling like a serpent, stretching and tapering until it was as thin as a hair before plunging into Infidel's flesh. The silver filament rose and fell, rose and fell, moving through the torn skin as if it had a will of its own. In less time than it's taken me to tell it, it reached the end of the wound and tugged itself tight. Sorrow dabbed her handiwork with a fresh corner of the towel and wiped away what blood had bubbled up during the procedure. Now that the skin was clean, no further blood seeped through. Infidel's wound was neatly stitched together, the silver thread so fine as to almost be invisible.

Finished with her work, Sorrow turned back the bed's linens and commanded me to place Infidel beneath them. With her injury turned away from me, Infidel looked as if she was merely sleeping.

Going once more to the basin, Sorrow washed her hands. Without looking at me, she said, "You're forbidden to injure me or in any way seek to take revenge. Should anyone attempt to harm me, even Infidel, you're obligated to defend me."

I nodded.

Drying her hands, she crossed back to the desk. She lifted one of my notebooks, my favorite one, actually. I used a lot of different materials for writing. Parchment, made of old animal hide, is fine to write on, but thick, so you don't get many pages in a book. There's also papyrus. It's the cheapest writing surface available, just flattened reed mats woven together by river pygmies. It's a pain to write on and it falls apart with use, but you can buy more than you can carry for the cost of a pint of ale. And then there's paper; the Church of the Book manufactures this sacred material at a remote nunnery on the Isle of Apes. Supposedly it's made of ground up trees boiled in nun's urine impregnated with spices. This seems an unlikely recipe, though Wanderers who trade with the island tell me that the fumes from the nunnery make their eyes sting five miles out to sea, so who knows?

Paper is smooth, white as cotton, and thin enough that a book barely an inch thick can have a hundred flexible yet durable pages. Its main drawback is that it's expensive as hell. The only reason I own so many notebooks made from paper is that most knights and priests of the Church of the Book own them. A steady stream of these people have flowed to Commonground over the years to kill the woman I love. They'd failed in their quests, but succeeded in supplying me with excellent stationary.

The notebook on the desk had belonged to a church assassin who called himself Penumbra. He'd attacked Infidel with shadow swords, blades that could hurt her even when she was invulnerable. It had been a particular pleasure to loot his backpack and find this notebook. It was sturdy, bound in black leather, yet compact, just five inches across and seven inches tall. It had fit nicely in my jacket pocket, and except for ten pages of coded notes at the front that I'd never figured out, the rest of it was blank. When I'd gotten it, I'd been so enamored that I vowed I would write something special within its pages, an epic poem, perhaps, or my own authoritative history of the Vanished Kingdom that would replace my grandfather's famous book as the epitome of scholarship.

Seven years later, no pen of mine had ever marked the notebook, though Sorrow had filled another ten pages with her looping, elegant script. Turning beyond the last page she'd written anything on, Sorrow cut a blank sheet loose with the razor she'd used to shave Infidel's temple. She folded the paper into a long, tapered wedge, flattening it out, then turned toward me. It looked a bit like an origami snake that had been stepped on. She stood on tip-toes to place the paper sculpture between my gaping coconut jaws, then used silver thread to sew it into place, or so I assume. I couldn't see what she was doing, obviously, but the sound of a silver needle punching through paper and coconut husk has a rather distinctive rasp within the confines of a hollow skull.

When she was done, she stepped back and said, "You may now speak."

"Really?" I asked. If I'd had eyebrows, they would have shot up. I could speak! Sort of. "Is that me?" I said, cringing at hearing the words. "I sound... funny."

"Don't be ungrateful," said Sorrow. "You're making words without lungs, throat, palette, teeth, or lips. You've only a paper tongue that vibrates to approximate the noises you would have made in life. You should be amazed at the cleverness of my craftsmanship, not critical."

"I sound like a squirrel playing a kazoo," I protested, though no tone of protest came through. I could neither shout nor whisper; all the sounds coming from my paper tongue were of roughly the same volume, which wasn't terribly loud. On the other hand, if anyone had come aboard the Black Swan with a squirrel that played kazoo, I would have paid money to see it. Perhaps Sorrow was right; the fact that I could make recognizable words at all was a thing worthy of note. When had I become so jaded?

"I saw the letters on the beach. You're Stagger. These are your notes."

"Yes," I said, then nodded toward the bed. "And this is my wife. Will she be okay? Why hasn't she woke up?"

"Infidel was sound asleep when the ice-maidens attacked; I could hear her snoring in the cabin next door. Her body was already primed for slumber. It's too soon to worry."

"It's never too soon to worry," I said. "It's not just her I'm concerned about. According to the Black Swan, she's pregnant with my daughter."

"The Black Swan is a manipulator of the highest order," said Sorrow. "I would place no faith in what she says unless there's a written contract involved, and then you should read every last word of the fine print."

"Now that you know who I am, will you set me free?"

"You're valuable to me," said Sorrow. "I invested a tremendous amount of time and effort in creating a soul-catcher. I'm not prepared to throw that away. Besides, you were an unbound spirit when I found you. It was only a matter of time before you faded away to nothingness. You can last much longer now that you're embodied again."

"You said I would burn out."

"It's true. Your life energy isn't infinite. But this was true before you were captured as well. For now, it is to the benefit of both of us that you occupy this form."

I wasn't certain of this. I'd enjoyed my freedom as a ghost, the ability to flit around as I pleased, my thoughts instantly translating into movement. On the other hand, this new body did have a tongue. I desperately wanted to talk to Infidel.

"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "Having a body again, even this clunky wooden one, isn't completely unwelcome. But from now on, I'm not your slave to boss around. I'll work with you as an equal partner."

She snorted. "You're in no way my equal, ghost. You are the echo of a drunken tomb-looter whose life's work amounts to a few pages of barely legible notes. I am a master of fundamental materials, driven to remake the world. A century from now, you will be completely forgotten, while I will be remembered as the woman who freed humankind from the authoritarian clutches of a wicked church and ushered in a new age of enlightenment and equality."

I laughed, or tried to. My paper tongue turned it more into the sound of sneezing.

"Are you amused?" asked Sorrow.

"For someone smart, you're ignorant of the word 'hubris.'"

"This would apply to me only if I felt confidence in excess of my capacity," said Sorrow. "I assure you, I never fail at my goals."

"You have a self-inflicted hole in your head that's killing you," I said.

She frowned. She looked ready to change the subject. Glancing back at the maps spread on the desk she asked, "Do you know where to find the Witch's Graveyard?"

"Maybe," I said. "There are folk legends and intriguing place names that provide clues. I can't make any guarantees, but give me half a day and a pick-axe once we're back in Commonground and I can probably root out the truth."

"You can draw me a map?" she said.

"Already drawn," I said, motioning toward the desk.

"Show me. You're free to move as you wish, though I do not release you from the command to save me from harm."

I walked to the pile of documents and pulled the corner of a sheet of parchment jutting out from beneath the stack. It had a purple ring on it from where I'd sat a bottle of wine while discussing the map with a potential buyer at the Black Swan. I tapped a roughly sketched rectangle next to the ring. "This place is called the Knight's Castle. It's a complex of stonework a few miles upriver from the bay. It's been picked over pretty thoroughly, but there is one noteworthy feature, several hundred yards off the main complex. It's overgrown with trees, but when I surveyed the land here" – I took a quill from the ink bottle and drew an X at the western edge of the castle — "there are several acres marked by evenly spaced, rectangular depressions. No head stones, but even without them, it looks exactly like a graveyard where all the coffins have disintegrated, letting the soil collapse down into the graves."

My 'X' looked a little barren. So I drew a circle around it, then jotted 'Witch Graveyard' above it. Those words looked lonely, so I wrote beneath them, 'Treasure!'

"The embellishment isn't necessary," said Sorrow.

"Sorry," I said. "Old habit. In the dry spells between finding actual relics, I supplemented my income by selling maps to treasure hunters from the Silver Isles. I saw a steady stream of barbers, barristers and haberdashers who'd run away from their boring lives and demanding wives to get rich quick by looting the Vanished Kingdom. Nearly all my customers got themselves killed during their first week in the jungle, so repeat business was lousy."

"Couldn't the hollow depressions be evidence the graves have been dug up?"

"There would be mounds next to the depressions. This is just gut instinct, but I don't think anyone's dug there because the area's kind of boring. Every year or two somebody stumbles over a vine-covered temple housing idols with jade eyes and golden earrings. The folks who built the Vanished Kingdom weren't noted for doing things small or subtle. Treasure hunters would rather hack away vines from a hundred mounds of boulders hoping to find an old temple than take a shovel to unmarked graves where everything has probably rotted."

"The nails I'm seeking wouldn't rot," said Sorrow.

"Why not? Bone rots. Wood rots. Iron rusts. I guess the gold and glass might survive a long time underground."

Sorrow gave my arguments a dismissive wave.

"You know little of the higher arts of weaving."

"I know damn little of the lower arts, for that matter. Considering that the church has pretty much wiped out your kind, I think I can be forgiven a little ignorance."

"While I've perfected the manipulation of the material world, within limits, there is self-evidently more to the known world than matter. This ship currently sails in one of the abstract realms."

"I know a little bit about abstract realms," I said. "They're like dream worlds, only shared. They form the foundation of somnomancy."

"I would dispute this," said Sorrow. "Somnomancy isn't a distinct magical art in my opinion. It's more akin to the reality manipulation of the Deceivers, only the somnomancer is being lied to by his unconscious mind. The abstract realms, on the other hand, are real, unless you believe we're dreaming now."

"Do you have any convincing evidence that we're not?"

"Don't try to play games with me. I've no patience for such things. My body weakens with the passage of each day; each heartbeat is like a grain of sand through an hourglass. I'm keenly aware that death waits for me if I don't reverse the damage to my body."

"And your plan to save yourself is... abstract nails?"

"Avaris is said to have possessed a nail of time. Imagine the power to being able to sculpt and mold seconds and moments to your will! I thought the Black Swan possessed it, but her skull was unblemished."

"What would such a nail look like? How would you even hammer it in?"

Sorrow sighed. "Sensible questions. I don't know. I'm hoping to gather clues from context when I finally discover the skull of an ancient witch."

"If I weren't a walking, talking pile of driftwood, I might be inclined to call you crazy."

"I'm not crazy," said Sorrow, clenching her right fist. "I'm mad. Mad at my father, mad at the church, and the damned Divine Author. I'm mad because I see the world as it truly is, not as the veil of convenient and comforting illusions everyone else embraces. I'm mad to be facing this fight alone."

I shrugged. "You could try being nicer to people. Commonground is full of people who have grudges against the church. Hell, a lot of people probably have grudges against your father personally. You could probably make some allies if you weren't so, uh..., um, intense."

"You were about to say 'bitchy.'"

"Maybe."

"My father is blunt, demanding and stubborn. People call him a great leader. When I display these same qualities, I'm dismissed as a bitch."

"Please note that I did avoid the word," said Stagger. "Twenty years ago, the execration would have crossed my tongue with barely a thought. But, I've heard Infidel called a bitch a thousand times, when her greatest sin has been that she is insufficiently fearful of men who enjoy being feared. If you must fuss at me, please focus on things I actually say."

"My apologies," said Sorrow. To my surprise, she sounded sincere. "Perhaps I'm overly defensive. I've survived as long as I have by being suspicious of everyone."

I sighed, though my paper tongue turned the sound into the buzz of fly wings. "I'm really not your enemy. I couldn't care less if you wish to wage war against the church. I live in Commonground because it's one of the few places on earth where the church has no power. Hell, that's pretty much why everyone who isn't a Wanderer or a pygmy comes to Commonground. A lot of them would probably cheer you on."

Sorrow's shoulders sagged as she shook her head. "In some circumstances, the enemy of an enemy can be a friend; for me, the enemies of my enemies almost always prove to be unreliable scoundrels who view me as an easy victim."

Part of me wanted to pat her on the back and say, "There, there." She sounded lonely and worn out, and I'm a man with an excess of empathy. On the other hand, given that she had enslaved me and showed no inclination toward releasing me, my empathy could only go so far.

She rubbed her eyes. "I need to sleep. It will be hours before Captain Romer has recovered from her excursion into the Sea of Wine. I'm interested in learning how we got here. I assume Mako knows more than he's telling."

"I have a few insights. I saw Captain Romer lean down, touch the bare wood of the deck, and announce we were sailing the Sea of Wine. I also know from talking to Wanderers in the past that the Sea of Wine is sort of a gateway to their afterlife. If she dies, do you think we'll be trapped here?"

"She won't die," said Sorrow. "And, don't think of our situation as trapped. We're in the safest place imaginable at the moment. We don't have to worry about assault by the Judgment Fleet, pirates, or Skellings while we're here. We're the only living thing upon these waves."

"But maybe not beneath them. I saw... something... lurking beneath the ship. A big, black serpent." I was hesitant to say all I knew. I didn't want to accidentally reveal the ghost of Jasmine Romer to Sorrow.

"Abyss, perhaps? The primal dragon of the sea has a pact to protect Wanderers."

"I don't think so. I've seen Abyss. He's more of a giant turtle. This thing was covered in big black snake scales."

"Hmm. That fits the description of Rott," said Sorrow. "It would be appropriate that the dragon of decay would dwell here. Wine is a product of rotting grapes, after all."

"That's a terrible thing to say about one of my favorite beverages."

"I appreciate wine not for its flavor but for its inspiration," she said. "Destruction is the precursor of creation. Perfectly good fruit when crushed and allowed to molder releases something new and precious. I wouldn't be eager to bring the kingdoms of the world to ruin if I didn't believe something far more vibrant would emerge."

"You're not going to be overthrowing anything if Rott gets a sudden whim to swallow this ship."

Sorrow shrugged. "If he does, he does. Some things are too big even for me to worry about. For now, it looks like Infidel will get to use the stateroom after all. I'll go sleep in her bunk."

"Where should I go?"

Sorrow shrugged again. "Stay by her side, if you wish. For now, I release you of all restrictions save the command to protect me."

She opened the door, took her cloak, and left.

I was alone with Infidel, who had turned onto her side, hugging her pillow. Her sleep now looked more natural than it had when she'd first been tucked in. I had renewed hope that she'd recover.

If I'd been a courageous man, I might have woken her.

Now that I had the freedom to speak to her, I knew that I couldn't. Between her quest and her pregnancy, she had enough worries without having to concern herself about my fate. And yet, there was still so much I wish I'd told her when I was alive.

I went to the desk, to the notebook with its neatly trimmed page cut to build my tongue. At least a hundred sheets of blank paper remained. This book had always looked so pristine and promising that any words I'd contemplated filling it with had seemed unworthy to stain its pages. Now, at last, I had a message deserving of its snow-white fibers.

I took the book and the bottle of ink and crouched as I left the cabin. The Romer men were arranging their captives in the hold. Many of the ice-maidens had been taken alive and we now had quite a cargo of prisoners.

Above deck, the sky was the same unchanging omnidirectional sunset. The waters had grown still, and the sails hung limp in the quiet air. The ice was nearly gone, leaving only a few puddles here and there.

I moved to the bow and sat cross-legged, placing the book before me. I steadied my ink and quill.

Dearest Infidel, I began. It is a great injustice upon my part that I have spent so many years in your company, pen and paper always at hand, and somehow failed to write you a love letter. Fate has granted me the chance to atone for this oversight. Perhaps the Divine Author is a romantic after all.

And so the words flowed, page after page, as I spoke of my hopes and confessed my regrets, and told her of my love. My normally opulent vocabulary faded as I wrote, as my language turned simple and sincere. Perhaps, in their simplicity, I even managed to capture some truth, though I fear that words will ever be inadequate vessels for the cargo of emotions. Yet on I wrote, undaunted, placing heart to paper in a setting that, while strange, was also familiar. In death as in life, I felt at home adrift on a Sea of Wine.

# 9 - THE VESTIBULE OF SELF-ABNEGATION

I HAD NO way to measure the time I spent writing. My body no longer possessed the natural rhythms of weariness or hunger, and the unnatural sky gave no hint of the passage of time. I filled twenty pages with my scratchings. My wooden fingers were numb instruments, leaving my clumsy cursive a mess of smears and smudges. The only saving grace was that, for the first time in memory, I wrote completely sober. My lines of script were attractively parallel, rather than undulating serpents that sometimes overlapped one another.

It's possible I could have kept writing until the book was filled. I'd moved on from singing the praises of Infidel's virtues and was now discussing the future, specifically our unborn daughter. Infidel and I came from a culture where women were regarded as inferior and subordinate. Infidel, born a princess, had less freedom than the most humble baker or candlestick maker in the Silver City. Men were allowed to own property; women were allowed to be property.

Commonground, for all its anarchistic freedom, was little better. While it's true that an exceptional woman like the Black Swan could become a powerful force, and strong women like Infidel and Aurora were essentially free to live as they wished, the reality was most women in Commonground survived as whores. The notable exceptions, of course, were the Wanderers. Of all the various societies throughout the long string of islands sometimes called the Shining Lands, only among the Wanderers was there a true sense of equality between the sexes. I suppose it rose both from their professed belief in individual freedom and the practical realities of their lives. They lived as close family units on boats. Even in traditional homes on land, women frequently are the true masters of a household, the ones whose decisions are treated as final by the children, while the men serve mainly as enforcers of the woman's decisions. On land, women are mostly trapped within their own houses, kept busy raising children and cooking meals, while men are free to roam about and engage in commerce and spend their relatively more plentiful free time plotting wars and forming governments. Among the Wanderers, the men are just as confined to the ships as the women, and when it's time to visit a neighbor, the whole household moves as one.

Yet I didn't want my daughter to become a Wanderer. Wanderers fancy themselves travelers and explorers, visiting a hundred ports a year, citizens of the world. In truth, they seldom stray more than a few hundred feet from their boats. Casting anchor in Commonground is a pale experience compared to exploring the jungles of the Isle of Fire. The view from a crow's nest is not the same as the view from atop a mountain. For all their vaunted freedom, the Wanderers were curiously self-imprisoned.

I wanted my daughter to be boundless. I wanted her to stride the world with the knowledge she was equal to anyone, able to freely look into the eyes of kings or paupers, without looking down upon either. Infidel had spent much of her adult life reacting to the fears drilled into her as a child. I made my life choices haunted by the shame I'd experienced as a boy abandoned by both of his still-living parents. When I looked at Sorrow, I could see her childhood bitterly seeping out of every pore. Could a human be raised free of fear, shame, or bitterness? Free of greed, pride, or privilege? Was I already dooming my daughter to failure by wishing such a utopian upbringing upon her?

My musings were shattered as a scream tore from the hatch.

"Hurry," a woman's voice said beside me. I looked up and once more found myself staring at the imposing naked breasts of the ghost of Jasmine Romer. "My daughter isn't in her right mind. She'll hurt herself, or others, if you don't stop her."

I closed the book mid-sentence without waiting for the ink to dry. I stood, just as Mako leapt up the stairs onto the deck, blood streaming from his nose.

He bent backward to avoid a dagger that flew by his head, then did a handspring back to the railing before bouncing into the rigging. His mother climbed to the deck half a second later, with Sage locked in a stranglehold beneath her right arm. Gale was wearing a modest cotton nightgown, white but blood spattered, and her hair, normally woven in a tight braid, hung loose around her face, showing the gray streaks within. Sage was a little taller than her mother, with an athletic build, but Gale had more experience as a brawler. No matter how Sage twisted to escape, Gale kept her forearm tight across the girl's throat. I moved toward the fight, hoping I could keep Gale from killing her daughter.

Before I reached her, Gale let go of Sage, throwing her roughly against the mast. Sage sank to the deck, looking dazed. Gale cried, "I gave life to you all and I can take it! The next hand that touches me I'll cut off, I swear!"

Since she had no sword currently in hand, her words were probably bluff, but her half-strangled daughter and bloodied son looked hesitant to test her. I ran toward her, arms outstretched. She turned to face me. My wooden legs weren't built for stealth, but I leapt from 15 feet away with more than enough strength to fly the distance. With her well-honed reflexes she leapt from my path, but I clipped her legs with my outstretched arms and we both fell to the deck. My wooden fingers clamped onto her ankle. She pummeled me with her fists and scratched at my wooden face with her nails as she screamed, "It's hopeless! All hopeless! Let me die!"

I shifted my bulk to pin her legs. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her limbs lost strength, her frantic motions devolving into spastic tremors. "By the seven stars it's over! All over. Can't you see the doom that pursues us? Better to drown in the wine than to be chewed in the maw of such a beast!"

"What beast?" I asked, startling both her and myself with my squeaky, buzzing voice.

She sobbed. "It's no use. Oh, my vanity! I thought I could steer this ship between the teeth of destruction. I thought mine was the hand upon the wheel of destiny. But there is no wheel!" She choked as snot and mucus bubbled from her lips. "There is no wheel!"

Her face was drenched with sweat and mottled by dark red patches, as if stained by wine.

"She's completely mad," Sage said, rising on wobbly legs.

"It's delirium tremens," I said. "She's been poisoned by alcohol. She's hallucinating!"

"What can we do?"

Sadly, I knew. While I'd never been so far gone that I'd been unable to tell reality from dreams, I'd lived the last ten years of my life with a subtle tremor that seized my hands on those rare moments when I'd been completely sober. There was only one treatment.

"More wine," I said. "Or something stronger. It's her only hope."

"You want to cure her drunkenness with more drink?"

"It's the only thing that can help once you start seeing hallucinations!"

"What if she's not hallucinating?" asked Brand, who practically made me jump out of my wooden skin as he spoke only inches from my ear. His head had popped up from the hatch leading to the hold. "Can't you smell it? The air has shifted. The wine is being replaced by vinegar."

Mako growled as he glared at Brand, "Who freed you? You were in manacles just moments ago!"

"Please," said Brand, rubbing his wrists. "If you know about my circus past, you also know I did escape work. Plus, your mother likes to, um, play games. This wasn't the first time I've worn those shackles. Once you've seen the key, picking a lock is child's play."

Mako snatched the dagger his mother had thrown at him from the mast. "You insolent bastard! I'll kill you!"

But as he raised his arm to strike, a thick rope snaked down from above and caught his wrist. "Calm yourself, Mako," shouted Rigger, who'd been watching from the poop deck this whole time. "We lost Levi because he couldn't control his temper."

"I'd say that was more due to mother's temper," said Sage, brushing her hair from her eyes, stuffing the stray strands back beneath her red cap.

"You can talk about your family history some other time," said Brand, kneeling beside Gale and stroking her sweating brow. "Your mother is trapped deep in a thicket of despair. I can help her find her way back."

"She needs wine," I said.

"There are things better than wine for curing a damaged soul," said Brand, he picked up Gale. For a woman in her forties, she looked small and girlish cradled in his muscular arms. "Leave her to me."

Mako let loose an inhuman growl as he watched Brand carry Gale toward the hold. Mako bit the rope that held his arm, but another caught him just as swiftly. He cried, "Rigger, I'm going to kick your ass once I'm done killing this fool!"

"Grow up!" Sage said as she stepped directly underneath Mako. "You're always trying to solve problems by making threats."

"Because the rest of you idiots don't listen!" Mako thrashed as more ropes wrapped around him. "Have you all lost your senses? Mother's not in her right mind. She's seeing things! And you're going to let this bastard take advantage of her?"

Brand didn't react to these words as he carried Gale down the stairs.

Sage put her hands on her hips. "I haven't gone crazy and neither has mother. She's not hallucinating. Look behind the ship!"

Rigger swung Mako back to the stern and dropped him. Mako stared at the water in silence, his lips pressed tightly together. I moved to the back to see what he was staring at. Mere feet below the water was what appeared to be an oily black stain stretching out behind the Freewind for a mile or more. This dark shape was serpentine, a hundred yards across at its thickest point, and here and there small islands of tar broke above the waves along what would have been the serpent's spine.

Only, as the waves continued to wash in ever lightening shades of amber foam, the beast rose higher still and I could see I wasn't looking at the spine of an enormous serpent, but at the belly. The thing was obviously dead, but that didn't make it any less menacing. Its lifeless head was twisted sideways in the water, its toothy jaws opened in a giant V aimed straight at the Freewind. The gaping maw was more than wide enough to swallow the ship whole; any individual fang of the beast was as thick and long as our foremast. The waves pushed the jaws open and shut in a lazy, listless chew.

Sage pointed her spyglass at the thing, which I found odd given that the monster was pretty hard to miss with plain old eyesight. But, after a moment's study she said, "This thing is drifting faster than we are. We've got about ten minutes before it hits."

We all glanced up at what sails were set. Every canvas hung limp. There wasn't enough of a breeze to push a feather, let alone a ship. As I looked down from the sails, I discovered the whole Romer family was now above deck, as was Bigsby, once more wearing his wig. Sorrow in her cloak was coming up the stairs followed by Infidel, still in her armor, her bed-head hair a fright.

"Somebody want to fill me in on what's going on?" Infidel asked, sounding groggy. "The last thing I remember was trying to help Gale."

"How did mother hurt you?" Sage asked as she studied Infidel's brow. "I saw a cutlass break over your head at Half-Moon Bay without even leaving a scratch!"

Infidel sighed. "I need you to keep this a secret. But, right now, I'm not invulnerable. My strength is gone too."

"You knocked those ice-maidens half a mile out to sea," said Jetsam, scratching his head.

"All in the hammer," said Infidel.

"You should have told us," said Mako, sounding angry. He shoved his face inches from Infidel and said, "You assured us you wouldn't need protection! We trusted you!"

"The only injury I've suffered has been because your mother fights dirty, not because of our attackers," said Infidel. "Between my armor and my hammer, I can handle myself."

"Your armor might be a little more effective if you wore a helmet," said Jetsam.

Infidel nodded. "I hate helmets. Who wants to wear a steel bucket on their head when you live in the tropics? But, yeah, it's time I learn to like them."

"If we'd known you didn't have your powers, we could have taken extra steps to protect you," said Mako.

"I don't want anyone putting themselves in danger because of me."

Sorrow joined the conversation. "Aren't others in greater danger if they're depending on physical skills you no longer possess?" She punctuated her sentence by spitting. At first, I thought it was an act of contempt, but then she swatted the air before her face and said, "Excuse me, but a fly just flew into my mouth."

She hardly need have said it. Flies were everywhere now.

I buzzed in with my paper voice. "Sorrow, there's a sea serpent following the boat. It looks dead. But I think it might be–"

"Rott?" said Sorrow, half in surprise, half in excitement. She sprinted to the rail.

Jetsam was already at the back of the boat, floating in the air, kicking his legs slowly to hold his position above the rudder. He let out a long, low, whistle, interrupted by gagging. "By the southern stars, what a stench!"

I was about to join with the others at the back of the ship when I caught a motion from the corner of my eye. I turned and found the ghost of Jasmine Romer once more hovering above the bowsprit. She motioned me towards her.

"It's a pretty big coincidence that a primal dragon would show up at the same time we're attacked by Purity," I said.

"It is no coincidence for Rott to appear anywhere," said Jasmine. "The entropic force he represents is omnipresent."

"Maybe entropy is everywhere, but mile long dead snakes sure aren't. Something's causing him to show up here. Is Purity summoning him?"

"That's doubtful. Rott isn't like Hush or Abyss or even Greatshadow, who all maintain their intellect and personalities. The elemental force Rott commanded long ago consumed his very sense of self. He's essentially mindless, incapable of ordered thought. Only the barest flicker of animalistic hunger compels him to manifest. Bluntly, if he's here, he's come to feast."

"If he keeps turning the Sea of Wine into vinegar, we'll be in a real pickle," I said.

Jasmine wagged a ghostly finger in my face. "Don't make light of this! Though Rott isn't conscious of his actions, he can sense that the cosmic balance is off. Lives have been lost without their life force returning to the source. He hungers for this missing energy."

"What are you saying?"

"My body died, but my soul never left the world. The same is true of you."

"And your point is?"

"When Avaris helped prepare this boat to house my soul, she took precautions to hide my spirit from Rott's notice. I suspect that Sorrow, being inexperienced in her craft, has taken no such precautions. Just as a dead body emits a stench that draws vultures, the scent of your decaying soul has drawn the ultimate scavenger. Rott will consume this ship to feed his hunger."

"Oh," I said, raising my hand and running it along the back of my coconut scalp, as if I still had hair. "That's unfortunate. Why hasn't he bothered me before now?"

"Until now, your spirit dwelled on the material realm. Your soul is just one of thousands of lost spirits existing at any time. Rott feasts in the material world at his leisure. Here on the Sea of Wine, you're his sole focus."

"Then get out of here," I said. "Shift us back to the real world. Problem solved."

"Only my daughter can trigger this magic," said Jasmine. "Complicating matters further, it's now daylight in our home seas. We can only make the transit in the dead of night."

"So... what? You expect me to jump off the ship so this thing will leave the rest of you alone?"

Jasmine said nothing as she lowered her head.

"Oh," I said.

"I can think of no other reason Rott would manifest so aggressively. He's never before molested us within this realm."

As it happened, our conversation unfolded near where I'd been writing to Infidel. I barely had to walk a yard before leaning down to lift up the book. I clumsily ripped out the half-finished letter and folded it into a thick bundle. I tugged away the bandana that hid my hideous coconut skull and tied the letter within the cloth. Flies landed on my gloved fingers as I worked.

I took one look back at Jasmine. I sighed, or tried to. "The first time I died, it was just a dumb mistake." I shook my head. "I mean, it's something you might tell a seven-year-old: 'Don't run with a knife!'" I stared down at the bundled letter for a long time. "I guess it's appropriate that my death was careless, given how careless I was with my life. But you know... good things came of it. I'm going to have a daughter. I want to be there to watch her grow up."

"I understand," said Jasmine.

I looked back to the stern. Infidel was floating there, next to Jetsam, her eyes fixed on the doom that drifted toward us.

Even at this distance, I could hear that Jetsam was singing again, a little barroom ditty called 'The Death Song.'

"Oh you can die from scurvy,

And you can die from plague

You can croak when a rattlesnake

Bites you in the leg

You can die from shaving

From a thousand tiny cuts

Or go out in a world of pain

By a swift kick to the..."

Mako jumped up and grabbed his brother by the ankle, yanking him down.

"That's enough," he said.

Enough, I thought, though the thought had nothing to do with Jetsam's singing. Instead, the thought reflected a sense of peace that settled over me. Jasmine was asking me to die. But was this such a sacrifice considering I was already dead? I'd had my time in the world. I wanted more. But, deep down, I recognized the fundamental selfishness of this desire. Who was I, among the hordes of mankind, to dare ask for more than my allotted time? I'd gotten a lifetime. Wasn't that enough?

I said to Jasmine, "You seem to know more about being dead than I do. It caught me by surprise that there was something after life. What happens once I throw myself down Rott's throat? What follows death after death?"

"I've never had the courage to find out," said Jasmine, turning her face away, hugging herself.

I slowly walked to the back of the boat. Was I doing the right thing? If my life had ever caught the attention of a biographer, it's a sure bet he could have written my story without checking a thesaurus to find a synonym for 'self-sacrifice.' Maybe I could wait a little while longer, until the dragon was actually chewing on the timbers, just to make sure what I was about to do was really necessary.

Infidel's boots were a good two feet off the deck as she studied the approaching monster. Curiously, in life, whenever I dreamed of Infidel, I nearly always dreamed we were flying. It was natural to see her in this element. And in her white armor trimmed with silver it was a simple thing to imagine her in a wedding gown. She deserved a more regal ceremony than our shared vows in the midst of that shadowy jungle. Yet, those vows had been made, and I held them to be sacred. This was my bride, she wore my ring, she carried my child, and for her I would throw myself into the teeth of any monster.

And such a monster! Rott was fully at the surface now, a bloated corpse crawling with flies, riding so high upon the waves that its dead, flapping jaws opened to reveal a cavern more than large enough to swallow the Freewind. The sky was no longer sunset red, but mostly black as a million oil-black gulls, feathers falling from wings of bone, spiraled through the air in vast clouds to feast upon the corpse of their carrion master.

The Romers seemed paralyzed as they stared at the horrid thing less than a ship's length off the stern.

"The waves smell like pure vinegar now," said Cinnamon, wrinkling her nose.

"Should we... attack it? We have bows," said Mako. It was the first time I'd ever heard him sound doubtful.

"Even it wasn't already dead, that thing's the size of an island," said Rigger. "It wouldn't even notice."

"How can it notice anything? It has no eyes! Nothing but empty sockets!" said Jetsam.

"Something's drawing it to us," said Sorrow. "Something..." She turned toward me, her eyes full of understanding.

"Is there nothing we can do to... to discourage it?" asked Mako.

Rigger shook his head. "How do you discourage the dead?"

Taking this as my motto, I embraced my final moment with gusto. I walked to Infidel, whose head was conveniently at the level of my own thanks to her defiance of gravity. I spun her and gave her a powerful hug, taking care not to crush her. I pressed my coconut jaw against her cheek and tried to whisper, "I love you no matter what," though my kazoo voice bleated the words in such a graceless tone that the Divine Author alone knows what she might have heard. Then I thrust the folded letter into her grasp, leapt to the railing, and with a roguish tip of my tri-corn hat announced, "As I stand in the vestibule of self-abnegation, I wish to say that I have no regrets. Unfortunately, that would be the foulest lie. I fiercely regret my impending absence." I fixed my pecan eyes squarely on Infidel, who looked utterly confused by the erratic behavior of Sorrow's driftwood construct. I directed my final words to her alone: "If I had a thousand lives to give, I'd give them for you. My life was nothing but an empty glass until you filled it with the wine of your company. May the Divine Author guide his sacred quill to write the happy ending you deserve."

All the Romers were staring at me with mouths agape. I gave them a crisp salute, then turned and leapt toward the decaying beast. The jaws surged forward upon the waves as if driven by hunger. The tip of one of his teeth tore through my shirt as I fell into the chasm of his mouth. As Rott's wicked fangs closed behind me, it occurred to me that my farewell speech might have been more moving if I'd remembered to mention my name.

# 10 - BODIES IN MOTION

A WRIGGLING CARPET of worms covered the black, bloated tongue, which oozed pale puss as I tried to gain my balance. The tongue was a mass of muscular knots, stiff with rigor mortis, but my boots had trouble finding traction in the slime. The rotting skin covering the dead muscle peeled away as I slipped to my hands and knees. The putrescence that soaked into my gloves would certainly have cost me the contents of my stomach, if I'd had a stomach. I shook my hands to cleanse them, but succeeded only in splattering the awful ick across my face. I prayed to the divine author that my paper tongue was useful only for speech, and insensate to taste should a drop find its way past my ragged lips.

The vinegar swells pushed Rott's jaws to a lazy chew, slamming me against the boney mouth roof. Despite the unpleasantness of my surroundings, I felt strangely unthreatened. The beast was too dead to even swallow. Would I have to crawl down its gullet to meet my final end?

A sudden jolt toppled me. As I rolled over, I saw that the beast's snout had collided with the rudder of the Freewind. If I was to save the ship, it was apparently up to me to march into Rott's stomach. The dragon of entropy was also the dragon of indolence.

My gloves found purchase in the crack of a massive tooth. I pulled myself up and struggled to advance, inch by precious inch, through the cavernous mouth. In the dim shadows at the back of the gullet I saw shapes, vaguely human. I drew closer and found that the undulation of the waves had caused the beast to regurgitate the corpses of sailors. The dead men surged toward me as Rott's body rode a particularly energetic swell. The walking dead I could have faced bravely, but these were the half-digested dead, as listless and lifeless as their master. I let loose a buzzing scream. Even without brains to give the dead sailors purpose or muscles to drive their limbs, their advance was effective. I was knocked over by their collective weight, struggling helplessly as they dragged me down beneath their slimy, acid dripping forms. My left leg slipped deep beneath the tongue and with a sudden jolt I was limbless from the knee down, my wooden foot sliced free by the beast's closing teeth.

I had no time to dwell upon my own dissolution, however, for behind me there was a far louder crunch. I strained to look backward and found half the rudder of the Freewind splintered. Was my sacrifice in vain? Was the beast not to be satisfied until all the ship was in its bowels?

"I'm the one you want," I shouted, as the jaws clamped shut, plunging me into utter darkness. "I'm the lost soul you seek!"

There was a loud crash behind me. Light suddenly filled the mouth, bright as dawn. I pushed aside the liquefying décolletage of a decaying woman to see the source of the illumination. The teeth at the front of the mouth had been shattered. Standing in the gap was a goddess in pristine white armor, her hammer ablaze. She had a red bandana tied tightly over her mouth and nose to protect her from the stench as she swung her weapon in wide arcs, shattering columns of ivory thick as tree trunks to rid the beast of fangs. Yet her eyes weren't focused on the demolition. Instead, they searched the cavernous mouth, narrowing as she spotted the mound of corpses that even now dragged me down the gullet.

In a flash she reached me, planting her feet on either side of my shoulders as she pulverized the half-gelatinized bodies with roundhouse swings of the Gloryhammer.

"Infidel!" I cried as I grabbed her pristine white boot.

"Stagger!" she answered. "Is it truly you?"

"I'm the lost soul you seek," I said, in what would have been a sob if my tongue had been up to the task. "How did you know it was me? You haven't had time to read the letter!"

"'The vestibule of self-abnegation?' Please. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Sorrow didn't build me with a tongue. She just gave me the power of speech a few hours ago."

Satisfied that she'd cleared away the corpses, she grabbed my outstretched hand and pulled me, freeing my lower half from beneath the rotten tongue.

"Your leg," she said, looking pale.

"It doesn't hurt," I said. "Sorrow can make another."

"Not if I kill her first," she growled. "How could she do this to you?"

"I don't believe it was personal," I said, as Infidel helped me stand.

"Why did you jump into this damn thing's mouth?" she asked.

"Rott knows I should be dead. Sacrificing myself is the ship's only hope. You have to let me finish this."

"This thing can't chew without teeth," said Infidel, swinging her hammer to pulverize the fang nearest us.

"Look at the size of the jaws!" I protested. "It can swallow the ship whole!"

"If it can catch us," said Infidel, thrusting her hammer into the gap left by the missing tooth, then shooting skyward, dragging me to freedom. We arced back over the Freewind, my remaining boot clipping the crow's nest as she dropped toward the bow. There was a giant cleat there that held a rope as thick as a woman's arm. Infidel dropped me, then wrapped the rope over her shoulder and launched herself toward the sky once more. She grunted as the line went taut, having flown only a few feet beyond the tip of the jibboom. Her right arm, holding the Gloryhammer, was thrust straight before her. The rope was tight enough a man could have walked upon it.

With a squawking bark, Menagerie sank his teeth into the rope and began to flap his wings furiously.

The bow of the Freewind creaked as this single point of force created by the two aeronauts strained to move the ship through the undulating sea.

"It's as good an idea as any," shouted Jetsam, as he threw himself to hug the main mast then pushed his feet out behind him and began to vigorously kick against the air.

"That's the spirit!" shouted Mako. He turned to his siblings and shouted, "Throw anything you can overboard! Lighten the load! We'll outrun death itself!"

"You're mad!" snorted Rigger. "These three can't drag the ship no matter how hard they try. It's a simple matter of mass!"

He ducked as a barrel shot past his head, courtesy of Poppy, though I don't think she'd intentionally aimed for him.

"Given that you're floating on an enchanted ocean being pursued by a fundamental force of nature manifesting itself as an enormous snake, I admire your devotion to logic," Sorrow said to Rigger. "But if the Gloryhammer can move a person through the air, why can't it move a ship?"

But any sense of optimism that Sorrow might have been trying to build was demolished as the Freewind shook violently, knocking everyone off their feet. Rott's jaws had just flapped shut, trapping the entire rear of the boat.

"Rott's momentum was greater than our own," Rigger said, rising to his hands and knees. "You can't just stop a mass like that! You can't drag a ship forward on wishful thoughts!"

Despite Rigger's pessimism, the lifeless, limp jaws soon washed open and the Freewind limped forward another yard. We were moments away from doom, but moments do matter.

"Get every sail up," said Mako.

"There's no damn wind without mother!" screamed Rigger.

"He'll have a harder time washing us down his gullet if we're fully rigged," said Mako.

"Or if his jaws were frozen shut," I whispered.

"You're thinking of Purity's sword?" asked Sorrow, kneeling beside me to examine my missing leg.

"I'm thinking of the Jagged Heart!"

"Do you know how to activate its powers?" she asked, as she grabbed a belaying pin from the deck. She swiftly fashioned a peg leg from the wood to restore my mobility.

"Not a clue. But I watched Aurora summon a wall of ice thick enough to survive a direct blast of Greatshadow's breath using the harpoon. It's worth a try." I stood on my new peg leg, my arms outstretched for balance.

"The good part of your plan is, should you succeed, we'll get staved in by an iceberg instead of chewed to bits," grumbled Rigger.

His words were almost drowned out by ropes dancing through every block and tackle on the ship, raising all the sails in great, noisy flaps. Despite his dour attitude, Rigger was doing what he could.

Sage stood nearby, watching the sails unfurl. I felt a stir of optimism as I saw her black curls flicker in a breeze. But, as the yards of canvas settled into position, they hung limp. The only breeze had been that caused by the sails unfurling.

Sage shook her head sadly as she stared into her spyglass. "Two minutes," she said to Rigger. "If I'm calculating the undulations of the body on the currents correctly, we have two minutes before we get gnawed again. We have to gain some speed!"

"We've just enough time to puff our way out of this if we all take deep breaths," said Rigger, with mock cheerfulness.

Sage chewed her fingernails as her gaze shifted from her spyglass to the sails to the bow, where Infidel and Menagerie strained against the rope. Her eyes widened as she watched Menagerie's frantic flapping. Without warning she bolted across the deck, toward my fallen notebook and the bottle of ink that lay nearby. She didn't waste time locating a quill, but simply popped the stopper free and pressed the tip of her index finger to the bottle as she upended it. She smeared something quickly upon the page as she ran back to Rigger, still standing at the wheel.

"Wings!" she cried, holding the book open before him. "We need wings! You can make them!"

Rigger furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher his sister's strange babblings. The crude thing she'd scrawled on the page wasn't helping him understand her. I dragged myself up on my new leg, off balance as it was a good two inches shorter than its more carefully formed mate.

I limped toward the wheel, and saw that Sage had drawn what looked like a banana with two big ovals coming off it. Luckily, the fate of the ship didn't rest on my understanding her gist. At the instant when I was most completely baffled, Rigger's eyebrows raised up. "I've never tried anything like this!" he said, sounding excited. "It will destroy the sails and the rigging just to—"

"Try!" screamed Sage. "We don't even have a minute before it hits us again!"

Rigger let go of the wheel and threw his hands toward the mainsail, as if he were grabbing it in his mind. He gave a violent sideways tug with his hands and suddenly the ropes rigging the mainsail shattered the thick block and tackle housings that held them. The ropes flew in opposing directions, jerking the mainsail completely taut. With a sickening sound no sailor ever wants to hear, the mainsail ripped, splitting right down its center.

"Rigger!" Mako shouted, dropping the barrel he was throwing overboard and running toward his brother. "Have you lost your mind?"

Rigger didn't answer. His face contorted, turning red. His jaw clenched as if he were straining to lift an impossibly heavy weight. The ropes pulled the split mainsails toward opposite sides of the boat, the canvas taut as kites. The ropes stayed taut even as a wave rippled through them, unleashing a powerful flapping sound as Rigger threw his arms back.

The boat surged forward with enough momentum that I had to grab the wheel for balance.

The drawing suddenly made sense.

"Wings!" Sage shouted at Mako. "We've turned the mainsail into wings!"

Rigger brought his hands forward once more, the sails dancing like flags, until they caught air as Rigger spread his arms as if he were doing a breaststroke.

Behind us, the massive jaws were once more closing.

"Just one more yard!" screamed Sage

Rigger gave a third flap, then dropped to his knees. Behind us, Rott's jaws closed on empty air.

The wing-sails suddenly went limp, dropping into the water.

"I can't hold them any more," Rigger groaned as he fell on his side. "Without the aid of the pulleys, the weight is too much! I feel as if I've torn every muscle in my body."

"Cut those ropes and sails loose!" Sage shouted. "They'll cost us our speed."

Mako and Cinnamon drew swords and ran to the taut ropes hanging overboard.

"You did good, Rigger," said Sage, kneeling beside her trembling brother. "We're moving faster than we were, and bodies in motion want to stay in motion."

Indeed, we were moving forward, though barely at the speed of a good walk. Now that the ship had been given a nudge by the makeshift wings, the Gloryhammer's magic proved sufficient to maintain this momentum. Rott remained too close for comfort, and flies still covered the ship, but even without waiting for Sage's new calculations, I could see that we were putting precious inches between us and the dead thing at our tail.

"I command you to keep pulling!" a voice shouted from the front of the ship. "Know that the royal family salutes your courage!" It was Bigsby, posed heroically upon the bow, waving his fist at Infidel and Menagerie. "When I return home, my father will reward you handsomely for your heroism!"

But, instead of finding encouragement in the dwarf's words, Infidel shouted back, "My damn arm's about to come out of its socket! I can't do this much longer!"

Back at the main mast, Jetsam suddenly dropped to the deck. Dark circles of sweat stained his black shirt under the arms. "I'm spent," he whispered.

In truth, I doubted he'd added much to our speed.

Our gains were only temporary and I had the only plan that might maintain them. I headed for the hatch to retrieve the Jagged Heart. My idea was to weigh down Rott with so much ice that he couldn't move. What could it hurt to try?

But, before I could go down the hatch, I was met by a woman heading up the stairs. It was Gale Romer, her hair drenched in sweat and twisted back behind her ears in a crude bun held in place by a few pins. Stray strands were plastered to her neck, which sported a half dozen bite marks. Rather than the modest nightgown she'd worn when last I saw her, she wore Brand's white silk shirt, cinched around her waist by a braided leather whip. Her cheeks were flushed red, her lips swollen and dark.

The oversized shirt hung to the middle of her thighs and her legs were bare. For a woman almost my age, her limbs were rather shapely; I was particularly struck by the superb design of her feet and toes. The Divine Author was also an excellent architect, though it could be that my thoughts were pushed in this direction by my stumbling attempts at movement now that one of my 'feet' was no bigger around than a coat button.

Gale climbed onto deck and wasted little time accessing the situation. A strong wind filled the remaining sails and pushed us forward. "Mako, take the wheel!" she barked. "Where's Rigger! What happened to the mainsail?"

"Rigger's hurt!" shouted Sage, as she cradled her brother's head in her lap. "He pushed himself too hard and it's all my fault!"

"We're being pursued by Rott," Sorrow said to Gale. "I advise that you take us back to the material realm. Perhaps Abyss can intervene to halt his restless advance."

"And I advise you to go back to your quarters and wait," said Gale. "A full span of daylight must pass between our jumps. We can't make the journey back until nightfall."

"Six hours to go," said Brand, glancing down at a pocket watch as he emerged onto the deck. He was as sweaty as Gale, and his shirtless back was covered with scratch marks.

Suddenly, there was flapping overhead. I looked up to see Infidel and Menagerie coming toward me. "If we've got wind, I guess I'm done," she said.

Bigsby didn't approve of them quitting. He chased after them, shaking his fists, yelling, "I didn't tell you to stop!"

Gale casually stuck out a leg to trip Bigsby as he ran past. She pinned him beneath her foot as she said, "Anyone want to tell me how this dwarf got on board?"

"Ah, right," said Brand, running his hand through his hair. "You weren't really yourself when I made introductions. This is my, uh, my... sister. Princess Innocent Brightmoon."

I stopped paying attention. I'd already heard this conversation, and I happened to know that the true Princess Innocent Brightmoon was present and accounted for. As Infidel landed, I threw my arms around her. She hugged me back, though only for a brief instant. "Sorry," she said, turning her face away, her voice catching in her throat.

"Are you crying?"

"Gagging," she said. "You stink. Like, seriously. Some of that dragon goo has seeped into you."

Sorrow approached. "Indeed. I saw it – and smelled it – when I examined your leg. I'll continue to repair your physical form while I can, but I fear you may not last much more than another day or two. The wood I crafted you from is rotting at an accelerated pace. I can replace bits as they fall off, but as the last fragments of the original binding decay, so too, will the enchantment fail."

"Speaking of binding... ," said Infidel, dropping the shaft of the Gloryhammer into her gauntlet with a rather menacing slap. "What have you done to my husband, Sorrow?"

"In fairness, I didn't know he was your husband. He was merely a wandering spirit discovered at random by my soul-catcher. A lost soul was required to animate my golem. He didn't reveal his true identity until later."

"Because you wouldn't let me write!" I protested. "For that matter, you could have built me with a tongue."

"Conversations with lost souls are tedious affairs," Sorrow explained.

"Stop saying I was lost!" I said. "I was following Infidel."

"I knew it," Infidel said. "I could feel you beside me. I never had any doubt."

"The two of you should be grateful to me for making this brief reunion possible," said Sorrow, crossing her arms.

I began to peel off my clothes. They fell apart at the seams as I tugged on them. "Tossing these rags overboard will help with my general ripeness. I'll also dip back into the Sea of Wine to try to wash more of the stink off me; the wine didn't hurt me before. Maybe alcohol will slow my decay. That was my theory in life, at least."

"Cold also slows decay," said Sorrow. "We can use the Jagged Heart to chill you after you return from your bath. The cold shouldn't harm you. But let's not fool ourselves. We'll never completely remove Rott's curse. Decay was built into your body from the start." She looked down at her withered left hand. "Just like everyone else. Now that you two are reunited, I advise that you treat your remaining time together as brief."

Sorrow took one last glance at me as she turned away. Then, she whirled back around, her eyebrows raised as she examined the staves of my barrel chest. "By the thirteenth nail," she whispered, sounding dazed. But while her eyes were fixed and motionless, her hand was busily searching the folds of her cloak. She pulled out a small silver rod that melted in her grasp, flowing like mercury to coat her hand with a thin glove of precious metal. She gingerly probed my chest to wiggle free a black shard embedded in the boards. Her gauntlet instantly turned dark gray with tarnish.

"What is it?" I asked.

"A fragment of Rott's tooth," she whispered as she looked at the object, roughly the size and shape of a man's middle finger.

"Yeah. He snagged me as I first went in."

She produced a golden coin and coated the black shard with a thin layer of the precious metal. "Gold will seal it," she said. "It can withstand corruption better than any other metal."

"Funny," said Infidel. "I thought gold was the chief cause of corruption."

I almost asked what Sorrow intended to do with the shard, but decided I'd rather not know the answer.

"You should see to your bath," said Sorrow, not looking at me.

Infidel assisted as I tied a rope around myself and slipped down into the wine. The ship now moved at a good clip through the sea. The waves buffeted me, and I climbed out mere moments after I went in, lest the current tear me apart. As I inched my way back up the rope, I watched with morbid fascination as pale white worms writhed free of the wood of my limbs. The wine had left them drunk or poisoned. They fell away, vanishing into the burgundy beneath me, leaving me filled with tiny holes.

I made it back to the deck, utterly sodden.

"How do I smell now?" I asked, as the wine puddled around me.

"Just like you used to," said Infidel, as she wrapped me in her embrace.

# 11 - I COULD OPEN THE DOOR

WE LAY IN the bed, my coconut skull resting on Infidel's outstretched arm. We'd been talking for hours with a lightness that might have struck others as curious given our greater circumstances. But, our marriage was built first and foremost on friendship. We'd loved each other chastely for over a decade, separated by my cowardice and Infidel's former powers. When she'd been as strong as a dragon, she'd been afraid to even hug me for fear of maiming me. My new wooden carcass was equally useless for intimacy. If our relationship had been built merely on lust, it couldn't have endured the strange barriers fate had constructed between us. Fortunately, deeper bonds held us together.

So it was ironic that we were talking about falling apart.

"Fixing your leg wasn't a problem. Why can't we do that when the rest of you rots away? Can't we just keep changing parts?" she asked, tracing my seed-pod ears with her fingers.

"I don't know," I buzzed, wishing I could whisper, or convey any tone at all. "Perhaps I'll continue being a ghost. Or perhaps I'll simply fade away."

She swallowed.

I said, "When I first... died, I, uh, I had an... experience. It's tough to describe. I felt like I was part of the larger universe. I felt like my... my energy had been concentrated in my old body, and now that it had been cut loose I was... dissipating. Spreading out. Like I was everywhere at once, a tiny part of everything. It wasn't... it wasn't scary. I felt at peace. I felt connected to something bigger than myself."

"And you think that will happen again?" She stared up at the beams of the ceiling, then closed her eyes. "It doesn't sound so bad."

"No," I said. "But it doesn't sound even half as good as staying with you."

"I want you to be with me too," she said.

"But what if I can't? What if the next time I slip free from the world I don't come back?"

"Then I'll miss you and remember you," said Infidel, stoically. "We face the same future as every other marriage. The day comes when one of the spouses is no longer around. When brides and grooms say, 'Til in death we part,' they don't know if they are making a promise for fifty years or fifty seconds. We just... we just have a little more information than most people do."

This was another reason I loved her. Underneath her swaggering bravado, beneath the mask of her daredevil grin, Infidel was a person who understood her limits. She'd always accepted there were some fights too big for her. Unlike Sorrow, she'd never decided to avenge herself against the father who'd wronged her, or declare war on the church that pursued her. She'd merely declared herself done with their madness, and carved her life anew.

Infidel nudged aside a loose barrel slat on my chest and peered into the darkness.

"So it's costing you energy to animate this body?"

"That's what Sorrow says. I don't really feel any different."

"But you could be free if you weren't trapped inside that silver bug?"

"Actually, I've been able to slip out of the mosquito. Now I'm trapped by the golden cage that forms this body's heart."

Infidel stared into the center of my chest for several long seconds.

"I could open the door," she said.

I didn't hesitate for even a second. "The best moment of my life was the moment I opened my heart to you. Do it."

For a fleeting instant, I regretted the words. We were messing with magic neither of us understood. But it was too late to protest as her slender hand slipped into my hollow chest and found the cage. I heard a tiny click as the door opened.

Infidel carefully withdrew her fingers. "Did that do anything? Are you free?"

I didn't answer. Though I heard her, once more I had shrunk down within my enchanted body, becoming a tiny homunculus standing beside the silver mosquito, staring at the open door of the cage.

I walked to the lip. Through the slats I could see Infidel's chest pressed next to mine, her white and silver armor gleaming in the faint light cast by the Gloryhammer, which was floating the corner, draped with a sheet to soften its glow.

I stepped out of the cage.

Instantly, the silver wires that pierced my spiritual body fell free. I was once more a full sized phantom floating above the bed. The room seemed subtly different than the one I'd been in mere seconds before. For one thing, the room now possessed color. The bruise on Infidel's brow had a blue tint rimmed by a jaundiced yellow. The quilt we lay upon was a patchwork of a dozen faded green hues. The air in the room had been mostly dead to me before, but now smelled of wine, mixed with a shore at low-tide.

My wooden body lay completely limp. Infidel shook its shoulder. "Stagger?"

"I'm okay," I said. "I'm here." Of course, she didn't hear me.

"Stagger?" she asked again, staring desperately into my pecans as tears welled in her eyes.

Willingly, I flew back into the wooden body, shrinking as I approached the cage. I stepped through the open door and the silver wires snaked to life and jabbed into me once more. I turned and found the cage door remained open. Was I now able to come and go as I pleased?

For now, I was more focused on the coming than the going. I felt my life force move into every fiber of the rotting wood. My coconut skull shifted on my shoulders as I brought my gaze to hers.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm still here."

She hugged me tightly, as her tears came in earnest.

She regained her composure a moment later. "Good," she whispered. "Good. Because... I know you can't stay forever. But... but I don't want you to go yet."

Before I could tell her I wasn't planning on going anywhere, the door to our room swung open.

"I've finished preparing the bands of negation," Sorrow said, poking her head around the door. "Do you want to take part in the questioning?"

"Don't you knock?" Infidel asked, propped up on one elbow to look over me. "What if we'd been naked?"

"He is naked," said Sorrow. "Just come as you are. Gale says she'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

Infidel had never taken off her armor since the fight. We hoped that the magic that kept it immaculate would protect her from any lingering death juice that might seep from my pores. When I rose from the bed, I couldn't help but notice I left behind a faint outline of sawdust. There were tiny things with tiny jaws within me, grinding me down. This is true of all men, I suppose. I remember the same feeling from ten years ago when I'd first noticed how much hair I was leaving in my comb.

At the end of the hall, Sorrow stood in the main hold. Purity was tied to a simple wooden chair. The left side of her face was bruised where I'd clocked her. She'd been stripped of her armor and dressed in one of Gale's nightgowns. Her arms were bound behind her; her feet were tied to the legs of the chair. Surrounding her were several concentric circles of iron stretching out to a full five feet around her. I saw no signs of torture, but Purity stared at the floor with an empty gaze, as if all will had drained from her.

I was curious as to what was so important that Gale wasn't here already. It seemed like a good time to test my powers now that my heart cage was open. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms as if I was merely waiting. Satisfied that my body was propped up sufficiently, I abandoned the cage.

It worked. I flew free once more, ghosting through the wall into what I thought was Gale's room. Only, instead of Gale's room, I found I was in the bunkroom that Mako, Rigger, and Jetsam shared. Mako and Jetsam stood together next to their bunks, their ears pressed to the wall.

I realized where I'd gotten turned around and flashed through the further wall and found Gale speaking to Brand. I'd obviously caught them in mid-conversation.

"— Unforgivable," she said. Gale was dressed once more in her captain's garb. Her long heavy coat looked uncomfortable in the sweltering confines of the room, but I had to admit she was an imposing figure in her full uniform. The padding gave her broad shoulders, adorned with gleaming brass buttons. Her buccaneer boots made her feet look heavy and solid, as if nothing in the world could push her over. Her hair was pulled back into a tight knot. Her eyes were hard and emotionless. She was standing with her hands behind her back, her posture rigid and formal.

Brand was seated on a low stool before her. He hung his head, looking like a scolded puppy.

"You're fired as my dryman," said Gale, in a calm tone.

"How about as your lover?" Brand said, managing a grin.

"Love was never part of our relationship. I've physical cravings. You satisfied them adequately, and were compensated for your trouble. It won't be difficult to replace you."

He shook his head. "I don't think you mean that."

"Are you saying you're a better judge of my true feelings than I am?"

"I think I might be, yeah," he said. "I mean, I knew when you first laid eyes on me that you wanted me for more than just my skills at haggling. But I didn't enter your bed because you offered me a job. I took one look at you and knew I was in the presence of a true woman, a creature of the world. I've looked into the eyes of many a young naïf and found them to be nothing but shallow pools. Your eyes were oceans, and I've loved swimming in your depths. I've come to know your soul, Gale."

Captain Roamer sighed. "Yesterday, I might have found such flattery charming. Now, it only adds to the evidence that you're nothing but a silver-tongued scoundrel. Bringing a stowaway onto my ship? What were you thinking? I'd have tossed you into the Sea of Wine already, but I can't help but be curious as to what your game is."

"Bigsby's my brother," Brand said, shrugging his shoulders. "I couldn't just leave him."

"Don't you mean sister?" Gale said sarcastically. "I'm not ignorant of Silver Isle politics. King Brightmoon has no son named Steadfast. And Bigsby's been selling fish in Commonground for longer than Princess Innocent has been missing. If you must lie, why lie so clumsily?"

Brand sighed. "Look, if I want to lie, I swear I can come up with a more plausible yarn than this one. I can't tell you what my game is because there is no game. I've just been reacting to events that even I find difficult to believe."

Gale crossed her arms. "Go on."

"Here's the simple truth," said Brand. "Bigsby is my brother, though we've never met before two days ago. My real name is Brand Cooper. I'm the son of Perfect Cooper, founder of the Cooper Barrel Works."

Gale looked skeptical. I was a little dubious myself. Cooper Barrel Works made half the barrels in the Shining Lands. Perfect Cooper was a very wealthy man.

"My father is quite old," said Brand. "Five years ago, he fell into a seizure while on the toilet. We found him barely alive. He survived, but was a changed man. He was too weak to walk for almost a year. He couldn't even talk for over a month, but when he did regain his powers of speech, he told me quite the tale."

Gale tilted her head. "And now I suppose you'll tell me a tale."

"My father has worked hard to live up to his name. He's famous throughout the realms because the quality of his product is unmatched. I was raised with this same eye toward perfection, trained in both body and mind to be flawless. But, in the grip of his malady, too weak to lift his limbs, Father confessed that he'd been a fool to demand perfection from mere human flesh. He told me of his greatest shame; almost thirty years before I'd been born, his first wife had given birth to his first son. Unfortunately, the child had been born with stunted limbs. His wife had died during the birth, and father had ordered the mid-wife to smother the baby. He couldn't bear the thought of the Cooper name being attached to a dwarf.

"The mid-wife vowed to follow his wishes and took the child from his home. Only, she had other plans for the baby. Circuses paid good money for freaks. In the months that followed, she carelessly displayed signs of newfound wealth. Father accused her of stealing from him. She confessed to having sold the infant."

"And you think Bigsby's that child?" asked Gale.

Brand nodded. "My father kept his secret for almost two decades. He remarried twice, but lost child after child to stillbirths. I thought I was the only child to have survived. But, on what he thought might be his deathbed, he told me his dark secret. He knew the name of the circus, and the date the child had been sold. He wanted me to find my missing brother and bring him home.

"Thus began my grand adventure. The circus my brother had been sold to had disbanded years before. The acts had all joined other outfits. It took me several years to follow all the leads. At first, I looked down upon the people I spoke too. I'd lived a sheltered life and been convinced of my superiority to vagabond performers. Eventually, I saw their world was far richer than the comfortable cage of my own upbringing. My father lived in luxury but had never been happy; the performers lived with hardship, yet had joyous hearts.

"I joined the circus. After I was accepted by my fellow performers, I finally learned the truth of my brother's whereabouts. He was called Bigsby, and he'd fled to Commonground after being accused of murder. I went to the docks to find passage to the Isle of Fire. Unfortunately, I didn't have a single coin in my pockets. I had a purse full of moons when I first left home, but as that money ran out, I discovered I could get by with charm alone. I heard rumors that your ship was in port to ferry a passenger to Commonground, but from what I knew of Wanderers, it was unlikely that mere charm would gain me passage. As fate would have it, I also heard that you needed a dryman and decided to take my chances. When we met, I knew I'd be setting sail with you. It was love at first sight."

"Merely lust," said Gale, crossing her arms. "Assuming I believe you, why does Bigsby think he's the princess? Why are you peddling this absurd lie?"

"I don't know. He suffered severe trauma when Greatshadow attacked Commonground. In his mind, the dwarf known as Bigsby is dead, and the princess has awakened to reclaim her birthright. When I called him Bigsby, he acted crazy. I mean, crazier. Like he was going to hurt himself. He stays relatively manageable as long as I play along with his fantasy. I'm hoping that he remembers his true identity before we return home."

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

"Events have their own momentum. You weren't aboard when I brought Bigsby back to the Freewind. I wasn't certain you'd welcome an unpaid passenger who was both a freak and insane. In retrospect, my hopes that he'd stay quiet and hidden until we made it back to the Silver Isles were perhaps naïve."

Gale sighed, rubbing her temples. "Perhaps. I wish you'd been honest. Things might have worked out differently. As it is... the best I can do is spare your lives. I'll put you off the ship at the next port."

"But—"

"This is mercy, Brand. It's more than I'd show anyone else in your circumstances."

"So you do still have feelings for me?" he asked.

"If I do, I assure you, they are not feelings you want me to give voice to. For now, be content that you're merely fired instead of facing sterner justice."

"I'm more than content," said Brand. "I'm joyous. I should never have accepted the job as your dryman."

Gale turned to leave. "Then we're of the same opinion."

He spoke before her hand fell on the wooden handle that opened the door. "Only if we both agree that there was something real between us. I should never have accepted your offer of employment since I knew when I saw you I wanted something more. The relationship of a boss to an employee is always going to be tainted by the power one holds over the other. To woo you properly, I must approach you as an equal."

"You aren't my equal," she sighed. "Despite your claims of inherited wealth, you're a penniless vagabond, while I am a ship's captain, responsible for my family and my business. Despite my ill turn of fortune due to these accursed slave wars, I'm respected as an honest woman. I've fought hard to ensure that my name means something in this world. I'm not certain I believe your story, but, if it's true, you've just admitted to pissing away your fathers money and amusing yourself among carnies rather that staying focused on your mission. You're irresponsible."

He shrugged, "Opposites attract."

Gale closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I enjoyed you, Brand. It's been ten years since Rudder passed away. Oh, there was a man."

Brand nodded, though she couldn't see it.

She continued, "I've had no time for romance since he died. I've had quite a few Wanderer's court me – good men, good captains. But I'm too old to entangle my life with a man my age, with his own family and ship. I'm proud of the life I've made for myself; I've no interest in starting anew."

"You deserve to be proud," said Brand.

Gale shook her head. "I don't deserve anything. Nothing good can come of me thinking the world owes me some reward."

"The Gale Romer I know wouldn't indulge herself with pity."

Gale turned from the door to face him once more. "Pity has nothing to do with my feelings. Unlike you, I've experienced genuine love. Rudder was my life. Love wasn't merely sweet whispers or shared desire. We were bonded so strongly we felt like one being. We were two halves of the same whole. You can't know what losing him felt like."

"I don't pretend I can," said Brand. "But no matter who you were then, now, you're your own woman."

"Am I?" She crossed her arms. "My dryman at the time of Rudder's death was a man five years my senior named Hunter. We had a completely professional relationship. He would never have violated my trust. We worked together on running this ship side by side, day after day. We were the best of friends. And then... then one night, I was a little drunk on wine, and I decided we should be more than friends."

"You sound so guilty about it," said Brand. "But you were both adults. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"In your eyes," she said. "We kept our relationship secret for a time, unsure how my children would react. But, you know I enjoy... I like...." Her voice trailed off.

"A little role-playing," said Brand.

Her cheeks flushed red. "We were in the galley. We thought all the children were above deck. Hunter had me pressed up against the pantry with my arms bound behind my back with my blouse. I was making mock protests as he explored my body. And then... and then Levi walked in."

"Your oldest son."

Gale nodded. "I... I know how it must have looked to Levi. But... he'd known Hunter for years. He should have trusted that Hunter was no rapist. Instead, he grabbed a butcher's knife from the block and plunged it into Hunter's back."

Brand rose from the stool and looked as if he were going to hug Gale. She pressed her right hand into his chest and forced him back down.

"I lost a son that day. I was so angry with Levi that he ran off. He now serves with the Stormguard. The Stormguard! My mortal enemies!"

Brand shrugged. "But this was before the Pirate Wars started. He wasn't betraying you then."

Gale gave a small, bitter laugh. "Oh Brand. Listen to me, still talking about Levi. He's dead to me. Dead." She gave him a stern look. "And he wasn't the point of my story at all."

"Then what was your point?" Brand asked.

"My point is that you're an attractive man who smells fantastic and happens to be a genius in the sack. I liked playing with you. But the only reason I've let you in my bed is that you aren't my equal. You're so obviously a toy. A trinket."

"A treasure?" Brand offered.

"A diversion. You're someone I could play with. Your presence might embarrass my children, but it didn't threaten them. They knew I wasn't taking you on as their new father."

"I'm not sure Mako felt that way."

"Mako's young. He's still trying to figure out how to project strength so that he can one day command his own ship. One day, he'll figure it out. Meanwhile, the rest of the Wanderer clans might hear that I was fooling around with you, but they wouldn't be gossiping about how families might get woven together and shipping interests merged. There are no political repercussions to bedding you. If you'd been my equal, Brand, I wouldn't have wanted you. I could only let you touch me because you were so inconsequential."

Brand's shoulders sagged. "You really are an expert with your tongue, aren't you?"

"You and the dwarf can bunk in the forecastle until we get back home. Keep out of my sight. The less I see you, the less I'll be inclined to change my mind about you."

"And take me back?" asked Brand.

"And keelhaul you," she said.

With this, she turned, and left her cabin.

In the hall, she met Mako, who was closing his door behind him. Mako grinned as he gave a nod of greeting. It was obvious from his satisfied expression that he'd heard every word. Gale scowled at him. If her eyes had been daggers, Mako would have bled.

# 12 - SOULS SNUFFED OUT

I FLEW BACK into my wooden body as the two Romers marched into the room. Without pausing for pleasantries, Mako grabbed Purity by the hair and pulled her head back so that she faced Gale. He tugged with such force that the front two legs of the wooden chair lifted up.

Purity's eyes remained dull as she stared at Captain Romer, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back, in the same formal posture she'd used when addressing Brand. A single whale-oil lantern above Purity's head lighted the room. The reflected flame danced in Gale's eyes.

"I threatened to keelhaul you in the Sea of Wine," said Gale, in a cool, firm tone. "I may yet. However, you've so far had the good luck not to inflict a single substantial injury on any member of my family. We've killed a dozen of your minions and captured the rest. Given the pathetic nature of your menace, if you cooperate and answer our questions, I'll spare your life."

Purity's unfocused eyes showed no hint of understanding.

Gale tried her speech again, switching to Skelling. The woman still didn't react.

"She has no reason to answer us," grumbled Mako as he let go of her hair. He came around and grabbed Purity by the chin and turned her gaze toward his. He pulled his lips back to reveal his toothy jaws. "She'll be more cooperative if you let me chew on her a bit. Maybe her left ear should go first?"

"Stand aside," said Sorrow, pushing Mako away. She crouched before the woman and looked deeply into her eyes. She shook her head slowly. "Something's wrong. I've seen this look before."

"Where?" said Gale.

"Among the Skellings. I told you I've traveled to the Isle of Grass. I barely survived my visit. Among the Skellings, women are treated as little more than cattle. There are no words in their language for romantic love. Marriage is indistinguishable from a master/slave relationship. I tried to help these women escape their oppressors, but couldn't. They'd endured such abuse that many of these women have literally had their souls snuffed out. They become empty shells, alive on an animalistic level, but devoid of free will."

"The other women we've imprisoned do seem unusually passive," said Gale.

"They're despondent in defeat," said Mako. "They were active enough when they were trying to chop our heads off."

I once more leaned against the wall and leapt from my body. All living things possess an internal light that my ghostly eyes can sense, though it's often so faint that I don't notice it in good lighting. Here in the dimly lit hold, everyone in the room possessed a spiritual aura save for our captive. Her body had barely more light than the chair she was tied to. Her aura was a faint, flickering indigo.

I flashed back into my wooden body just in time to catch it before it toppled over.

"I can verify this woman has no soul," I said.

"How can you know that?" asked Mako.

"My eyes are different than yours." I didn't want to hint to Sorrow that I could escape her cage at will.

"Soul or no soul, if she's willful enough to attack our ship, she's willful enough to avoid pain," said Mako, gnashing his teeth. "She will answer our questions."

Infidel interrupted. "Hey, what happened to her sword? I grabbed it off the deck earlier."

"We secured it while you were unconscious," said Mako.

"Bring it here," she said.

"You've no rightful claim to it," said Gale. "It was used in an unjust assault on this ship. By the code of the Wanderers, the sword is mine."

Infidel closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm not trying to take the damn sword. I've got a hunch. I'm the only person on this ship who regularly fights using a weapon crafted from the body of a primal dragon. When I use it, I feel... it's tough to describe, but it's like an energy flows into me. I can feel it all the way to my toes. And it's not just a physical thing. For lack of a better description, I feel it spiritually as well."

"What's your point?" asked Mako.

"Since the Ice-Moon Blade is part of Hush, what if it does something similar? What if... I don't know... it empowers Purity?"

Gale nodded toward Mako. "It's worth a shot. Bring it."

Mako left, muttering, his eyes narrowed. He returned moments later with the blade in his hand.

"I feel nothing when I hold the blade," he said, though his breath came out in a fog.

"You've a strong soul," I said. "Maybe its effects can only be felt by the weak."

"Careful," said Sorrow, taking the blade after coating her hands with silver to insulate herself. She knelt and placed the blade on the first band of negation. Nothing happened. Methodically, she moved the blade closer. The final band was only three inches from the captured woman's foot. As the barest edge of the blade crossed this threshold, frost suddenly painted the walls of the room.

The bound woman inhaled deeply, lifting her sagging head. Her irises, dark brown moments before, were now pale blue. She chuckled softly as her eyes fixed on Infidel.

"Ivory Blade," she said, smirking. "I never doubted you were on board."

Infidel stepped closer to Gale, so that Purity could better see her.

"People call me Infidel, not Ivory. If you really want to talk to Ivory, you're going to need a necromancer."

Purity pressed her lips tightly together, looking confused and disappointed.

"Why did you want Ivory Blade?" asked Gale.

"He stole the Jagged Heart from us! We cannot rest until it is recovered."

"The Jagged Heart didn't belong to you," said Infidel. "It belonged to the ice-ogres."

"It belonged to Hush," said Purity. "I'm her final prophet."

"Hush is a dragon, not a god," said Gale. "What use has she for prophets?"

"Hush isn't a god," said Purity. "She's the god. She's the great unifier, the secret truth beneath all of creation. She's eternal silence and eternal peace. It's my sacred duty to usher in her final reign."

"The ogres worship Hush as a goddess as well," said Infidel. "I was friends with the priestess you stole the Jagged Heart from. If you both worship the same god, why couldn't you just have asked politely to use the harpoon?"

"The ogres are unworthy, impure beings," said Purity, wrinkling her nose. "I tolerate them merely as pawns. They know nothing of Hush's true peace."

Gale shook her head. "If you value peace, why attack my ship unprovoked?"

"If you'd turned Ivory Blade over to us, no one would have been harmed."

"You do see the underlying flaw in that argument?" asked Infidel.

"I have only your word that Blade's dead," said Purity. "Assuming it's true, I would also assume that you are now my most likely lead to reclaiming the Jagged Heart."

Gale and Sorrow remained poker-faced. Infidel looked like she was about to say something, then didn't. She frowned slightly. If we'd been playing cards, this would be the moment I went all in.

Apparently I wasn't the only one good at reading her expressions.

"It's here?" Purity asked, as passion returned to her voice. She sat fully upright in the chair. "The Jagged Heart is aboard this ship?"

"No," said Infidel. "I don't know where it is. Blade was already dead when I took his armor."

"You're a terrible liar," said Purity.

"And you're tied to a chair while your followers are confined by manacles," said Gale. "Infidel isn't the one being questioned here. You are."

"Ask what you wish," said Purity. "Only the guilty have anything to hide."

"First, who are you really?" asked Sorrow. "Why does everyone call you Purity? Purity was an ancient witch, but I found her grave. She died ages ago."

"Ancient?" Purity chuckled. "Do I look ancient to you?"

Sorrow shook her head. "No. You're what? Thirty-five? Forty? And, if you were the real Purity, you wouldn't have needed the sword to do your ice magic. You'd have the power embedded in your skull. But I've felt your scalp. There's not a single nail in it."

The bound woman laughed.

"What so funny?" asked Sorrow.

"You and your ridiculous scalp, studded with nails. You truly believe these to be the source of your power?"

"I've empirical evidence that they work, yes."

"You know nothing of true magic," said Purity.

"Enlighten me," said Sorrow.

"True magic is passion. True magic is hatred and anger and the thirst for revenge. This is the power that binds me to this world two centuries after my first death."

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought Sorrow held her head a little higher upon hearing this definition of true magic.

Gale, on the other hand, looked exasperated. "Make up your mind. Are you after revenge or peace? You can't have both."

"Don't be foolish," said Purity. "Revenge fits peace like a hand fits a glove."

"If you've nothing to hide," said Sorrow, "tell us everything. If you don't use nails to gain your power, what is the source?"

"I've told you," said Purity. "Hatred binds me. When I was thirteen, Skellings attacked my village. I watched them disembowel my father while they raped my mother. Due to my youth and beauty, I was spared the worst of their violence. I was taken as a prize and presented to the Skelling overlord. His name was Gorg. He weighed three hundred pounds and smelled of rotten teeth. I was given to him on the eve of the winter solstice; it was considered good fortune for a Skelling warlord to deflower an innocent on that night. He was not gentle." Purity shook her head slowly, as if trying to fight back the memory.

"I'm sorry this fate befell you," said Sorrow. "I know all too well the cruelty of men. I intend to create a world where such things happen no more."

Purity's haunted expression changed to one of amusement. She chuckled softly. "You shall fail, little witch. Are you as blind as I was? Sheltered and protected, ignorant of the truth of the world?"

"My life has been anything but sheltered."

"Then release your dreams of a just world to the winds. They are of no more value than dust. The core of life is pain and violence. You can no more strip cruelty from the heart of man than you can peel thunder from lightning. I learned this truth well on the night Gorg tore my flesh with his violent lusts. A weaker woman would have withered when faced with such a horrifying truth, to know that nothing compels the strong to have mercy upon the weak. I, on the other hand, embraced the truth. The world belongs to those strong enough to take it. I killed Gorg with his own dagger. I gouged his eyes from his fat face, then ran into the night, losing myself in the wild, frozen wastes of the Isle of Grass."

"I've experienced those wastes," said Sorrow. "You're lucky to have survived, especially during the winter solstice."

"But I didn't survive," said Purity. "I ran until I could no longer move my legs, then fell numb and senseless in the snow. My soul slipped loose of my body and I found myself alone, all alone, on an endless plain of ice. The sky above was bright with crisp stars. There was no wind. Never had I listened to such silence. I could see my lifeless body at my feet, the skin a pale blue white. I was draped in nothing but a bearskin blanket. My naked feet and hands had turned black. Frozen blood crusted my face, though I cannot say whether this was my blood, or Gorg's.

"I turned from my body and began to walk. That weak slab of meat and bone no longer felt important to me. I journeyed for a very long time. My feet left no trace upon the snow. The quiet absorbed my every thought. All the pain of life slowly faded from memory. Not just the abuse I'd suffered, but the tiny pains, the small day to day agonies that accompany a body, the pangs of hunger or thirst, the needle pricks of heat and cold. I was free. Truly free, in a world where all was black and white, where peace was the final solution. The one heartache I felt, the one pain, was to think that all the living world was denied such a heaven."

"No offense, but your afterlife sounds kind of boring," said Infidel. "I've been to a couple of dead lands counting the one we're in. Both had dragons, and definitely weren't dull."

"Ah," said Purity. "My afterlife had a dragon as well. Whether I walked for hours or years I cannot guess, but as I journeyed a shape rose on the horizon. As I grew closer I found a giant mountain of ice carved into a dragon. I entered through the mouth. Within this mountain there were tunnels. I explored them, drawn by a force I did not yet understand. In the center of the mountain, where a true dragon's heart would have been, I found an altar. Upon this altar was the Ice-Moon Blade. When I lifted it, my soul was pulled inside. Hush whispered to me. Then I woke.

"I was in a new body. It was springtime on the Isle of Grass, and the fields were covered in yellow flowers. In the placid melt-water of a nearby pool I saw that I was now a woman in her fifties. She was half lame and blind in her right eye as a result of beatings. I had only the faintest echo of her memories. She'd found the Ice-Moon Blade in a streambed where it had washed down from the glaciers. My spirit now filled a body whose original soul had withered long ago.

"I murdered her husband and his brothers, even her sons who treated her as no more than a slave. Eventually I was caught and killed. My soul once more retreated into the sword. What happened in the intervening gap I don't know, but a dozen years later a young woman, merely fourteen touched the blade. She'd suffered a miscarriage after being kicked in the belly by her father. I rode her for a long time, and killed many men as I mastered the true power of the Ice-Moon Blade. Eventually, that body fell. To this day, the Skellings call her grave my grave. Since then, nine different women have carried my soul."

"This one shall be your last," said Mako.

"Truly? Kill this body if you wish. Drag it in the Sea of Wine for all I care. My soul will always fly free and return to the blade."

Sorrow looked at me. "Looks like you aren't the only bodiless soul aboard. Maybe Rott wasn't after you. A two hundred year old soul is probably a tastier meal."

Purity shook her head. "Do you seek to intimidate me with talk of the dragon of decay? I'm the prophet of Hush. Her power is greater than that of entropy. She is timeless. She existed before all, and will endure beyond all. From eternal cold, dark and silent, the world has flickered. Now it sputters; soon it fades. The hush of an unending winter night is the only true eternity."

"The other primal dragons would argue with that," said Gale. "Certainly the sea is eternal; Abyss is more powerful than Hush."

Purity shook her head. "The sea shall freeze, go silent, and find peace. The oceans are merely restless ice. One day they shall slumber."

"I wouldn't be so cavalier about Rott. Death is forever," I said, aware of the irony that I should make such an argument.

"In the cold, even death loses power. Decay ceases. Entropy grinds to a halt."

"For a little while," said Infidel, raising the Gloryhammer. "But sooner or later, the sun will rise again."

"The sun?" growled Purity. "Glorious, the dragon of the sun, shall be the first to die when the Jagged Heart is in my grasp."

"What?" asked Mako, sounding amused. "You're going to go jab the sun with a harpoon?"

"Killing it forever, yes," said Purity.

Mako no longer looked amused. His brow furrowed as he looked at his mother. "That, uh, can't happen, can it?"

Infidel cleared her throat, "When I was in Greatshadow's realm, he told me that the Jagged Heart was created when Hush fell in love with Glorious and had her advances rebuffed. The bad blood goes back a long way."

"This is stupid," said Mako. "How does one harpoon the sun?"

"You can't," said Sorrow. "Not in the material world. But in the abstract realms?"

I buzzed in with my paper tongue. "Aurora told me the Jagged Heart had the power to open the door to an abstract realm. Something called the Great Sea Above. It's like heaven for ice-ogres."

"I say it can't happen," said Mako, crossing his arms.

"I dunno," said Infidel. "Greatshadow said the harpoon could have killed him. The abstract realms follow the same rules as dreams. Anything's possible."

"No," said Sorrow. "Not anything. It's not dreams that lie beneath the abstract realms; it's myth. Myths are symbolic, resonant truth. Dreams don't have to make sense. Myths must make more sense than actual reality."

"I get that dreams are kind of random," said Infidel. "But I hardly would call the myths I learned as a child sensible. I remember one where a wolf disguised himself as an old woman. Not exactly plausible."

"It's not the details that matter," said Sorrow. "It's the message. Myths are the vessels of great truths. They teach us about justice and love and courage. They help define who we are. Every culture I know of has a myth explaining the creation of the world, and foretelling its destruction. The notion that, before there was heat and light, there was cold and darkness, is a pretty common belief. Simple symmetry predicts that if cold was the beginning, it shall also be the end. Myths follow grand cycles. Everything that is created must one day be destroyed."

Mako threw up his hands, utterly frustrated. "So you're telling me it makes sense that someone can stab the sun with a long, pointy stick and kill it? You and I live in very different realities."

Sorrow nodded. "The thing about myths is they tend to overpower reality. The great truths they carry have the power to push aside the more mundane truths of the material world."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard anyone say," said Mako.

"I agree," Sorrow said, with a shrug. "That doesn't make it false. I'm a materialist. My powers come from seeing through the illusions that limit most people when they interact with the material world. Even though my mind is superbly attuned to recognize reality, I live my life in daily pursuit of things that are not real. I search for justice. I follow a code of honor. I pursue fairness and equality. But justice, honor, fairness, equality... these aren't real. They don't exist as measurable objects. If I had a scale, and on one plate sat a single grain of sand, I could not place a single crumb of honor upon the counter plate to balance it. Yet I value these things more than food, shelter, or any comfort. I've pledged my life to advance these causes. Just because something isn't real doesn't mean it isn't true."

"Truth is stark," said Purity, staring at Sorrow. "Truth is hard. And truth is all that matters."

I scratched my coconut skull. I'd heard these words before, from Father Ver. Was it pure coincidence that I'd hear them again? Or was it just evidence that when you stripped away the quibbling details of the various faiths, all fanatics essentially thought alike?

There were three loud bangs on the boards above us that caused everyone to jump.

"Ma!" Jetsam shouted, sounding as if he were kneeling on the deck directly above.

"What?" Gale shouted back.

"Sage said to let you know it was time," shouted Jetsam.

"Thank you," Gale shouted. She looked Purity in the eyes. "You're a very lucky woman. I'm eager to get back to the material world, so, as tempting as it might be, I'm not going to keelhaul you. As for your fantasies of killing the sun, I think it's best we end this now. I'm tossing both your sword and the Jagged Heart overboard before we leave the Sea of Wine. They'll be lost forever."

"No way!" said Infidel. "The Jagged Heart has to go back to Qikiqtabruk. I've made a vow!"

"On this ship, I'm the final judge and authority," said Gale. "Consider yourself released from your vow. The harpoon goes overboard."

Infidel protested, "But Aurora–"

"–wasn't insane," I said, putting my hand on Infidel's shoulder. "Do you really think if she knew what Purity planned to do with the harpoon, she'd handle things any differently?"

"Stagger!" said Infidel. "I'm doing this for you! You're the one who made the promise to Aurora!"

"She was dying." I shrugged. "Was I supposed to say no?"

"So your vow to her was only a convenient lie?"

I crossed my arms. "There's a difference between lying and changing your mind as new information becomes available."

"What of our wedding vows? Were these also words that can be tossed aside as new information becomes available?"

"What?" I asked, feeling dizzy. How had she made the leap to this?

Captain Romer, sensibly, had no patience for our little spat.

"Mako, meet me on the deck with the harpoon."

Infidel placed herself in front of the stairs. "No one is leaving until I've had my say." The hair around her face began to flutter, as if in a strong breeze.

"We know what you have to say," said Gale. "I admire your sense of devotion, but you cannot prevail."

"Anyone who... anyone who tries... tries to get past this door... will find out... how much I... can prevail." Infidel sounded winded. She looked confused. Suddenly, the Gloryhammer slipped from her grasp and her eyes rolled up into her head. I leapt forward, catching her before she hit the floor.

"What just happened?" I asked.

"As she exhaled, I blocked air from flowing back into her lungs, causing her to faint," said Gale. "She'll be good as new in a minute or so."

Mako slipped past both of us and headed down the hall.

Gale turned to Sorrow. "Is the sword safe to carry?"

"For you? I don't think it's a problem. You obviously have a robust soul. I think Purity can only flow into bodies when the host's soul is weak or absent. That's why her army seems so lifeless. She gathered other women with damaged souls to use in case her current body is compromised."

"She might be able to jump into a body even if the sword doesn't touch it," I said. "The sword was knocked from her grasp by Brand earlier. It fell a few feet away but didn't break the link."

"It didn't quite touch her now," said Sorrow. "Fortunately, all her soulless spares are shackled. There's no one she can jump to, even if she can travel more than a few feet from the blade."

Purity listened to all this talk with a blank expression. If her ghost remained inside this body, she wasn't wasting any energy on manipulating the face. Sorrow retrieved the Ice-Moon Blade carefully and handed it to Gale. They both held their breath for a second, then Gale smiled. "I'm still me."

She left the hold, climbing to the deck. I followed, carrying Infidel in my arms. As we emerged into the permanent sunset, her eyes fluttered open.

"What happened?" she asked weakly.

I paused as I looked down at her face. I didn't want to lie to her. But, if I told the truth, she'd be back on her feet, fighting to stop Gale. "You fainted," I said, which was at least partly true.

"I don't remember... were we arguing?" She lifted her fingers to the knot on the side of her head and winced.

"You've just overexerted yourself," I said, sitting her down beside the door to the forecastle. Menagerie flapped over to us and sat beside her, a concerned look in his hound dog eyes.

"I had trouble breathing?" she said, half statement, half question. "I've never fainted before."

I was glad that my coconut face and paper voice lacked expression. Otherwise, she would have instantly sensed how troubled I was as I said, "It was stuffy in the hold. You've not had much to eat since you got injured. You're breathing for two now. You need to take it easy. When we get back home, our first priority is going to be to find someplace where you can live in peace and quiet."

She sighed. "Peace and quiet. It's going to be..."

"Boring?" I asked.

"A nice change," she said, scratching Menagerie on the back of his neck, where fur and feathers intermingled. "I swear, I really don't wake up in the mornings thinking, 'Boy, I can't wait to fight a dragon today!'"

I laughed, or tried to. She smiled.

Then Mako came onto the deck with the Jagged Heart, still wrapped in its frost-covered sail.

Infidel's whole body went stiff as Mako met his mother at the starboard rail. "What are they–?"

"This is for the best," I said, placing my root-hand against her shoulder, pinning her against the boards. "Aurora would understand."

"You son of a bitch," Infidel growled, as her eyes flashed to anger. She thrust her arm toward the Jagged Heart, and shouted, "Fetch!"

Menagerie shot forward like he'd been sitting on a spring just as Mako flipped the sail over the edge, letting it unfurl, sending the harpoon toward the Sea of Wine. Menagerie's ever changing form shifted, his mouth and wings growing bigger, his body smaller and more streamlined as he flapped to full speed. Gale tossed the sword overboard just as Menagerie's jaws clamped onto the shaft of the harpoon. The weight of the harpoon proved too great for his pelican wings and he dropped like a stone, vanishing from my sight over the rail as the sword, too, disappeared.

I stood, spinning from Infidel, suddenly wishing we'd made more of an effort to find out how far Purity's soul could travel from the sword. Because, whatever faint intelligence might yet linger in Menagerie, there was also the very real possibility that he was a body without a soul.

From off the starboard rail came the laughter of a woman, as the bloody sky above us began to snow.

# 13 - LAST, BEST HOPE

WITH A FLAPPING sound like the world's largest swan taking to air, an angel rose next to the Freewind. I use the term angel only because that's what springs to mind when one is confronted with a human body held aloft on giant, feathered wings. Of course, calling the body human was stretching things a bit. The thing that flew above our ship was shaped like a woman, slender and well-muscled, but the limbs and torso were covered in black and tan fur similar to a hound. The woman's hair was a mass of long platinum curls and as the breeze pushed the hair from her face I was shocked to find that her visage bore a striking resemblance to my wife. Menagerie had some of Infidel's blood in him after all.

In the creature's left hand was the Jagged Heart. In the right was the Ice-Moon Blade. The blended thing before us bent back her head and laughed as she flapped to the level of the crow's nest.

"What a marvelous shell!" she said, growing an extra set of arms from beneath her first two as she spoke. "It's as malleable as false matter!" The black and tan fur rippled as it changed to a downy white. The enormous pelican wings were mostly white save for their black tips, but even these faded to the color of new fallen snow. Purity's pale eyes glowed red with the reflected light of the omnidirectional sunsets as she stared down at Gale and Mako.

"I'm almost grateful enough for this protean gift that I'm tempted to let you live," she laughed. "Almost."

She extended the Jagged Heart toward Captain Romer. I turned, intending to grab Infidel and carry her to safety since the Gloryhammer was downstairs in the hold, but Infidel was gone. In the passageway beneath me I heard running footsteps.

The deck above the main hold splintered as Infidel exploded into the air, flashing toward Purity faster than I could follow. She slammed the head of the Gloryhammer into the woman's jaw with a fury that made me wince. Purity's head snapped backward, tearing at the throat, nearly decapitated by the blow. Infidel's momentum carried her skyward, leaving Purity dangling in mid-air for the microseconds it would take for her wings to realize they were dead.

Only, the wings kept flapping. Even as Purity's head continued to tear from its shoulders, a new head grew in its place. Menagerie had been able to change shapes too swiftly for the eye to follow. Purity had inherited this speed.

"That was unpleasant," Purity's new head grumbled as her old head dropped toward the Sea of Wine. High above, Infidel had managed to halt her upward course and was now turning back down for another pass.

If Purity had delayed even a tenth of a second, Infidel might have stopped her. As it was, the four-armed witch waved the Ice-Moon Blade toward the main mast of the Freewind and suddenly there was a full scale iceberg looming above us, the mast caught within its core. Every timber shuddered as the boat began to tilt toward starboard.

Then, with Infidel barely a hundred feet away, Purity swept the Jagged Heart across the sky, cutting open a rip in reality. A black night glittering with stars showed through the gash. Purity flapped her wings to race into this new sky just as Infidel passed through the space where she'd dangled an instant before. Infidel swung her feet down, trying to slow her descent, but I could tell from her speed she was about to smash straight through the deck. Yet before she hit, every rope in sight rose to catch her, forming an impromptu net. She punched through the deck despite this, but it sounded as if she came to a crashing halt below without breaking through the hull.

Not that it much mattered.

The iceberg around the mast weighed at least as much as the ship. The Freewind turned completely on its side as the iceberg crashed into the waves of wine. Everyone on deck was thrown toward the sea.

The last thing I noticed, as I tumbled toward the wine, was that the flies had caught up to us once more. I hit the rail with a jolt that flipped me roots over nuts and the world went dark. An instant later I was submerged, unable to see. Ropes tangled me, halting my further descent. For a panicked moment I struggled, certain I would drown, before the fluid washing about within my barrel chest reminded me that I had no lungs.

Calming myself, I searched the darkness for the red glow of the endless sunset. Instead, everything was black as pitch in all directions. Then, in the distance, I saw a light flicker to life. I turned toward it, and saw that it was a lantern held by a red-haired girl who was standing on the main mast at a 90-degree angle, walking along it like a spider. Cinnamon?

I pushed my head above the surface and the puzzle pieces slipped into place. It wasn't Cinnamon who was sideways, it was the ship. The Freewind was on its side, the masts parallel with the water. And, judging from its grayish hue, this was indeed water. We were no longer in the Sea of Wine. Captain Romer must have triggered our journey back.

I tried to call out to Cinnamon, but my waterlogged tongue failed to produce even a squeak. Not that my ordinarily faint voice was likely to have been heard over the noise all around. It sounded as if there was a waterfall not ten feet behind me, and every timber of the ship was groaning. Add the pops and cracks coming from the sizeable iceberg that loomed in the darkness, plus the general lapping of waves, and it's a wonder that I was able to hear Mako call out, "We're taking in water! Get the main hatch closed!"

I spun around and found the source of the waterfall. The main hatch was indeed open, and given the perpendicular orientation of the deck, the bottom edge of this gaping hole was a good foot below the waves, sinking deeper by the second. Ordinarily, the double hatch doors lay flat against the deck when open, one toward starboard, one toward port. The port door was the half above water. Jetsam appeared from nowhere, swimming through the air in a series of graceful kicks. He released the pin that secured the hatch door to the deck and darted aside as the giant door swung under its own weight to crash shut. Unfortunately, this did nothing to ease the immediate crisis; the starboard half of the hatch was the part taking on water, and this door was beneath the waves.

I let the current carry me to the edge of the hatch, catching myself before I was pulled into the hold. With my wooden fingers stiff and waterlogged, I groped for the outer edges of the door beneath me. I found them, but the wood wouldn't budge; it was no doubt secured by a pin.

Mako appeared in the water beside me, gasping for air. He'd obviously been beneath the water, trying to move the door. "I can't see the damn pin!" he shouted. "Get the lantern closer, Cinnamon!"

Cinnamon turned from studying the ice-bound upper half of the mast and ran along the thick wooden beam with confidence. A rope swung out as she jumped. She landed at a crouch on the looped rope, dangling the lantern down until the base skimmed the waves. The water glowed, pale and ghostly.

Mako sucked in air and dived. I followed, dragging myself down by following the door's edge. I reached the bottom and found Mako trying to free a wooden pin that ran through a small metal ring, securing the door. It was stuck, resisting even his enviable muscles. I reached for it to give aid, but before I drew near he thrust his mouth to the metal ring and bit it in twain. I'd never seen anyone spit underwater, but he managed to do so, sending the fragmented pin and ring tumbling into the dark depths. Mako strained to move the door, which was heavy even in air. Trying to move it through water required more than strong jaws. I braced myself as best I could and got both hands underneath the edge. Slowly, the heavy wooden door began to move. Mako got beneath it, his muscles straining as he added to my efforts. In half a minute we had the hatch jutting out at a right angle to the deck, at which point it was impossible to move it further while we were in the water.

"Where's Rigger?" Mako shouted as he thrust his head up for air. He glanced at Cinnamon on her rope. "He's obviously recovered."

"Well enough," a faint voiced cried off to our left. Rigger was sitting in the doorway of the forecastle. From above, a block and tackle with a sizeable hook lowered toward us. In seconds, Mako had it secured to the door's edge. He and I pushed from below, but Rigger and his pulleys did the real work, lifting the door until it was free of our grasp. It closed into place and Jetsam flitted around the edges, securing a further series of pins that held it shut.

"S-s-so c-cold," Cinnamon said as she wrapped her arms around herself. Everyone was breathing out great puffs of fog, and ice was starting to form on every moist surface.

"Our course was plotted for the artic," Mako said. "Look at the stars! You can tell from the way the Tallship hangs on the horizon that we're well north of the Silver Isles."

I glanced up. Unfortunately, while I was an expert at finding my way through trackless jungles, I was completely lost trying to fix my location via constellations.

"Where's mother?" Rigger asked.

"I don't know," Mako called back. "She was near the main hatch as we capsized. I saw her crouch to touch the deck and trigger our journey back to the real world, but lost sight of her after that."

"Find her," shouted Mako. "Our only hope of saving the ship is to get wind under the sails to push us upright."

I suspected that was a doomed mission. With the masts dipped down into the waves, the canvas sails were spread out beneath the water, their white forms giant, ghostly jellyfish.

"I know that Poppy was in her bunk," Mako said. "Mother, Sage, Infidel, and Sorrow are unaccounted for."

"Also Brand and the princess," said Jetsam.

"And the ice-maidens!" said Cinnamon.

"Abyss take the ice-maidens," growled Mako. "Unless they've become master locksmiths, we know where they are."

The ship groaned as it sank lower in the water. The sound was both physical, caused by the stress applied to ship's beams as it sat at such an unnatural angle, and also spiritual. The ship's ghost was screaming, an incoherent howl of pain that only I seemed aware of.

I tried to speak, but again found my tongue useless. My wooden body was so tangled in rope there was no chance it would sink into the deep. I abandoned it, crossing the threshold of the golden door in my chest and flying free, a phantom once more. Instantly, my ghostly senses returned and the savage chill of the night sliced through me. The Romer's were dressed for a tropical climate. Freed of the sepia hues of my wooden eyes, I could see the blue cast to their lips.

The ship groaned again and with a thought I was at the figurehead, its carved features now twisted in pain.

"I c-can't hold the t-timbers together much longer," Jasmine's ghost stammered. "S-saw off the main mast if you m-must! It's our only h-hope of r-righting the ship!"

"On it," I said.

I ghosted into the ship's hold, to the captured women in their manacles, now thrown against the ship's hull as if it were a floor. It was pitch dark; I could see them splashing around only thanks to my ghostly senses, and even this was a strain. These women's souls were like ash-covered embers, nearly invisible. Fortunately, they possessed at least some will to live, as most struggled to stand. Failing to stand meant drowning; the water in the hold was now hip deep. Those who'd been knocked unconscious by the ship's tumble were being helped by Sage and Sorrow.

Though it was entirely the wrong moment for such an experiment, I had to know. I reached my phantom fingers into the torso of the nearest woman. Would my still vital spirit fill her nearly soulless body?

Alas, whatever trick Purity used to possess others eluded me. I felt no connection with the woman's physical form. My half-formed notion to control her and tell the others to saw the main mast free was thwarted. Worse, my faint hope that I might find a new permanent body should I somehow happen upon a soulless male was dashed almost before I'd even fully conceived it.

I shrugged the failure off. There were more pressing problems. Where was Infidel?

At the thought, the braided wedding band on my hand tugged my arm out. I followed, sensing a connection to the band of hair she wore. I ghosted into the galley. Bags of flour had burst, coating everything in a pale white powder. The air smelled of vinegar, lard, and molasses. Dark gore coated the left side of Infidel's scalp; shards of glass stuck from her hair. She was stretched out on the floor, only, as I made sense of the boat's tilt, I realized she was actually standing, and that the floor was now a wall she leaned against. She stood in shin deep water, conscious, though obviously dazed. The glove of the Immaculate Attire brushed the goop from the side of her head, leaving clean skin in its wake. She wasn't bleeding. Instead, a broken jar of molasses had shattered as it bounced around the small space and was dripping down upon her. Infidel groped for the Gloryhammer beneath the wheat-frosted water, lifting it to cast light on a large splintered hole in the wall. Only, it wasn't the wall, it was the ceiling, turned sideways. This was the hole she'd punched in through. She was close to the waterline, but not quite submerged; icy waves sloshed across the broken boards as the ship pitched.

In a flash, she jumped back through the hole and shot into the air.

"Where's Purity?" she shouted.

"Gone!" Mako shouted back. "The ice is pulling the ship under!"

"Not if I can help it," she called out, landing near the crow's nest, buried beneath at least thirty feet of ice. She planted her boots on the slick surface and swung the Gloryhammer overhead in a two handed grip. With a grunt, she struck, hitting the ice with such force her feet lifted into the air. I raised my hand instinctively to protect my eyes from the flying shards, though, of course, they passed through my phantom form harmlessly. The blow sounded like lightning striking mere yards away, and the crackling that followed had the quality of an electrical storm. Deep cracks ran through the ice and also through the frozen main mast.

The ship screamed like a woman in childbirth as the main mast splintered at its base, then snapped completely. Infidel was thrown back as the iceberg tilted, but the hammer lifted her skyward long before her boots hit the water.

The ship shuddered as it lifted slightly, but failed to right itself. All of its sails were waterlogged, and the rooms beneath on the starboard side were filled with water.

A small hatch on the poop deck suddenly banged open. Captain Romer crawled out, completely drenched. She must have been swept into the hold by the rushing water.

Gale wasted no time. She surveyed the chaos around her and began to bark commands. "Cut all the sails! They're dead weight at this point."

Mako dived into the icy ocean, snapping ropes with his teeth. Between his speed in the water and Rigger's powers, the sails wouldn't weigh us down for long.

I flashed back into my wooden body, determined to make myself useful. Unfortunately, I was still tangled in ropes. Instinctively, I reached for my bone-handled knife, but, of course, that was tucked in the belt of my ghostly form, not this clunky wooden shell. I wound up getting a free ride as the boat tilted and slowly rose as the Romer brothers succeeded in their task.

Mere minutes after the peril had seized us, it was over. The boat was upright, or something like it. The ship listed to starboard at least twenty degrees.

"Romers!" a woman's voice called out. I looked toward the foredeck and saw Sorrow. When had she come from below? She was standing by the ship's enormous iron anchor, which had somehow managed not to slip from the deck. She placed her hand upon the painted black iron. "Gather round before you catch your death of cold!"

The iron anchor bent upward as she grabbed it in the center. In seconds, she'd formed it into a rough tripod. She rubbed her hands along the tip of the tripod until the iron glowed a deep cherry red. She snatched her fingers back and said, "This thing's hot as a stove, so be careful."

Cinnamon and Jetsam were beside it an instant later, their hands outstretched, steam pouring off their black sleeves.

"Thank the seven stars," Cinnamon whispered through chattering teeth.

"Hooray for witchcraft!" said Jetsam, riding the warm updraft above the hot metal.

It took a few moments for the rest of the Romers to join us. Captain Romer used her control of the wind to circulate a warm dry breeze heated by the anchor. Even the captives below would get their share of life-saving warmth. The immediate danger of hypothermia was averted. Infidel was the final arrival, landing across from me on the opposite side of the anchor, her gaze not meeting mine.

"You've some nerve to return to the ship," Mako growled.

"I did just free you from a killer iceberg," said Infidel.

"If you hadn't sent your damn monster to catch the harpoon, none of this would have happened!"

"We can't know that," said Sorrow. "Given her experience with possessions, Purity probably sensed Menagerie's soulless shell the second she came on board. She may have timed seizing his body to take advantage of the instant Mako dropped the Jagged Shard. Magical weapons sometimes act to protect their users via enchantments their owners might not even know about. It's possible if she'd attacked while Mako carried the harpoon, she would have wound up frozen, or worse."

"This is nothing but speculation," said Mako.

"Informed speculation," said Sorrow. "The Jagged Heart isn't carved from lifeless ice; it's the very heart of a primal dragon, or a fragment of it, at least. It's more magic than matter. It bonds spiritually with its owner. It's almost a parasitic relationship, as the owner provides the weapon with mobility and purpose while the weapon provides the owner with improved attacks and defenses. It's similar to Infidel's Gloryhammer."

"The Gloryhammer doesn't defend me as much as I'd like," grumbled Infidel.

"Doesn't it?" asked Sorrow. "The bones of your arms should be shattered by the blows you deliver. The weapon should rip from your merely human grasp as it accelerates you into flight faster than an arrow leaves a bowstring. Its enchantments protect you passively; there may be other powers you could utilize if only you knew of them."

"How would I find out about them?" Infidel asked. "For instance, I can make it glow brighter or softer just by thinking, but it seems like it should also be able to put out heat, which would come in useful in times like this. But, no matter how hard I try to make it hot, it stays cool to the touch."

Sorrow nodded. "That's because the sun isn't a source of heat."

Infidel furrowed her brow, confused.

"The monk Inquisitus proved three centuries ago that heat originates within the earth and light originates within the sun. The two are attracted to one another, but have independent sources."

"I can feel heat on my face when I look at the sun," said Infidel.

Sorrow shook her head. "You feel the heat attracted to the light reflecting off your face. Inquisitus proved his theory by documenting temperatures at over nine-hundred locations. His data show that the peaks of mountains are consistently cooler than the land surrounding them. If the sun were the source of heat, mountaintops should be warmer, since they're nearer. Conversely, the bottoms of mines, far removed from the sun, are intensely hot. Thus, he proved that the core of the earth is the true source of warmth."

Captain Romer interrupted. "This is all very interesting, but let's focus on our immediate problem. Putting aside the issue of who's to blame, the fact remains that we're the only people in the world aware that there's a shape-shifting ghost planning to murder the sun, armed with a weapon capable of the crime. How do we stop her?"

"This doesn't have to be our fight," said Mako. "King Brightmoon and the Church of the Book know of the harpoon's power."

"We've got the king's daughter chained to a bunk down below," said Rigger. "We can send her to ask for help."

His voice was so deadpan, I didn't recognize this as a joke until Poppy giggled.

Captain Romer sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Have we checked on the prisoners? Is everyone okay?"

"Bumps and scrapes from being tossed around," said Sage. "They're fine."

Captain Romer nodded and looked around the ship. "Unchain the prisoners," she said. "We've got an enormous amount of work to do to get this ship seaworthy, starting with a bucket brigade to get the water out of the holds. Any prisoner willing to pitch in will be set free at the next port. Anyone not willing to help will be pointed toward the nearest island and allowed to make a swim for it."

"Even Brand and the dwarf?" Mako asked.

Captain Romer nodded.

"Maybe the dwarf really is Princess Innocent," Poppy said.

Mako rolled his eyes. "You're as crazy as she is. He. As crazy as he is."

"We deal with crazy every day," said Sage. "Having a long missing princess hiding aboard our ship is almost mundane."

"It doesn't matter," Rigger said, dismissively. "With the ship crippled, it could take weeks to deliver our so-called princess to her so-called father. Meanwhile every time the sun goes down, we'll be wondering if it's coming back up again."

"Infidel can fly her," said Sage.

"Um, no," said Infidel. "I'm a wanted criminal on the Silver Isle. I'd never get near the king."

"It doesn't matter," said Gale. "The dwarf isn't the princess. Next idea?"

Infidel asked, "If we're in the artic, how far are we from Aurora's village? The ice-ogres know more about the Jagged Heart than anyone. We can enlist their help in stopping Purity."

"We're less than three hundred miles," said Sage, looking at the stars.

"I could reach it in four or five hours, maybe," said Infidel. "I can take Sorrow, since she speaks the lingo."

Sorrow shook her head. "I'll be needed here. Wood-weaving is one of the material arts I've mastered. If this ship can be saved, my talents will come in handy."

"There is no 'if,'" said Gale. "We will repair the Freewind."

"I'm not as confident," said Sorrow. "I'll do all I can to help, but look around you. Every board on this ship has been twisted. There's not a nail or joint left flush. The Freewind may be beyond repair."

"Go with Infidel if such is your attitude," Gale grumbled.

"I'm sorry if you're wanting me to spout optimistic affirmations," said Sorrow. "I'm simply being realistic. But, if optimism is what you are looking for, have you considered that the loss of the Freewind might be a positive development for your family?"

Gale's brow furrowed.

"The Freewind stands out in any harbor thanks to its burgundy hull. If you had a new ship, it would be harder for your enemies to spot you. You could have something like a normal life once more."

Jetsam laughed. "Normal? Have you paid any attention at all since you met us?"

Infidel interrupted. "We're getting side-tracked again. Who's going with me to the ogre village?"

Sorrow nodded toward me. "Take Stagger."

"I can't talk," I said, pointing at my mouth. Then I realized I'd heard my own words, albeit faintly. The warm breeze was drying out my tongue.

I shrugged as I lowered my hand. "I don't speak the language."

"I can work around this," said Sorrow. She reached up and grabbed the right bean pod that served as my ear, popping it off. Oddly, despite its removal, the backdrop noise of wind and waves didn't lesson.

"You'll be able to hear what this ear hears, no matter how far away you are," she said, fastening the bean pod to her golden earring with a loop of silver. "And, if I listen closely, I'll be able to hear what your other ear hears due to sympathetic vibrations. I can translate for you from afar."

"I want to be a witch when I grow up," said Cinnamon.

"You're a witch now," said Jetsam.

"Can... uh, can Infidel support my weight?" I asked. Despite the drying breeze, I was waterlogged. It wasn't my weight I was worried about, however. I knew she was still mad that I'd lied to her.

Infidel nodded. "Once I'm in the air, the extra weight doesn't really matter. Guess it's one of the powers of the hammer I don't really understand." She wasn't looking directly at me. "I'll need to wait until dawn. I don't know how to navigate via stars. In daylight, if I follow the coast line, I presume I'll be able to find the village from above."

"You might be waiting a while," said Rigger. "At this time of year, this far north, night lasts a long time."

"At winter solstice, the sun doesn't rise at all," said Sorrow, her voice trailing off.

"That's only a day away," said Rigger.

"Then that's all the time we have to stop Purity," said Sorrow.

"How can you be sure?" asked Gale.

"I can't be," said Sorrow. "But Hush is at her most powerful on the winter solstice. According to ice-ogre lore, Glorious, the sun dragon, is afraid to show his face on that day after months of being beaten back by Hush. When he does emerge the next day he's helpless as a newborn babe as he rises into the Great Sea Above. He survives only because he's so feeble Hush pities him. Then, he grows stronger and stronger, until he banishes the night completely. Only, he then takes pity on Hush for the pain he causes her, and in his moment of weakness, she once more begins to build her power."

"Ogres have stupid legends," Mako grumbled.

"Maybe. But their myths also serve as a cultural warning against feeling pity for an enemy. In any case, Purity seems devoid of that particular emotion. What better moment could there be for her to strike than the dawn following the solstice?"

"If daylight's so short, I guess there's no point in waiting," said Infidel. "That fox cloak Purity showed up in looked pretty warm, if anyone knows where it is. I have a feeling I'll need some good insulation once I get up in the air. Also a helmet, if there's one lying around."

If I'd had eyebrows, they'd have shot up.

"What?" she asked, sensing my surprise. "You think I can't learn?"

I shook my head.

Infidel looked at Gale. "Since I don't know how long I'll be gone, I'll carry fresh food and water for a week, if you can spare it." She cast a glance toward me and managed, "I guess I should be grateful you don't need to eat."

I nodded, relieved that she was at least speaking to me again.

"I'll get the cloak," said Sage, heading for the hatch.

"I'll gather provisions," said Cinnamon.

"There's still the question of how I'm going to find this place in the dark," Infidel said.

"I can find it," I announced.

"How?" Infidel sounded skeptical.

"Living things give off an aura. A village should stand out like a torch against the backdrop of a frozen, lifeless landscape."

"Excellent," said Captain Romer. "The two of you will be our primary plan to deal with this threat. I shall explore a second option."

"Which is?"

"There are secrets we Wanderers do not share with outsiders," said Captain Romer. "Suffice it to say, there are channels of communication within the ocean that extend far beyond human senses. It's possible I can get a message to... to my eldest son, Levi."

The Romer children's eyes grew wide at this announcement.

"Don't give me that look," Gale said.

"He'll betray us to the Stormguard," said Mako.

"No he won't," said Sage. "No matter what uniform he's wearing, he's still a Romer."

Gale nodded. "More importantly, his vessel is one of the few that could reach us in time to make a difference. The fate of the world might be at stake. If I have to swallow my pride and ask Levi for help, so be it."

"I like having a second plan," said Infidel. "Anyone got a third?"

Perhaps it was an illusion caused by the fact that one of my ears was now dangling against her cheek, but it sounded as if Sorrow started to speak. Yet, her breath caught in her throat at the last second.

"What?" I asked. "You have a plan?"

"Not a plan, no," said Sorrow. "Nothing so fully formed."

"An idea? A hunch? A gut feeling?" I prodded.

Sorrow shook her head. "It's nothing. Undertake your mission as if you're the world's last, best hope."

# 14 - BAD BLUBBER

READYING OURSELVES FOR the journey took some time. I needed new clothes so that my inhuman body wouldn't draw unwelcome attention, but even Mako's muscular frame was no match for my own. His pants only came to mid-shin, but his boots were tall enough that it hid the difference. With a little stuffing, his boot even made my peg leg look like a foot again. His shirt wouldn't go around my barrel chest. In the end, I wore it backward. Barrel staves were exposed on my back, but this was covered by a cape we made from old sails.

Unfortunately, as soon as I was dressed, my left arm stopped working. Sorrow was summoned. She discovered the copper wire that held my shoulder joint together was corroded and brittle.

"Sea water isn't good for any metal," she said as she fashioned me a new arm from a broken chair. "Even without your exposure to Rott you'd be falling apart."

"He's been falling apart since the day I met him," said Infidel.

Which was true enough. She'd met me when I was thirty-five. I was at my physical peak, my body hardened by years of jungle explorations. Alas, the problem with being at one's peak is there's no where to go but down. In the next fifteen years, I'd lost hair, teeth, muscle... everything but weight.

Sage had produced Purity's white fox cloak, which fit Infidel perfectly and complemented her Immaculate Armor as if they'd been made for each other. One of the smaller Skelling helmets had been de-horned to fit beneath her hood. It was little more than a steel hat, offering no protection for her face, but it was better than nothing.

Once she had fixed my arm, Sorrow took another Skelling helmet and stretched the metal to form a full faceplate, leaving only a gap for eyes. She placed this over my coconut noggin and wired it on. Sorrow produced a small silver mirror and I had to admit I passed as a human warrior, an intimidating one at that.

"Now the ice-ogres won't rip you apart for being an abomination against nature," said Sorrow.

"They'll just rip me apart for being human," I said. "Aurora made them sound a bit... isolationist."

"Ogres aren't known for their propitious natures," said Infidel.

"Propitious?" I asked.

"It means friendly," she said.

"I know what it means," I said. "It's just that you normally eschew magniloquence."

"I'm secure enough that I don't need to flaunt my vocabulary. You use big words because the monks who raised you made you feel like an idiot. You've spent the last forty years trying to prove that you're smart."

"Ouch," I said, wounded by the penetrating sharpness of her analysis. "I take it you're still mad at me?"

"I can't understand why you didn't back me up. If Gale had just left the Jagged Heart alone, everything would be okay now. Don't you trust me?"

Sorrow cleared her throat as she ran the last of the fresh copper wires through my new arm. "Perhaps this would be a conversation best carried out in private?"

Infidel pressed her lips tightly together and nodded.

Sorrow made a few adjustments on my new arm, then said, "Almost done. Pick up the sea chest so we can test your strength."

The chest was sitting on its side behind the door, where it had come to rest following the upheaval. I grabbed it with my fresh arm and manhandled it back to the foot of the bed.

"Good as new," I reported, but my words we almost drowned out by a low, slow, unearthly wail that came from the other side of the wall, where there should be only ocean.

"What in the name of the primordial paper was that?" I asked.

"Whale song," said Infidel. "I first heard them during the Pirate Wars. The Wanderers try to keep it a secret from outsiders, but they understand the various whale languages."

"Whales talk?" I asked.

"This must be the secret Captain Romer wouldn't share with us," said Sorrow. "Whale songs travel great distances. Wanderers use the whales to pass on messages, allowing ships hundreds of miles distant to communicate."

"So help could be on the way soon," I said.

"Highly unlikely," said Sorrow. "In the summer, these waters are filled with fishing boats due to the abundance of cod. During the winter, there's little to attract ships to these latitudes. I'm doubtful there's another Wanderer within a thousand miles. As she spoke, Sorrow shoved her handcrafted sword into my belt.

"I've been doing better with my fists," I said.

"Let's hope the only tool you really need is your tongue," she said. She gave me one last inspection. "You're as good as you're going to be. Fly safely."

We went above deck. Captain Romer gave Infidel a quick guide to the northern constellations. I noticed an odd shimmering haze in the sky. I slipped from my shell and saw the haze was rainbow colored, dancing about. I'd heard legends of these northern lights, but never expected to see them. They fluttered like an ethereal curtain draping the stars.

"Beautiful," I said the second I'd returned to my body.

"Yes, handsome?" said Infidel.

If my mouth had been mobile I'd have smiled.

THEN WE WERE ALOFT. The Freewind quickly became a mere speck amid a sea of specks. Icebergs were everywhere. I hoped the ship regained its maneuverability before it was menaced by one of these crushing behemoths.

Once the ship was out of sight, it became impossible to guess how high we were. There were no familiar features with which to orient myself. The brightness of the Gloryhammer before us washed out most of the stars.

"I'm going to step out," I said.

"What?" Infidel yelled back.

"I'm going to step out of my body. I'll be limp for a moment."

"Go," she said.

I once more leapt from the golden cage and out through the wooden staves, sailing freely into the frigid winds. It occurred to me that if Sorrow was listening to my words, it's possible she now knew I could escape from her cage. She'd been treating me rather fairly since I'd given her the map to the Knight's Castle, but would she try to cage me again? I'd deal with that if and when I saw her.

I slowed, letting Infidel pass on. As the glow of the Gloryhammer faded into the distance I saw that the curtains of light had dimmed, leaving behind stars of stunning crispness. Until now, I'd only seen the sky through the humid, gauzy air of my island home. Here, every last trace of moisture had frozen and dropped from the sky, leaving the stars fully exposed. I felt much the awe and wonder I'd experienced when, as a teen, I'd seen my first naked woman. I was glimpsing something ordinarily hidden from the eyes of man. I sensed that if I could understand what I was gazing upon I would find wisdom.

Of course, the main wisdom I gathered in studying the bodies of women in my youth was that any serious course of education was going to be expensive. But these stars, these stars.... The Sacred Writs are full of tales of men who go into wastelands to find communion with the Divine Author. At this moment, I grasped why. The stars were so numerous that patterns emerged wherever I glanced, as if the celestial canvas was some immense manuscript that a man might one day learn to read.

No wonder the ice-ogres thought of these starry reaches as heaven.

Of course, I'd resisted the call of heaven so far. I shook off my fascination and returned to the task at hand. Looking back, though it had been beyond the gaze of my wooden eyes, I could see the Freewind aglow like a distant star against the inky darkness of the sea. To the north and west I could see the sea turning white in the distance. Flying higher, I saw that I was gazing at a shoreline, like the world's smoothest, widest beach, formed of sand white as pure salt. But given the chill that numbed even my ghostly bones, I soon deduced I was looking not at sandy beaches, but at the edge of a vast, unbroken ice sheet.

Infidel flew along the edge of this ice sheet, looking like a shooting star in the distance. With a thought, I was back at her side, animating the driftwood golem once more. She sensed my return and asked, "See anything?"

"The stars are amazing once you're free of the glare of the Gloryhammer."

"Hmm," she said. "You can't see the stars right now?"

"Not much."

"I see them fine," she said. "In fact, now that I think about it, I never get blinded by the hammer's glow. It must be one of those passive powers Sorrow talked about."

"I think I know another power of the hammer," I said.

"What?"

"When you were at the Jawa Fruit village, Tower flew straight to you, and I remember him saying that he'd told the hammer to find you. So the hammer has some kind of ability to track people."

"If that's true, why didn't he find me years earlier? He's had the hammer ever since I vanished, and was obsessed with me the whole time. Why didn't he come looking for me?"

"Maybe the hammer is like a bloodhound," I speculated. "It has to have some reference point to use for tracking?"

Infidel's face went blank at the mention of a bloodhound.

"You're thinking of Menagerie, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she said.

We flew on through the darkness for some time before she asked, "Is this all my fault?"

"I don't see how you can be blamed for the insane plans of a 200 year old witch."

"What if I'd killed Menagerie when the Black Swan told me to? None of this would have happened."

"The Black Swan also told you to kill Greatshadow and you didn't," I said. "I think you made the right call. I think, against all odds, you converted an enemy of mankind into a grudging ally. I heard you explain your reasons to Zetetic. The Isle of Fire should remain untamed. I can't agree more."

"Am I crazy to want to raise our daughter there?"

"No," I said. "It's dangerous, but it's the only place in the world I've ever felt that life makes sense. You saw how happy my grandfather was living with the Jawa Fruit tribe. The island can be paradise if you respect it rather than trying to tame it."

"I know," said Infidel. "I want our daughter to love exploring the jungle just as much as we did. I want her to be able to appreciate nature by getting dirt and blood under her nails as she stalks her own meal. But I don't want her growing up as some naked, unwashed savage like your grandfather. I want her to read the books that you loved. I was bored by operas and museums and cathedrals when I was a girl, but now I want her to see these things, so that she can understand the beauty that man is capable of producing. How do I do this? How do I raise a child to be both wild and refined, civilized and feral all at once?"

"You're describing yourself, you know," I said. "Half forest dragon, half princess. The ultimate blend of beast and beauty. My god, I never stood a chance. You captured my heart the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Oh, that was just lust," she said, dismissively. "I was pretty hot when I was twenty."

"You're pretty hot now," I said.

"Actually, right now I'm freezing," she said. "My nipples are hard as walnut shells."

"It's lucky you ditched that chrome-plated bra."

She laughed, but then her voice went serious. "I'm scared, Stagger."

"Of being a mother?"

"What do I know about raising a child? What do I know about anything? Other women have mothers, sisters, best friends they can talk to. People who can tell them what to expect, what to worry about and what to shrug off. I don't have any of this. I'm thirty years old and I can rattle off a list of about three hundred people who've vowed to kill me, and precisely two people I count as friends, and they're both dead!."

"Two?" I said, instantly regretting that I sounded surprised she had a second friend.

"There's also Aurora," she said. "I mean, it's dumb. A month ago she was nobody to me. But I really connected with her on the dragon hunt. She told me her secrets, I told her mine, and... I dunno. There was a bond. It was almost like I had a sister. Which is why I feel so strongly about keeping this promise."

"I understand," I said. "But she won't know if you keep the promise or not."

"How do you know? You've managed to keep tabs on me."

"I saw Aurora move on. She went to her heaven... the Great Sea Above." I glanced up. "Maybe she's up there right now, looking down, watching us streak across her sky like a comet."

"If she's watching, she knows what a mess I've made," said Infidel. "Old Infidel would have shrugged this off. New Infidel intends to clean things up."

"Your newfound devotion to cleaning will probably be a big help in motherhood."

"Let's hope so."

"As for advice on childbirth and raising kids, Gale Romer can probably give you some guidance."

"She'll charge me for it," said Infidel. "We're not really friends. I was just a mercenary she employed. I liked her as a boss, but I can't say we were close. And after all the grief I've caused her on this trip, she probably hates me."

I didn't know what to say. Infidel couldn't return to her own family for assistance. My father was a monk and would be of no use; my mother had been a whore who abandoned me at an orphanage. I wasn't her only child, but even though I have a dozen half-siblings out in the world, they're strangers to me. My grandfather would probably be willing to help, but, as noted, he's gone feral. Also, while Judicious seemed remarkably sound in body and mind, it was no trivial matter than he was a whisker away from his hundredth birthday. It was no certain thing he'd be around in nine months.

"I don't know what the future holds," I said at last. "But, if my past is any guide, things always work out."

"Not always," she said.

"Often enough," I said. "My gut tells me everything will be okay. My gut tells me you'll be a great mother."

"You don't have a gut anymore," she said.

"Well, my brains tell me."

"You don't have brains either!"

"True. All that's left is my soul. And if a soul isn't the ultimate judge of the rightness of things, what is?"

"Hmm," she said, before the faintest flicker of a grin crossed her face.

We flew on in silence. I felt as if she were happy for the moment, or at least in a state of relative peace, and I worried that it would be too easy to tip her mood back into worry.

Slowly, a curious thing unfolded. The sky at our backs grew noticeably lighter.

"Everything's turning blue," said Infidel as she slowed, turning back to watch the sky.

I slipped out of my shell to verify that this was so. An eerie twilight had broken through the gloom, distinctly azure in hue. Then, with no fanfare, the bright white upper edge of the sun peeked above the southern horizon. I'd never appreciated seeing the old dragon Glorious quite so much.

I wasn't the only one happy to see the sun. I noticed that the internal glow of the Gloryhammer had intensified. The weapon gave off a slight crackling sound. Infidel held the weapon toward the distant orb.

"Feel this," she said. "Put your hand on the hammer."

I placed my gloved root on the shaft, but felt nothing. "What should I be feeling?"

"The hammer is sort of humming. It's almost like the purr of a kitten when it's being held by someone it knows."

"The Glorystones fell from the sky when Glorious first merged with the sun. Maybe the hammer remembers him. They've been separated for over a day now, since the sun never appeared on the Sea of Wine."

"Maybe," Infidel said.

But if the hammer truly had a memory, it was not allowed to dwell for long on these recollections. After a leisurely stroll across the horizon where it never quite got airborne, the distant sun once more began to recede.

We turned north and flew on, the landscape beneath aglow in the relatively bright twilight. Against this backdrop, anything dark stood out, and far ahead I spotted specks upon the ice, small as fleas. I pointed toward the dark forms with my gloved hand. Infidel nodded and altered our course to investigate. Quickly we came to see that our targets were moving. As we closed upon them, the specks became two large humanoid figures crouched over a gray mass on the ice. They had their backs to us; the gray smear they were hunched over proved to be a large seal they were butchering. As one of the butchers moved to the side, I spotted tusks jutting from his lower jaw. Ice-ogres!

Infidel came in low. The Gloryhammer caused long shadows to stretch before the ogres. They turned back to look at the source of the light, raising their hands to shield their eyes.

"Sorrow," I said. "Right now would be a fantastic time for you to teach me the ice-ogre word for 'hello.'"

"Awk," she responded almost instantly.

"I can manage that," I said. "Awk! Awk!"

We were several hundred yards away. Between the faintness of my squeaky voice and the rush of wind I can't believe they heard me. But, something triggered them to choose this exact second to abandon their kill. They ran toward a ragged looking patch of ice. This proved to be a deep pool of slush leading to the ocean beneath, or so I deduced as they disappeared into it.

"Damn," said Infidel, landing on the ice where they'd just stood.

"Do ogres swim?" I asked.

"They're excellent swimmers," said Sorrow. "If they had time to fill their lungs they can last almost twenty minutes underwater. Their high body fat helps retain heat. They can travel miles beneath the ice; they use their tusks to bash their way up through thin spots."

"Weird," said Infidel, with her ear almost pressed to mine. "I can hear you, Sorrow. Just barely."

"It's the sympathetic vibration of the other half of the seed pod."

"Have you... have you been listening to everything we said?" Infidel asked.

"I told you before you left that I would hear what Stagger heard. But, don't worry, I haven't been paying attention to your confessions of maternal inadequacy. We've been preoccupied here by the arrival of Levi. The whales messages found their mark."

"Levi? Gale's oldest son? He showed up fast."

"It turns out he has his mother's talent for shortcuts," said Sorrow. "Though that's not really the thing that stands out about him." I waited for a elaboration, but she had said all she had to say on the subject.

Infidel said, "I feel bad that we scared them off. They'd done a lot of work." She was looking at the seal. It was in a relatively advanced state of butchering, the skin flayed from the muscle and stretched out to create a tidy workspace. Neat slabs of meat were spread over the surrounding ice, faintly steaming as the winter air sucked out their moisture. The nutrient rich organs like the heart and liver were laid out as neatly as if they were in a butcher's window. The skull had been worked free from the spine and set aside, the lidless eyes forced to watch the dismemberment of the body. Either the ogres were fast workers or we'd frightened them away from the fruits of several hours' work.

"Maybe they're heading back to the village to sound a warning," I said. "We might be close."

"Maybe," said Infidel. "But I didn't see anything like a village anywhere near."

"Hang tight," I said. "I'm going to slip beneath the ice and figure out which way they're going."

"Go," she said.

I let go of the silver threads and slipped from my shell. I willed myself down through the ice, shuddering from both the chill of my environment and the existential crises that confronted me every time I let go of the illusion of solidity and embraced the advantages of my spectral nature.

In the water, the ice overhead was a pale translucent gray-blue through which the twilight seeped. From above, the ice looked uniform, but from beneath it revealed itself to be riddled with cracks. Since we'd been flying up from the south and hadn't spotted a village, I had a hunch that the ogres were heading north. I pursued and a moment later spotted their faint auras. I flashed toward them just as they reached a gap in the ice. With powerful kicks, they burst upward, doing what can only be described as a reverse dive. Once above, they began to run without so much as a pause to catch their breaths.

I continued to give chase, hoping they'd reach their destination soon. They didn't. I couldn't accurately tell time, but I'm certain I gave chase for at least an hour. The blue twilight that had persisted after the sunset receded once more to black. I had only starlight to see by, but it was sufficient to reveal that the ice the ogres ran across was now bordered by actual land, steep cliffs a half mile high.

At the second hour of their headlong flight through the darkness, I began to wonder if Infidel would give up on waiting for me. I should have committed to a time limit, but planning ahead wasn't something either of us were famous for. The ogres showed no signs of weariness as I floated beside them. Aurora had told me she was a runt among her kind, and assuming that these two random specimens were closer to average, she'd been right. They were each at least ten feet tall, broad shouldered, with arms and legs packed into seal fur tights that fit like second skins. Given the tightness of their pants, I had evidence that these were males of the species. Their faces were the same pale blue white as Aurora's, but squarer. Their brows were dappled with hemi-circular scars that reminded me of overlapping scales. I'd seen similar scarification as decoration among river pygmies, who sometimes marked fish scale patterns along their shoulders and spine.

Just as I'd decided to give up and return to Infidel, I saw a glow on the northern horizon, completely different in nature from the brief sunrise I'd witnessed earlier. I flitted upward and found the cliffs cut back in a sharp V shape a mile across at the open end. Within was a frozen bay decorated by what looked like hundreds of perfect hemi-spheres packed closely together. My lack of perspective made these look small at first, until I saw ogres going in and out of them through seal skin curtains. Drawing closer, I saw that they were hollow domes of ice almost fifty feet across. Most had dark black holes at the tops of the dome from which smoke rose; the fires within lit the structures with a dim yellow light. Black shadows moved menacingly against the backlighting. The atmosphere above the village had the distinct aroma of rotting fish and burnt bacon, a scent reminiscent of the whale oil the Wanderers burned in their lamps, but much stronger.

Having at least a minute's lead on the two startled hunters, I flitted into the nearest dome. The smell within was so foul I reached up to pinch my nostrils, forgetting the intangible nature of both fingers and nose. In the central fire pit they were burning what looked like cow patties, though of course there were no cows within a thousand miles. Perhaps they were ogre turds; at least a dozen of the beasts were packed into this dwelling. They'd shed their clothing and went about naked. The floors of the ice dome where carpeted with thick sheets of skins, and the warmth of the room was surprising; I wondered how the walls survived. A mother ogre was nursing three youngsters simultaneously; she was equipped with four working breasts. I'd never noticed this excess of mammary glands on Aurora, but Aurora had typically dressed in a manner that concealed the true contours of her body. She'd worked for the Black Swan for two years before I realized she was female.

The ogres within the dome all lifted their heads at once. The two hunters were close enough to the village that their shouts could be heard. Flitting back outside, the commotion grew; not only were the two hunters shouting as they covered the last few hundred yards toward the village, news of their arrival was being trumpeted in deep barreled baritones from dome to dome.

I couldn't understand a word, as my link to Sorrow was now several miles distant. Again, I never claimed that some future monument to me would be engraved, "The Man Who Thought Ahead."

The cacophony of voices reached a crescendo as the news reached the furthest edges of the village. From my aerial position I watched as the two hunters were led along what looked to be a well-trodden path to the north. I quickly spotted why. Unlike the jagged, natural looking cliff on the southern half of the V shaped bay, the northern cliffs had been carved into an impressive edifice. The face was sheer granite, polished smooth, and riddled with windows and balconies. Statues of ogres sat within alcoves. I was looking at either a palace or a temple, or some blend of both.

Before I could go within to investigate, a white-clad figure emerged from the torch-lit interior of the highest archway. This was an ogre even larger than the two I'd been chasing. A cheer went through the crowd that gathered beneath. They began to chant, "Tarpok! Tarpok!" I guessed it to be his name, though perhaps it was just a more formal greeting than "awk."

Tarpok stuck out a beefy arm and the crowd fell silent. He called out to the crowd with a voice powerful enough to rattle window glass and startle the horses, if the village had possessed either glass or horses. Though I didn't speak the lingo, I sensed from his tone that he'd asked a question, most likely, "What's all the racket?"

The two hunters were pushed to the front of the crowd and shouted back something. They both waved their hands as they spoke. Given their gestures and inflection my translation was, "A two-headed creature from the stars swooped down and attacked us! We abandoned our catch and ran for our lives!"

Tarpok asked a short question that made the crowd laugh. My hunch: "Maybe you chewed some bad blubber?"

The two hunters bowed, placing their hands over their hearts in the near universal gesture, "I swear it's true."

The ogre in the window responded with an appropriately solemn and studious look. I drew closer. Tarpok was a good twelve feet tall, and solid looking. I mean, none of the ogres would blow away in a stiff wind, but something about their subcutaneous fat gave most ogres a doughy look. Tarpok was chiseled. What I thought had been white clothing was in fact his bare skin, all the better to display the elaborate tapestries of tribal scars that decorated his imposing form. I also noted that he had four dark blue nipples; apparently this was standard ogre anatomy.

At last, having posed in dramatic contemplation for a sufficient length of time to build suspense in the crowd, the big ogre thrust out his hand in a stiff salute and screamed, "Hack hack hack hack!" or words to that effect, which, judging from the jubilation that followed must have meant, "I believe you! I will find this star-beast and kick its ass!"

A smaller ogre appeared in the shadows and handed Tarpok a large horn carved from a narwhale's tusk. He blew into the end with a long, tooth-rattling "BLAAAAAAAAT!" As the note trailed off a dozen shooting stars streaked down from the heavens, as if they'd been shaken loose by the call.

Tarpok disappeared into the shadows. I watched the window for his reappearance, since the crowd continued gazing in that general direction. A minute later they cheered with excitement, but I didn't see him. Then I realized he was now on top of the cliff. He was wearing a black cloak I assume was whale hide, with matching pants of the same material. He had a battle-axe with a head the size of a coffee table slung over his back, and in his left hand he carried a harpoon that was more menacing than even the Jagged Heart, a twenty-foot-long shaft of iron with the tip hammered into a flesh-mangling mess of serrated hooks and barbs.

I had to wonder if the Immaculate Attire would stand a chance against a weapon like this. I consoled myself that Infidel could at least escape by taking to the sky. Then I saw the crowd pivot. Something big flew overhead, blotting out stars.

Having lived by the ocean most of my life, I've seen my fair share of whales. Menagerie had one among his tattoos that I'd never actually spotted in our tropical climes, a beast that vaguely resembled a panda in its stark black and white coloring, but was more evocative of a dragon by virtue of a dagger-toothed mouth that could open wide enough to swallow boats. He'd called the thing an orca.

He hadn't told me they could fly.

Or, perhaps they can't, and it was merely some enchantment that kept this beast in the air. Whatever the case, I watched, slack jawed, as a sixty-foot black and white whale sailed up to the cliff, swimming in air as if it were water. The beast cruised with its back just below the top edge of the cliff. Tarpok leapt into the air, the crowd screaming with jubilation as he landed astride the beast. I spotted that the whale was rigged with an elaborate leather harness. Tarpok wrapped his fists into these lines and tugged the beast's head toward the southern horizon. The orca let loose a loud "whuff" from its blowhole and with a flick of its tail surged in that direction.

The crowd gave chase from below, but the whale picked up speed with every wave of its tail. Tarpok raised his harpoon above his head and shouted, "Chakaaaaa!"

"Chakaaaaa!" the crowd screamed in unison.

With Sorrow unavailable, I held out hope the word meant, "Good-bye," and not, "Death to star-monsters!"

I'd seen enough. It was time to get back to Infidel.

# 15 - BONES AND TEETH

AS THE TRACKLESS ice flashed beneath me, I feared I'd never find Infidel. Had I been limited to ordinary sight, my fears would have been well founded. Fortunately, when I held my left hand before me with its phantom wedding band, I could feel a pressure like the tug of a distant magnet. At last my ghost eyes spotted her by the bright aura she cast as the only living thing for miles around.

It was fortunate I could see her aura, because the Gloryhammer couldn't be seen at all. Infidel had cleared the butchered meat from the seal skin and flipped it fur side up, then stretched out on the ice with her fox cloak curled tightly around her, forming a very tiny tent that hid both her and the hammer. My wooden body was laid out on the ice next to her, its arms folded neatly across its chest, as if it had been prepped for burial. I jumped inside. My wooden bones clattered as I sat up. She stirred, raising the lip of her hood ever so slightly. A bright beam of light shot over the bloodied ice.

"Was I snoring?" she asked, sounding drowsy, as pale fog rolled out from the gap she'd made.

"You we're sleeping out here? You'll freeze to death!"

"No, no, it's pretty comfy," she said. "The fur traps my body heat really well. I just conked right out. Were you gone long?"

"A couple of hours."

"I needed the nap. Now, I feel ready for anything."

"Trust me, you aren't ready for what's coming. Let's get out of here," I said, standing, looking north. "The two hunters made it to their village and sounded an alarm. Now the village's top warrior is on his way here to do battle with the monster that stole the hunters' seal."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Infidel sat up. The moisture that had been trapped by the fur instantly turned to frost on the silver trim of her armor, and left tiny glittering diamonds of ice on her eyelashes. "We want them to come to us."

"This guy's riding a flying whale and carrying a solid steel harpoon. He looks like the very definition of bad news."

Infidel furrowed her brow. "We came here looking for help against Purity. That means we need to talk to someone important. He sounds important."

"He sounds dangerous! Let's get out of here!"

"Excuse me," said Sorrow in my ear. "Did you just mention someone riding a flying whale?"

"Yeah," I said.

"That would be Tarpok," said Sorrow.

"Is that the whale or the rider?" I asked.

"The rider. The whale is Slor Tonn."

"Is this a private conversation or can I listen in?" Infidel pressed her cheek close to my ear without waiting for an answer.

"So, you've met Tarpok?" asked Sorrow.

"Not really," I said. "He didn't see me, but he's on his way here, and he looked like he was coming for blood. The whole village was shouting him on, yelling, 'Chakaa!'"

It was difficult to hear, but I think Sorrow sighed. She asked, "What did you do to get him angry?"

"Nothing!" said Infidel. "We just startled a few hunters."

"Tarpok is the village champion," said Sorrow. "He'll lose face if he doesn't return with some corpses. He's a very dangerous fighter, but his whale is even worse. When you fight them, target Slor Tonn first."

"What?" I said. "We aren't going to fight. We're going to run!"

"Or," said Infidel, "Pardon me for having a crazy idea, but can't we try to talk to him? The Divine Author knows how many miles we just flew to do that, right?"

"Tarpok is a fight first, ask questions later type," said Sorrow.

"How do you know so much about him?" Infidel asked.

"I told you I'd had difficulty on my trip up north. I escaped the Skellings only to be captured by ice-ogres. Fortunately, they treated me rather well. Their priestesses somehow knew I was a virgin, and they needed my blood for some magic ritual. But, the night of the ritual was months away, so during that time I was kept in the temple, well fed and comfortable. That's when I picked up some of their language. Luckily, I never learned what ritual the priestesses needed me for. Tarpok learned I could manipulate gold and silver, so he wanted to see my talents. I was able to bribe him and gain my freedom by promising to build him an iron harpoon with magical strength and toughness."

"So the harpoon's magic?" I asked.

"No, but he doesn't know that. Most ice-ogre weapons are made of bones and rock. Show them some steel and they think it fell from the heavens. Which, actually, it did, since I pulled the iron from a meteor they kept in the temple. But, despite its heavenly origins, the harpoon doesn't have any special powers."

"So the harpoon isn't dangerous?" Infidel asked.

"It's a twenty-foot shaft of hardened steel with hooked barbs sharp enough to shave with," said Sorrow. "It doesn't need to be magic."

"But you were able to bribe him," said Infidel. "He listened to reason and he kept his end of the bargain in letting you go."

"Actually, he tried to double cross me, but one of the ogresses in the temple helped me escape to spite him. I got the feeling there was a power struggle between Tarpok and the priestesses. Tarpok's something of a bully."

"Then we'll surrender," said Infidel. "Grovel a little. Tell him we're too scared of his reputation to even think of fighting. We'll butter him up with praise, then tell him that Purity called his mother a bad name."

"Hmm," said Sorrow. "That's not a bad plan."

"Here's a better one," I said. "While Tarpok is out here looking for us, we sneak into town and find someone to talk to who isn't riding a monster that can swallow us before we say hello."

"I feel like you're not trusting me again," Infidel said, crossing her arms.

Before we could argue further, there was a faint gurgle at our feet. The hole the ogres had escaped in was frozen over now, but a few cracks in the ice suddenly began to spurt seawater. The fluid washed over the bloody ice where the seal had been butchered, sending little pink rivulets in all directions. The water froze an instant later, locking my boots in place.

Infidel tapped the ice with her hammer, freeing the soles of my boots. The glow of the hammer cast rainbows in the frosted ice beneath us. A fresh stream of water shot up through the cracks.

Infidel bent at the knees, preparing to leap as she raised her hammer and wrapped an arm around my waist. She said, "Hold—"

I think her next word was going to be "tight," but it was rendered moot as a shaft of solid steel punched through the ice beneath my feet. My right leg was instantly torn from my body, sending me spinning backward. There was a loud CRACK, as if lighting had struck us. The ice bulged upward as Slor Tonn punched up from the depths, throwing us both head over heels. I fell toward Tarpok, whose feet were wrapped in the leather harness as he used both hands to drive his harpoon through my barrel chest.

"We surrender!" I squeaked.

"Pamiiyok!" Sorrow screamed in my ear.

"Pamiiyok!" I tried again. I'd slid down the shaft of the harpoon far enough that I could have reached out and shaken Tarpok's hand if he'd had one to spare at the moment.

"I accept no surrender," Tarpok growled, in my own language.

He gave the harpoon a sharp jerk to the left and I was thrown back down to the barbed head with such force that my helmet fell loose. I watched it fall away into the icy hole left by Slor Tonn's arrival. As the slats of my chest fell apart, I shook loose of the harpoon and tumbled headfirst toward the water, until my left hand suddenly snagged in the whale's harness, purely by luck. With my fall halted, I grabbed the straps with my right hand and held on.

I felt dizzy as Slor Tonn wheeled in the sky and the stars above us spun. An instant later the sky gave way to ice and I saw Infidel, sprawled on the snow beneath us looking dazed, the Gloryhammer just beyond her grasp. Tarpok drew back his harpoon to hurl it, but hesitated as Infidel looked up toward him. Her cloak had fallen open and her helmet had come off, revealing her face and hair.

"Purity?" Tarpok muttered. Then he barked, "Kisault, Slor Tonn!"

In defiance of all ordinary physics, the whale stopped instantly in mid-flight.

"Purity!" Tarpok shouted. "How did you reach this interloper before me? Why didn't you tell me of your plans? I could have killed you!"

Infidel used Tarpok's hesitation to scramble across the ice and grab the Gloryhammer. She rose on rubbery legs and snarled. "We just wanted to talk, you jerk!"

"Purity?" Tarpok asked, utterly confused.

"Rrrrraaaah!" Infidel cried, in full warrior goddess mode as she launched herself into the sky. I lost sight of her as Slor Tonn wriggled in the sky, either to take evasive action, or to meet her head on.

It proved to be the latter, as Infidel drove the Gloryhammer into the tip of the whale's nose with a wet smack. A wave rippled through the beast's blubber, snapping some of the harness rings, and it took everything I had to hold on as the whale lurched sideways. Up above, Tarpok cried, "Chakaaaa!" and thrust the harpoon with a grunt.

Seconds later, I heard Infidel shout, "Damn it!" She sounded more annoyed than hurt. For the briefest instant, she flashed through my line of sight in a rapid arc; her long white cape was snagged by the barbs of the harpoon.

Tarpok looked perturbed that his throw hadn't resulted in a direct hit.

"Nakkertok, Slor Tonn!" he shouted.

I had no time to ask for a translation as the whale spun to hang perpendicular to the ice a hundred feet below, its body rigid as a plank. Infidel floated beneath us, trying to shed her cape, but the clasp had twisted back over her shoulder.

"Chakaaa!" Tarpok shouted again, and we descended toward the ice like God's own gavel.

Infidel managed to get the Gloryhammer beneath her, so the enchanted mallet took the brunt of the impact, smashing the ice to chips an instant before her body slammed into the freezing ocean and was promptly pushed a hundred feet beneath by Slor Tonn's bulk. Whether from the impact, the shock of the cold, or the crushing effect of descending a hundred feet underwater in the span of a heartbeat, Infidel went completely limp. The Gloryhammer slipped from her fingers and began to float upward, until Tarpok used his ape-like reach to snag it. With his other hand he brought in the harpoon, dragging Infidel's slack body toward him.

She was barely alive. In the pitch darkness beneath the ice her aura flickered, growing dim. Her light became so faint I became aware of a second glow, no bigger than a firefly in the lower half of her belly. Our daughter?

With each second that we lingered beneath the frozen waves, Infidel's aura grew dimmer, like a candle surrendering to the wind.

The bubbles of gas that seeped from my clothes suddenly changed directions. Slor Tonn was pointed toward the surface once more. Seconds ticked by before I could see the shattered ice toward which we swam, then, with a great splash, the mighty whale burst into the air and kept swimming in the sky.

As we leveled off, Tarpok shoved Infidel's body under a harness line, trapping it. Water drained from her mouth and nostrils, quickly turning to ice. She coughed weakly, her eyes closed, and began to breathe shallow teaspoons of air, the faintest puffs imaginable escaping her darkening lips.

Certain that my arms were wrapped in the harnesses, I slipped from my body. I saw the golden cage now dangled by a single silver wire within what was left of my chest. If not for my shirt holding them together, all my chest staves would have fallen away. What would happen if the golden cage were to come completely loose?

I had no time to think of such things. Instead, I let my ghostly form hover next to Infidel. Her lips had turned blue. She'd been sopping wet and now her hair and clothing had frozen solid. Tarpok had shoved the Gloryhammer beneath the harness as well. I remembered how, in her phantom form, Aurora had been able to touch the Jagged Heart to trigger its powers. Could I do the same? If I could place the hammer in Infidel's grasp, would its magical energies revive her?

My spectral fingers sank into the glowing weapon. Instantly, I regretted my action. When I'd touched the hammer previously, it had been with wooden fingers and nothing had happened. When my spectral palm passed through the surface of the weapon, I felt the precise opposite of the surge of power Infidel had described. Instead, there was a terrible suction hungry to devour my spiritual energies. My vision blurred as I struggled to resist the weapon's pull. In my panic, I reached for Infidel's limp hand, which lay outstretched toward me. To my astonishment, my fingers felt solid as they closed around hers. With her as my anchor, I resisted the suction of the hammer and pulled myself free.

I stared at the weapon. What had just happened? It had unfolded so swiftly, I'd had no time to understand the experience. But... there was something inside the hammer, residing in the Glorystone from which it had been carved. It felt... intelligent, ancient, vast, and lonely. So lonely. Unending solitude lay at the core of this weapon, an emptiness that wanted to consume all that it touched. What did this mean? Had I somehow encountered the soul of Glorious within the Gloryhammer? Could I possibly communicate with him if this was so? I shook my head. I dare not expose myself to this terrible emptiness again.

As frightened as I was of the hammer, I was even more frightened that I could touch Infidel's hand. Only once in my phantom form had I experienced the sensation of physical contact... when I'd felt Ivory Blade's phantom blood trickling across my fingers.

Was I now feeling Infidel's soul? Had she slipped so far loose of her mortal shell that she was now in the between realm where I dwelled, half way between life and not-life? I wrapped my arms around her, determined to hold her soul in her body. She stirred at my touch.

"So c-cold," she whispered in my ear, though her blue lips didn't move in the slightest.

"Hug me back," I whispered, tightening my grip on her. "Take my warmth."

She didn't respond. Did she hear me? Did I have any warmth to give? What could I, a ghost, offer in comfort or strength? And yet... Sorrow had treated my soul as a source of energy that her golem could tap. This energy had taken form in my ghost blood. Sorrow had taken my life force without my permission. Could I give it willingly?

With Infidel, giving was so easy.

My hand moved to the bone-handled knife in my belt. I drew the blade across the palm of my left hand. Beads of ghostly blood bubbled up. I took Infidel's hand and made a matching cut across the palm. I rolled the bone-handled knife across my palm until it was wet, then placed it in her grasp.

I wrapped my fingers over Infidel's hand, our woven wedding bands touching. Under other circumstances, this might have been a romantic gesture, even loving. But what did I truly know of romance? What did I know of marriage, beyond the exchange of rings? My own upbringing had been devoid of parents to guide me on such matters. Most married men I met in Commonground had left their wives in distant lands, and gladly so. All I knew of marriage was that it was treated by much of mankind as a burden.

I would gladly bear any burden for this woman.

A sudden warmth flushed over me as I remembered the tropical heat of our last shared night on this earth, fleeing through the jungle, pouring sweat, my heart pounding, but not with fear. There had been such excitement in the air that evening, such a grand pulse of adventure stirring our mutual blood. Had she known then how much I loved her?

Of course, I'd finally told her when we'd met again, on the volcanic slopes of Greatshadow's spirit home in the abstract realms. There we'd held each other naked in the dry, near-blistering heat, our bodies braided into a single knot. It hadn't been imagination... my life energy had flowed into her, creating a spark of new life.

I squeezed her hand with all my strength. Our ghostly bloods mingled as our grasp grew feverishly hot. I began to sweat as I felt the spiritual flame within me gush through my veins. Like water draining from a sink, my life force began to swirl out of me, passing though the enchanted knife to flow into my bride. I raised my spectral hand and saw it age rapidly, the flesh withering, flaking away as sprites of light and heat which engulfed Infidel. As I watched, her cheeks once more took on color. Her breathing grew stronger and steadier.

As quickly as the sensation started, it switched off, and my spectral teeth began to chatter. All my heat had now drained away. There was no flesh or blood left of my hand, only bone.

With a gasp, Infidel opened her eyes. I could see myself reflected against her open pupils, twin black mirrors showing a human skull staring at her.

I squeezed her hand where our rings met, but my fingers found no purchase. She was now safely returned to the material world.

And I? I fell backward, drifting in the artic air, utterly drained. I caught a glimpse of my body as I tumbled, a mere skeleton, translucent and fading in the starlight.

I'd grown too weak to hold onto this world any longer. It saddened me to know that I would never learn how Infidel's story played out, whether she'd survive to give birth to our daughter, whether she'd live a full life long after my band of hair had fallen to dust and my memory was hard to summon.

I closed my eyes, prepared to vanish.

Then, though Slor Tonn had flown on half a mile as I'd drifted, I heard a single whispered word on the wind: "Stagger?"

It was Sorrow's voice, sounding in the bean-case ear.

I opened my eyes. A single silver filament, finer than human hair, snaked through the night sky toward me. It slithered between my jaws and hooked me like a fish, reeling me back into the golden cage.

"Stagger, can you hear me?" asked Sorrow. "What's happening. Is everything okay?"

I didn't feel strong enough to move my arms, but with effort I found my paper tongue. It was frozen solid, but somehow I coaxed from it a sickly, crinkling rattle no one could ever mistake for a human voice: "Save Infidel."

Perhaps Sorrow's attunement with the magic of my wooden body allowed her to understand me, since she answered, "If she needs saving, I take it you're both still alive?"

I felt like this deserved a sarcastic response, but I couldn't find the energy.

"You know what I mean," Sorrow amended a second later, perhaps chastised by my silence.

"Slor Tonn... from below," I crinkle-croaked. "Infidel alive... barely. I'm... used up. Nothing left... but ghost bones and teeth."

"Bones and teeth are rather durable," said Sorrow, sounding clinical. "They can last centuries. Perhaps your rate of disintegration will slow now."

Her words were both a comfort and a curse. Perhaps I could linger for centuries in this condition. But did I want to? All my strength had been stripped away. I felt as if I was in the grip of the most formidable, incapacitating hangover of all time.

"In any case, just hold on," said Sorrow. "There's not much left for me to do with the Freewind. Even with my powers, the damaged keel is beyond repair. Levi's trying to convince Gale to abandon ship."

I wondered what this would mean for the ghost of Jasmine Romer, but had no energy to ask the question.

"I'm going to join you once I've made preparations," Sorrow said.

"How?" I asked, or tried, as my voice gave out.

"I'll be out of contact a while as I focus on... on something important," Sorrow said. "Just hold on a little longer!"

I didn't have the strength to ask further questions. I could only watch helplessly as the ogre village appeared on the horizon. Given the stark sameness of the landscape, I hadn't noticed before how low Slor Tonn was flying. With the village providing a fixed reference, I noticed that the whale cut a rather drunken path through the sky. How much damage had Infidel done when she'd hit him?

Seconds later I had my answer, as we reached the edge of the village and Slor Tonn failed to clear one of the ice domes. It shattered beneath his belly. The mighty whale's body trembled as he gave one last push with his tail, trying to gain altitude, but he rose only a few dozen feet before his arc leveled out. He swam through the air another quarter mile toward the cliff temple. Then, despite Tarpok calling out commands urging him onward, the beast's body went slack. We slammed into the ice, sliding a hundred yards across the glassy surface before skidding to a halt.

In seconds, we were surrounded by a throng of ice-ogres. Three of the crowd were ogresses dressed in long, black walrus coats, the same style that Aurora used to wear. I'd always assumed she was merely being stylish, but now I wondered if this was some sacred garb of her priesthood, since the three black-coated ogresses began to shout commands that where instantly obeyed. They also sported the same top-knots of blue hair, and were somewhat shorter than the other ogres in the surrounding crowd.

Once more, I found my lack of actual vocabulary to be less of a hindrance to understanding what was being said than one might suppose. Tarpok freed Infidel from her bindings and tossed her limp form to the nearest priestess, with a gruff statement that certainly amounted to, "Here's your damn monster."

The priestess responded with a question ending in the word, "Purity?"

Tarpok shrugged. He loosened the Gloryhammer and brandished it. His next sentence was short and declarative. I'm pretty sure it translated, "I'm keeping this."

He slid down from the whale, pausing as he caught sight of my limp form tangled in the harness. "How the hell did this get here?" was the gist of his grumble as he ripped me free and tossed me across the ice.

Almost immediately, an ice-ogre ran toward me, only to be knocked aside by another who dove and slid across the ice as he scooped up my component parts in his thick arms. He stood and growled something threatening and the dozen hungry looking ogres staring at him kept their distance. If I could have chuckled, I would have. I think they thought I was edible. Were they in for a disappointment!

The ogre who'd claimed me carried me away, walking past Slor Tonn's mouth. The whale had vomited when it landed and the ice was covered in seal parts and half-chewed cod, which other ogres fought over.

Slor Tonn had what I can only describe as a split lip, a yard long gash running up from a now-toothless segment of his upper jaw, jagging like a raw-pink lightning bolt in an arc back toward his left eye. Tarpok and a priestess stood by the beast's head, their hands upon it as they whispered words of comfort to the wounded whale. I felt a sense of remorse – no one likes to see an animal suffering – mixed with a feeling of satisfaction that Infidel had at least gotten in one good lick.

As for Infidel, I caught one last glimpse as I was carried away, when I spied the priestess carrying her toward the carved cliff-side, cradling her like a baby.

Still unable to lift a limb or even move my tongue, I was helpless as my ogre captor carried me through the village back to his home. He stooped to enter the icy dome. A trio of young ogres looked up as he entered. An ogress with four flabby teats rolled over on a nest of sealskins and asked something. My captor responded by throwing me to the floor. One of my eyes popped off and skittered across the ice as my coconut skull cracked on impact.

The ogress asked something to the effect, "How am I supposed to cook that?"

The ogre seemed to reply, "Don't vex me, woman! I've done my part!"

The ogress stirred from the bed, muttering beneath her breath as she reached to grab the nutshell. She crushed it between her thick fingers, then pulled the rest of my form to her. She quickly stripped free what remained of my cloak and pants. She looked utterly crushed as she found nothing but rotting wood underneath.

If she'd bothered tearing open my chest, she would have found the precious metals inside, and maybe the male ogre could have pretended that the whole wooden body thing was just a way of hiding his real gift, a tiny golden cage with a silver mosquito. But, instead of opening my chest, she looked up at her mate and said a single word that certainly didn't sound like, "Thanks!"

The male responded with a savage growl and a sudden, backhanded slap across the ogress's cheek. He shouted at her, a rapid string of syllables I couldn't begin to pick apart. The three young ogres all huddled together at the farthest side of the room, their eyes wide with terror.

The ogress ran her hand across her mouth. She paused to study the blood on her fingertips. She said something in a calm, firm tone.

The male ogre sagged, his face going slack, his arms dangling uselessly by his side. Whatever she'd said to him had taken all the fight out of him. He turned slowly and slouched away, pausing to look at his children with a mournful gaze, before stooping to crawl from the ice-hut.

Ogre-mom lifted me up, staring at my coconut face with an expression of complete disgust. Without further ado, she tossed my body on the dung-fire.

# 16 - TONGUE OF FLAME

THE FIRE WAS slow to claim me. At first, I wondered if I might extinguish the flames as the ice that coated my wooden form melted, sending water gushing into the foul slurry of whale oil and dung. The water pooled into shallow circles that hissed and turned to steam.

My paper tongue loosened as the ice crystals that stiffened it melted away.

"Save me," I whispered, but my voice was too faint for the ogres to hear over the sizzle of the flames as they licked the oak staves of my chest.

"Sorrow," I cried out, praying she would hear, not knowing what she could possibly do. Alas, she didn't answer, or if she did, I failed to hear it as my seed pod ear shriveled, crackling in the heat.

I had no choice but to abandon my wooden body. But once I was rid of it, could what remained of my spirit endure? Could I ignore the subtle whisper growing ever louder in my mind to accept that I was dead, that it was time to disperse, to surrender what slight energy remained in me back to the universe?

Within my golden cage, I tried to urge my spiritual body toward the door. I failed to budge. I lacked the energy even to crawl. I could do nothing but smolder and wonder what came next.

The paper at the back of my coconut jaws crinkled and writhed as it baked in the increasing heat. Any second my tongue would burst into flames, silencing me forever. But what was left to say?

Despite the growing heat a chill ran through me as I realized there was only one name one dare not waste if gifted with a tongue of flame. A jet of smoke curled from my ragged jaws as I spoke: "Greatshadow!"

The embers that swirled above my desiccating body suddenly turned. The swirl of sparks paused for an instant into a shape resembling the head of a horse. Twin clusters of sparks on each side coalesced into eyes, studying me.

"Help me," I murmured with my tongue now wreathed with dancing fire.

"You are familiar to me," whispered the smoke and cinders above.

"I'm the husband of Innocent Brightmoon," I said, as my tongue crumbled to ash.

The flames about me danced into a decidedly serpentine appearance. The outline of an equine head filled with more red sparks, thickening to resemble scales. Smoke knifed into the shape of fangs as the creature's mouth parted to speak. "You are Abstemious Merchant. You brought the Jagged Heart to my kingdom to kill me."

"I came to your kingdom to rescue the woman I loved," I said. Though I no longer had a tongue, Greatshadow still looked like he was listening. "She spared your life when you were at your weakest. You owe her."

"I owe her nothing. And you, less than nothing," the dragon said.

"It's a favor I seek, not a reward. Save Infidel. At the very minimum, help me save her."

By now, the boards in my chest had dried sufficiently to catch fire with a sudden WHOOOMPH. Jets of flame from my shoulders reached up like a beggar's arms, pleading for Greatshadow's aid. "Infidel reminded you of how well humans have served your purposes," I said, desperate to persuade him. "We feed you daily. Even now, you devour my body. Is it too much to ask for a little help in return?"

Greatshadow said nothing.

There was a sudden pain, sharp and stabbing, where my heart used to be. The gold and silver inside me were melting.

"Please," I whispered.

Greatshadow turned his face away. "Even if I wanted to help you, what makes you believe I have the power?"

"You are power," I whispered. "If you cannot aid me, then all hope is lost."

Greatshadow continued to look away. With a sigh, he said, "Your faith is great. What you ask shall be given... for a price. You will give me your body in exchange."

"Anything," I sobbed.

"So be it," he said.

The swirling flames above me took on the shape of a large red claw, reaching for my chest.

About five years ago, I'd bitten into an olive and been careless of the pit. I'd cracked a molar right down the root. Infidel had volunteered to yank the tooth, using iron tongs borrowed from a blacksmith. I downed shot after shot of whiskey until her offer sounded sensible, then let her get to work.

I should have drank a lot more whiskey.

This tooth extraction came to mind as the tiny speck of blood inside the mechanical mosquito within me began to boil and bubble free from its tiny cage. It was as if Greatshadow's claws had reached inside and snagged my soul, and now yanked it loose with the same bone-mangling enthusiasm that Infidel had displayed in her amateur dentistry.

Slowly the pain subsided. The ringing in my ears ceased as I stopped screaming. The stars dancing before my eyes faded one by one. I was left staring at my clenched fingers, writhing in the air before me.

I had fingers. I had arms!

I once more had lips, because I smiled. I was alive!

Only, as I sat up, I understood that I'd merely returned to my previous phantom existence, with the illusion of life, at least. I glanced down at my spectral body, nothing but dry bones when last I'd gazed upon it, and found my limbs now sheathed with muscles. My legs still glowed with internal heat, faint flames shimmering as they cooled into a new sheath of skin.

I was briefly distracted from my rebirth by a whirlwind of activity around me. The ogress and her children were grabbing their belongings and tripping over themselves as they fled the hut. The raging bonfire that my wooden body had unleashed had thrown sparks onto the sealskins that lined the room. The oily hides now burned with ferocious energy. The icy chamber transformed into a furnace as the last ogre child slipped out the door.

"Abstemious Merchant," Greatshadow roared from smoke that whirled up through the small chimney hole. "This was not your true body I've devoured!"

"Not my original body, no, but I'd gotten comfortable in it, more or less," I said.

"I've breathed life once more into your spiritual body," said Greatshadow. "I demand your physical flesh in exchange."

"I promise to dig up my corpse the first chance I get, though it's probably pretty ripe by now."

"I don't want your old shell," said Greatshadow.

"What else do I have to offer?"

"Your daughter. Her form will contain enough of your physical essence to satisfy me. You must give her freely."

I raised my fist to him. "Over my dead body!"

"Don't be so ungrateful," said Greatshadow. "I've given the aid you sought. You now owe me."

"I'm not going to let you kill my daughter!"

Greatshadow chuckled. "She would be of no use to me dead."

"Then what–"

"The Isle of Fire is my domain. I require that your daughter dwell there as she is raised."

I ground my teeth together. What game was the dragon playing at? Did he know that's what Infidel and I had already wanted for our daughter?

"That's all you ask? That she grow up on the Isle of Fire?"

Greatshadow nodded.

"Have you... have you heard us speak of this?" I asked, thinking of the lanterns aboard the Freewind. "It's said that you watch mankind through every flame."

"Every candle, every lantern... and every dung filled hearth in these frozen wastes. From cook-fires on the cliffs surrounding this bay, I watched as a ship from the Silver Isles arrived this summer. I've caught whispers as an alliance was formed between King Brightmoon's men, Tarpok, and Hush's chosen prophet, Purity. I stood witness as the sky above the village tore open and Purity returned in her new body, carrying the Jagged Heart."

"Purity's planning to kill Glorious," I said.

Greatshadow chuckled. "Indeed. But Purity is merely a pawn in a much larger game. There are forces at work that wish to destroy all primal dragons. It's no coincidence that the plot against Glorious follows on the heels of the attempt to slay me. Nor is Glorious the only target."

"King Brightmoon and the Church of the Book are behind all of this," I said.

Greatshadow's chuckle turned into a guffaw. "The primal dragons need fear no mortal king. Were it my will, I could burn his kingdom to bare stone. The king is a mere puppet dancing on the strings of the true threat."

I held my tongue. I couldn't help but think of the Black Swan. She'd openly admitted to working behind the scenes to manipulate world events. Could she be the puppet master? As curious as I was to learn of the greater plot, I pushed aside my questions to focus on my most urgent desire.

"Infidel," I said. "You've got to help me find her. We came here to stop the plot against Glorious. I've seen you create avatars to enforce your will in Commonground. Can you create an avatar from the fuel at hand to help us fight Purity?"

"If I were to openly meddle outside my recognized domain, other dragons would take notice. For now, you alone must aid your spouse. Have faith. Infidel has proven capable of protecting the world from those who seek to alter the balance of power."

"I'll help her however I can," I said. "But–"

Before I could get out my next word, a thunderous CRACK rang out from the ice dome above me. Half a second later, the whole dome collapsed and the flames around me were instantly snuffed. I stood amid the wreckage unharmed, my phantom body glowing faint red beneath a coat of fine ash, as if I were metal pulled fresh from a forge. This glow slowly faded, restoring my ghostly shell to its ordinary translucence. Judging from the crowd of ogres that gathered to gawk at the fallen dome, I deduced I remained invisible. None even glanced at me as I waved my hand and said, "Awk!"

My status quo as a phantom wasn't such a horrible thing. I was free to move about again and proceeded to do so. The burnt hair and dead fish stink of burnt seal pelts was a good incentive to move on.

Goal one: Find Infidel.

I felt for the tug of her wedding band. Nothing.

I looked down at my ring finger. My braided ring was gone, consumed by the spiritual flames Greatshadow had used to restore me.

So instead I searched for the pull of the bone-handled knife, once as powerful as gravity. I couldn't sense it. Of course, when it had been in the spirit world with me, it had never felt like anything other than an ordinary knife. It had only affected me when it had been a bridge across dimensions, a gate between life and not-life. What had happened to it when I'd left it in Infidel's grasp? When her spirit had fused once more with her body, had the knife been sucked back into the material world? Or had it simply tumbled from her grasp, an immaterial thing, now lost forever on the artic wind?

I flew toward the temple. The ogres were busy chopping a trench in the ice around Slor Tonn. The whale was still alive; I could see his breath as great puffs of steam from his blowhole. His wound had been stitched up and sealed beneath a poultice of oily jelly with a vibrant green hue. The ogres jumped back as a slab of ice around Slor Tonn's head snapped loose, sending tall fountains of water jetting up through the gaps around it. The whale flopped like a fish on a bank as the water washed over it, sending further cracks through the ice. With a powerful full-body thrash, the whale pulverized the weakened ice beneath it sufficiently to open a hole. Slor Tonn slid into the frigid waters below. I wondered if he'd regain the strength to fly.

I hovered before the cliff, studying it closely. There were at least a dozen possible entrances. The lowest and largest was a cave at the level of the bay; the ice continued inside for as far as I could see. It looked big enough to sail a boat into. I floated dow, and found that the entrance was partially blocked by a mound of severed ogre heads, some little more than skulls, others looking freshly frozen. Their dead eyes stared at me with looks of indignation. Far beyond them, I saw faint lights. I decided to begin my investigation here.

Within the chamber, I found a medium-sized schooner lifted from the frozen waters and supported by what can only be described as a dry dock of ice. The ship appeared to be in good condition. Closer inspection showed that the ship was the Relentless; having spent my adult years in conversation with sailors from around the world I knew that this ship belonged to King Brightmoon's Judgment Fleet. The king had empowered these ships to serve as floating courts. They enforced the law at sea, with their captains serving as judge, jury, and executioner. The judge-captains kept a commission from the ships they seized to pay for their expenses; the rest was sent to the king. Even minor infractions were enough to justify seizing a ship, cargo and crew, which could only be released after payment of substantial fines.

In Commonground, it was noted that most people who functioned under a similar business model were labeled pirates and hung from gallows in civilized ports. In these same ports, the judges were revered as champions of the law. Of course, a judge would face a fate far less dignified than hanging if he'd dare sail into Commonground. Everywhere you look in this world there's symmetry.

I hadn't come here looking for symmetry, but for my wife. Unfortunately, I felt no connection pulling me. A score of corridors led off from this frozen underground bay. Which to follow?

As I contemplated my next move, I spotted a light from a tunnel near the Relentless. Shadows danced out over the frosted wooden surface of the ship. A second later, a robed man emerged from the hall. I recognized him instantly from his drab garb as a friar of the Church of the Book. Unlike the monks I'd been raised among who rarely strayed from the grounds of their cloister, friars were nomadic holy men, traveling the world. I use the term 'holy men' loosely; while they were respected members of the church, they lacked the direct connection to the One True Book demonstrated by Truthspeakers, and, unlike monks, they took no vows of meekness. Most of the assassins who'd shown up in Commonground looking for Infidel had been friars.

This friar carried a bundle wrapped in a large sealskin. He looked quite agitated. While friars did share vows of poverty with monks and priests, this one was sporting a rather eye-catching bit of wealth; a signet ring on the middle finger of his right hand was inset with a facetted glorystone, casting a light bright as a lantern.

The friar headed up a series of gangplanks to the deck of the Relentless. His loud footsteps on the beams caused the door of the aftcastle to be thrown open. A large man in a heavy coat stepped out and said, "Be quiet, brother. The judge is already in bed."

"Wake him at once," the friar said, shaking the bundle of skins he carried. "He must see this."

"There's nothing in those pelts that can't wait until tomorrow," said the guard.

The friar dropped to his knees and whipped the sealskin forward, unfurling it like a blanket. Within was the Immaculate Attire, from boots to collar. A lump formed in my throat.

"Blade's armor?" the guard asked, completely befuddled. "What's he doing back here?"

"Blade wasn't wearing it," said the friar. "It was taken off a woman. A woman with platinum hair and silver eyes."

The guard's breath caught in his throat. He whispered, "The Infidel?"

"She fought Tarpok using Lord Tower's Gloryhammer," said the friar. "She survived being crushed by Slor Tonn, though she's been injured. The ogresses are tending to her wounds."

"What?" the guard exclaimed. "If she's wounded, she should be finished off!"

"I know!" said the friar. "The ogresses say that her death would be wasteful. They say she's more valuable to them alive."

"Did you warn them of–"

"They've no respect for my words," the friar snapped. "This alliance is madness! Judge Stern must intervene!"

Judge Stern? The judge who'd hung his own mother? Sorrow's father?

The guard shook his head, then said, "Wait here."

I was disinclined to wait. I flew down the tunnel the friar had emerged from, hoping to find Infidel. Instead, ten yards in, the tunnel forked. On a whim, I chose the right branch. It forked again. Flying back, I chose the left branch. It led to polished dome of ice where murals of whale hunts had been painted on the walls with frozen blood. A half dozen corridors led from here.

With a thought, I was back at the ship. My best hope at finding Infidel was that Judge Stern would demand to see her. I'd follow him, and then what? If he tried to execute Infidel, how could I stop him?

Judge Stern emerged from the aftcastle a moment later, dressed in a thick woolen nightgown. He wasn't a terribly imposing figure, of medium height and build, with a wrinkled face that sagged on his skull. His hair was thinning, but enough remained to pull back into a frazzled braid. He had bushy muttonchops and eyebrows so thick they looked like gray caterpillars crawling on his liver-spotted brow.

"Tell me everything you know, Brother Will," said Stern.

I learned nothing new from the testimony that followed.

"What became of the Gloryhammer?" the judge asked.

"The heathen Tarpok claimed it as his prize," said Brother Will.

The judge grunted his disapproval. "This sacred relic of the church cannot remain in the hands of such a beast," he said. "We'll deal with that matter at another time. For now, we need the ogres to guide us across the Great Sea Above if we're to complete our mission."

This would have been a handy time for Brother Will to ask, "And what is our mission, exactly?" so that I could have learned what the hell they were planning. Alas, he'd already been briefed.

"If the Gloryhammer and Immaculate Attire are here, then the quest to kill Greatshadow must have succeeded, since these assets were deployed there," said Judge Stern. "The guiding hand of the Divine Author has brought these items to us on the eve of our final journey."

"Or else the mission failed," said Brother Will. "Could it be that the most sacred champions of the church have been slain by the Infidel and she's come here to stop us?"

Judge Stern scratched his stubbled chin with his neatly trimmed nails. He nodded slowly, drew a deep breath, then said, "At present, all we have is speculation. Perhaps it's a lucky thing the woman was taken alive. I'm greatly interested in hearing her testimony. Brother Will, go inform the ogresses I shall visit the prisoner as soon as I'm dressed."

"At once, sir," the friar said, before spinning around and scuttling back down the gangplank. I followed, frustrated by how slowly he walked, though in truth I suspect his pace would have winded me if I'd still been alive. After following for five minutes, I was grateful to have a guide. The underground passageways were a labyrinth. They were also curiously empty. I had yet to spot an ogress. Instead, I spied a dozen human men in a long hall, who sat eating from bowls filled with gelatinous lumps of whitefish cooked in a thin gray broth. They were a rough looking bunch, no doubt the sailors from the Relentless. They looked well fed. I thought about the ogres in the village so hungry that they'd fought over whale vomit.

At length we reached a cavern carved from solid ice. The place was large enough you could have fit the Grand Cathedral of the Silver City inside it. Starlight filtered down from the translucent ice roof, casting ghostly shadows all about. The front and side of the room was ringed with large ice stalagmites matched below by stalactites; the way they jagged together almost reminded me of teeth.

The undulating floor could have passed for a giant tongue. The spiritual hairs on the back of my phantom neck began to tingle.

Brother Will hurried across the cavern, toward a gap in the ice teeth that led once more into a corridor of stone. To reach this, he passed three large boats covered in hide, similar to the ones that had turned up in Commonground, though lacking dragonheads.

I remembered something Aurora had said in passing back during the hunt for Greatshadow, something I'd paid little attention to at the time: "We'd sail from the dragon's jaws into the Great Sea Above."

Despite Brother Will's brisk pace, I felt I had time to check out my hunch without losing him. I tilted my head skyward and bid my spectral body to rise. I shot into the ice, then through it, rising into the starry sky above. I flashed a mile into the air at the speed of thought before looking down.

The landscape beneath me was all white on white; the starlight provided little in the way of contrasting shadows. Off to the west about a mile away, I could make out the top edge of the cliff and, beyond this, the frozen bay studded with the ice-houses.

Directly beneath me was nothing but snow-covered hills leading off to the west in a series of serpentine ridges. As my eyes adjusted, the truth slowly emerged: The ridges of the hills formed the spine of a dragon.

I was flying directly above the motionless body of Hush. Brother Will had just walked through the cavern of her open jaws.

Perhaps I was growing jaded. Since my death, I'd witness four primal dragons — Abyss, Greatshadow, Rott, and now Hush. I was no longer astonished by their sheer size. It was difficult to judge Hush's true length given that she lay with her body curled, but I would roughly calculate that from snout to tail tip she was a good five miles long. Despite her glacial size, I couldn't help but notice that she was frozen stiff and had apparently not moved in a very long time. She was more landscape than lizard.

I'd been gone long enough. I dove back down, passing straight through her snout into her cavernous mouth, quickly spotting the passage Brother Will had been shuffling toward. I flew in that direction, catching up to the friar mere seconds later.

He descended a winding stone stairwell. Frost sparkled on the walls, lit by his glorystone ring. To my surprise, the passageway came to an abrupt dead end at a wall formed of ice. He rapped the ice with his ring. The space beyond was obviously hollow.

An ogress stepped through the ice-wall, passing through its solid surface as if had been merely a sheet of flowing water. She could have been Aurora's sister for all I knew; her walrus coat, hair, and skin tone were identical, though she stood a few inches taller.

"What do you want?" the ogress asked gruffly.

"Judge Stern wants to interview our prisoner. Is she awake?"

"She is," said the ogress. "But she's our prisoner, not yours. She attacked our villagers. She was bested by our champion. Your judge has no authority over her."

"She was carrying holy relics of our church," said Brother Will.

"We've already given you the armor. If your judge wants the hammer, I suggest he argue his case with Tarpok. In any event, you've no need to speak to the prisoner."

"I beg to differ," said Brother Will. "We've every reason to think that this woman is a great enemy of our church."

"We are great enemies of your church," said the ogress, in an impatient tone one might use speaking to a particularly dull-witted child. "Purity is an even greater threat to all you hold dear. Your argument isn't terribly convincing."

"Listen to me!" Brother Will said, waving his finger in her face. "Your prisoner has devoured the enchanted blood of the primal dragon Verdant! It gives her strength beyond imagining. She can bend steel with her bare hands. The sharpest blades are blunted when they strike her invulnerable skin! You don't know the danger she poses!"

"You're obviously mistaken about the identity of our captive," said the ogress. "We were able to stitch her wounds with a bone needle; her skin is no tougher than any other of your race. And if she can bend steel with her bare hands, why does she struggle so helplessly when we've bound her limbs with mere leather?"

Brother Will furrowed his brow, obviously stumped by this revelation.

I saw no reason to stand in the hall and listen to these two argue. Instead, I ghosted through the ice and found myself in circular stone cell about seven feet across. Infidel was alone, leaning against the wall, her body covered by a seal pelt. Her bare arms lay before her, bound at the wrists by tight loops of leather. To my astonishment, she held my bone-handled hunting knife in her left hand.

The room was stuffy, even warm, despite the wall of ice that sealed the door. Only a few gaps in the stone allowed air to flow; Infidel looked dazed and drowsy, and I wondered if she was suffocating in this nearly air-tight space. On the other hand, despite the glazed look in her eyes, the color had returned to her cheeks. Save for the numerous bruises around her shoulders and a stitched-up gash on her chin, she looked not too shabby for someone who'd been crushed by a whale.

She looked up as I drifted near her.

"Stagger?" she whispered.

"You can see me?" I asked, my ghost heart freezing. Was she so close to death's door?

"And hear you," she said, keeping her voice low as she glanced at the ice wall. The light from Brother Will's glorystone cast the ogresses shadow on the ice in stark outlines. Infidel winced as she rose to meet me. Beneath her sealskin she was wrapped from armpits to upper thigh with tight white bandages. Her feet were bound together by leather loops that let her move her feet only a few inches apart. She leaned back against the wall to steady herself. Her breathing sounded shallow.

"You're not dead?" I asked.

"I'm too sore to be dead."

"Why'd they let you keep my knife?" I asked. It seemed very odd to leave a prisoner with a weapon, and for the life of me I couldn't imagine how she could have hidden it.

"The ogres don't see the knife," she said. "Only I can see it and feel it; it was stuck to my hand by dried blood. But even when they stitched up my palm, it never fell from my grasp. They ran needles through it as if it wasn't even there."

"It must still be halfway between the spirit realm and the real world," I said. "Maybe it's letting you see me."

"I wish it was letting me cut these cords," she said, placing the knife in her teeth and trying to stab the leather at her wrist. The blade slid right through, like vapor.

"You're in the middle of the ice-ogress temple," I said. "You'd have a hard time getting out of here even if you weren't tied up. To make matters worse, one of the Judgment Fleet is here, the Relentless. Judge Stern is on his way to interrogate you to find out of you're the Infidel."

"Stern?" Infidel said, spitting the knife back into her palm. "Sorrow's father?"

"Maybe," I said.

"That's a pretty big coincidence, isn't it?" she asked.

"The monks used to say that what we think of as coincidences are all part of the Divine Author's master plot."

"And that plot would be?"

I shrugged. "From what I can gather, just as King Brightmoon allied himself with the Black Swan to slay Greatshadow, he must have struck a deal with either Tarpok or Purity to help kill Glorious. Judge Stern is here representing the king's interests. Maybe. There are lots of gaping holes in my information. But, we don't have time to figure things out, because Stern's coming here to see you. You need to figure out a cover story, quick, so he won't learn who you really are."

"Or I tell him who I really am," said Infidel. "Maybe I can convince him that my father will reward him handsomely for my safe return."

"Or he puts you on trial immediately for high crimes against the church and you're dead before the day's out."

As I said this, the ice door cracked, suddenly collapsing beneath its own weight. Rather than revealing the ogress and the friar, a tall woman with four-arms and wings stood in the doorway. Save for being coated with fine silver fur, her face was a perfect match for Infidel.

"I apologize for eavesdropping," Purity said, with a slight grin. "It's the hound in me, I fear; I can hear every word spoken for a hundred yards in any direction."

"You hear me?" I asked.

"Menagerie's animal senses detect you, though faintly," Purity said. "Have you never felt as if dogs were sometimes staring at ghosts? It seems, indeed, they are."

"Can they also feel ghosts?" I said, leaping forward, making a fist, putting all I had into a swing at her chin. I had one shot at taking her by surprise. That shot failed as my ghostly arm wafted through her.

"It seems not, now that you're free of your driftwood shell," she said.

"How about this?" Infidel shouted, hopping forward, raising her bound fists in an uppercut punch.

Alas, Purity caught Infidel's arms with her hands and pushed her away. Infidel's back slammed into the wall. Purity was on her a half second later, grabbing her by the neck, lifting her in the air.

"I like your spirit, princess," Purity said. "I suspect your quickness to violence explains how you've managed to retain your virginity to the spinsterly age of thirty. You're exactly who I need to wake Hush. Sacrificing one of my poor ice-maidens will never do when I can have the blood of a virgin princess!"

Infidel clawed at Purity's wrist. "Your information is out of date. I'm not a virgin. I'm pregnant!"

"Pregnant by a ghost, via copulation in an abstract realm. In the material world, your physical form has never been defiled by a man!"

"Hey!" I protested. "She wasn't defiled, period. We're married! And wherever and however it happened, she is indeed pregnant. I saw our baby's spirit glowing in her womb. Anyway, how can you possibly know what happened with us?"

Purity drew her face close to Infidel and sniffed the perspiration that now beaded on her brow.

"An ebony bird told me," she said, staring into Infidel's eyes. "You are pregnant. I can smell it in your sweat."

"So you won't be sacrificing her," I said.

"So when I sacrifice her, I'll be sacrificing two virgins at once," said Purity.

"Why do you need to sacrifice anyone?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"

"This world has seen its last sunrise," said Purity, dismissing me with a wave. "There's nothing you can do to stop me. The ogresses have gone to prepare the boats. Tarpok stands ready with the sacred harpoon. Stern even now dons his sacred garb and readies his Writ of Judgment. Leave this place, little ghost. I find your faint murmurs annoying."

"It makes no sense!" I protested. "Killing the sun is insane! What can you possibly hope to gain from such a thing?"

Purity glanced at me. "An end to ceaseless, pointless chatter, to start with. I've been to the Promised Land, little ghost. I've seen the world in its pristine state, before the sky was tainted by the sun. All the world was once in permanent winter, beneath a silent, smooth blanket of white, slumbering like an innocent child until it was raped by noise, by heat, by light. It is time to complete the circle, and return the world to perfection."

"You're out of your frozen mind," I said.

"And you're annoying me," Purity grumbled. "Go away, little ghost."

When the Black Swan had used similar words, I'd been pushed away against my will. Whatever magic she'd used, Purity hadn't mastered it. I felt no force compelling me to leave. So I wonder if she was surprised when I disappeared?

# 17 - THAT INFIDEL

MY FINAL TEN minutes in the material world were somewhat hurried. Of course, I was unaware that my moments left were so few. Perhaps there were things I could have done differently, though it's too late for second-guessing.

With ten minutes left, I willed myself back to the deck of the Freewind, arriving at the speed of thought. The ship had been tidied up somewhat but was still listing. From the bow of the ship looking toward the stern I couldn't help but notice that the mizzenmast and the foremast were tilting in opposite directions.

The other thing I couldn't help but notice was the giant. I blinked, certain that my phantom eyes were confused. There was a naked man at least a mile tall wading in the ocean beside the Freewind. The waves broke against his belly button. Above him, the darkest, most menacing storm clouds I'd ever seen churned violently, though for some reason the seas all around us were relatively calm and only the barest breeze stirred the air. Gale's handiwork, perhaps?

"Your eyes do not deceive you," said Jasmine Romer, materializing before me. "This is my eldest grandson, Levi, short for Leviathan. You may guess the magical gift granted him by the Mer-King."

"He gets big?"

"And stays big," said Jasmine. "Once, he was able to return to human size, but he hasn't done so since he fell in love with a young cloud giantess. He's thrived in his new world, and is now a commander aboard a hurricane."

This was interesting, but had nothing to do with my reason for returning to the ship. Before I could tell Jasmine about Infidel's peril, Levi bent over the Freewind and used fingers the size of tree trunks to gently scoop up Cinnamon, Sage, and Poppy from the deck. He lifted them toward the swirling clouds high overhead. It made me notice how quiet the ship was. Shouldn't ice-maidens still be working their bucket brigade?

"Levi feels the Freewind is beyond repair," Jasmine said, shaking her head sadly. "The keel has been damaged and Sorrow said she'd be unable to mend it unless the ship was in dry dock. Only Gale, Mako, and Rigger remain aboard, vowing to see the ship to port. Their stubbornness may be the death of them."

The mention of Sorrow snapped my focus back to my immediate problem: "Infidel's been captured. From what I can figure out, Purity has been allied with the ice-ogres and the Church of the Book to kill Glorious for some time now. They plan to use Infidel as a human sacrifice to wake Hush. I don't think we have much time to stop them."

"Then let's hope my grandson's aim is as good as he says it is," said Jasmine.

"I need to find Sorrow," I said. "I'm hoping she can... wait, why should we worry about Levi's aim?"

"Because an hour ago, at her request, he threw Sorrow at the ice-ogre's village."

And that's how the first minute of my last ten came to a close.

Nine minutes left: I willed myself back into the sky above the ogre temple. Sorrow was nowhere to be seen. Had she fallen short? Assuming that Leviathan's strength scaled magically, and that Sorrow had been a mere pebble in his hand, was even he big enough to fling her this far?

I glanced down at Hush's mouth atop the cliff. Should I go back and try to find Infidel? What could I do there when I did find her, other than annoy Purity? There had to be a better plan.

I looked south, back in the direction of the Freewind. If I went back there, could I convince Leviathan to come up here? He'd gotten to the Freewind quickly enough. I had some experience with hurricane force winds; he could probably cover a hundred miles or more in an hour. But, as I looked toward the horizon, I saw a bright speck against the night sky, like a shooting star with no trail, hurtling toward me.

With a thought, I flew closer. As the distance closed, I realized I was looking at a rather sizable bird. But, my sense of scale was thrown off by the difficulty of judging size with only the stars as a backdrop. I drew closer still and found that I wasn't looking at a bird; I was looking at a pair of copper limbs shaped to resemble albatross wings, covered with fine glass feathers that sparkled in the starlight. Judging from the human figure at the center, the wingspan was at least sixty feet across.

At the center of the wings was a suit of jet black iron armor. Behind the helmet's gleaming glass faceplate, I caught a glimpse a woman gazing out. Sorrow?

Who else could it be?

She sailed past, leaving only a soft tinkling sound in her wake, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. With a quick glance at the ground flashing below, I saw she was flying at a pace that would have left Slor Tonn in the dust. Of course, 'leaving in the dust' is really only an appropriate metaphor for horseback riding; fifty years of earth-bound existence had left me unprepared for good analogies in describing the speed of flight. Suffice to say, she was moving very damn fast. I gave chase, as one moment bled into the next.

With eight minutes to go, I realized I had no way of speaking with Sorrow. My wooden body was now completely gone... save for the one seed pod earring that Sorrow wore. I caught up and peered through the glass visor that protected her from the wind. It was apparent she couldn't see me, and it was difficult to tell given the tightness of her iron helmet if she still wore the earring. I brushed my spectral fingers along her left cheek and found the pod. My fingers tingled as they connected with whatever faint magic remained in the dry vegetation.

I stretched next to her and placed my lips against her cheek.

"Can you hear me?" I shouted.

I heard nothing, but Sorrow jerked her head to the left.

"Stagger?" she said, though I could barely hear her above the rush of wind. "Where have you been? What's wrong with your voice?"

"Body's gone," I said, trying to keep things as simple as possible. "Purity's in the dragon's head on top of the cliff. She's captured Infidel."

Sorrow's eyes scanned the landscape. She gave a quick nod. "I see it."

I looked in the dragon's direction, surprised that Sorrow had found it so easily, and discovered that Hush's head of translucent ice was now aglow with a pale blue light. Sorrow's wings sang out like a thousand tiny bells as she tilted into a dive leading straight for the dragon's skull.

Even with the amazing speed with which Sorrow flew, we were still so far away. Impatient, I zipped back in the cavern of Hush's jaws, with seven minutes left.

The three walrus skin boats had been dragged into the center of the room. In one boat stood Judge Stern, Brother Will, and the bodyguard from the ship, now dressed in the Immaculate Attire. Behind them sat a crew of human oarsmen. Judge Stern held a yard-long tube of rolled up parchment with both hands. This scrolled glowed faintly in my ghostly vision. It was still sealed, but I recognized it at once as a Writ of Judgment.

These sacred documents were issued by the Voice of the Book himself; they were not issued lightly. If the Voice of the Book pronounced you guilty of a crime deserving death and the Writ of Judgment was read in your presence by a duly appointed authority of the Church, you would die.

In the second boat stood Tarpok, holding his cast-iron harpoon straight as a flagpole, his chest thrust out, looking as if he were in command of the world. The Gloryhammer hung across his back, slung on a strap of seal leather. Behind him were three ogresses, all priestesses judging from their garb, and a dozen human sailors from Stern's boat at the oars.

In the final boat loomed Purity, in a boat manned by ice-maidens. She held the Jagged Heart, which proved to be the source of the light I'd seen outside. Due to the brightness of the glow, it was difficult to look at Purity directly, though I had no choice. She was holding Infidel by the throat, dangling her off the front of the boat. Infidel squirmed in her grasp, which was loose enough to allow for some cursing.

"You prehistoric witch!" Infidel shouted, vainly trying to stab Purity with the phantom blade of the bone-handled knife. "You can't be this stupid! The judge will kill you the second you've completed his dirty work! It's probably your name on the scroll!"

"The judge knows this is a one way journey for him," said Purity. "He's willing to die for his cause. How can I not trust a man like that?"

Judge Stern frowned. "If your trust in me is so great, I wish you'd allow me to question your prisoner. I fear, if she is the Infidel, her dragon-tainted blood may ruin your sacrifice. There's no way her spiritual essence can be considered innocent."

Purity chuckled. "There's no dragon blood in this poor girl's veins. I'd be able to smell it. She may be an infidel, but she's not the Infidel."

I hovered near the roof of the cavern. No one knew I was there. I had to get Infidel free. There was one thing I hadn't yet done as a ghost that sprang to mind, though whether from inspiration or desperation I cannot say.

With six minutes remaining, I dove down from the cavern toward Purity, waving my phantom limbs for all they were worth, thrusting my face inches before the old witch's mug. I screamed at the top of my ghost lungs, "BOO!"

To my utter astonishment, it worked. Purity flinched, dropping Infidel to grab the Jagged Heart with all four hands. She looked frightened as she swung the harpoon in a clumsy arc, using it as a battle staff rather than a thrusting weapon. Given my proximity, I was nowhere near the blade. This proved fortunate, since the shaft of the harpoon impacted my ghostly ribs with a sickening thud that knocked me backward. I flitted toward the roof, clutching my chest. The pain was unbelievable. My ghostly bones had been broken. How could ephemeral mist fracture?

Despite my lack of actual lungs, I coughed violently. Dark blood sprayed from my phantom lips.

Purity composed herself as she realized the source of her ambush. She tilted her head back and laughed.

"Little ghost!" she said. "I thought you'd fled! You should use more caution. Don't you know this harpoon is used to hunt the dead?"

Actually, I did know that. Aurora had said that she used the harpoon to hunt phantom whales. Apparently, it could injure phantom men as well. I was glad I hadn't been near the pointy end.

Infidel had landed on the ice and was trying to wriggle away. Judge Stern's bodyguard leapt from his boat and loped toward Infidel to retrieve her. The formfitting Immaculate Attire didn't flatter his rather large gut. Any sense of comedy I might have felt about his appearance vanished the second he drew his sword with his eyes fixed on my wife.

"Before you kill me," I said to Purity, blinking away tears as blood dribbled down my chin, "you should know that Infidel was right. I spied on Judge Stern earlier and he has three Scrolls of Judgment; one for Glorious, one for you, and the last for Hush!"

It was a lie, of course. At least, if it was truth, it was a truth I couldn't verify. I felt lightheaded as I wiped blood from my mouth. It glistened on my ghost fingers, red and wet and warm.

I looked down at the bone-handled knife in Infidel's hand as she made one last desperate, instinctive attempt to use the phantom blade to cut the leather that bound her legs. Blood on the knife had always pulled my ghostly form more fully into the material world. Would the blade still react to blood?

I flew down and closed my bloody fingers around the intangible steel. I shuddered as I felt it drink.

Five minutes left.

I remained a ghost. But the bone-handled knife, coated with my blood, suddenly sliced through the leather that bound Infidel's legs. The guard stood over her, sword drawn. Infidel kicked with her now free left leg, letting loose a loud grunt as she put her full strength into the guard's right knee cap. With a popping sound, his leg bent backward. He toppled toward her, chopping his blade toward her brow.

Infidel raised her bound wrists, straining to pull her hands apart. She caught the falling blade against her leather bindings. It didn't quite cut through. She twisted her arms, and yanked the sword from the guard's grasp. Bracing the sword between her knees, she slid her wrists along the sword's edge and was free.

With a back flip, she sprung to her feet, sword in hand. Before anyone could react, she sprang forward and punched the tip of the blade into the back of guard's skull, in the half-inch gap between his helmet and his collar. His flailing limbs instantly went slack. Everyone on Judge Stern's boat turned pale.

"Yeah," she said, with a glare in their direction. "That Infidel."

I wasn't certain she should be boasting, given that she was half-naked, bruised head to toe, and armed only with a sword and a semi-material hunting knife, facing off against a shape-shifting witch and a half-ton ogre carrying weapons crafted from dragons. In fact, as much as I admired her swagger, I really hoped she'd find her inner Stagger and run like hell. Before I could draw a pained breath into my broken chest to offer the advice, the roof caved in.

Four minutes to go.

A chunk of ice the size of an elephant smashed into the floor between Infidel and the three boats. Something dark was atop this, but vanished in a blizzard before my eyes could focus. Infidel reacted with surprising calmness, stepping backward to avoid the gusting snow. Some of the mariners aboard Judge Stern's boat didn't wait for the air to clear before jumping ship and making a break for it. Stern cast a wicked glance backward, the ferocity of his gaze halting the remaining mariners from abandoning their posts.

The snow cleared and revealed Sorrow crouched atop an imposing boulder of bluish ice. Her wings had either been torn away by impact or she'd shed them to improve her freedom of movement. Her iron armor clung to her like a coat of paint. She stood, stretching her left hand. Iron razors six inches long sprang from her fingertips.

Her other gauntlet crumbled, revealing her right hand, blood red with rust. For some reason, her naked hand was far more menacing than the clawed gauntlet.

"I come to this place intending no malice," she announced. "Purity, we're kindred spirits, aware that the world is an unjust place. We seek, in our own fashion, to better it. I'd rather be your friend than your foe, but I cannot let you extinguish the sun. Renounce your plans and join me on a more constructive path. If you refuse, I give my solemn vow that I shall kill everyone in this room."

"You're the crippled materialist," Purity scoffed. "The pathetic failed witch who nearly killed herself with a bone-nail. Despite the drama of your entrance, you've no power to enforce your threats."

The iron and glass helmet that covered Sorrow's features flowed backwards like mercury, revealing her face and scalp. From my hovering vantage point, I counted swiftly: One, iron. Two, copper. Three, glass. Four, gold. Five, silver. Six, wood. And seven... seven was something black as tar, something that made my eyes ache and my stomach turn.

Sorrow said, in low, firm tones, "I've carved a nail from a fragment of tooth belonging to Rott, the all-consuming. I now command the elemental force of decay. I possess the power I've long sought to remake the world. It does not suit me to have the world end just as I gain the ability to save it."

The helmet spread back over her scalp and face. She said, calmly, "I will begin killing when I count down from three. Three."

Which, as fate would have it, were the number of minutes I had left.

Purity glared at Sorrow's red right hand. I had trouble taking my eyes off it myself. We both had to be wondering what Sorrow's new powers might do to ghosts.

Sorrow had her gaze locked on Purity. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tarpok lean back in his boat, hefting his iron harpoon over his shoulder.

"Sorrow!" I wheezed, though of course no one in the room but Infidel and Purity could hear me. Infidel started running toward Tarpok but it was too late. He hurled the massive shaft of steel, which flashed through the gap of air between him and Sorrow. Sorrow proved more attentive than I'd supposed. She stretched out her right hand, palm open like a shield to catch the harpoon's razor tip. The horrible weapon turned into a cloud of reddish dust, swirling to settle on the ice at Sorrow's feet.

"Two," said Sorrow, though I technically had over two and a half minutes left.

The mariners in Judge Stern's boat once more scrambled overboard. Stern spun around and barked, "Any man whose boot touches the ice shall be hanged!"

The sailors didn't even pause.

Sorrow, on the other hand, turned her head slightly.

"Father!" she called out, in astonishment.

This distraction was all that Purity needed. She lunged forward, her vast wings unfolding, as she thrust the Jagged Heart like a pike. The tip barely touched Sorrow's frozen armor before Sorrow caught the shaft with her red right hand.

Instantly, Sorrow's armor spider-webbed with cracks. As she moved, the iron began to flake away, rendered brittle and useless by the Heart's extreme chill. The narwhale horn of the shaft yellowed where Sorrow touched it, but didn't disintegrate.

The momentum of the impact knocked Sorrow backward. She slipped from her icy perch. Her armor shattered into scraps of black shrapnel skittering across the floor as she landed flat on her back. Purity came to rest on the icy boulder where Sorrow had perched a second before.

"Foolish girl," the shapeshifter growled. "You come here and boast that you wield the power of a primal dragon? What of it? I've surrendered myself to Hush for two full centuries. I'm more than her prophet; I am her avatar! You brandish the power of decay? Cold stops decay!"

Sorrow opened her mouth and drew a breath. I knew her next word would finish her countdown.

But Sorrow wasn't my sole focus of attention. In the exact same span of seconds that Sorrow and Purity had fought, Infidel sprang into action. Tarpok had just thrown his harpoon, his right arm still outstretched. Infidel no longer had the dragon strength that had allowed her to leap rivers in a single stride, but she was a well-muscled woman in her prime who could cover the twenty-yard gap between her and Tarpok in heartbeats. Tarpok clenched his fists as Infidel reached his boat. The upper lip of the leather vessel was eight feet off the ice, but Infidel leapt to within inches of the edge, sinking her bloodied knife into the leather, using it as a pivot point as she swung her body up. In the blink of an eye, she was over the rim, leaving the bone-knife dangling in the leather. With a snarl, she placed both hands on the hilt of her long sword, planted her feet firmly, and drove the honed steel tip with all her weight into Tarpok's belly.

The point of the blade skittered along his stomach, tearing a gash in his sealskin coat. Beneath this a tiny line of beaded blood rose on his white hide. Her most powerful blow had only scratched him.

Infidel had no time to prepare a second strike. Tarpok caught her by the hair and snatched her from her feet.

"I'm going to wring your scrawny neck," he boasted, as he brought her face inches from his own.

Infidel reached over his shoulder, her fingers closing around the shaft of the Gloryhammer. The weapon flared as she took command of its power. Tarpok and Infidel shot skyward with the speed of lightning. They were beneath a section of roof that remained intact. Tarpok's head smashed into the ice, sending a spray of crystalline daggers flying in every direction. Infidel curled her body beneath his as they rose. On impact she drove her elbow straight into the ice-ogre's throat.

Unfortunately, the awkwardness of her position caused the Gloryhammer to tear from her grasp, and they both tumbled back to the floor. They slammed to the ice ten feet behind Sorrow just as she said, "One."

I actually had two minutes left.

Sorrow lay on the ice wearing only a modest silk slip. The braces she'd once worn were gone; her limbs looked to be in full health once again. Perhaps she now had the power to reverse entropy as well? She kept her eyes fixed on Purity as she rose.

"You were warned," the young witch said. Then, she opened her mouth wide as her belly swelled. With a violent convulsion, she vomited, sending a jet of oily black fluid spraying toward Purity. The air instantly stank of rotten meat, a foulness that gagged even me.

The spray broke into black droplets in the air, which began to flitter and buzz. What can only be described as a tornado of flies swallowed Purity. The flies swelled forward from the whirlwind, engulfing the three boats. Screams filled the air as the black cloud covered everything.

Meanwhile, on the ice behind Sorrow, free from flies, Infidel had recovered half a second before Tarpok did. On her knees, she ripped the Gloryhammer free of the leather straps that held it on the ogre's back. She rose to stand above the fallen warrior.

Infidel looked rough. Her impact with the ice had torn loose the stitches on her brow, and bright red blood flowed across her cheek and down her throat. If she felt any weakness, she didn't show it. Instead, she lifted the Gloryhammer with both hands high above her head.

Tarpok, flat on his back, had by now recovered enough to recognize his danger. He swung his right arm up to protect his face.

It didn't help. Infidel swung the hammer down with such force that it snapped his forearm, driving flesh and bone down to pancake flatness as it impacted with his face right between his tusks. His head caved in, squeezing his brains out through his ears.

Infidel stumbled backward as she tried to avoid the sudden gush of blood rolling toward her feet. She looked pale and exhausted as she landed on her butt. The impact caused her to drop the hammer. She took a deep breath as she probed the bleeding wound on her brow with her fingers. She pulled away her hand, coated with her own blood.

To balance herself, she placed her bloodied hand upon the ice beneath her. The ice throughout the cavern instantly turned pink.

My final moment:

The cloud of flies turned white as the insects developed a coat of frost. They plummeted from the air, bouncing as they landed with tiny tapping sounds that built to a deafening crescendo, like a billion bits of gray hail striking a tin roof all at once. In the aftermath, Sorrow had proved unable to live up to her boast of killing everyone.

Not that she hadn't given it her all. The human sailors were dead, or nearly so. Half of them were little more than skeletons wreathed in maggots, the other half were still-living men with skins swollen to the bursting point by writhing things within them gorging on their organs.

The only man unaffected was Judge Stern, who hugged the Writ of Judgment tightly to his breast. These documents were often protected with glyphs to ward off damage; these protections must have shielded the judge as well.

The boat of the ice-maidens was none the worse for wear. The ice-armor that coated the women had proven impervious to the flies.

The trio of ogre priestesses on the final boat were also unscathed beneath shells of ice, but the oarsmen who'd shared the boats with them had been utterly maggotized.

Standing on the boulder of ice, Purity looked down at Sorrow. The shape-shifting witch had sheathed herself with icy armor.

Sorrow took a step backward, bringing her fists up, her brow furrowed as if she was pondering how to respond to this turn of events. But if she'd not expected her attack to be thwarted, she was even more surprised when her feet slipped out from under her and she landed on the pink ice with a wet smack.

The dragon's frozen tongue was melting, and melting fast.

Sorrow and Infidel struggled to make it to their feet. They were both soaked by the time they stood. The cavern floor was now six inches deep with pinkish water. The cavern was filled with the aroma of spit mixed with a little blood. The fluid was deep enough that the seal skin boats were starting to float.

With a wave of the Jagged Heart, Purity literally froze both Sorrow and Infidel in their tracks, trapping their bodies in ice.

"Hush has tasted virgin blood!" Purity shouted, looking toward the trio of ogresses. "We've only seconds before the dragon awakens and propels us into the Great Sea Above! Secure our prisoners and place them in the center boat!"

The ogresses leapt from their boat and ran to Sorrow and Infidel. One paused before Tarpok long enough to kick him in the gut, before aiding her sisters in lifting the frozen bodies and rushing back toward Purity's boat. The Gloryhammer was retrieved as well, along with the corpse of Stern's bodyguard still spotless in the Immaculate Attire. The ogresses understood the artifacts were too valuable to leave behind.

The old witch looked over her shoulder. "Judge Stern, as your crew has proven inadequate to the task at hand, would you be so kind as to move to my boat?"

The judge looked dazed, but he nodded and climbed out into the knee-deep water. He paused for a moment, looking down at the remains of his men, then reached into the boat to grab something I couldn't see and stick it in a pocket of his robe. The entire cavern shuddered as he sloshed toward the middle boat.

"Hurry!" Purity cried, watching events from her perch on the ice boulder. "Hush wakes!"

In response, there was a groan, soft at first, building to a deafening roar loud enough that Judge Stern covered his ears as the ogresses helped to push him into the center boat. The frozen forms of Infidel and Sorrow were tossed in like stiff baggage, coming to rest in the middle of the vessel.

The dragon's groan faded, ending with what could only be described as a sob. The noise reminded me, for all the world, of the cry of a woman who'd just been told of the death of a lover. It was the sound, on the most primal level, of a broken heart.

And then the blood came, gushing up the dragon's throat in a great carmine flood. It surged through the chamber, lifting the boats. The dragon's jaws opened to let the blood flow out toward the cliff edge in a great river ten feet deep. Purity flitted down from her icy perch as the flood engulfed it, landing in the central boat.

To the right, the boat that Tarpok commanded spun in the current, the bone-handled knife sticking from its bow.

Despite the fact that my broken ribs made me feel as if my torso was full of shattered glass, cutting me with even the feeblest of motions, I stretched my arm out as I flew toward the boat. The knife was now solidly in the material world. Was there enough of it still in the middle realm where I dwelled that I could grasp it?

I almost laughed as my fingers closed around the hilt and yanked the blade free.

The boats raced forward on the river of roiling gore with Purity standing on the bow, harpoon in hand, her eyes scanning the horizon in the direction of a sunrise which might never come.

This witch had to die.

I flew toward her with the fullest speed of my imagination.

She caught me mid-flight with the Jagged Heart, moving faster than I could follow, driving its tip into my chest beneath my left collarbone. With a push and a twist, my ghost heart was torn free from its arteries and forced down to meet my liver.

The bone-handled knife slipped from my fingers to land at the witch's feet. I opened my mouth to curse her, but only a bubble of blood escaped.

My time in the material world had come to an end.

# 18 - DEAD IN THE WATER

HOW MUCH OF what happened next is memory and how much is dream is difficult to say.

I hung upon the Jagged Heart like a pig upon a spit. Purity grimaced as my ghost blood ran down the narwhale shaft in dark red spirals, staining her hands. She tried to shake me loose, but the barbed head held me tightly. In the end, she was forced to awkwardly manipulate the harpoon close to her so that she could grab the portion of the staff that jutted from my buttocks. I hung upside down in the boat for a moment. I saw Judge Stern remove his heavy black cloak and drape it over his frozen daughter.

"You attempt to warm her in vain," one of the ogresses said with a scowl.

"I merely wish to hide the shame of her unclothed limbs," said the judge.

By then, Purity had shifted her grasp on the harpoon. She shook the shaft over the edge of the boat and I slid, face down, toward the growing river of blood. I splashed into the fluid, blinded for a moment by the opaque tide, before I floated face up to the surface. I felt no pain. I couldn't move, or even blink. I bobbed along in the current, utterly limp. Just as I could no longer reach for one of the oars cutting into the blood mere feet from my shoulder, my mind, too, lost its ability to hold on to reality. I felt as if fog rolled in from the edges of my memories, blotting out all that remained of my consciousness.

And yet... and yet I do have impressions of my journey into the realm beyond. Perhaps some faint spark of personality remained to bear mute witness to my fate. Or, equally plausible, I've imagined details to fill in the gaps.

Be it truth or dream, this is my recollection:

When the river of blood reached the edge of the cliff, rather than spilling over to flood the ogre village below, the river darkened as it spread outward into the air, flowing toward the stars. My corpse was carried by the current far ahead of the boat that carried Infidel. Purity stood on the bow, the harpoon held before her like a battering ram. A pale glow originated from the Jagged Heart and spread across the sky, triggering a magnificent display of the northern lights. Behind the boat, Hush stirred, her icy body rising, her coat of snow and ice falling away to reveal a crystalline dragon the size of a mountain. As she spread her snowy wings, blizzards spun from the tips, dancing outward in ever strengthening waves. Much of the world would wake to a morning covered with snow.

The blood flood continued to rise, though at some point my perceptions flipped and instead of rising, we were falling. The stars above were now the stars below, and we tumbled, one and all, toward the vast black sea of night. As the waters grew closer, I saw that the stars, so small at a distance, were actually bits of ice, brilliant as diamonds. They continued to grow larger as I fell, growing from flea specks to fragments the size of fingernails, to chunks as large as my palm, to floes as big as boats, until they became small islands, hundreds of yards across. I smashed into the waters that separated these icy isles. The sea was awash with light. As I bobbed back toward the surface, I saw that the cold waters were dense with phosphorescent krill, glowing ghostly shades of green and blue. Ghostly was an especially apt adjective, since the krill looked like translucent wisps of light rather than beings of flesh. I understood, at last, the origins of the auroras we'd witnessed in these northern latitudes.

By pure chance, my face turned heavenward as I reached the surface. Purity's boat was nowhere in sight. Snow clouds roiled high above, filling the sky, reflecting the pale glow of the sea.

From these clouds emerged a whale. It was Slor Tonn, his head split open. I could see through his great black and white form as he tumbled through the air. He was as much a phantom now as I'd been. He splashed into the waters some distance away from me. My body was tossed by the waves created by his impact. I found myself upside down, my lifeless eyes staring into infinite blackness, my feet now above water. I could not move to right myself. I don't know how long I drifted, numb and silent.

Dead in the water.

Then, far below, a faint circle of white, like a smoke ring, growing, rising toward me.

It was Slor Tonn. His massive jaws were opened into a toothy circle. His jaws clamped down on my waist, severing my legs. The last thing I remember, or dream I remember, is the pressure of his tongue flattening me against the roof of his mouth before he swallowed.

And then there was nothing.

AND THEN THERE was something. In the dark and silent void, I heard... music. The song was faint, the far away voices of women singing unaccompanied by instruments. I couldn't recognize the words; the language sounded like that of ogres. It didn't matter. The music was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard, haunting and heart-breaking yet joyful, filling me with loneliness, then promising to take that loneliness away.

My peaceful communion with this ghostly melody came to an abrupt end as I was vomited from the belly of the whale. Imagine a sound like a cat coughing up a hairball, assuming you were inside the cat, and the cat was fifty feet long. This disgusting cacophony served as my trumpet to awaken me to judgment day. I found the will to open my eyes as I was squeezed through the whale's undulating esophagus, my passage illuminated by reeking buckets of half-digested ghost krill. I exploded out upon the whale's great pink tongue, my arms flopping uselessly. My left hand snagged against the whale's saw-like teeth and was severed as I was spat onto an ice floe. The pain of losing my hand was agonizing. The pain of everything was unbearable. My chest was nearly hollow; half my guts had spilled out when Slor Tonn had snapped me off at the legs. My heart was trying to beat, but faced the difficulty of having been chopped to mince-meat by Purity's harpoon.

I squeezed my eyes tightly to hold back the gush of tears. Never had I hurt so badly, not even when I'd died the first time in the material world.

There were voices around me, ogres judging from the deepness of the tones and the harsh, hacking syllables of their vocabulary. Not such a big surprise, I guess. The Great Sea Above was heaven for ogres.

Clenching my teeth to control the pain, I managed, through extreme force of will, to open my eyes. I was flat on my back on the ice. An ogress crouched above me. She was nude save for a necklace of whale teeth, and her pendulous breasts nearly touched my nose. She shifted, giving me a better view of her face, though I wish she hadn't. Her visage was a horrifying mass of blisters and raw flesh, black around the edges, as if she'd been burned. Above her blackened tusks, her pale blue eyes were gentle, even kind. Her hair was pulled back into a severe top-knot, the hair singed and frizzed.

Her half-charred lips were set in what can only be described as a bemused grin.

"I was there the night the fortuneteller predicted the sea would swallow your bones," she said. "She forgot to say you'd get spit back out."

"Aurora?" I gasped.

"Yes," she said. "I'm guessing you're in a world of pain."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I swallowed hard. "Unbearable."

She reached into a pouch at her side, then pushed something rubbery between my teeth. With her meaty fingers, she worked my jaws, forcing me to chew. The taste was like raw, rotten kidney mixed with licorice. I wanted to spit, but she held my lips shut. I decided to swallow. Given that my stomach had fallen out of my rib cage, it was the fastest path toward getting rid of whatever foul thing she was poisoning me with. However, as I swallowed, my pain eased. It wasn't just a numbing that came over me, but a flush of heat and energy.

"That was a slice of dried adrenal gland from a polar bear," Aurora said. "That gland sits next to the kidney, so your saliva's going to taste like urine, I'm afraid. Give it a minute to kick in and you should feel better."

I nodded. "Not even a minute. That's pretty good stuff."

Aurora shrugged. "Get used to it. Now that you're dead, you'll be eating it by the fistful. It's pretty much the only thing to soothe the pain."

"I've been dead for weeks. Until now, it hasn't really hurt," I said.

"Last I saw you, you hadn't passed on to the afterlife. You were just a pathetic ghost haunting the woman you used to love."

"Still love," I said. "Nothing's pathetic about that. And last I saw you, you'd been fried by Greatshadow, and your ghost was off to the Great Sea Above to find your family."

Aurora picked me up, placing me upright on the ice. We were surrounded by a score of ogres in various states of decay. Most were short a limb or two. Some were missing heads. "I found them."

I raised my remaining hand and said, "Awk." The ogres who could manage it raised their hands to return the greeting. They were a sad looking lot. Most were chewing on rubbery bits of bear gland like gum. Even from a distance, their breath smelled of piss.

"I thought the Great Sea Above was heaven for your people," I said. "Why is everyone in pain?"

"Heaven and hell are myths of your people. For my people, there is life, and beyond. Once you're in the Great Sea Above, you're immortal. Your body no longer ages. This also means that it no longer heals. You remain in the same state you died in, unless you suffer further injuries here, or your corpse decays or is damaged back in the material world. Ordinarily, this isn't a problem. We entomb our dead in ice, where their bodies may remain unchanged for eons. Alas, when I was driven from the temple, conflicts that followed led some ogres to desecrate the bodies of my relatives. The call song I sing extends back thirty generations. I should be surrounded by legions; only this small band remains."

"I'm sorry," I said.

Aurora shrugged. "Eternity is too long to dwell on regrets. For now, I'm grateful for what I have. I'm among those I love. My family needs me. I have a purpose, which makes me happy. And now that my oldest friend has found me, my happiness is increased even more."

"Really?" I asked, trying not to sound shocked. "I was your oldest friend? I always thought you didn't much like me."

"You?" she chuckled. "You were likable enough, but I was speaking of Slor Tonn." She looked up. Slor Tonn floated directly above us. "I'm sorry he's passed on, but happy he found me. I'm not surprised. There was always a bond between us." She looked down at me. "On the other hand, I'm completely befuddled that you're here. Your kind normally passes on to different realms."

"I'm a bit surprised myself."

"I assume there's some logical explanation?"

I shook my head. "I don't think logic has much to do with this."

I told my story, starting with Infidel promising to return the Jagged Heart, all the way up to the point where Purity stabbed me. It took a long time, long enough that I required a second dose of bear gland, but Aurora listened patiently, as if she had nothing but time.

In the end, she nodded, contemplating what I'd told her.

"I'm probably missing some important details," I said. "I don't really know who this Tarpok character is, or why he'd ally himself with someone like Purity."

"Tarpok was my eldest brother," said Aurora. "He was the biggest, strongest, toughest ogre in the village. I was his runt sister, in a family with twenty siblings. As a hunter, Tarpok brought great prestige upon my family. Then I entered the priesthood, and eventually became high priestess. In my youth, the villagers would look upon my father and say, 'there is an ogre who deserves respect, for his semen has produced the mighty hunter Tarpok.' Once I was high priestess, the praise changed, and they said, 'this great ogre's semen has blessed our village with Aksarna the wise.' Aksarna, by the way, being my true name. As you can imagine, this hurt Tarpok's pride."

"I would think it would hurt your mother's pride, hearing your father get all the credit."

"Tarpok and I have different mothers. Father has produced twenty children, by seven different mates."

"Oh. Are ogre's polygamous, or is child birth just that difficult?"

"Ogres are fiercely monogamous. Most of my father's wives were murdered by younger females wanting to catch my father's attention. Only after the old wife was out of the way would father choose a new wife."

"And he'd choose a known murderess?"

"It showed she had passion. It's considered highly flattering if a female is willing to kill to gain access to your semen."

I furrowed my brow. I tried to be open-minded about cultural differences, but this was a bit much.

"Semen is very important to my people," Aurora said, sounding worried I hadn't caught on. "Which added to Tarpok's shame. He was a mighty hunter, yet his first bride bore him no children. He murdered her two years later and took a second wife. She, too, bore no children. Then he married Sinnatok, a widow who'd four young children, so she was certain to be fertile. This marriage, alas, produced no offspring. Whispers grew that Tarpok the mighty was really Tarpok the seedless. Women snickered as he passed. His shame was great."

"Tarpok seemed pretty popular when I saw him," I said. "Your people must have gotten over the fact he was sterile."

Aurora shook her head. "Now that I've rejoined my family, I've learned what happened in my absence. With the Jagged Heart gone, the priestesses were weakened. Tarpok announced that we were at war with the Skellings, and that he was to be our warlord. He took up residence in the temple, since it was the most defensible structure. He killed any priestess who objected, but spared the few who broke their vows of chastity in an attempt to, shall we say, sanctify his semen."

"From what I can count, there were only three who agreed."

"Three too many," Aurora grumbled. "There were twenty-five priestesses in various stages of training. All should have chosen death over defilement."

"They might not have had a choice," I said. "He's almost twice their size. You can't blame the victims of a rape."

"I can blame any priestess who hasn't attempted to slit his throat, or failing that, to slit her own. Can you imagine the blasphemy of what he's done? He had the entire village watch as he defiled the priestesses upon the western altar, then had them announce that, by bathing his genitals in their holy blood, he'd healed his infertility. It was further proclaimed that he'd been given a divine vision that he was to build a great army to one day stand against those who had stolen the Jagged Heart. It was essential that the village produce as many offspring as quickly as possible. He announced that he was going to sleep with every ogress in the village, taking a different lover every night, so that his blessed seed might produce a new crop of warriors. This pronouncement didn't go over well, as you may imagine."

"It sounds like he went insane," I said.

Aurora nodded. "Tarpok may have been insane, but he was also unquestionably the greatest warrior in the village. The strongest males declared war on him, and it was during this war that his ancestors, and therefore my ancestors, were desecrated. The fighting lasted years but Tarpok eventually prevailed, and build a monument from the skulls of those who'd opposed him. The remaining males of the village became rather more philosophical about Tarpok sleeping with their spouses. Some of the females resisted at first, but after a few of his early partners became pregnant, most went willingly. Tarpok was the embodiment of male power. The chance to be filled by his semen was a great temptation."

"So was he was cured by sleeping with the priestesses?"

Aurora shook her head. "By sleeping with every female in the village, he could claim that any child born the following year was a product of his seed. But he didn't demand chastity on the part of his lovers; most were probably impregnated by their true husbands."

"I have a hard time thinking that a monster like that gets cheered by the crowds I saw."

"Ah, but there's one final, perverse twist. The males who challenged Tarpok were the best hunters in the village. After they died, Tarpok alone accounted for over half of the meat the village fed upon. My people are on the verge of starving, and flattering Tarpok is their best route to being fed."

"But he's the reason they're starving!"

Aurora shrugged. She said something in her native tongue.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," I said.

"It's a proverb of my people. Wisdom is the first thing devoured by an empty belly."

"I'm afraid your people may be even hungrier now, since Infidel caved in Tarpok's face."

"There was a time when this would have concerned me," said Aurora. "But everyone I knew will be dead soon enough."

"Because Purity's going to murder the sun?"

Aurora shook her head. "Because the lifespan of an ogre is but a single beat of a heart when measured against the expanse of forever. Being dead gives one a sense of perspective. What was the point of all the struggle? In the end, death will claim the just and the unjust. For all the harm that Tarpok did to my people, he's here now, another of the dead in the endless sea of death." She stared out over the ice floes. "As blood kin, he will be drawn to our family song. I look forward to assisting him with his pain."

"You'd soothe the pain of a villain who's done such harm?"

"I said assist, not soothe."

"Ah."

"But this will happen in its own time. Now, we've a more pressing matter." She pointed toward the horizon. "In little more than an hour, Glorious will once again rise over the edge of the sky. Purity will no doubt use this moment to strike. If we're going to stop her, we must depart at once."

"I'm very happy to hear you say this," I said. "I was worried that your new-found stoicism might keep you from taking the threat seriously."

Aurora whistled to Slor Tonn. The whale did a cartwheel, then plunged into the water nearby. "I care little about the fate of the world. But, Purity was responsible for robbing me of the Jagged Heart. Even now, she defiles it with her heathen grasp. I cannot let this be."

"Purity's no pushover," I warned. "She's got all of Menagerie's shape-shifting powers, plus ice powers just like you."

"Actually, I don't have those powers anymore," said Aurora, sounding apologetic. "My spiritual connection with Hush was severed when I came here."

"Oh. Then we might be in a rather lopsided fight."

"She's sailing in a walrus skin boat," said Aurora. "We'll be riding a flying whale. This fight may be lopsided in an entirely different direction than you think."

Slor Tonn floated up beside the ice floe and Aurora lifted me, slinging me over her shoulder. "Hold tight," she said as I wrapped my arms around her neck. She shoved another bit of bear gland between my lips. I pushed it between my teeth and cheek and sucked on it to make it last longer. Aurora jumped onto Slor Tonn's back.

"He doesn't have his harness any more," I said. "He's as naked as we are."

"Who needs a harness?" she asked, walking toward the center of the whale, right behind his blow hole. She made a clicking noise with her tongue and the whale slapped his tail against the water, then surged skyward. Aurora crouched, keeping her center of gravity low, her arms spread for balance. I tightened my grip around her neck.

We climbed swiftly, as the dead ogres on the ice floe began to sing their family song to call Aurora back. For a moment it seemed that the higher we climbed, the louder the voices grew, but soon their voices faded, lost to the wind. As Slor Tonn banked in response to Aurora's clucked and grunted commands, I caught a glimpse of her family on the ice below, now small as bugs.

"Aren't you afraid you won't be able to find them again?" I shouted above the rushing wind.

"I can hear my family song no matter where I travel," said Aurora.

"How about the Jagged Heart? You said you used to be able to feel its tug."

"I lost that connection, I fear," said Aurora.

"So how will we find Purity?"

"I don't think we can, unless we get exceedingly lucky. She's on a tiny boat on an infinite ocean. We'll never find where she is now, but we don't need to. We know where she's going. Fortunately, Slor Tonn can carry us to Glorious before he ever rises above the horizon."

"We're just going to fly to the sun?"

"Why not?"

"And what will we do when we reach it?"

"Talk to Glorious," said Aurora. "Ask him not to rise until we've eliminated the threat."

"Oh." I found the directness of her plan a little unsettling. "Do you really think it will be that easy?"

"I'm almost positive it won't be. But we should try a direct approach and deal with complications only if they arise."

And on we flew. Below us, the ocean spread out like a jewelers display case, with glistening gems spilled against a backdrop of black satin. Above was endless darkness, save a floating blue-green ball no larger than a grapefruit.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing with my stump.

"Our old world," she said. "The material world. We lived there."

"It's so small," I said.

"It's far away," she said. "Maybe a thousand miles."

"Wow," I said, surprised I could see anything at that great a distance.

Of course, I'd seen this orb before, when falling back from the realm of the dead where Greatshadow dwelled.

"I've now been in three different realms of the dead," I said.

"What of it?"

"Zetetic, the Deceiver, said that there was no objective reality. He said we were all the authors of our own worlds, and our unconscious collaboration creates what looks like solid reality, but is, in fact, nothing but a malleable fiction. What if the realms of the dead are like this? We spend all our lives imagining what the afterlife will be like, and then, when we die, that's what we get. Doesn't that mean we'd have the power to change things if we wanted to?"

"If we could change things to what we want, I wouldn't have half of my flesh burned away," said Aurora. "I'm guessing you'd still have your legs and your hand."

"But that's not the way I imagined my afterlife. I always assumed that, when I died, I'd just fade away. That's almost what happened, until my soul got sucked into the bone-handled knife."

"Look!" Aurora said, pointing into the distance. I could see nothing but ice floes and black ocean where she pointed. "A boat!"

She used her clucking, snorting commands to steer Slor Tonn down toward the ice. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what she'd seen. At last, I spotted it: a single walrus skin boat, empty of passengers. A few oars lay in the bottom. I saw a rip in the bow, where Infidel had dug in with her knife.

"This was the boat Tarpok and the priestesses were in before Sorrow unleashed her plague of flies," I said.

Water sprayed over us as Slor Tonn came to rest in the dark water. Aurora leapt from the whale's back into the center of the boat. She grabbed an oar and deftly maneuvered the vessel toward the nearest bit of pack ice. Then she hopped out and dragged the boat onto the ice.

"This boat is a great treasure!" she exclaimed. "Not all of my ancestors retain the bodily integrity needed to swim. This will allow us to extend our hunting range. We should turn back and take it to my family."

"What does a boat matter if the world is on the verge of ending?"

Aurora looked up. "If the world ends, it will become even more crowded here. My family will require resources to remain comfortable."

I had to admire her pragmatism. "If this boat is here, Purity must be near."

"Perhaps. The currents that flow from the material world into the afterlife are chaotic. She could be miles away."

"Then let's stick with the plan," I said. "Let's find Glorious first."

"You weren't this impatient when you were alive," Aurora grumbled. But, I'd won the argument. She left the boat on the ice floe, as she hopped once more onto Slor Tonn, and steered him toward the horizon.

"Hold tight," she said. "We won't stop again until we're within shouting distance of the sun."

# 19 - NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN

"THERE'S ONE THING I don't understand," I said to Aurora as Slor Tonn sailed through the dark sky.

"Only one thing?" she asked, in mock astonishment.

"One thing immediately pertinent," I corrected. "When we were hunting Greatshadow, Father Ver sounded confident that killing the dragon would have no effect upon the continued existence of fire. He said that the primal dragons were interlopers who'd merged their spirits with existing elemental forces. Killing the dragon would merely free the element, not destroy it. For instance, the church killed Verdant a long time ago, and trees continue to do okay."

"So you're wondering if this mission is even necessary?" Aurora asked.

"I mean, suppose Purity does kill Glorious. I'm completely at a loss to figure out if she's here to hunt his body or his spirit, but does it matter? Isn't the sun still going to be around? I hate to sound callous, but would our lives be worse in any way if she succeeds?"

Aurora sighed.

"You sound disgusted by my question."

"Not disgusted," she said. "Just a little... weary. The Church of the Book has gone out of its way to hide the true history of our world. Most of the so-called 'civilized' men I've spoken to have been brainwashed by the church's dogma, to the point that they insist their self-evident falsehoods are the only truth. For those of us privy to the actual reality, conversations about the world's origins with the church's faithful are a little tiresome."

"I'd hardly identify myself as one of the faithful."

"But you were raised by the church," she said. "You judge everything you're told my how well it meshes with the myths of your childhood."

"I also judge the myths of my childhood by how well they mesh with reality. For instance, the Church of the Book teaches that the world is precisely 1082 years old, that it sprang into existence fully formed the day the Divine Author finished writing the One True Book. But I earned my living exploring ruins that my grandfather calculated to be at least 3,000 years old. I've gotten my own hands dirty on the roots and rocks of the Vanished Kingdom, and grandfather's math makes much more sense than the church's attempt to explain away the evidence."

"They bother to explain away the evidence?" she asked. "Most believers I speak to aren't even aware there is evidence."

"The monks said that the world looks older than a thousand years because that's the way the Divine Author wanted it to look. A creator can give his creation attributes of a past, even if it was created only moments before."

"That's stupid," said Aurora.

"Maybe. But a lot of smart people buy into it. When I was nine, I was studying literature under a monk named Brother Brown. One day we took a break from reading stories and he asked me to write one. I composed a tale about a knight named Lord Brilliant. Brother Brown kept asking me for details of my character, and my imagination was more than eager to supply them. I remember that when my story began Lord Brilliant was twenty, which seemed old to me at the time. I remember his hair was the color of golden wheat. He was strong enough that he could carry his horse across a dangerous bridge. His parent's names were, um... Honor and Faith, if memory serves. Oh, and his favorite food was snails in mustard sauce."

"I can't believe that would be anyone's favorite food," said Aurora.

I shrugged. "I'd heard that rich people ate such things. At the monastery we mostly ate barley and salt cod. Anyway, in my adventure, Brilliant undertook a ten year quest to hunt down... uh... hmm."

"Hunt down what?"

"Uh... don't be offended, but he hunted down ogres. I was just a kid. I didn't know any personally at the time."

Aurora shrugged. "We tell our children that humans use ogre bones to flavor their soup. Don't worry about it."

"Anyway, my point is, my twenty-year-old knight undertook a ten year quest. So when I was asked by Brother Brown how old he was at the end of the tale, I said he was thirty. But my teacher pointed out that I had created Lord Brilliant only that morning. He was little more than a few hours old. Despite this, Lord Brilliant possessed properties, such as parents, that indicated a much longer existence. Brother Brown explained that our world could also appear to be much older through the same principals. To this day, I really haven't thought of a good argument to challenge this."

Aurora shook her head. "By that logic the world might only be a year old. Even one minute old. Nothing really existed before we started this conversation. There'd be no way of ever knowing the truth."

"Truth isn't as solid for me as it once was," I said. "The way Zetetic's magic worked... it was like he was creating new realities by the second. I saw it with my own eyes. Who am I to judge what's real and what's unreal?"

Aurora sighed. "Humans are so weak-minded. Your kind confuses philosophy for fact. How is it you came to rule most of the known world?"

"We don't make our weapons out of ice, for one thing. It gives us a little more range."

She rolled her eyes. "We're off topic. Let's get back to Glorious. Do you ever wonder why the Vanished Kingdom is three-thousand years old? Why you don't find traces of something older?"

"Sometimes. Was there a civilization before the Vanished Kingdom?"

"No," said Aurora, somewhat emphatically. "There's nothing older than three thousand years. The world existed before then, but we can never know for how long, since three thousand years ago marks the invention of time. Before then, there were no fixed days or years."

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

"It's a human failing that you wish for the world to make sense. You'd rather embrace a sensible lie than an absurd truth. Time was the invention of Glorious. It was his whole reason for merging his spirit with the sun."

"You're losing me," I said.

"Before three thousand years ago, the sun was a wild thing. It followed no set course across the sky. Sometimes it raced across the heavens, other times it loped at a leisurely pace, pausing to nap at the apex of its climb. Some days it rose in the east, other days in the west or north or south. Nor did it always journey across the vault of heaven toward the opposing horizon. Some days, it would lazily roll back down the sky to finish where it had started."

"If there were days, then there was time," I said, having instantly spotted the gaping hole in her logic.

"But now, a day is a fixed measurement. The sun passes through the sky on a schedule. Its path is so steady, we can divide days into hours, minutes and seconds, or lump them together into months or years. Has it never struck you as odd that the sky has an agenda? It's self-evident from the regular procession of moon phases, eclipses, and other celestial phenomenon that there is some guiding intelligence imposing order upon them. Glorious is that intelligence."

"I know that in the Vanished Kingdom, Glorious was revered as a god. The ruins are rife with big disks representing the sun."

"With good reason. Glorious made civilization possible. Before he merged with the sun, agriculture couldn't take hold. Of course, this wasn't Glorious' goal when he fixed the sun into a specific course. He had no idea he was creating the conditions needed for humans to thrive."

"Then why did he do it?"

"Who knows? Perhaps you can ask him. Look ahead."

I did so and saw instantly what she was referring to. The black sea beneath us was lightening, taking on hues of pale blue, tinted with pastel pinks. The ice floes beneath us grew ever thinner, until at last there were no stars to be seen. We flew on, and at length the ocean grew still and took on the perfect azure of a calm tropical lagoon. Far in the distance, like a vast white pearl too dazzling to look upon directly, was the sun, floating calmly amid the blue.

Aurora raised her beefy arm to shield her eyes as we grew closer. She said, "It's funny that, in telling of the invention of time, I've so lost track of it. Here's the short answer to your original question: Glorious' body was destroyed when he merged with the sun. You know that Hush loved Glorious, and was willing to betray Greatshadow to mate with him. But Glorious spurned Hush; he was too fixed on his plan to merge his soul with the sun to waste his energies on such a thing as love. Hush, in her anger, attacked him, striking a mortal blow just as he was merging with the sun. Her blow killed his reptilian body, but this proved a boon, since it liberated the spirit of Glorious to freely merge with the sun. Hush threw herself at the sun in her rage, but succeeded only in gouging a large crater. The rubble from this blow fell to earth."

"The glorystones," I said.

"Exactly. And, as the glorystones rained down like fire, they caught Greatshadow's attention. At the time, he was merely an ordinary dragon who specialized in elemental flame magic, and he was curious about this new source of heavenly radiance. He flew to investigate and found Hush standing over the body of Glorious. She confessed that she'd offered herself to Glorious and been rejected. Greatshadow's rage at this revelation was the final push needed to fuse his soul with the elemental flames he'd mastered, marking his birth as the primal dragon of fire. As Hush realized she'd lost both Glorious and Greatshadow, her heart shattered and the chill wind that rushed into the void pushed her across the elemental barrier to become the primal dragon of cold."

"So, if his body is already dead, all that's left of Glorious is his soul," I said.

"Yes. He is, in some ways, the most vulnerable of the primal dragons. We must warn him. If he dies, the sun will no longer be guided by his intelligence. It will once more meander through the sky unpredictably, meaning the end of the world as we know it."

"Purity has a different idea. She thinks the sun will be extinguished. But, it's hard to think that the Church would be going along with this plan if they thought that was right. They must think things will pretty much stay the same."

Aurora fell quiet as she thought this over. Finally, she said, "What will follow the death of Glorious is an open question. Let's hope we never learn the answer."

And on we flew.

Have you ever approached a bonfire on a dark beach? From a distance, the fire is bright white at its core, while everything around is draped in black shadows. Yet, when you are directly beside the fire, the shadows don't seem as stark, and it's possible to gaze into the flames and see the individual logs burning, a hundred glowing hues of yellow and red and white mixed with streaks of dark black soot.

So it proved to be with the sun. The yellow white pearl floating half-submerged in the still blue water could now be gazed upon directly. The pearl was enormous, large enough that the entire Isle of Fire could have been contained within it. If the sun was a giant pearl here in the Great Sea Above, I couldn't help but wonder if, somewhere in the mythology of the ogres, there was a legend of a giant oyster.

Beneath the pearl's translucent surface, I could see the draconic spirit form of Glorious curled into a tight ball. His snout was tucked beneath a wing, and his long tail coiled around his entire form. He dwarfed any of the primal dragons I'd yet witnessed. Abyss had been large enough to swallow a fleet of ships; Glorious was large enough that he could have swallowed Abyss like a grain of corn.

His eyes opened as we approached.

"You're the ones I've waited for," he said, in a surprisingly gentle whisper. There was something curiously familiar about his voice. Then I realized it was my own voice. Glorious was speaking directly in my thoughts.

I assume Aurora received the same message. She grunted a command and Slor Tonn slid to a hovering halt. Aurora dropped to her knees and bowed on the whale's broad back. Since I was clinging to her neck, this left me staring right at the sun.

"We're sorry to disturb your slumber, oh Glorious!" Aurora cried. "We recognize that we've not cleansed ourselves with the proper rituals. We ask that you—"

"There's no need for these formalities," Glorious said, shifting his face within the pearl to look upon us more directly with eyes as large as the Commonground bay. "Do you think me ignorant of earthly plots? You've come to murder me, to release my soul to oblivion."

"No!" said Aurora. "Hush and her minions await your return to the northern reaches of the Great Sea Above. It is they who wish you harm. We've come to warn you. But... you already know of this plot?"

"The Church of the Book is not so clever as they believe," said Glorious. "They shun the use of candles and torches since they fear that Greatshadow may gaze out of the tiniest flame. But they light their most private sanctums with glorystones. My soul fills all solar material, even these remote fragments. I'm witness to the church's every scheme."

"Then you know that the Church has produced a Writ of Judgment that can destroy you," I said.

"Yes. And I've heard their tedious debates as they convinced themselves this will not matter. They believe the sun will continue its current path through pure momentum. They shall learn the truth, I suppose. Even without the scroll, I cannot survive an encounter with the Jagged Heart. Its hateful bitterness will poison my soul and I will, at last, find welcome relief in oblivion."

"You welcome this fate?" Aurora asked, sounding confused.

"For three thousand years I've guided the sun across the skies in a never-changing path, utterly alone in my journeys. When I began my task, I was driven by pure intellectual hunger: was it possible to impose order upon a chaotic world? I believed it was, and I believed I was the only being who had the intellect and strength of will to force such a change. When I first traveled to these abstract realms, I welcomed my solitude. The material world is violent and cacophonous. I could barely hear my own thoughts. I dreamed of a better place, a domain of peace, order, and silence, where I might at last organize my thoughts and realize the true potential of my intellect."

Peace, order, and silence. I wonder if Glorious knew how much his personal agenda overlapped with Purity's dream?

"When I first merged my soul with the sun, all was blissful," Glorious said. "I invented days, which gave birth to years, then to centuries. I was free at last to sequentially organize my thoughts and memories. From my vantage point above the world, I saw the changes my works had made possible. Mankind embraced time, measuring it out with sundials and hourglasses, with calendars and clocks. They sang my praises and carved my image from stone, the better to worship me."

He sounded wistful as he relayed his story, though perhaps 'sounded' isn't the correct word for a message conveyed through telepathy. Still, I was certain Glorious held the memory of this time to be bittersweet. What followed, however, was only bitter.

"My brethren dragon, alas, were slower to see the advantages of time. They were wiped out by the explosive growth of human civilization, slowly fading from history, until only the primal dragons remained. Then I watched even the primal dragons succumb, losing their intelligence and identities to the elemental forces they commanded, until only a handful of my kind endures. Alas, the survivors are the dragons who despise and resent me most. Never in all of existence has any creature ever been as alone as I am."

"But you aren't alone," I said. "If you can see through the glorystones, you're connected with the world! You must experience the lives of thousands each day."

"It is so. And, long ago, this was good. The first men to create agriculture worshipped the sun. They sang my praises and offered sacrifices. While I no longer needed to eat, my pride fed upon their deeds. I felt... loved."

"Men still love you," I said.

"No," said Glorious. "Men now take me for granted, at best. Today, most men bemoan my great gift, time. They curse the relentless pulse of seconds, they rail against my ceaseless crawl across the vault of the heavens, and treat the years as something I steal from them rather than as a gift given freely."

"People are fickle," I said. "That's hardly a reason to want to die. Give them another thousand years and they'll be back to worshipping you again."

"You cannot judge me," said Glorious. "My loneliness increases with each year. Time has become my curse. If my loneliness is unbearable after thirty centuries, imagine the agony of another hundred, or thousand, or ten thousand. I do not possess the courage to face eternity; no being could. The cycles and patterns of life I observe once delighted me; now they bore me. There is nothing new under the sun. Thirty centuries is enough. I am done."

"What will happen when you die?" asked Aurora. "Who's right? Will the sun carry on without you guiding it? Will it meander as it once did? Or will it be extinguished?"

"What does this matter to me?" he asked. "It was never my intention to give birth to the world you know. Should I care if my choices now end it?"

"Yes!" Aurora said. "You can't condemn a world to death just because you're bored and lonely."

"I believe I can," said Glorious. "And I believe I will."

As he spoke, he uncurled his body. He was a being made of pure light, but the pearl of the sun rocked and bobbed as he spread his limbs, disrupting its internal balance. His body passed though the glassy surface and he stretched his golden wings to span the horizon.

Slor Tonn wheeled unexpectedly. I clung tightly to Aurora as she struggled to keep her balance.

"What's happening?" I cried.

"That gloomy idiot has spooked my whale," Aurora shouted, as Slor Tonn fled toward the darker waters we'd come from. I glanced back to see Glorious rising ever higher above the pearl. The waters beneath us churned as the sun's orb bounced and twisted, moved by the dragon's struggle to free himself. I looked up, toward the distant globe of the physical world, and wondered what the sky must look like at this moment.

We were putting quite a bit of distance between us and Glorious. I shouted, "Slor Tonn can really move."

"It won't matter," Aurora shouted back. "Glorious will overtake us in the blink of an eye once he gets underway. The only thing we have going for us is that this is the first time he's been outside the sun in three thousand years. Maybe we have a minute or two while he catches his bearings."

"Then that's a minute or two for us to find Hush."

"Agreed," said Aurora. "We can stop Purity and Judge Stern. We can save Glorious whether he wants to be saved or not. Then we can talk him back into the sun... I hope."

"I'll handle the talking," I said. "I won't be much help in a fight."

"That was true in life as well."

She said this humorously, but I sensed an undercurrent of resentment that her only ally in saving the world was a legless, one-handed ghost. I sucked the bear gland nestled in my cheek and said nothing. My brain raced as I struggled to find an argument that might convince Glorious to carry on. I doubted there was anything I might say that would ease his loneliness.

But maybe I was focusing on convincing the wrong dragon. Glorious wouldn't listen to me. Would Hush?

# 20 - TOO LATE

THE WAVES BELOW churned into white caps. Glorious caused the pearl of the sun to bob and spin violently as he continued to rise, shaking his spirit free of its shell. His radiance cast Slor Tonn's shadow on the water before us like a long dark arrow. I cannot guess our speed, but at least several minutes passed while the waters beneath us grew ever darker. At last, Glorious was merely a glow on the horizon. Sparkling ice floes once more speckled the velvet black waters of the Great Sea Above.

As the turbulent waves from the thrashing sun reached the ice floes, some bobbed, while others shot into the air and hurtled towards the material world, high above. Many a night had I gazed into the dark sky and contemplated shooting stars. Had this always been their origin? Great blocks of ice breaking free from the celestial ocean to fall toward earth? It seemed so unlikely.

But I had little time to contemplate heavenly mechanics before Aurora shouted, "There!" Her arm was outstretched toward the largest iceberg I'd ever seen.

Only, it wasn't an iceberg. It was Hush, walking along the surface of the ocean, which froze into thick ice sheets to support her weight. Waves crashed against the advancing ice wall and bobbing atop these waves was a tiny boat. It stayed barely a hundred yards ahead of Hush's advance by virtue of the enslaved ice-maidens rowing furiously. Purity stood at the bow, her wings spread for balance. Even from this distance, I could tell by the tilt of her head she had spotted Slor Tonn. She thrust the harpoon in our direction. A pale blue beam filled the frozen air with bright sparkles as it crackled toward us. Slor Tonn banked hard to the left to avoid the attack.

"Can the harpoon hurt you?" I shouted to Aurora.

Aurora nodded. "Ordinary cold doesn't bother ogres, but the Jagged Heart isn't ordinary cold."

Slor Tonn turned back toward the boat. From our vantage point, I spotted two long bundles in the floor of the boat, one with platinum blonde hair. "I think I see Infidel."

"Good," said Aurora. "She can help even the odds once we capsize their boat."

"Infidel's lost her powers," I said. "Capsizing the boat might kill her!"

"Doing nothing means that she dies along with everyone else."

I nodded, knowing she was right.

A second beam shot toward us. Again Slor Tonn banked to avoid it, then turned his nose straight down. Aurora said, "Hold on tight. Things are about to get rough."

"I'm ready," I said, chewing the bear gland in my cheek furiously as we plunged toward the black water.

I wasn't ready. Even though Slor Tonn took the brunt of our impact with the waves, the cold that washed over me numbed both body and mind. In the frozen darkness, I struggled to remember where I was or even who I was. My arms went slack and I lost my grip on Aurora.

Fortunately, she had the coolness of thought to keep hold of me. We exploded from the water a moment later, with Purity's boat caught in Slor Tonn's mighty jaws. With a loud crunch, he bit off the front end where Purity had stood. Fear instantly wiped away my cold induced lethargy as I thought of Infidel getting chewed by the whale's attack.

My fear was short lived as the back half of the boat tore away and fell to the ice, sliding to a halt before Hush. Infidel was there amid the tangle of stunned ice-maidens, as well as Sorrow and Judge Stern. I could see this all plainly by the light of the Gloryhammer, which danced across the ice, free from anyone's grip.

From the corner of my vision, I saw Judge Stern rise and gaze toward the hammer. I couldn't let him get hold of it. But, how could I stop him? Did I dare touch the Gloryhammer again? Before, I had been overwhelmed by the bottomless loneliness of Glorious. Now, in theory, he'd severed his connection with the sun.

"I need to get the Gloryhammer! Throw me!" I shouted. I didn't have time to weigh the pros and cons of the plan.

Aurora needed no further prompting. She grabbed me by my left elbow and flung me toward the weapon. My spinning flight, as you can imagine, was rather disorienting. I hit the ice with force enough to shatter what remained of my ribs. I was going to need a lot more bear gland to deal with my pain when all this was over. I skittered across the ice toward the hammer, my good arm outstretched, just as Judge Stern broke into a sprint for the same target.

I reached it first.

To my great relief, the overwhelming loneliness that had threatened my naked spirit earlier was gone as my fingers closed around the shaft. The surge of power Infidel had described as being filled with pure sunlight swept through me. With half my body torn away, I saw the full effect rather vividly. It was as if the hammer understood where the true outlines of my body should be and filled this shell with radiant energy. I rose on legs of light. I flexed my severed left hand, now composed of fingers of dazzling luminance.

Judge Stern skittered on the ice as he tried to stop before he collided with me. He wound up with his feet out from under him, hitting the ice butt first. He waved his fist at me as he shouted, "Devil! You defile a sacred weapon! Surrender it at once!"

"Finders, keepers," I argued. I was surprised a legal scholar such as himself had been unaware of this fine point of the law.

Stern rose to his knees, then lunged with what might have been an impressive tackle at my shins if they'd been actual shins. Instead, he passed right through my limbs of light, crashing chin first onto the ice. I waited a few seconds, but he didn't get up. I was finally ready for some action and my first opponent goes and knocks himself out. Typical.

With Purity swallowed by Slor Tonn and Judge Stern unconscious, my top priority was to speak to Hush.

Unfortunately, when I gazed at the lumbering dragon, I saw that she was about to crush the frozen bodies of Infidel and Sorrow beneath her giant claw. Conversation would have to wait. I swung my hammer toward the women and willed myself to fly. I flashed toward them as Hush's massive talon fell. I didn't know if my light hand could grab the women, so I willingly crashed into the ice, sliding into Sorrow's frosty form, using it as a cue ball in a game of body billiards. She caromed into Infidel and they both skipped across the frozen sea. I closed my eyes as the gap between Hush's claw and the ice quickly vanished, but opened my eyes a fraction of a second later when the impact didn't come. Behind me was a thunderous sound. I'd made it clear, though if I'd had physical legs I'm certain that wouldn't have been the case.

I spun around, searching for Infidel. I saw her splayed on the ice, limp, her body free of the frozen shell that had enwreathed her. My pool shot had shattered her icy cage. Was she even still alive?

As I flew toward her, she stirred, raising her hand instinctively to shield her eyes. In my panic, I'd stoked the Gloryhammer to high-noon intensity. I thrust the weapon into her grasp. My face was inches from hers as her eyes snapped open, glowing as the energy of the hammer surged through her.

"Stagger!" she exclaimed, before grabbing me by the back of my neck and pulling me to her for a powerful kiss. The kiss proved briefer than I would have liked. Perhaps she was aware of the urgency of our situation, though her haste might also be explained by the bear piss aroma filling my mouth.

Using the power of the hammer, she spiraled up into the air. I clung to her shoulders to keep from falling. Apparently, the hammer's energy could only flow into one of us. My limbs of light were gone. She looked down and turned pale.

"Oh, Stagger," she said, sadly.

"I've been in better shape," I admitted.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "But Aurora has fixed me up."

"Aurora?" She looked around, and spotted her old friend perched on Slor Tonn's back.

I took a deep breath. "We're in the Great Sea Above. Slor Tonn's eaten Purity, I've knocked out Judge Stern, but any second Glorious is going to come over the horizon intent on suicide. We have to stop Hush before she kills him and ends life as we know it."

Infidel closed her eyes and rubbed them with her free hand as we drifted higher into the sky. She shook her head and grumbled, "Can't I have one freaking day when I'm not having to prevent the imminent destruction of the world?"

"There's always tomorrow, baby," I said. "Unless, you know, there isn't. We should get to work on that."

We were now a good quarter mile above the battlefield, not that there was much battling going on. Sorrow had bounced back with remarkable speed and had dispatched most of the survivors from the spilled boat with a rather gruesome efficiency. I watched as she leapt onto an ogress struggling to her feet. Sorrow placed her bare hand upon the ogress as she rose. Instantly dark red veins of infection spread across the ogress's skin. In seconds, her victim collapsed, coughing up blood.

Sorrow moved on to the next person rising to her feet, one of the ice-maidens, her armor cracked and missing along her left shoulder. Despite the fact that the woman had been mentally enslaved, Sorrow showed no mercy, dispatching her with the same cold efficiency.

"I wonder if she can kill Hush," said Infidel. Her voice sounded doubtful, a doubt, I suspect, both about Sorrow's offensive capacity and Infidel's own. Hush was an imposing figure as she crawled beneath us, freezing the ocean half a mile before her with each step forward. In scale, we were like fleas contemplating an attack upon a dog. No doubt we'd draw blood hitting her with the Gloryhammer, but would Hush even notice?

"Fly down!" I shouted. "Get in her face!"

Infidel obeyed. In seconds, we hovered before the dragon's left eye. I could see our reflection in the dark iris. Hush had green eyes, the shade of fir boughs. Save for her pink tongue, it was the only thing about her not snowy white.

But, I'd not come here to contemplate the pigments necessary to complete her portrait. Aware that time was running out, I shouted, "Hush! Please stop and listen! You don't need to kill Glorious! He's lonely! He knows he was foolish to reject you! You have a second chance at winning his heart!"

Hush didn't even pause as she marched forward. Infidel kept us flying one step ahead.

"Stop, please!" I shouted. But I couldn't tell if Hush was even focused on us. Sometimes, a gnat inches from ones face is more difficult to see than one a yard away. I don't know if she even heard us.

Slor Tonn approached. Even the whale proved tiny in comparison to the dragon, though if we were fleas, the whale was at least a fair-sized beetle.

"She can't hear you," Aurora called out. "Her ear drums are dozens of yards across. Your voices are too tiny to register. Also, I don't know if she understands your language. I always spoke to her in my native tongue."

"But you can still talk to her?" Infidel said, her voice filled with hope.

Aurora shook her head. "I could only communicate with her via a direct spiritual connection when I held the Jagged Heart. Right now, that's in Slor Tonn's stomach."

I sighed. "I guess I'll have to go in and get it. I've made this trip before." I glanced toward the horizon. It was a pale pink. Any second, Glorious would rise above the edge of the water.

"I don't have a better plan," Aurora said, with a nervous glance at the brightening sky. "Slor Tonn, open wide!" But, rather than opening his jaws, Slor Tonn chose that moment to twitch violently. Aurora was thrown into the air as if she'd been caught by surprise astride a bucking bull. She landed on the whale's back with a thud as the beast arched his spine. A gush of dark blood sprayed from his blowhole, spattering Aurora in a psychedelic shade of purple.

"What—," escaped her lips before the whale suddenly froze stiff, coated with a thick rind of frost from jaws to tail. Without warning, the great beast dropped from the sky. Aurora tumbled from his back as he fell, and only Infidel's keen reflexes saved her as she swooped down and caught the ogress by her topknot.

"Slor Tonn!" Aurora shouted as the whale hit the ice below and shattered into a million pink and gray fragments.

Purity stood in the midst of the frozen chunks, still in her winged woman configuration, coated with ice, only seemingly much larger. In fact, there was no question: the Jagged Heart harpoon was eighteen feet long, and she quickly grew to that height, then doubled it. Her skin color changed until she had a white belly and a black back... Slor Tonn's colors.

"Wonderful," I sighed, as I adjusted my grip on Infidel's shoulders. "Looks like Menagerie's body has added whale's blood to the mix."

"Nothing can kill me in this body!" Purity shouted, eyeing us with a taunting gaze. "I can adapt to any assault! Thanks to your futile efforts, I'm more powerful than ever!"

"The only thing I hate worse than someone trying to destroy the world is a braggart," Infidel grumbled.

"Wait," said Aurora. "You're sure this is Menagerie's body?"

"At the core," said Infidel. "It's had some additions."

"As high priestess I can summon the spirits of the dead," said Aurora. "Ordinarily, I can only call forward the shades of my own tribe. But Menagerie and I worked side by side for years. He and the rest of the Goons became my new tribe once I reached Commonground. He might respond if I called out to him."

"Do it!" said Infidel.

"There's one catch," said Aurora.

"Let me guess," I said. "You need the Jagged Heart."

"Give me ten seconds," said Infidel. Without warning, she dove toward the ground, dropping me and Aurora on the ice. With a whoosh, she shot toward Sorrow, who had just finished off the last ogre priestess and was turning to her father. Judge Stern was conscious once more. He skittered backward on the ice as she approached.

"Away from me, you abomination!" he cried out, closing his eyes as Sorrow's hand reached for his face.

In what had to be the most surprising answer to prayer on record, Infidel stretched out her free arm and caught Sorrow by the waist at exactly that second. Sorrow screamed a very bad word as Infidel swooped her skyward.

"I need you to do that rotting trick on Purity," Infidel shouted as she swung back around.

"Ice neutralizes my powers!" Sorrow cried back.

"That won't be a problem," Infidel said as she shot toward the winged giantess.

Purity stood braced for the attack. She fired one of the thin blue rays at Infidel, but Infidel banked down at the last possible second to avoid it. Skimming along just inches above the ice, she plowed into Purity at the ankles, flipping her head over heels.

Aurora broke out in a hard run, trying to reach the shape-shifting witch before she could get back to her feet. Purity proved more resilient that we hoped, however, and in seconds she was on her knees, using the Jagged Heart as a staff to help her rise the rest of the way. But, as she stood, Infidel raced up from behind and struck a powerful blow with the Gloryhammer directly on the back of Purity's wrist. The frozen gauntlet that coated her hand shattered. Before she could even think of reworking the ice Sorrow struck, leaping from Infidel's back to cling to Purity's log-sized forearm.

Purity screamed as red and blue veins of infection raced up her arm. Sorrow dug her fingers deeper into the putrefying flesh on the back of the witch's hand, the skin sloughing away in ragged strips, the bones visibly twisting and warping with advanced arthritis. The Jagged Heart dropped from Purity's withering fingers. Aurora was there to catch it.

Unfortunately, by now Purity had grasped the nature of the combined sneak attack. She swung her arm with all her remaining strength, smashing Sorrow into Infidel as she prepared another hammer strike. The two women tumbled through the sky, dizzy from the impact. Sorrow crashed into the ice from a dozen feet up, while Infidel managed to halt herself in mid-air, a grimace on her face as she fought to regain her aerial footing.

Purity stared at her damaged hand. She furrowed her brow as she willed the flesh to knit itself back together. Menagerie's powers proved up to the task of reversing the damage. She capped her new fingers with a fresh coat of ice. I wondered how she had the power, since we'd robbed her of the harpoon, before seeing that she still carried the Icemoon Blade in one of her lower hands, now barely the size of a dagger in her oversized grasp.

Aurora shouted toward the sky in a language I didn't understand. Though she had the harpoon in her grasp, she wasn't wielding it in any sort of defensive maneuver I could recognize. Instead, she waved it around in erratic loops like a woman trying to swat a fly with a broom.

"Is this supposed to be menacing?" Purity growled, reaching for the harpoon.

Aurora switched from her ogre speech into the Silver Tongue. "In your own language, old friend, I call to you," she shouted. "Menagerie, I summon your shade, that you may reclaim what has been taken from you!"

Purity snatched the harpoon away. She was now thirty feet tall. Aurora, the largest person I normally dealt with on a daily basis, looked like a toddler compared to her. Purity kicked her, sending the ogress bouncing across the ice.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a sun to slay," Purity said, turning toward Glorious as he hung above the horizon. She flapped her wings and lifted toward the heavens. High above, I could see the material world floating like a blue-green grapefruit, but it was obscured by wispy tendrils of black smoke. The black smoke writhed and whirled as it descended toward us. Purity jerked her head up, gazing at the approaching smoke with a look of terror. An instant later, I heard the sounds of wolves and lions and chimpanzees howling and roaring and screaming, above the trumpets of elephants and the shrieks of eagles. It was as if someone had rattled the cages of every zoo in the world at once.

The cloud whirled straight toward Purity. She brought the harpoon up to defend herself as the smoke took on a shape I recognized. Menagerie had been a tall man, covered with black tattoos from his scalp to his toe tips, a bestiary of the animals of the material world. The cloud coalesced into this tapestry of tattoos, but only the tattoos, with no underlying flesh or bone. You could see through the gaps in his chest the tattoos that covered his back. The tattoos looked wet, like fresh ink, and now that they were barely a hundred feet above I could see that they weren't truly black, but a deep, deep shade of red, like congealed blood.

Purity opened her mouth to scream. Before any sound came out, the tattoo swarm formed a tight vortex and spun between her lips. Her throat bulged as the torrent of blood forced itself inside her.

Purity went limp as a rag doll. The harpoon and the Ice-Moon Blade slipped from her fingers as she shrank. Her wings vanished, along with her fur and killer whale markings. In less than a second, all her animal traits had disappeared and she looked exactly like Infidel. She dropped from the sky, falling twenty feet to hit the ice with a horrible smack.

Any concern I felt about watching this false Infidel fall was instantly pushed away by the real Infidel swooping down and grabbing me. We flew toward Aurora, who ran to grab the Jagged Heart, which stood tip first in the ice like an empty signpost.

Aurora's fingers closed around the harpoon. She turned to face our approach and held out her hand. "Ready to talk to Hush?" she asked.

Infidel and I placed our hands in Aurora's huge palm.

"Do it," we said in unison.

A slow whirlwind built around us, flaking ice into snow, swirling in a gentle flurry, before building to a blizzard. The last thing I saw before the white washed away everything was Glorious flapping his wings and flying toward us.

And then... we'd already moved beyond the material world, into the realms abstract. What lay beyond? Was reality like an onion, composed of layer upon layer upon layer?

I can only report that as the snow fell away, we found ourselves standing in a place that was neither the Great Sea Above nor the material world. Instead, we were in a vast, empty void, where the entirety of creation was the trio formed by Infidel, Aurora, and myself. Our physical bodies vanished and we stood revealed as beings of pure light, no longer human in shape, more like rainbows shimmering in the darkness.

Stripped of our bodies, I had no trouble recognizing Infidel or Aurora. Infidel was a nearly pure white flame, intense and focused. She had nothing that could be described as a belly, but at the core of her light a tiny white candle burned even more brightly. Our daughter? Aurora was a calmer, cooler shaft of blue. I couldn't see myself; I wondered what the others saw?

In the center of the triangle formed by our energies the Jagged Heart hovered. The blue shaft that was Aurora trembled and I heard her voice. "Hush," she said. "It is Aksarna, your humble servant. I've brought two guests who wish to speak with you." I was surprised that she wasn't speaking the ogre tongue. Or, perhaps she was, but we were in a place where all languages were one and the same.

"You violate the sanctity of this place," the Jagged Heart answered. "You've not performed the required rites. You dishonor me."

"I beg forgiveness," said Aurora. "But time is of the essence. As we speak, the dragon of the sun approaches. Purity came to the Great Sea Above to slay Glorious. But Purity was bonded with you; if she wills that Glorious should die, it's because you wish that fate upon him."

"This is not my wish," Hush answered through the harpoon. "This is my need. Glorious must die so that I may go to my final rest. While he visits my realm, I can never know true peace. You, my priestess, know of the paradise I speak of. It is the pure silent darkness of the frozen night. It is the great calm that existed before the creation of light. It is the only hope of relief for my shattered heart. In the eternal peace of winter, I will forget all pain, all longing and loneliness."

"How about all selfishness?" Infidel asked.

"Forgive her," said Aurora. "She speaks out of fear."

"I speak out of honesty!" At these words, I swear that the shaft of white flame threw up what looked like arms in frustration. "This frigid lizard is willing to destroy the world because she's suffered a broken heart. Boo hoo. Every day, people suffer loss. I watched the only man I ever loved die before my eyes. Did I think about killing myself? Did I feel like the world needed to be punished because I was alone and scared? No. I sucked up my pain, pulled on my boots, and tried to find a new path for my life. People do it every damn day. Why should this frozen cry-baby feel that her suffering is any different?"

Aurora's pale column flickered, looking afraid. But, the Jagged Heart floated unchanged, as the dragon spoke once more. "You cannot understand. Human lives are too short. You've no time to truly feel anything. You flash through existence like shooting stars, vanishing as swiftly as you appear. You cannot judge the pain of timeless beings."

"Then you can't judge our pain," said Infidel. "You can't understand how precious time is to us, how few hours we're given to share with those we love."

"Do not speak to me of love and sharing," Hush growled. "Your time may be brief, but while you live you're surrounded by throngs of your kindred humans. We primal dragons exist as unique beings in our own realms. There is no one to share the burden of our solitude."

"Have you tried?" I asked. "Because I heard a very similar argument from Glorious. He's lonely as well, lonely enough that death looks like a welcome alternative. Maybe neither of you needs to die. Maybe you need to go to one another and talk. The legends say that you loved Glorious once. When he arrives, tell him how you feel!"

"How I feel?" Hush said bitterly. "Glorious rejected my love. The shame and humiliation of that moment can never be forgotten. I shall never show such weakness again."

"Are all dragons such cowards?" Infidel asked. "Or is it just you?"

"Have a care, human," said Hush. "You stand in the antechamber of my mind. With a thought, I can erase you from existence."

"You would punish her when she's right?" I asked. "I spent ten years in the company of the woman I loved without confessing my feelings. I've no excuse for these wasted years other than my own cowardice. I, too, was afraid of exposing myself to rejection and isolation. I dealt with my pain in pretty much the same fashion you do. You want the world to be so quiet and dark that you can go into a slumber that's like death. You want to just stop feeling anything. I did the same thing with booze. I'd drink until I couldn't remember my own name. I'd drink until I couldn't remember why I was drinking. Self-obliteration is the coward's path."

The flat blade of the Jagged Heart turned toward me. I swear I could see a dark green eye peer at me through the ice.

I said, "If you want to feel alive, you have to take the bad with the good. You can't feel joy unless you open your heart to sadness. You can't feel love unless you're willing to bear loneliness. When Glorious arrives, tell him how you truly feel. Confess that you love him. What do you have to lose?"

"It's too late for conversation," said Hush.

"Infidel and I are proof that it's never too late," I said.

"You don't understand. It is, indeed, too late," said Hush. "Now leave."

Suddenly we were back on the ice, standing exactly as we'd stood when the blizzard had surrounded us. Well, two of us were standing. Deprived of legs once more, I hit the ice with a loud splat! I clawed the frosty surface to hold on as it suddenly tilted beneath me. All around us, the once solid sheet of ice had shattered into a thousand ice floes, bobbing on violent waves.

My eyes widened as I saw that Glorious had arrived while we'd been talking to Hush. He was pushed to the ice, wings down, his throat exposed, his body limp. His eyes were open, full of fear, wet with tears that ran down his golden cheeks to freeze on the ice beneath him. Hush sat upon his chest, her jaws clamped around his throat, ready to rip through this windpipe.

"We're too late," Aurora cried, dropping to her knees, sounding beaten.

"Like hell we are." Infidel cracked her knuckles, loud enough that even Hush's green eyes shifted toward the noise.

# 21 - COLDER EVERY SECOND

I BLINKED AND Infidel was gone, leaving a swirl of snow in her wake. I turned my head in time to see her punch into the side of Hush's jaw with the Gloryhammer. The thunderous blow spread in waves from the tip of the dragon's snout all the way down her serpentine neck, causing an avalanche to fall from her scales. Hush craned her head to snap at Infidel as she zoomed skyward. Infidel surprised Hush by making a mid-air u-turn and darting between the dragon's closing jaws, into the vast chasm of her mouth.

With a sudden explosion of blinding light, the tree-sized teeth near the back of Hush's jaws burst outward as Infidel hammered through them. Hush roared with pain as Infidel spiraled back into the sky.

Glorious lifted his head to see what had halted his planned suicide. Blood trickled from his throat, but it didn't seem to be a mortal wound. As large as Hush was, Glorious was even larger, and her initial attempt at tearing out his throat had resulted in little more than an extra-nasty hickey.

"Now that I've got your attention," Infidel shouted down at the dragons, "stop fighting! If you don't, I'll tear out your teeth and claws until you're too mangled to misbehave!"

"You dare threaten us?" Glorious growled, rising to all four legs. He glared at her with a look of elemental contempt.

"This isn't a threat, it's a promise," Infidel shouted. "Everyone acts like primal dragons are one step removed from gods. You're more like one step removed from spoiled teenagers, and trust me, I know about spoiled teenagers. I'm not going to sit by and watch the world get destroyed by a pair of self-important brats too childish to discuss their feelings!"

"I feel only hate!" Hush screamed.

"And I deserve your hate," Glorious screamed back. "I was a fool to spurn you, too vain and arrogant to see that I might one day long for your company. I can no longer stand the suffering! End me!"

Hush's eyes widened. "You long for my company?"

"My loneliness is unbearable," Glorious whimpered. "The pain of knowing that you once offered to save me from my self-inflicted fate doubles my suffering. As I gaze down upon the world, I see the polar regions, white and dazzling like a pearly crown upon the globe, and I think of you. You were so open when you came to me, so courageous, risking your heart. My hunger to tame the sun blinded me. It was not worth the cost of your love."

"Was it not?" Hush asked, her voice calmer now. "With each passing century I've watched you as you traveled through the sky. I've hated you more with each passing year, but also envied you, and admired you. You've truly changed the world by taming the sun. If you'd not rejected me, you would never have accomplished this great task. "

"But I knew it must cause you pain," said Glorious, his voice on the verge of sobbing. "It hurts you still. My sunlight drives away frost from much of the world. I knew I was keeping you from your full potential. This is why, as I abandoned the sun, I sent it hurtling away. Even now, it slowly fades from the sky of the material world. In a month, it will be only a speck, indistinguishable from the faintest planets that travel across the night sky. Then, at last, the world will be forever dark, and you can know your final peace."

"Oh, Glorious," Hush said. "This is such a beautiful gift."

"But it's going to be an even better gift if he puts the sun back into its rightful path, right?" shouted Infidel. "That way the two of you can see each other every day. You don't have to be lonely anymore!"

Hush sighed. "The annoying creature is right. If you don't rejoin the sun, you shall wither and perish. You cannot survive as a spirit untethered to matter. I... I would rather the world remain in light than lose you forever."

Glorious clenched his jaws together tightly for a moment. I couldn't read the emotions in his luminous eyes. At last, he said, "So be it. Perhaps my thirst for oblivion has proven... premature. I shall return to the sun. We will continue our conversation, come the dawn."

"I look forward to it," Hush said. Then, her body fell apart into a great mound of snow.

"What just happened?" Infidel asked, sounding worried as she looked down upon the collapsing white mountain beneath her.

Glorious stretched his wings. "Hush has abandoned her abstract form and returned to her true body in the material world." He gazed at Infidel and said, "Do not in any way think that your threats have altered our actions. Either of us could have crushed you with no more effort than you would put into crushing a bug."

"Yeah, whatever," said Infidel. "You just run along and jump back into the sun."

"You speak to us with such insolence! You fail to respect our power," Glorious growled as he turned away, his eyes narrowed. Then, he paused, and glanced back over his shoulder. "And for this... thank you."

"No problem." Infidel smiled as she brushed the hair back from her eyes.

"Son of a bitch," Aurora whispered, as she glanced down at me. I'd grabbed hold of her ankle to keep from sliding around on the bobbing ice. "Did Infidel just save the world?"

"Isn't she going to be a great mother?" I said.

Glorious flapped his wings and rose into the air. This created an instant blizzard as all the snow from Hush's body roared around us in hurricane winds. The air cleared as Glorious rose higher, radiant as noon. He was looking down at the ice. I followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at, a man in stark black robes standing amid the white snow, an unfurled scroll before him. Judge Stern was nearly a hundred yards away, but his deep, authoritative voice could be heard even at this distance as he shouted the verdict toward Glorious: "By the power of the Divine Author, the Voice of the Book has judged you, Glorious and found you guilty of crimes against nature itself. You have trespassed upon the sun, claiming it as your own when the Divine Author gave it freely as a gift to all. The enormity of this crime is unforgivable."

"Infidel!" I shouted.

"This judgment is final and cannot be appealed," said Stern.

"Don't let him finish reading—"

Infidel started moving before I finished my sentence. She'd barely flown a yard before Stern read, "The sentence is death, carried out by the utterance of this truthful statement."

Infidel reached Stern, flattening him with a punch that sent him skidding across the ice on his back.

It was too late. Glorious shuddered in mid-flap. The internal luminance that filled his form instantly snuffed out, leaving his spiritual form a pale ashen gray. With a soft sigh, he fell, but never reached the ice. Instead, his body changed into a fine powder that crumbled, billowing out as a dense cloud.

I stared, mouth agape, as the dust swept toward me. What was there to say? The world had just been condemned to death.

Infidel drifted down from the sky next to Aurora. We gave each other worried looks seconds before the dust engulfed us. Infidel leaned over and scooped up my legless torso, holding me tightly against her side. I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed.

No one spoke a word. Perhaps we each were hoping someone else would be the first to speak, to offer some clever, last second plan to save everything. Instead, the minutes simply ticked by as the dust slowly settled, revealing our grimy faces one by one. We looked like miners, covered in grit.

Infidel sighed. "Maybe the Black Swan is already traveling back in time to give us another shot."

"That's not really how her powers work," said Aurora.

"So what are you saying?" asked Infidel. "That we're screwed?"

Aurora shrugged. "I'm not sure I'd use the word 'we.' I don't see how things are going to change much for me. The material world is going to freeze, but I don't know that things will change for the dead."

I thought this was a slightly selfish stance to take, but I didn't feel like picking a fight by saying so.

At this moment, there was a cough from the dust cloud behind us and we all nearly jumped out of our skins. Sorrow stumbled out of the fog, hacking up dusty spittle. She was wrapped in the coat her father had draped over her. She carried a black walrus coat taken from one of the ogresses. In her other hand she held some oversized boots. She tossed the coat to Infidel. "Figured you'd be pretty chilled by now."

"Getting colder every second," Infidel said, softly.

"What happened?" Sorrow asked, through chattering teeth. "After Purity knocked us for a loop, I was running back to join you when the ice in front of me split open. I was trying to work my way around it when I heard a lot of shouting. Then, poof, dust everywhere. I've been jumping from floe to floe, completely lost, until I saw the light of the Gloryhammer."

"Your father succeeded in killing Glorious," I said. "Dust was all that was left."

"Oh," she said.

"To complicate matters, Glorious said he'd sent the sun away," said Infidel. "He said it would take about a month to turn into a speck in the sky. After that, permanent winter."

"I see," said Sorrow. She sat down on the ice. Her lips were completely blue. She stared out into the distance, not looking at any of us. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. "Two minutes ago, my biggest worry was that I was going to lose my toes to frostbite."

Her toes were dark black and shiny. She started to put on the boots, which were about three times bigger than her feet, when Aurora knelt before her and said, "Now that I have the Jagged Heart once more, I can treat your frostbite."

She took Sorrow's right foot in her huge hands, rubbing them, then paused.

"Um," she said, "this isn't frostbite."

"What do you mean?" asked Sorrow.

"For some reason, your toes are covered in black scales. It's like snake skin."

Sorrow's eyes grew wide as she stared at her toes.

I said, "Maybe Rott is somehow—"

She held up her hand, cutting me off. "I don't want to talk about it. I'll deal with it. Somehow." She quickly pulled on both boots and stood up. She said, "A more pressing question is, where's my father?"

"Somewhere out in the dust," said Infidel, waving in the general direction she'd left him. "I punched his lights out."

I thought this was an unfortunate choice of words.

"Do you want me to go find him?" Infidel asked.

Sorrow shook her head. "If I saw him again, I'd kill him."

"I'd be okay with that," said Infidel.

"I wouldn't," said Sorrow. "The greatest curse I could place on my father is to let him live with the full weight of his actions upon his conscience. Death would be too merciful."

Before we could further debate the appropriate fate for Judge Stern, I heard a distant cough. I spotted what looked like a naked woman stumbling towards us on an adjoining ice floe. I squinted, and could see that the woman looked exactly like Infidel.

I asked, "Is that—"

"Purity!" Sorrow growled.

Aurora placed a beefy hand on the young witch's shoulder. "Hold on. It's not her."

The woman who looked like Infidel coughed again, and rubbed soot from her eyes as she reached the edge of her ice floe. She stared at us as if we were ghosts. Which, I guess, we were.

"Aurora?" she asked, utterly confused. "I thought you were dead!"

"Menagerie?" Aurora asked.

"Yeah," she said, frowning. "What the hell's wrong with my voice?"

The woman looked down, her eyes going wide.

"This wasn't one of my tattoos," she said, scratching her head.

"You're alive again," said Infidel. "Don't complain."

"Again?" asked Menagerie. "I was dead?"

"We're all dead," said Aurora.

"I'm pretty certain I'm alive," said Infidel.

Sorrow nodded. "My heart's beating as well."

Aurora sighed. "Fine. If you want to be picky, I suppose that only Stagger and I are truly dead. The rest of you have living bodies that came to the Great Sea Above via the Jagged Heart. I can send you back if you'd like. Then you can freeze along with the rest the world."

"I feel like there's a lot I'm missing," said Menagerie.

Aurora recounted our adventures, filling Menagerie in on all that had happened since he died. As Aurora spoke, Infidel sat down next to Sorrow. We had our arms wrapped around each other. She sat the Gloryhammer in front of us. It glowed like a heatless campfire as we listened to Aurora tell the most horrible ghost story ever.

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I thought more about what I was doing. I was staring at a hammer. I was staring at a hammer that was glowing. The hammer glowed because it had been carved out of the sun.

"I know how to save the world," I said.

"You know I married you for your brains, right?" said Infidel.

"The Gloryhammer's part of the sun," I said. "Earlier, when I touched it in the material world, I felt waves of horrible loneliness wash over me. As a spirit, I could sense the soul of Glorious inside the hammer. But, when I grabbed the hammer here, I didn't feel anything. Glorious was no longer inside the sun at this point."

Sorrow's eyes opened wide. "The sun has been primed to hold a soul..."

"And now it's empty," I said. "I, on the other hand, am a spirit with barely even a phantom body to cling to any more. What if I could merge my spirit with the sun? I could guide it back to its proper path!"

"Give me a second to figure out if that's brilliant or stupid," said Infidel.

Sorrow frowned, shaking her head. "This wouldn't be something you could do for an hour or two and be done with it. Glorious had to guide the sun constantly, for three thousand years. If you could be joined with the sun, its material form would supply your spirit with the energy to endure for eons. You'd have to maintain vigilance on a scale human minds cannot grasp. Can you be trusted with such a task?"

"I can if it means that Infidel has a world to go back to where she can raise our daughter," I said. "I accept the task gladly."

"Stagger," said Infidel. "You can't!"

"Why not? What's the flaw in this plan?"

"Living inside the sun drove Glorious crazy," she said. "It's bad enough that you're dead. Now you want to be insane as well?"

"Glorious went insane because he was alone," I said. "But I'll never be alone. I'll always have you. I'll know that as I move the sun through the sky that my light is shining upon you. One day it will shine on our daughter, then her daughters, and if I have to keep rolling the sun across the sky from now until the end of time, I'll do so. How many men can say that their actions will truly be important a thousand years from now? I want to do this. I must do this. Not to leave you. But to be with you forever."

Infidel kissed me hard. When she pulled away, her eyes were glistening with tears. "You old fool. You were always too damn good at talking. Do what you have to do. No matter what, I'll never, ever stop loving you."

"This is all very touching," said Sorrow. "And all completely moot. Menagerie here can occupy his new body because there's a tiny portion of his original blood within it. I was able to bind Stagger to his driftwood shell with the essence of his spiritual blood. But there's nothing here that we can use to bind him to the body of the sun. It's not just a matter of him flying inside the sun and wishing it to move. He's got to have some link, a blood-bridge between the material and spiritual worlds."

"The bone-handled knife!" I said. "Its hilt is made of dragon bone. It held my blood after I was killed. If there's still a trace left within it..."

Sorrow perked up. "This could work. Where's the knife?"

"It was in Purity's boat."

"So it could be anywhere," said Sorrow, looking around at all the carnage. "It's probably at the bottom of the sea."

"The Great Sea Above doesn't really have a bottom," said Aurora. "If something sinks, it sinks forever."

"Let's hope it didn't sink," I said.

Menagerie said, "If I had my old powers, I could change into a wolf and sniff it out. Tracing down Stagger's scent would be a breeze."

"Purity was able to shape-shift even without tattoos," said Infidel. "She was better at it that you, in fact; she could do hybrid forms."

Menagerie looked deeply offended. "Hybrid forms are decidedly not better shape-shifting. Animal bodies have been honed into perfect tools by natural forces. Blended forms are for amateurs. I became the whole animal because I was a true master of the craft."

"No need to get snippy," said Infidel. "In any case, when Nowowon killed you, part of your body survived as a tick. Purity could shift into any creature from which your body had drank blood. There was me, obviously, then a hound dog, a pelican, and now a whale."

"Hmm," said Menagerie, rubbing his chin. He closed his eyes as a look of concentration passed over his feminine features. His face elongated as fur sprouted from his body. He dropped to all fours and a moment later he was in the form of a bloodhound.

"Excellent," the hound dog said gruffly. "First of all, I've never been so happy to have fur. Second, if the knife is near, I'll find it."

He loped off, sniffing the ice, leaping from floe to floe.

"There's one last problem," I said. "Let's say this works. I've got a pretty good idea of what path the sun follows through the sky. I mean, it rises in the east and sets in the west. But, up here, how do I know east from west? How do I judge if the length of a day is enough? I don't want to screw up the world with a half ass job."

"If only we could contact my father's astrologers," said Infidel. "He's got an entire squadron of scholars whose whole job is to watch the sky. They can tell you the exact time of every eclipse for the next dozen centuries."

Sorrow tilted her head as she studied Infidel. "I'm sorry, but who, exactly, is your father?"

"Oh. I forgot you didn't know. I'm the real Princess Innocent Brightmoon."

Sorrow chuckled, until she realized the rest of us weren't laughing. "Really? You're not making fun of the dwarf?"

"Nope. I'm the genuine article. Of course, I'm not really welcome company in my father's throne room. It's not like I can ask him to get his astrologers to help out."

"Maybe you won't need to," I said. "Glorious said he could see and hear people through the Glorystones, the same way that Greatshadow can spy on people through candles. If I were merged with the sun, maybe the astrologers could communicate with me and help guide my movements."

Sorrow sighed. "Looks like I can't let the old bastard die after all."

"What? Who?" I asked.

"My father," she said. "Infidel might not be able to ask a favor of the king, but my father can. We need to send him back to the material world with the mission to get the king's astrologers to work with you, assuming Menagerie can find the knife."

"Good plan," said Infidel, standing up. "Give me a minute."

She leapt into the air, rising a few hundred yards. She slowly rotated, surveying the landscape, then darted off, vanishing behind the remnants of the dust cloud. Not thirty seconds later she was back in view, dropping down beside us with an unconscious Judge Stern draped over her shoulder.

"He was coming too when I found him. Had to give him a little tap to make him cooperative," she said as she laid his limp body before us. "He should be up and about any second."

"Let's bind his hands and feet," said Sorrow, tearing off strips from his robes. "Gag him as well." She grabbed a pocket and ripped it. A glowing ring fell out and danced across the ice. It was the glorystone ring Brother Will had worn. Had this been the unseen object he'd paused to take when his shipmates had been devoured by maggots?

When Sorrow showed no sign of grabbing the ring, I snatched it up. As she finished tying up her father, Menagerie returned, still a hound, jumping back across the cracked sea ice, the bone-handled knife held in his slobbering jaws. He dropped the blade before me.

"Sorry about the spit," he said. "It's impossible to put a bone in a dog's mouth and not get a little slobber."

"Apologies aren't necessary," I said. "Good dog."

"Don't make me bite you," Menagerie growled.

"Give me the knife and the hammer," said Sorrow. "I'll need a moment with each to attune myself to their magical resonance. If you and Infidel have any last words to say to one another, now is the time."

Infidel handed over the hammer, then picked me up, rather clumsily now that she wasn't filled with magical energy. I can't guess how heavy I was devoid of legs and guts. She carried me about fifty yards away before setting me down. We were near a second ogress Sorrow had reduced to a skeleton. Infidel liberated her walrus skin coat, spreading it gore side down on the ice. We lay upon it, wrapping it around us for warmth.

"I wish I had some body heat to contribute," I said.

"You're like a damn ice cube," Infidel said with a sigh. "At least I can't complain about your cold feet."

I laughed, but only briefly. "I'm sorry."

"That you're cold?"

"That your last memories of me will be as a semi-frozen, half-devoured corpse. I wish you could remember me the way I was."

"Who says I can't?"

"Gruesome memories have a way of sticking," I said.

"Baby, I've been a mercenary for all my adult life. Hardly a day goes by that I don't decapitate or disembowel someone. Any nightmares I used to have about blood and gore faded away a long time ago. My nightmares have matured considerably. What they've lost in grossness they've gained in unnerving plausibility."

"Do you have nightmares often?" I asked.

"More than I let on," she said. "As my feelings for you grew stronger over the years, I used to have nightmares about hurting you. I had this one nightmare where I'd kiss you and break your teeth, and wind up with blood in my mouth. And, now... well. There's a new one."

"What?"

"I've been dreaming about our baby," she said. "Wondering if she's going to be normal. She was conceived in the land of the dead. You weren't... you weren't in your real body. You were just a kind of imitation life. Will our baby really be alive? Or will she be half alive, half dead?"

I brushed the hair from her cheek. Ordinarily, this would have been a move intended to comfort her. But, I couldn't help but notice that the fingers I moved her hair with were pale white and puffy. Even against the ivory tone of her delicate skin, my flesh looked dead and bloodless. The iciness of my touch couldn't have been a pleasant sensation.

"She'll be fine," I said, dropping my hand to my side.

"How can you know that?"

"First of all, when you were almost dead, I could see our baby's aura. It was bright and clean, like a little white star in your belly. Nothing corrupted by death could have shone so beautifully."

Infidel nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Second, the Black Swan said she's met our daughter. That old witch never misses an opportunity to dig her claws into you. If our daughter were some kind of monster, she would have said something."

"That's kind of a negative logic, isn't it?" Infidel asked. "Drawing a conclusion based on something that wasn't said?"

"Then here's number three," I said. "I didn't take it seriously when I was a child, but I grew up in a religion that believes that a Divine Author has written out all of our lives. I spent most of my life thinking this was bullshit, but now... well, I didn't believe in ghosts, either. I've seen too many amazing things since I died to dismiss any possibility. Maybe there really is some guiding force out there with the job of making sure that everything works out for the good. Our lives sometimes feel like ships without a captain, at the mercy of the wind and the waves. But maybe there's someone with his hands on the wheel after all, guiding us toward our destinies. If Zetetic is right, then maybe just believing makes it true. You've had a tough life, Infidel. But, I can't help thinking that you've become who you were always meant to be, and that there are even better things in store. You're going to be a mother, and you're going to be amazing."

Infidel blushed slightly. "Aw," she said, as she hugged me tightly.

"So the pep talk worked?" I asked.

"Not in the least," she sighed. "But I love you for trying. This is the Stagger I'll always remember. You're the guy who never stopped trying to make me happy. Hell, you even died and remain more of an optimist than me."

"I do these things because I love you," I said.

"And I love you," she said. "And nightmares are only nightmares. What happens in my sleep doesn't matter in the least. When I'm awake, I remember your courage. When I'm awake, I fight off all my fears just by remembering your smile."

I reached into my pocket and produced the glorystone ring. "Here's something else to remember me by."

I tried to slip it on her left hand, but it was too large for her slender fingers. We finally discovered it fit her thumb.

"It's sweet," she said. "But I liked your hair ring better. It was so much more personal."

"This is personal too. I just stole this ring. We spent our lives together as thieves. What could be more appropriate than a stolen ring? As a bonus, if Glorious really could see the world through Glorystones, perhaps I'll be able to see you. I can be there as our daughter grows up."

Infidel kissed me. It felt as if the power of the Gloryhammer were surging through me once more as I hugged her tightly. Then, something cold and wet pressed itself into the back of my neck. I opened my left eye. In my peripheral vision, I spotted furry dog legs. I broke from the kiss and turned to face Menagerie.

"Sorry to bother you," he said, his dog-breath washing over me. "Sorrow says she's ready."

# 22 - STRAIGHT AND NARROW

WE FOLLOWED MENAGERIE back to Aurora and Sorrow. The air had gone eerily silent. The waves caused by the bobbing sun had died off, and the ice floes had come to rest, no longer cracking and grinding against one another. The two women's voices carried over the ice. Aurora was explaining that, from the abstract realms, the Jagged Heart could return a living being to anywhere in the material world. Judge Stern would be sent back to the Silver City. Sorrow said she wanted to return to the Freewind.

"I'm surprised you want to go back to the boat," I said. "It wasn't in the best condition when you left it."

Sorrow shrugged. "I can't simply abandon Gale."

Judge Stern was awake now, his face turned away from us, but from the tilt of his head I could tell he was listening. I decided it was best not to ask questions that would lead to further discussion of the Freewind, given that Stern was part of the navy hunting the ship.

"Ready?" Sorrow asked, holding up the hammer and the knife.

"Let's do it," I said.

Infidel gave me one last kiss and placed my legless torso on the ice before Sorrow. She loomed over me as she began her improvised ritual. The binding was surprisingly simple. The dragon bone of the knife's blade served a function similar to the silver mosquito, as its porous surface formed natural cages to trap the essence of my blood required to bond my soul to matter. As for the Gloryhammer, solar matter, like all matter, proved vulnerable to decay. Sorrow weakened the head of the hammer with her new command over entropy, then plunged the knife into the softened crystal. I watched with fascination as she kneaded the head of the hammer around the knife. The knife itself became malleable as clay, mixing with the crystalline matter.

I didn't feel anything happening.

I looked toward Infidel. She looked stoic, but her eyes glistened.

Tears filled my own eyes. The outlines of her body blurred.

I blinked and she was gone. Everything was gone.

I was in a world of pure white.

Only, it wasn't a world, and there wasn't an 'I.' I tried to look down to see what form my spirit had taken now, but there was no down. I had no eyes, no neck, no physical sensation at all.

Was I now in the sun?

How was I supposed to move it if I couldn't even move myself?

Despair seized me. I felt even more trapped than I had in the golden cage inside the golem. In that cage, I'd at least had the hope that, if I understood myself, I might gain some magical gift. I now understood the fundamental flaw of Staggermancy. Because, stripped down to my barest essence, I had no magic. I had nothing at all.

I'd been rejected by my mother and father. The adults who raised me had not loved me. I'd become a thief and a drunkard before I even had pubic hair. I'd spent my adult life cowardly hiding my feelings from the woman I lusted after and made my living chiefly by robbing the dead. I'd made fortunes, then squandered them on booze, in constant pursuit of oblivion. Now I'd finally caught it. Oblivion was my ultimate fate.

I'd failed the world.

I'd failed...

Infidel.

Despite my failings, Infidel had cared for me. A princess with the blood of dragons in her veins, and she'd loved me, and now carried my daughter. I never understood how a woman like her could love a loser like me.

But what if she didn't love a loser? What if she'd seen the true me, when even I couldn't?

She loved a poet, a scholar, a joker and, yes, a thief. She loved a man who'd lived his life leaping from tall cliffs and crawling headlong into dark tunnels in search of wonder. I like to say I've done it all for her.

It's a lie.

I'd lived on the edge before I ever met her, not because I pursued self-destruction, but because I loved discovering something new each day. I was besotted by the world, in all its gritty, stinky, sweaty glory. I'd bitten into the apple of life and drank the tart nectar. I'd loved every moment I spent on our crazy whirling planet.

Love may lead you down strange and twisting paths, but it can never lead you astray. You may follow blindly, across dangerous ground, and never quite reach your destination. But the destination never mattered anyway. Love was always the journey.

And now, it was time for me to undertake a new journey, a trip that no man had ever dared before. Glorious had moved the sun with his mind, but I would move it with my heart. Understanding this, a calmness washed through me, and I fell into restful sleep.

I woke on a white sand beach, to the sound of gulls and the soft sigh of sea foam fizzing near my feet. I raised my left hand to shield my eyes from the intense brightness that surrounded me. I sat up, squinting, unable to remember how I'd arrived here.

As the warm sand shifted beneath me, I realized I was naked. I looked down at my toes and gave them a wiggle. For reasons I couldn't quite put my fingers on, I felt happy to see them. They seemed like old friends who'd been absent for some time.

How much had I drank last night? Where was I? What had happened to my pants?

I grinned. It's both a drunkard's gift and curse that his best memories are the ones he can't remember.

Looking around, I was on a long ribbon of white sand. The ocean before me was black as night, with waves topped by milky foam that reminded me of scattered stars. Behind me, the jungle was dark green, bordered with an impenetrable wall of spiky vines. Try as I might, I had no memory of how I'd come to be here.

The sky above was pure white; I couldn't spot the sun amid the burning haze. The light came from all directions at once, reflecting off the white sand with a ferocity that left me squinting.

Assuming I was on the Isle of Fire, most beaches with white sand lay to the west of Commonground. I rose on unsteady legs and spun to my right. I had no idea how far I needed to go to reach the Black Swan, but knew that the sooner I started walking, the sooner I would get there. I began to walk, stumbling and staggering in the soft sand.

Despite the intense brightness that surrounded me, I was grateful for the haze that rendered the sky a uniform white. If the sun had been fully exposed, my bare skin would have burnt to a crisp. As an added bonus, the sand, while warm, didn't burn my feet. But, all it would take would be a shift in the clouds and both of these convenient truths would vanish. Feeling renewed urgency, I stumbled on.

And kept walking.

And kept walking.

My eyes adjusted to the luminance. I had no way of measuring time, but I began to have the curious feeling that I had been meandering along this same stretch of white beach for hours. Or had it been even longer? For a brief moment I felt I should stop and think about my situation, but when I slowed my pace a sense of dread gnawed at the back of my skull and kept me moving forward. I began to count my steps, and grew lost in the unfolding ribbon of numbers, counting, ever counting, until I'd forgotten why I was keeping track. Only as I was reaching one hundred thousand did the size of the number strike me as peculiar. Assuming I was averaging a step a second, I'd been walking for twenty-seven hours. How could that be possible? I hadn't paused to eat or drink; understandable, considering I had neither food nor beverage, but where was my hunger? Where was my thirst? Assuming I drank gallons the night before, why didn't I feel the urge to piss? If I'd been walking so long, why did the sky never darken? Where was the night? Would this day never end?

Eventually, I found footprints in the sand. My heart surged with relief at the thought that I'd soon find someone who could help guide me home. Onward I staggered, picking up my pace, my feet meandering as I crossed the path of the footsteps I followed. Yet, despite the freshness of the trail, I never caught sight of the stranger I pursued. The hours wore on. At length, I came to a second set of prints. Many hours later, a third set was added. I paused to study them. My feet fit nicely within the outlines. Whoever I was following, they must have been similar to me in height; the length of my stride fairly mirrored theirs.

Much later, a fourth pair added to the growing crowd I chased. Then a fifth, and a sixth.

At about the time my internal clock advised that I should start looking for a seventh set of prints, I finally spotted a man, far in the distance. He was dressed in red robes, with black hair in a long ponytail. I ran toward him. As I drew closer, I saw that he had a large red "D" tattooed in the center of his forehead.

Zetetic?

"Zetetic!" I cried out.

The Deceiver's eyes went wide. He stretched his hands toward me and shouted, "Stop!" Then, without pausing to breathe he cried, "Wait, don't stop, just walk!"

Confused, I halted.

Zetetic bounded across the sand and grabbed my hand, jerking me forward.

"One, two, three, four," he said, pulling me into a steady pace. He was carrying a small triangular box with slits in the side. In craftsmanship, it resembled a clock, but it didn't have any numbers or hands. All it seemed to do was produce a steady, rhythmic click. Zetetic's feet fell in rhythm with each beat, and soon mine did as well as I kept pace beside him.

"What's going on?" I asked, confused. "What's that in your hand? What are you doing here? For that matter, where the hell are we?"

"I'll answer all your questions, I promise," said Zetetic, who now reached into his robes to produce a long walking stick. He began to drag the stick behind him, leaving a straight line as we journeyed. "Promise me that you'll keep walking forward, and match the pace of your stride to those of this metronome."

"Metronome?" I asked.

He handed me the box. "It's spring operated. Slide the panel along the back to find the winding mechanism."

"Aren't these something musicians use?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Feel free to break into song if you wish. Anything you need to keep your pace steady. You've been staggering rather badly."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Look at how your footprints keep crisscrossing," he said, nodding toward the sand before me.

"These are all my footprints? How? How did I make it around the island without finding Commonground?"

"You aren't on the Isle of Fire," Zetetic said. "I take it you don't remember what happened?"

I shook my head. "My best guess is I drank myself under a table and some punks robbed me of everything including my socks, then dumped my body on the beach. I've been pushing myself forward until I reach home. I can't wait to tell this story to... to... oh."

Suddenly I remembered Infidel.

Suddenly I remembered everything.

"This is not a beach," I said.

"No," said Zetetic. "This is not, technically, anywhere at all. You're dealing with concepts too large for human senses to fully process so your mind has constructed this symbolic tableau. The infinite ocean represents the void filled with stars. The green forest is the material world. The beach represents the path of the sun. As long as you travel this path keeping the forest to your right, the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west."

"You mean... you mean I'm doing it right?" I scratched my head, or the symbolic equivalent of my head.

"Ha!" said Zetetic. "Not even close! You're appropriately nicknamed, Stagger. The sun has been meandering in an eccentric orbit for the last week. The length of a day hasn't been the same twice since you started. This seems to have thrown the weather off, as I've heard reports of blizzards as far south as the Isle of Apes. As you can imagine, this has led to quite a bit of consternation below. Which is why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Thanks to the information they got from Judge Stern, the king's astronomers have done a wonderful job of analyzing the problem with the sun. But, they didn't possess the power to do anything to put the sun back into its correct path. For that, someone with a more specialized skill set was required. I presented myself to King Brightmoon yesterday. His kingdom is in turmoil; farmers from across the Silver Isles are at his gates, brandishing pitchforks and demanding he take action."

"You're that action," I said.

"Indeed. Through my contacts I'd heard that Glorious had been slain and a new ghost now drove the sun. I assured the king that I possessed the ability to speak to this ghost and put him on a straight and constant path. In exchange, I've been granted a pardon and one of the king's remote island fortresses, plus all the gold, soldiers, and servants necessary to outfit it. I've always wanted a modest place of my own."

I looked at the box in my hand. "So, this is all I need to keep me on pace?"

"Almost," he said. "Once we complete an orbit, we'll find the line I'm now tracing. If you follow this line faithfully, the sun will be back on the correct path."

"And you'll stay with me as I walk?"

"This first time through. After this, I've prepped a glorystone in the Royal Observatory to serve as a channel through which you may speak and be spoken to. The chief of the Observatory, Father Luciferous, is quite eager to talk to you and learn your story."

I smiled. "I like telling stories." I looked at the stretch of sand before me. "And I like walking on the beach. But, I feel like there's a lot I left unfinished in the material world."

"Every dead man I've ever spoken with felt the same way," said Zetetic.

"Fair enough. But, I'm probably the first dead man to actually have some leverage. I'm willing to keep the sun moving through the sky at a constant pace. I'd like you to explain to the king that I feel a little gratitude is in order. I think I can concentrate on my pace a little easier if he'll do me a couple of favors."

"Are you speaking of blackmail?" Zetetic said.

"I think I might be. The king is going to get a lot of love from his subjects once word gets out that he's fixed the sun. I hope that he'll share his good fortune by issuing a few pardons. There's a family of Wanderers called the Romers. I'd like for him to leave them alone. Even more importantly, I want him to issue a full pardon for Infidel. I don't want her to have to hide from assassins while she's raising our daughter."

Zetetic's face went blank.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I was... I think these are reasonable requests. I'm certain the king can accommodate you."

"I'll want proof," I said. "Glorious said he could see through the glorystones. I obviously haven't picked up that trick yet. But if there's a stone where this Luciferous guy can talk to me, I want you to promise me that you'll bring Infidel to it so I can speak to her."

Zetetic nodded. His face was completely calm and expressionless. "I'll do what I can. Of course, it might take some time to locate her."

"For you? Just tell someone you have the power to find missing people by jumping into the air and landing beside them."

He furrowed his brow.

"What's the problem?"

He shook his head. "No problem. I'm just worried we might have gotten out of step with the metronome. Let's walk in silence for a while."

"For someone called Deceiver, you're surprisingly bad at lying," I said.

Zetetic shook his head. "I'm simply concerned, is all. You must keep moving forward. You must not change your pace."

"You know something, don't you? About Infidel?"

Zetetic said, "Of course not."

I stopped moving. "I'm not taking another damn step until you tell me what's going on."

Zetetic grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.

"No!" I shouted, taking a step backward.

"Keep walking!" he cried. "Think of the chaos you cause on earth when you pause even for a moment, let alone move backwards!"

"Tell me what you know!" I shouted.

"Infidel's dead!" he screamed at me.

I fell to my knees.

Zetetic sighed, and bent down on his knees before me. He said, softly, "I'm sorry. I don't know the full story, just bits and pieces of court gossip. Judge Stern was briefly captured by Infidel and a witch named Sorrow while they were in the Great Sea Above. Stern heard Sorrow and Infidel request to be sent to the Freewind, which was damaged and adrift in the artic, just north of the Isle of Grass. They wanted to help the Romers get the ship back to port."

I clenched my hands in the warm sand beneath me. I'd known Judge Stern was listening. Why hadn't I said anything?

"King Brightmoon messaged his flagship, the Raptor, to find the Freewind. The Raptor is capable of flight and covered the distance to the Freewind's location in less than a day. One of the old, normal days, not the thirty hour specials you've been serving up. "

"What did they find?" I asked.

Zetetic said, "I really need for you to stand up and start walking again."

"What did they find?"

Zetetic sighed. "The Storm Guard had beaten the Raptor to the punch with one of their hurricanes. When the Raptor arrived, they found timbers from the Freewind scattered across the sea. The Storm Guard had crushed the ship between two icebergs. Ordinarily, the Storm Guard are eager to take prisoners to sell as slaves, but through diplomatic channels we've learned that the crew of the Freewind fought to the last man. Their dead and wounded went down with the ship. Presumably, Infidel and Sorrow perished with them."

I nodded. "There were no bodies?" I asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," said Zetetic. "Please get up."

I rose, brushing sand off my legs.

"Infidel's the main reason I'm doing this," I said, stepping forward.

"I understand," he said. "But she was just one person. There's a whole world that depends on you now. It's not just people at stake. Every last blade of grass on the planet needs you to keep walking. Every tree, every bird flitting between their branches, every last fish in the sea depends on you now for survival. The magnitude of your responsibility is incomprehensible."

I looked straight ahead as I walked. "I comprehend."

I matched my pace to the ticking metronome, thinking of all those blades of grass, thinking about flowers, and fields of corn, and all the farmers that worked those fields, and their cows and chickens and children. All of mankind now stared up to watch the sky, needing me to be something I'd never been: dependable, predictable, following a straight and narrow path.

And so I walked. I do it still. I'll do it until every bit of white foam on the ocean around me vanishes as the final stars burn out.

I do not fear eternity.

I have my memories. I have the promise of telling my story for generations to come.

And I have the knowledge that I'm helping Infidel. She isn't dead. Somehow, Levi convinced Gale to abandon ship. Infidel, Sorrow, the Romers... all could use the breathing space that comes from the world thinking them dead. For the time being, they'll no longer be hunted.

One day I'll learn to gaze through the glorystones, and perhaps learn the fate of those I've left behind. Already when I gaze at the luminous paper-white sky I detect all-but-invisible swirls of motion and hear distant, barely perceptible murmurs. I'm on the verge of a new sense awakening. But I don't need to see the material world to be certain that Infidel is still in it.

I know she's alive because she's not here.

If Infidel's dead, she knows where to find me. She's had an unusual amount of practice in navigating the realms beyond life. When her soul finally departs her body, I'm certain she'll battle and bargain and blast her way across whatever abstract realms lie between us.

I can wait. I'm a patient man. The day will come when I see her on this shore. She'll smile and give me a kiss, then place her hand in mine as we walk along this beach. She can tell me what really happened when she made it back, what happened to Sorrow and Gale and even poor Bigsby. She can tell me about my daughter. I wonder what she'll name her?

It's these thoughts that give me the strength to place one foot before the other. In the end, neither of us will walk into eternity alone.

The adventures continue in Hell & Back, a Dragon Duology

collecting Witchbreaker & Cinder, Books Three and Four of the Dragon Apocalypse!

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

James Maxey's mother warned him if he read too many comic books, they'd warp his mind. She was right! James is unsuited for decent work and ekes out a pittance writing down demented fantasies about masked women, fiery dragons, and monkeys.

Readers interested in sampling Maxey's odd ramblings might enjoy his science-fantasy _Bitterwood_ series, the secondary world fantasy of his _Dragon Apocalypse_ novels, his two superhero series _Lawless_ and _Whoosh! Bam! Pow!_ (aka the _Nobody Gets the Girl_ series) or the steam-punk visions of _Bad Wizard._ His short fiction has appeared in _IGMS, Asimov's_ , and over a dozen anthologies, with the best of his work appearing in the collections _There is No Wheel_ and _The Jagged Gate._

James lives in Hillsborough, North Carolina with his lovely and patient wife Cheryl and too many cats. To sign up for his newsletter, visit jamesmaxey.net. He can be found on Facebook by searching for the group Dragonsgate: The Worlds of James Maxey. Or, follow him on Twitter @JamesAllenMaxey

