Deadhouse Landing

Dancer grunted his understanding. ‘But … why?’

Wu limped off with the aid of his stick. ‘Perhaps it is a characteristic of Shadow. Many scholars agree that the realm, or dimension, or place – call it what you will – is shattered. Broken. Perhaps this is a consequence. Shards of moments overlapping. In any case,’ and he pointed again, ‘let’s say hello to the locals, shall we?’

Dancer strolled, keeping pace. ‘Too dangerous. We should just return.’

‘Oh, come now. We’re here anyway…’

Dancer took a deep steadying breath, said through clenched teeth, ‘We need to get back.’

‘Won’t take but a moment.’

‘The last time didn’t go so smoothly…’

Wu raised a finger. ‘Ah! But did you notice our transition in?’

‘Yeah. We fell about a fathom.’

The Dal Hon mage looked crestfallen, his tangled brows crimping. ‘I meant how easy it was. Progress! No ritual or preparation. We’re getting to know each other better.’

‘We?’

‘Shadow and I.’

Dancer just rolled his eyes skyward. Then he noted drily, ‘Your ankle seems to have recovered rather quickly.’

Wu paused, his shoulders hunching. ‘Ah … yes. My amazing powers of recuperation, obviously.’

Dancer could not help but look to the sky once again.

They climbed a series of sloping hills. As they plodded along Dancer tried to put himself into the strange mindset that Wu was prattling on about. After thinking about it for a while he found he could picture that they were currently climbing what the locals would think of as the gradient of a lake, or an inland sea.

Where the ground levelled out they found a camp of domed huts built of bent branches and rough hides. Boats of similar construction, but inverted, lined what Dancer imagined would be the shore. The locals, however, made him flinch to a halt and snatch at his weapons.

Daemons, they appeared to him: inhumanly tall, insectile, with black spiny fur and large faceted eyes. Wu, however, hobbled right up to the nearest. Dancer hissed warnings at him and tried to head him off, but he took no notice.

‘Greetings,’ he said. The local didn’t seem to hear him, or simply ignored him as it squatted on its thin limbs, busy trimming branches. ‘Hello?’ he tried again. Now the creature raised his, or her, head. ‘Could you tell us where we are?’

The local stood. Peering about wildly, it backed away, then ran deeper into the camp. Dancer approached Wu, weapons drawn. ‘We should leave while we can.’

Wu raised one hand for patience then set both on his walking stick and rocked on his heels, waiting. Dancer found himself wondering whether it was the real stick, or just another shadow-copy, and decided that it really didn’t matter. He now understood that looking for anything like the ‘truth’ was the wrong approach to take with the mage. And he wasn’t sure that it really mattered to him any more, either.

The first local returned, but with an even larger one in tow. They were deep in animated discussion and Dancer didn’t recognize anything of the language. Finally, the bigger one waved a chitinous limb, perhaps for silence, as he, or she, scanned the area.

‘Can you even see me?’ Wu tried.

The creature cocked its head, made further complicated gestures. The numerous pincers at its mouth worked and to his amazement, and unease, Dancer heard, ‘Are there ghosts with us this day?’

Wu caught Dancer’s eye. Ghosts, he mouthed.

‘There are indeed,’ he said.

The local spoke to its companion then returned its attention to Wu. ‘Why are you here? Do you seek vengeance? Do you require propitiation?’

Wu’s interest was visibly piqued as his brows rose. ‘Propitiation? What form would that take? Bright shiny stones perhaps?’

‘No. That I should cut myself to release blood for you. Or vomit food.’

Wu’s face wrinkled. ‘Never mind the propitiation. We are just travelling through and would question you about yourselves and this region.’

‘Ah. I am brood-mother Xethel. We are the—’ What followed was a series of noises that Dancer couldn’t possibly recreate. Wu flinched. ‘We live here by the lake and fish and hunt. The world was created in such a way for us and we are content.’

Dancer peered at the desert that now surrounded him and arched a brow in silent commentary.

‘Have you no enemies, then?’ Wu asked.

‘Well, there are the—’ Xethel let loose another stream of high-pitched whistles and clacks. ‘But they are far away. You may know them by the name they call themselves, the Tiste Edur.’

‘We do indeed know of them,’ Wu answered. ‘They claim this land as their own.’

Xethel let loose a series of noises that Dancer guessed might be laughter. ‘No. They are newcomers. This land is ancient and we have been here since it was created. And anyway, the land cannot belong to anyone. Surely it is the other way round? People belong to the land that nurtures them, yes?’

‘I bow to your wisdom,’ Wu answered. Studying his walking stick, he asked, ‘We ghosts are common here, then?’

‘Not so much in the past, but more now.’

Clearly intrigued, Wu answered, wonderingly, ‘Really?’