Yan Tovis drew a deep breath-there was no hiding the tremble in her hands, the extremity of her fury. ‘I am not blind to the sea,’ she said. ‘No-listen to me, both of you! Be silent and just listen! The water is indeed rising. That fact is undeniable. The shore drowns-even as half the prophecies proclaim. I am not so foolish as to ignore the wisdom of the ancient seers. The Shake are in trouble. It falls to us, to me, to you, to find a way through. For our people. Our feuding must end-but if you cannot set aside all that has happened, and do it now, then you leave me no choice but to banish you both.’ Even as she uttered the word ‘banish’ she saw-with no little satisfaction-that both witches had heard something different, something far more savage and final.
Skwish licked her withered lips, and then seemed to sag against the hut’s wall. ‘We muss flee th’shore, Queen.’
‘I know.’
‘We muss leave. Pu’a’call out t’the island, gather all the Shake. We muss an’ again we muss begin our last journey.’
‘As prophesized,’ whispered Pully. ‘Our lass journey.’
‘Yes. Now the villagers are burying the bodies-they need you to speak the closing prayers. And then I shall see to the ships-I will go myself back out to Third Maiden Isle-we need to arrange an evacuation.’
‘Of the Shake only y’mean!’
‘No, Pully. That damned island is going to be inundated. We take everyone with us.’
‘Scummy prizzners!’
‘Murderers, slackers, dirt-spitters, hole-plungers!’
Yan Tovis glared at the two hags. ‘Nonetheless.’
Neither one could hold her gaze, and after a moment Skwish started edging towards the doorway. ‘Prayers an’ yes, prayers. Fra th’dead coven, fra all th’Shake an’ th’shore.’
Once Skwish had darted out of sight, Pully sketched a ghastly curtsy and then hastened after her sister.
Alone once more, Yan Tovis collapsed down into the saddle-stool that passed for her throne. She so wanted to weep. In frustration, in outrage and in anguish. No, she wanted to weep for herself. The loss of a brother-again-
Even more distressing, she thought she understood his motivations. In one blood-drenched night, the Watch had obliterated a dozen deadly conspiracies, each one intended to bring her down. How could she hate him for that?
Well, it served no one for the Queen to weep. True twilight was not a time for pity, after all. Regrets, perhaps, but not pity.
And if all the ancient prophecies were true?
Then her Shake, broken, decimated and lost, were destined to change the world.
With the arrival of darkness, two dragons lifted into the night sky, one bone-white, the other seeming to blaze with some unquenchable fire beneath its gilt scales. They circled once round the scatter of flickering hearths that marked the Imass encampment, and then winged eastward.
In their wake a man stood on a hill, watching until they were lost to his sight. After a time a second figure joined him.
If they wept the darkness held that truth close to its heart.
From somewhere in the hills an emlava coughed in triumph, announcing to the world that it had made a kill. Hot blood soaked the ground, eyes glazed over, and something that had lived free lived no more.
Chapter Three