Midnight tides

‘And now he feeds on our rage. Our anguish.’

‘Of the three, one shall return. Our salvation-’

‘Fool. From each death power burgeons anew. Victory is impossible.’

‘There is no place for us. We but serve. We but bleed out terror and the annihilation begins-’

‘Ours as well.’

‘Yes, ours as well.’

‘Do you think she will come again? Does anyone think she will come again? She will, I am certain of it. With her bright sword. She is the rising sun and the rising sun ever comes, sending us scurrying, cutting us to pieces with that sharp, deadly light-’

‘-annihilation well serves us. Make of us dead shards. To bring an end to this-’

‘Someone is with us.’

‘Who?’

‘A mortal is here with us. Two Mistresses to the same Hold. She is one, and she is here. She is here now and she listens to our words.’

‘Steal her mind!’

‘Take her soul!’

‘Let us out!’

Seren reeled away from the black wall. Staggered, hands to her ears, shaking her head. ‘Enough,’ she moaned. ‘No more, please. No more.’ She sank to her knees, was motionless as the voices faded, their screams dwindling. ‘Mistress?’ she whispered. I am no-one’s mistress. Just one more reluctant… lover of solitude. No place for voices, no place for hard purposes… fierce fires.

Like Hull, only ashes. The smudged remnants of possibilities. But, unlike the man she had once thought to love, she had not knelt before a new icon to certainty. No choices to measure out like the soporific illusion of some drug, the consigning invitation to addiction.

She wanted no new masters over her life. Nor the burden of friendships.

A croaking voice behind her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing, Buruk.’ She climbed wearily to her feet. ‘We have reached the border.’

‘I’m not blind, Acquitor.’

‘We can move on a way, then make camp.’

‘You think me weak, don’t you?’

She glanced over at him. ‘You are sick with exhaustion, Buruk. So am I. What point all this bravado?’

Sudden pain in his expression, then he turned away. ‘I’ll show you soon enough.’

‘What of my contract?’

He did not face her. ‘Done. Once we reach Trate. I absolve you of further responsibility.’

‘So be it,’ she said, walking to her pack.

They built a small fire with the last of their wood. The wraiths, it seemed, cared nothing for borders, flitting along the edges of the flickering light. A renewed interest, and Seren thought she knew why. The spirits within the stone wall. She was now marked.

Mistress of the Hold. Mistresses. There are two, and they think I am one of those two. A lie, a mistake.

Which Hold?

‘You were young,’ Buruk suddenly said, his eyes on the fire. ‘When I first saw you.’

‘And you were happy, Buruk. What of it?’

‘Happiness. Ah, now that is a familiar mask. True, I wore it often, back then. Joyful in my spying, my unceasing betrayals, my deceits and the blood that appeared again and again on my hands.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘My debts, Acquitor. Oh yes, outwardly I stand as a respected merchant… of middling wealth.’

‘And what are you in truth?’

‘It is where dreams fall away, Seren Pedac. That crumbling edifice where totters self-worth. You stand, too afraid to move, and watch your hands in motion, mangling every dream, every visage of the face you would desire, the true face of yourself, behind that mask. It is not helpful, speaking of truths.’

She thought for a time, then her eyes narrowed. ‘You are being blackmailed.’ He voiced no denial, so she continued, ‘You are Indebted, aren’t you?’

‘Debts start small. Barely noticeable. Temporary. And so, in repayment, you are asked to do something. Something vile, a betrayal. And then, they have you. And you are indebted anew, in the maintenance of the secret, in your gratitude for not being exposed in your crime, which has since grown larger. As it always does, if you are in possession of a conscience.’ He was silent a moment, then he sighed and said, ‘I do envy those who have no conscience.’

‘Can you not get out, Buruk?’