*

Anyara stood with Ilessa oc Kilkry on the quayside of Kolglas, watching the crew ready the ship. They worked in silence. The crowd assembled all along the harbour watched in silence. The seagulls wheeled overhead, screeching. “I am grateful that you came,” Anyara said to the older woman. “Of course. Our Bloods spring from the same root. And now, it seems, we are greatly in your debt. Your brother’s debt. Of course I came.” Anyara smiled and nodded her thanks. There was a faint warmth in the sun on her face. It felt like an entirely new thing: a sensation she had never before experienced in all her life. As if it were a new kind of warmth in a new world. “You must have a great many demands upon your time, though,” she said. “And it cannot have been an easy journey.” “Are any journeys easy now? And there is too little time, no matter where I am, how hard I labour. Repairs. Rebuilding. Finding food for the unhomed and the orphaned. The Tal Dyreens bring shiploads of grain and require us to empty our treasury in exchange for it. The Black Road still lurks in distant corners of our lands. We will be fighting bandits for years, I think. Many fled into the Vare Waste, many beyond the Karkyre Peaks, where by all rumours’ account they are not welcomed by what remains of the White Owls. Not welcomed at all.” “And Highfast?” “It might be again as it was once was. Perhaps. There are some prepared to try. A few. There was a message from one of them—a man called Hammarn—for the na’kyrim… for Yvane. I gave it to her last night. It seemed to please her, though it was difficult to be sure.” Anyara looked along the quayside a little way. Someone was moving through the crowd, handing out oatmeal biscuits and offering ale. It seemed a strange fragment of normality amidst so much that felt unreal. Impossible. “Your son…?” she asked quietly. Dismay perturbed Ilessa’s features, just briefly. She mastered herself. “Unchanged. Roaric is lost to us, I fear. He moves and breathes, and speaks even at times. But his sense has fled him. He is Thane, but… but the reins must stay in my hands. For as long as I can hold them.” “I’m sorry.” “Sorry. Yes. It will not be easy for either of us, I think. The Bloods are not accustomed to the rule of a woman.” Anyara grunted. “To say the least of it. They will accustom themselves to it in time. But not yet: every day I am asked when I intend to marry and put a Thane on the throne beside me.” “You should,” Ilessa said, too quickly, too forcefully. It was gentler when she repeated it: “You should. Not to please others, not to silence doubters. Because you will not want to be alone. Not for long. Do not make yourself alone.” “No,” murmured Anyara. And then asked, “What do you suppose will happen?” “We can’t know that. We will have to wait and see. And hope we meet it well.” The crowd at the far end of the harbour shifted and parted, and a small group came through. Yvane, and Coinach, and Taim Narran with his arm about his wife Jaen. That was a good sight, those two in such an embrace. It made Anyara smile. The first time she had smiled today. She was still smiling as her eyes met Coinach’s, and his own lips caught the warmth and reflected it. “My lady,” her shieldman said, dipping his head respectfully as they drew near. He took such pleasure in flouting her command to call her by her name. It was a game between them now. A gentle, affectionate game. Yvane looked the most despondent of all of them. Her gaze was on the lidded clay vase Anyara clutched to her breast. Anyara tightened her grip on the vessel. “It will soon be done,” she said to the na’kyrim, and Yvane nodded sadly. “They look to be ready, my lady,” Taim said. Anyara turned to the long, low boat. The oarsmen were at their posts. The helmsman stood at the tiller. That smile was gone already, but it could not have survived this moment in any case. “Let’s go then,” she said. Taim hugged his wife, and kissed her forehead, and whispered in her ear. She touched her hand to his cheek and backed away. The rest of them descended into the corpse-ship. The oarsmen edged it slowly out of the harbour. Castle Kolglas, standing on its rocky outpost amidst the waves, watched them pass; and Anyara watched it, awash with memories, with regrets and sorrow. The place was still empty, still a ruin. She did not know when—or if—it would be habitable once more. There was a rare, light wind from the south today, and Anyara was glad of that, for she wanted this outward journey to be a quick one. Once beyond the harbour’s embrace, the single square sail was soon raised, and it flapped and creaked and then caught the wind and tightened, and the prow of the ship began to punch its way through the waves, out into the Glas Estuary. Anyara sat alone on a bench, with that vase held tight, and closed her eyes. She surrendered herself to the sound of the sea on the hull, the voices of the seagulls that escorted them, the sun on her face. It was not peace, but there was a secret stillness in those sensations she could draw upon. Dimly, she could hear Taim talking with Ilessa oc Kilkry behind her. Their voices were low. “And Haig?” Taim was asking. Ilessa snorted. “Chaos, from what I hear. They lost thousands in the battles, and now they’re fighting Dornach and Dargannan in the south. It’s going badly, evidently. Not that anyone seems to know who is giving the orders. One day I’m told it’s the Crafts, the next someone says Stravan has turned up and taken the throne. Whoever it is, they’re in no position to try to drag Kilkry and Lannis back under their yoke.” “Perhaps there’s no Haig Blood left at all,” Taim mused. “There’s Abeh. But they say she lost her mind when her husband was killed, and hasn’t recovered. Foul woman. I’d not wish such… horrors on anyone, but she… no, not even her perhaps. What about the Black Road?” “Oh, it’s…” Anyara could hear Taim’s shrug. “Mystifying. We had a message from Ragnor oc Gyre himself—meant for Gryvan, but we took it—pledging immediate peace, lasting peace. We questioned the messenger, sent one or two scouts north across the Vale ourselves, and it’s as if the madness hasn’t ended up there, as far as we can tell. The Inkallim have been all but destroyed, but whatever’s left of them is fighting Ragnor, along with half his own people. Horin-Gyre seems to be the only Blood that hasn’t taken up arms against one of the others.” “Well, it gives us time, at least.” “It does. But I leave as much of the plotting as I can to others now. I’ve hung up my sword. There’s a new Captain in Castle Anduran: Torcaill. He’s…” Anyara let the voices fade from her awareness. Time. There was never enough of that. They stepped onto The Grave. A wind-scoured, bare isle beneath the rugged headland of Dol Harigaig. Anyara could feel the spray from the waves breaking along the island’s western shore. The wind cast her hair across her face. It was called Il Dromnone first, and people said it was the body of a fallen giant. It became The Grave during the Heart Fever, when the harboursides of Kolglas and Glasbridge filled every day with bodies wrapped in cerements, and the corpse-ships ploughed back and forth with cruel regularity. Lairis and Fariel had come here. Now she had brought Orisian to join them, certain in her heart that it was what he would have chosen. She cradled the clay pot containing his ashes in her arms as she walked over The Grave’s uneven, slick rocks. Taim had carried Orisian out of Kan Avor through a day and long night, without stopping, to a cottage on the edge of Anlane where others waited. They had built a pyre amongst tree stumps, looking out over the valley, and consigned him to the flames. Afterwards, Anyara knew—though the na’kyrim would not speak of it—Yvane had gone back into Kan Avor with Taim. And what, she wondered, must it have cost the warrior to return to that place, having once escaped it? They had gone back and found K’rina’s body, and buried it out in the marshlands by the River Glas. But Anyara had not been there, for any of it. Now she would mourn in her way. Yvane, Coinach and Taim stood by the boat on flat rocks. She walked away from them, going alone across the naked isle, buffeted by the wind, tasting the sea on her lips. When she came to what she thought was the highest point in The Grave’s low emergence above the waves, she stopped and stood, and savoured for a moment this wild and free place. The wind was bringing tears to her eyes. It was not grief. Not yet. She held the urn in both hands and lifted it up, showed it to that little group gathered back at the water’s edge. Then she turned and showed it to two more watchers. High up, on the precipitous slope above the cliffs of Dol Harigaig, two pale and distant figures stood. They were too far away for Anyara to see clearly, but she knew that Varryn and Ess’yr had eyes much sharper than her own. She was not sure, but she thought one at least of them raised an arm in acknowledgement of her gesture. Anyara hugged the urn to her and knelt down. She did cry then, briefly. She folded herself over that hard clay vase, and was angry, and sad, and frightened. She let those feelings go, on the wind; imagined them tumbling and skimming away over the foaming crests of the waves into the north. She took the lid from the urn, and let the wind take her brother’s ashes too. “Forgiven,” she whispered as she watched it clouding away, dusting itself over the rocks, spinning on gusts into the sky. “Forgiven, of course. But there was nothing to forgive.” As the corpse-ship readied itself to depart from The Grave, a small rowboat was lowered noisily over the side. Yvane climbed down into it, and a single oarsman—the strongest of the crew. He flailed his way across the waves and the wind to a narrow gravel beach nestled among gigantic black boulders on the southern flank of Dol Harigaig. He drove his tiny craft up onto that beach, the pebbles hissing as the keel ploughed into them. Yvane clambered out, ungainly but dry-shod, thanked the man and walked towards Ess’yr and Varryn, who had descended to meet her. No words were exchanged between na’kyrim and Kyrinin. They climbed together up onto the high ground, going slowly and carefully over first a winding trail made by wild goats, and then on the damp, slick turf of the headland. Ess’yr moved easily, though one arm was still bound up in a tight sling. They walked for a long time along the Car Anagais that formed the steep northern shore of the estuary, skirting the tree line as they went. The land was empty, for the Fox were much reduced, and no vo’an remained south of the Vale of Tears. Perhaps in future years. Perhaps. Late on the second day, as the greater ramparts of the Car Criagar came into sight ahead of them, they turned northward, and began the long descent through hills and wooded vales towards the Dihrve Valley. They parted then. Yvane and Varryn went on ahead to find a place to camp for the night. Ess’yr went down to the thickets along the side of a narrow, gurgling stream. She found there a stand of willow, and cut a stem. She chose a good one, straight and healthy, on the brink of giving forth its fresh, dagger-shaped leaves. She trimmed its cut base to make the wound clean and neat. Then she pushed it into the soft, moist earth close to the bank of the stream. She opened the hole it had made by rolling her wrist, swaying the stake round in widening circles, and then withdrew it and laid it flat on the ground. From under her belt she brought a folded scrap of deerhide. As she could work with only one hand, she had to put it down on a fallen log in order to open it out and take hold of the knotted cord it contained. She knelt and gently lowered the cord into the hole the willow stake had made. Her long fingers carefully pressed it in deep, to make sure it was settled and secure there. She paused, head bowed, in reflection for a few moments. Ess’yr rose, and planted the staff of willow over the cord. She firmed it into place with her foot and stepped back. The willow stood tall and perfectly erect. She nodded once to it, respectfully, turned and walked away. To find her brother and the na’kyrim. To join them beside a fire, and eat and rest and anticipate the coming of a new season.