“I will hold him steady, I promise. He will reach the tower in comfort.”

“And then what? Even if a Skylord were to come, he is still alive.”

“The Waterwalker has said a Skylord is coming,” Dinlay said heatedly. “Are you going to deny your own patient the chance to reach the Heart?”

“I can offer him certainty,” the doctor said. “Not promises based on myth.”

“This is not some election stunt,” Dinlay said, his anger growing now. “Not a politician’s promise. The Skylord will guide Master Finitan’s soul to the Heart.”

He really does believe in me, Edeard realized, feeling almost humbled by a trust that had lasted forty years. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about the stubborn doctor, who was only doing her job and securing what she believed was best for her patient.

“Doctor,” Finitan’s longtalk urged. “Please let my friends in.”

The doctor stepped aside with a great show of disapproval. Finitan was sitting up in bed, dressed in the robes of the Eggshaper Guild’s Grand Master.

“You look splendid,” Edeard said.

“Wish I felt it.” The old man coughed. He gave a frail, brave smile. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Of course.” Edeard folded his third hand gently around Finitan, ready to lift him off the bed.

“Master?” the doctor queried.

“It’s all right. This is what I want. I thank you and the Novices for a splendid job. You have made my life bearable again, but your obligation ends now. I would hope you respect that.” There was just a touch of the old master’s authority in the tone.

The doctor bowed uncomfortably. “I will accompany you to the tower myself.”

“Thank you,” Finitan said.

Edeard lifted Finitan carefully and maneuvered him through the door. The small procession made its way down the stairs to the courtyard.

Quite a crowd had gathered outside, eager and curious. They jostled for position on the narrow street, sweeping their farsight across the ailing master. Finitan raised a weak smile and waved.

“Where’s the Skylord?” someone shouted.

“Show us, then, Waterwalker. Where is it?”

“There’s nothing in the sky except clouds.”

Dinlay scowled. “Yrance’s people,” he muttered. “Have they no sense of decency?”

“It is an election,” an amused Finitan observed.

“After today they won’t matter,” Edeard replied.

There was a gondola waiting for them on Hidden Canal. Edeard eased Finitan down onto the long bench in the middle, and the doctor made him as comfortable as possible with cushions and blankets. The old man smiled contentedly as the gondolier pushed them off down the canal. Folfal trees lined both sides of the canal, their long branches curving high above the water. With the warm spring air gusting across the city, bright orange blossom buds were bursting out of the trees’ indigo-shaded bark, producing a beautiful show of vibrant color.

They were watched every inch of the way; some kids even ran along the side of the canal, dodging the trunks and pedestrians to keep up with the gondola. Several ge-eagles flapped lazily overhead.

The gondolier steered them down Hidden Canal and then over to Market Canal until they were level with the Lady’s church. Hundreds of people were waiting for them around the mooring platform, keen for either spectacle or failure.

The Pythia headed up the semiofficial reception group at the top of the wooden steps, with her entourage of six Mothers waiting passively behind. She was new to the position, anointed barely three years ago. She didn’t have quite the vivacity of the previous incumbent, nor did she immerse herself in Makkathran’s social events, but her devotion to the Lady was never in doubt. She had a zeal for the teachings that always made Edeard slightly uncomfortable around her.

“Waterwalker,” she said courteously. Her handsome face was impassive, as was her mind. Edeard walked up the steps while his third hand elevated Finitan behind him.

“Any sign of it?” Finitan asked.

Kanseen, who was standing just behind the Pythia, took his hand and squeezed gently. “Not yet,” she said sweetly.

“It won’t be long,” Edeard promised. But even he gave a nervous glance toward the Lyot Sea in the east. He’d longtalked to the Skylord the previous evening before the planet’s rotation had carried it out of sight. Several astronomers had claimed they’d seen it. That was countered by Yrance’s campaign staff as cronies trying to curry short-term favor with the Waterwalker.

Kristabel gave him an encouraging smile, but there was no way she could hide her concern from him. Macsen just rolled his eyes, his thoughts brimming with bravado and confidence that he hoped might infuse Edeard.

With Kanseen holding Finitan’s hand, the whole group walked over to the nearest tower. It was a drab gray in color, its crinkled surface beset with slim fissures whose sides were a dark red. Two angled gaps at the base led into the central cavelike chamber. A single thick pillar rose up from the center of the floor, with an opening to the narrow spiral stair that snaked up to the platform high above.

Even inside the thick walls, Edeard could feel a lot of farsight pressing against them as more and more city residents started to observe what was happening.

“I’ll take you up by myself,” Edeard said. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened around the top of a tower when the Skylord came to claim a human soul. The Lady’s book spoke of cold fire engulfing the bodies of those who’d been chosen for guidance. It didn’t sound good for the living.

Everyone looked to Kristabel, who simply shrugged. “If that’s what must be done,” she said reluctantly.

“May the Lady herself welcome you, Finitan,” the Pythia said. The other Mothers clasped their hands in prayer.

Edeard started to move Finitan toward the cramped entrance to the stairs. Macsen’s hand caught his elbow. “Don’t linger,” the master of Sampalok said quietly. “It was bad enough the last time you went up one of these towers alone.”

Edeard grinned at him and started up the stairs.

“Do you ever wonder what’s there?” Finitan asked. He was ahead of Edeard, his body tipped to almost forty-five degrees as Edeard’s telekinesis maneuvered him upward around the not-quite-symmetrical curves of the stair.

“In the Heart?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. It can’t be a physical existence, not some kind of a fresh start, a grand house by the sea with servants and fine wine and food.” We can do that here.

“Yes, I was thinking along those lines. So what exactly is it?”

“Well, you’ll know before me.”

Finitan laughed. “That’s my Edeard, ever the practical one.”

They were about a third of the way up. Edeard grimaced and concentrated on not dropping the old master. The stairs were badly claustrophobic.

“Philosophy was never my strong point,” Finitan went on. “I was more an organizer.”

“You were a visionary. That’s why we achieved so much.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure. But what does the Heart need with a human visionary?”

“Lady, but you’re getting morose for someone about to embark on the ultimate journey.”

“What if it isn’t?” Finitan whispered. “Edeard, I’m afraid.”

“I know. But consider this: Even if the Heart isn’t for you, it’s where an awful lot of your questions will be answered. Think who’s there waiting for you. Rah and the Lady for a start. The people who built Makkathran, whoever and whatever they are. The Captain on the ship which brought us all here, and he’ll be able to explain what made him come into the Void. Maybe even the Firstlifes; imagine what they can tell you. You might get to discover why the Void exists.”

“Ah, now there’s a thought. Or perhaps we’ve misunderstood, and the Heart is simply the gateway out.”

“Out?”

“To the universe outside. If we’re fulfilled, if we’ve proved we’re worthy enough, we get to go home.”