Reaper's Gale

Including, hitch, my fear of you. ‘You think you can give me away, Menandore?’



The eyes flared with amusement or contempt or both. ‘Speak then, Udinaas, let us hear your bold claims.’



‘You both think you summoned me here, don’t you? For your stupid tug of war. But the truth is, I summoned the two of you.’



‘You are mad-’



‘Maybe so, Menandore. But this is my dream. Not yours. Not his. Mine.’



‘You fool,’ she spat. ‘Just try banishing us-’



Udinaas opened his eyes, stared up at a cold, clear night sky, and allowed himself a smile. My dream, your nightmare. He pulled the furs tighter about himself, drawing up his legs-making sure they weren’t broken. Stiffness in the knees-normal, what came of scrabbling oyer rock and ice-but warm with life. ‘All is well,’ he whispered.



‘Good,’ said Kettle.



Udinaas turned, looked up. She was crouched at his side. ‘Why are you awake?’ he demanded.



‘I’m not. And neither are you. That temple, it fell over. After you left.’



‘Hope it crushed the Errant flat, then.’



‘No. You’d already sent him away. Her too.’



‘But not you.’



‘No. You didn’t know I was there.’



All right, so I am still dreaming. What do you want?’



‘That temple. It couldn’t have held all those souls. All that grief. It was broken and that’s why it fell over. That was what you were supposed to see. So you’d understand when everything happens. And not be sad. And be able to do what he wants you to do, just not in the way he thought it would be. That’s all.’



‘Good. Now crawl back to your own dreams, Kettle.’



‘Okay. Just remember, don’t cry too soon. You have to wait.’



‘Really. How long before I do this crying?’



But she was gone.



He’d caught some damn fever from the rotting ice. Shivering and hallucinating for three-maybe four-nights now. Bizarre dreams inside dreams and on and on. Delusions of warmth, the comfort of furs not sodden with sweat, the balm of mysterious conversations where meaning wasn’t an issue. I like this life. It’s predictable. Mostly. And when it isn’t, it feels no different. 1 take whatever comes at me. As if each night 1 receive lessons in… in taking control.



Now it was time for the huge table heaped with all his favourite foods.



They said he was gaunt as a wraith.



But every night he ate his fill.



With the dawn light pushing the shadows into the clefts and valleys and transforming the snow-clad peaks into molten gold, Seren Pedac rose from her furs and stood, feeling grimy and dishevelled. The high altitude left her throat sore and her eyes dry, and her allergies only exasperated those conditions. Shivering in the cutting wind, she watched Fear Sengar struggling to relight the fire. Long-frozen wood was reluctant to burn. Kettle had been gathering grasses and she now squatted down beside the Tiste Edur with her offerings.



A ragged cough from where Udinaas lay still buried in furs. After a moment, he slowly sat up. Face flushed with fever, sweat on his brow, his eyes dull. He hacked out a noise Seren belatedly realized was laughter.



Fear’s head snapped round as if wasp-stung. ‘This amuses you? You’d rather another cold meal to start the day?’



Udinaas blinked over at the Tiste Edur, then shrugged and looked away.



Seren cleared her throat. ‘Whatever amused him, Fear, had nothing to do with you.’



‘Speaking for me now?’ Udinaas asked her. He tottered weakly to his feet, still wrapped in the furs. ‘This might be another dream,’ he said. ‘At any moment that white-skinned warrior perched over there might transform into a dragon. And the child Kettle will open her mouth like a door, into which Fear Sengar will plunge, devoured by his own hunger to betray.’ The flat, murky eyes fixed on Seren Pedac. ‘And you will conjure lost ages, Acquitor, as if the follies of history had any relevance, any at all.’



The whirl and snap of a chain punctuated the bizarre pronouncements.



Udinaas glanced over at Clip, and smiled. ‘And you’re dreaming of sinking your hands into a pool of blood, but not any old blood. The question is, can you manipulate events to achieve that red torrent?’



‘Your fever has boiled your brain,’ the Tiste Andii warrior said with an answering smile. He faced Silchas Ruin. ‘Kill him or leave him behind.’



Seren Pedac sighed, then said, ‘Clip, when will we begin our descent? Lower down, there will be herbs to defeat his fever.’