Chapter forty-four

Somewhere in the Southern Plains

 

It was several days before he tried to mind walk again. The Arch-witch had invaded his mind and he knew that that could imperil all of his plans. Yet, if he could not search through the magical communications pinging about in the atmosphere how could he tell what was going on? Eventually, therefore, he would have to try again.

He had been wandering north-west, travelling only a few miles a day. He had needed to escape from the Forest of Melloreis, but after that he had been unsure where to go. Perhaps, it was best to be nowhere in particular for a while.  

He slept under a tree-spurge – its strange shape had fascinated him in the fading light.  He knew almost nothing about plants and he wondered why: had it seemed like frivolous information? In another immortal age he might find time to learn about them, he supposed, but at the moment he was too weary.

At dawn he lay under the spurge-tree and let his mind wander. He tried to pick up the words of the Cloaks and avoid the Enemies, but he did not always have much control of what he sensed. 

A hum of thaumic traffic buzzed around him. There were spies and counter spies, groups and counter-groups, but he usually ignored them. Finally, there were the powerful traces of his former fellow cloaks. There were no voices, just thoughts, and so the thinkers were hard to distinguish.

 

Why would you doubt our lord?

He has not acted for a long time; do we even know if he is still in this world?

To leave risks punishment… You know that

Why should he care? He is strong enough to resist any reckoning

He was strong – who can say now? He has turned strange. He once said that he had gone beyond us…

In wisdom and power, of course, that is indubitably true.

Possibly…

He is still here – we would all face the consequences if he had left

We should call him to an Assembly… We should seek for guidance concerning the necromancers. Can we trust them?

We cannot call him; that would be too presumptuous

Contact his high priest then, and propose it. Eventually we must know our Grey Lord’s  plans…Or we must choose a new leader

 

He was too absorbed to notice the little twister that had once again formed in front of him. This time it swirled round him, as if probing for something. His mind was disconnected abruptly by the intruding Voice.

‘I’ve found you again… Excellent; we can have that chat now – god to god’

‘Since when have you become a god, Arch-witch?’

‘At the moment that I decided I should be, I can’t quite remember when that was. Time has begun to lose much of its meaning. But you know that…’

Once that had been true, but not now: he had chosen to co-ordinate with time completely.  It had allowed him to clear his mind.

‘Gods cannot create themselves…’

The Voice laughed.

‘Not you gods perhaps, which is why you are so weak and I am so strong’

The old grey creature gathered together all of his power.

‘I am the strongest’ he lied, ‘you are no match for me. Your temerity is treacherous. We are of the same mind, you and I, and I respect you for that. You must, however, relearn your place’

He sought somewhere to send out a pulse of power but the Voice’s position was uncertain. There was no way to reach him.

‘I am stronger’ said the Voice softly, ‘and I intend to prove it. I will, myself alone, destroy a god’

‘How will you do that? The gods are inviolate – no mortal can stand against them. That is the universal law’

‘Perhaps it was – perhaps it still is outside Skiophos, but here the rules seem to have changed. Or maybe’ the Voice sniggered, ‘there are no rules here…’

The old man’s mind struggled with its thoughts. He knew that this might well be true, and that was why the gods had not acted singly or collectively against the Enemies. No god could risk obliteration as that would mean the Return. The god once known as White Cloak had returned and although no-one knew his fate they could all guess at it. He would have been deconstructed and reassembled, turned into something else, something more useful. This was feared more than any mortal death.  

‘Speak, greatest of gods… Do not fear – it is not you that I plan to destroy. I have always looked up to you as a mentor. The god who has scanned the skies to find truth, power and terror. I may have grown past you but I do not wish to see you hurt or shamed. When the time comes you and the other cloak wearer will be permitted to leave with glory and thanks. ‘

‘Leave?’

‘A god will only be the start. We do not like this world anymore. The experiment had become tedious and so we have decided to destroy it. Then I will be free to explore the universe. I will follow in your wake and, perhaps, uncover even greater mysteries’

This he all knew, of course – this was his last great remaining struggle – to prevent the destruction of their world. He also knew, however, that he could give no clue of this knowledge. In any case, there had been something else, equally disquieting. He had to find out. 

‘So – which god will you attempt this blasphemy on?’

‘One that is easy to find and has always stood in your way’

The Lady. The thought formed in his mind yet he scarcely dare name her. Fear filled everything. He struggled to find some response.

‘If only it could be done, but you clearly lack the strength. Do you not think that we have tried before, many times? Why would you succeed where all others have failed?’

There was a pause. For a moment the old man thought the connection had been broken.

‘Because I have the power of so many deaths behind me. I will not fail. Can you not see that? I have extracted the essence of life and now it fills me as sap fills a yew tree’

‘But how will you do it, exactly?’

Kratos laughed. The sound was like a howling gale.

‘I will hold her under water and drown her in her own pool’ 

The old grey man shivered. He did not doubt that it could be done. The gods had invented humans for their sport, and humans had invented witchcraft to enthrall the gods – a perfect symmetry. And perhaps they deserved it. But the Lady, she was his ally, his friend, and she needed to be saved.

‘I forbid it!’ he commanded, attempting to channel all his old, dreadful, power for one last time.

There was silence for a second. A different tone ran into Kratos’s voice. He sounded almost deferential.

‘Is that your command, master?’

‘Yes. It is not your place to interfere in my plans. She will be destroyed when the time is ripe’

‘Really? You have had sixty thousand years to destroy her and you have all tried many times. I can succeed…’

The old man’s mind raced. How could this be stopped without terrible carnage? Could the Hybitor stop him? He doubted it. He tried one more thing.

‘You must wait for a while. I will bring your proposal to the Cloaks’ Assembly. Let us discuss it there. I fear the result of the killing of a god. It will have consequences…’

‘They say that you never attend the Assembly. They say you have not done so for hundreds of years.’

‘That is because there has been nothing of interest to me to discuss; but now…’

There was another long silence. When Kratos finally spoke again the words sounded hollow.

‘If you insist, great god… I will wait for the Assembly’s verdict’

Liar! Thought the old man. You have no intention of listening to me – you just want to keep me happy for the time being. If you only knew who opposed you at every turn. He wanted to say ‘Come and fight me – I am your greatest foe’ but it could not be said. It would be pure bluster. He knew the fibres that now thread through the world. He knew that he would lose. There was only one power that could face the new god and that too was human witchcraft. But even that was a distant, almost theoretical, prospect. He must keep his feeling hidden.

‘Good’ he said, ‘I will inform you as soon as a decision is made’

The Voice laughed again.

‘I will know it’ it said, ‘there is very little that can be hidden from me now’

This was all that could be borne. The Grey Wanderer summoned all of his remaining energy.

‘Now leave me’ he thundered, finally creating a wave of power strong enough to sweep the whirlwind away.

He lay panting on the grassy floor. His head throbbed with tension.  He waited for Kratos to return, but it seemed that his foe was still not strong enough to find him when he was not mind walking. He scrambled to his feet. He knew now exactly what must be done. He had to warn the Lady. He would have to go to Ortia and he would have to walk, as no other way was safe. 

He headed north as fast as his old legs would carry him. But he was very weary.