She seemed to consider this a compliment. Her scarred lips showed a wicked smile.
Thoth lifted the bow once more and placed it on the strings of the cello. “Do you know what draws me to this concerto?” he asked.
Scarpia looked at him inquisitively.
“War,” he growled. “They say that Elgar wrote it in mourning, at the end of their great war.” A cackle sounded in the void of his throat. “For us, it will be our call to arms!”
Scarpia’s smile widened.
“Meet me in the birthing chambers,” breathed Thoth, beginning to play. “You are not the only thing to have been born today.”
(#ulink_298cafc7-5078-5a46-b58b-ba531e2b2795)
“The Merisi Bandis a clasp of intrigue, enclosing mysteries that only its maker may ever understand.”
WHEN PAISCION FINALLY EMERGED from the tunnel into the Garden of Havens, the gathering was in a frenzy of excitement. As people caught sight of him, there were spontaneous cheers and cries of delight, then unrestrained, joyous applause from all sides.
At last, the Magruman had returned.
But Paiscion himself hardly seemed to notice these attentions. He smiled and nodded politely to all he passed, shaking any hands that were offered and embracing those who lunged at him, unable to contain themselves, but his eyes were fixed on the river’s edge. His eyes were on Filimaya.
For her part, she stood entirely still as she had since she had first seen his face, her fingers at her lips, her eyes on his. When finally he found his way through the last of the crowd, his pace quickened and he half ran beneath the branches of the tree, then pulled up and came to a halt shortly before he reached her. For a moment he simply took in the sight of her, as if hardly believing that she was there, and then he rushed forward and caught her up in a close embrace. They laughed and wept with joy.
Sylas smiled and glanced over at Simia. She was sitting on the side of the boat wearing a crooked smile, tears in her eyes.
“So it’s true,” he said, sitting down next to her. “What they said about Filimaya and Paiscion.”
He waited for the inevitable rolling of eyes and sarcastic “obviously”, but Simia just smiled, still watching the elderly couple.
After a moment she turned and looked Sylas up and down. “So … are you OK?” she asked.
Sylas said nothing, but looked pale and tired.
Simia leaned forward, peering at his wrist. “Did you see what happened to the Merisi Band?” she asked, reaching out towards it. “It was weird! For a moment, I thought it was going to …”
She trailed off and slowly her eyes crept up to his. “Have you seen?”
“Seen what?” He followed her gaze down to the Merisi Band. For the first time he saw that it was still glowing, not with a bright fire like before, but with a dim, rippling light, and running along the circumference of the bracelet was something that he had never seen before, stark and black against the light. It was a string of lettering that made no sense. But as he gazed at them the Ravel Runes began to show themselves, until soon they revealed true letters and words.
He blinked, frowned, then grew pale.
“So? What does it say?” asked Simia.
Sylas turned to look at her.
“It says, ‘In blood it must end’.”
Suddenly the gardens fell silent. Sylas and Simia dragged their eyes from the Merisi Band to see Paiscion with his hands aloft, calling the assembly to order.
“Thank you! Thank you for your welcome,” he shouted over the last excited heckles. “I apologise for my entrance. I had wanted to travel with my friends here, but I had a challenging time getting out of the city. I am sorry to say that there are dark things afoot in the city of Gheroth, and, I fear, throughout these lands. Thoth is gathering his forces and tightening his noose. I have seen new and foul creatures spilling from the Dirgheon, marching I know not where. I have seen messengers dispatched and received. And I have seen new patrols throughout the city, terrorising our poor sisters and brothers in the slums. All this in just the past few days. I need not tell you that such things have not been seen since the Reckoning.”
A new and solemn quiet fell over the gathering. Faces paled and shoulders drooped, as though under some terrible weight.
“This is just what I have been saying!” shouted a tall woman wearing a long purple gown. “The winds, the birds, the waters, all have been telling us of new and terrible things beginning across the Four Lands! And the Black! It’s everywhere – even here, in the Valley! The mines are full of it, and now the tree is infected …”
Paiscion turned sharply and looked towards the tree. His face darkened as he saw the fingers of black spiralling up the rumpled trunk.
“When did this begin?” he asked Filimaya.
“In the past days and weeks,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “It seems to be rising from the mines. Nothing we’ve tried has stopped it – if anything, it gets worse.”
“Indeed,” said Paiscion grimly. “Whatever it is, the Black sinks its claws as deep as evil itself.”
“But now, now we have reason to hope!” shouted someone from high above, to which everyone who heard nodded enthusiastically. “Our Magruman has returned!”
Paiscion frowned and pointed towards Sylas and Naeo. “My dear sisters and brothers, here is your hope! Surely you see that?”
There was only silence.
“But you’re our Magruman!” came the same, anonymous voice from high on the cliff.
Paiscion turned his eyes to every part of the hollow. “I am your Magruman and I will serve you and the Suhl until my final breath. But Magrumen alone are powerless to stop the Undoing – these years of suffering leave us in no doubt of that. Even with the blessing of Essenfayle, we have failed to defend ourselves against our enemy and now, now that Merimaat is dead, the nation is weaker than ever – just as we enter what may be the final crisis.”
A new hush fell over the proceedings, and those who moments before had glowed with excitement became quiet and reflective. Filimaya’s eyes never left Paiscion’s face.
“As you know,” he continued, “since the Reckoning I have lived on the Windrush, in the shadow of our enemy, where he would never think to look. And there I watched and I listened. With the help of our sisters and brothers in the slums, I spied on Thoth and his agents, on the Ghor Command and the legions of the Dirgheon. I studied their plans and their works. I drew maps and kept records. But nothing I saw offered a way to free our people from their torments. That is why I never returned to you. But now, my friends, I am here.” He extended an arm in the direction of Sylas. “I am here because of this boy.”
All eyes turned to Sylas, who found himself shrinking a little between his shoulders.
Simia grinned. “He’s talking about you!”
“You think?” he hissed.
“Let no one be in any doubt,” continued the Magruman. “Sylas Tate changes everything. His arrival offers more hope than I ever dreamed possible in those dark days on the Windrush. He brings a hand of friendship from the Merisi – that sage order that knows many of the secrets of these two worlds and which has been our ally since the birth of our nation. He brings the wisdom of the Samarok and a mastery of Essenfayle that is quite miraculous. But he also offers something quite unexpected. He brings a promise of unity, of togetherness, of an end to the divisions that plague our world and upon which Thoth has built his empire. He shifts the lines of whatever battle may come.”
A murmur of excitement rumbled around the gardens.
“You do all that?” whispered Simia sarcastically.
Sylas felt a little sick.
“But I’m telling only part of the story,” said Paiscion, turning and walking towards Naeo. She looked at him warily, but he simply took her hand and drew her forward, presenting her to the gathering. “Because it was young Naeo here who called Sylas into this world. And for that we owe her an immense debt of gratitude. Not only because of what Sylas brings, but also because of who he is. You see, Naeo has shown almost unimaginable courage in doing what she has done. And that is because Sylas is Naeo.” He turned on the spot, looking at the entire assembly. “Naeo is Sylas.”
A surge of excited energy moved through the congregation and everyone leaned forward to try to improve their view. A thousand eyes shifted between the two children and a thousand minds struggled to comprehend what they were being told.
“But Paiscion, if I might say,” said Glubitch, scratching in his red locks, “the reason we may have failed to appreciate the importance of these children is that it is hard to believe that they are what you say. They look perfectly normal! They don’t even look the same, or behave alike – they’re different. How can they be each other’s Glimmer?”
Paiscion laughed. “I have absolutely no idea!” he cried. “But that makes it no less true. No one can doubt the truth after the events of the past few days.”
