Part 27 (2/2)

'No, Revered,' the man says. 'It's just a machine. A device. When the time comes, I will give it the semblance of life.'

'No,' Hanx says, and he opens his eyes and smiles. 'The Engines have always been more than that.' He holds out his hand and touches the metal casing, feels the thrill that this engineer cannot, and promises the Engine that all will be well.

A pulse, like an invisible nod, is his reply.

Chapter 18.

north Venden had expected Aeon to head south towards the coming conflict, but instead it turned north, forging through the snow, over mountain ranges and across a frozen ocean before entering a land of volcanic eruptions and cascading glaciers. Steam and smoke filled the air.

This is no memory, Venden thought, and Aeon went further, skimming across lakes of lava and pa.s.sing by screaming geysers of steam and fire. Beyond, in a land untrodden by human feet, Aeon came to rest before a fallen tree, in the roots of which was entangled something that might once have been alive.

Venden's perception of the thing was confused. Aeon saw it as it was then, and as it had been before; a dead, skeletal thing, and a being that had once run and flown and burrowed. Its limbs had merged with the still-thriving wood of the fallen tree, and crawling things made homes within the s.p.a.ces between bones.

Crex Wry will rise, Aeon said. This was the language of mind, and Venden was a part of Aeon's. The humans have new devices to conjure its sickened soul a what they call magic a refined and improved from before. But they have even less knowledge, and no belief. Crex Wry will rise, and this time it will not be put down again.

We put it down before, a terrible voice said. It came from something not used to talking. Something dead.

Venden drew back, terrified at what he had heard.

Yes, Aeon said. Very long ago. And again six hundred years ago, it was confused, and the humans and their Engines put it back down before it was fully risen. But this time ...

The humans' devices may not suffice, the voice said.

Crex Wry is ready. This time, it will take the Engines quickly into itself. Make them its own.

Once freed, it will not be beaten again, the voice intoned. There is only you left to fight back. The shape twisted into the tree roots seemed to move, and then the tree itself flexed and stretched, great cracking impacts echoing across the thunderous landscape.

I came here to ask- Aeon began.

Permission.

I don't require your permission, Aeon said. There was a note of anger in its voice, even superiority. But there was also respect.

No, the voice said. The tree settled. The skeleton reflected fire. You need my advice.

The two old beings a resurrected, and long dead a fell silent. The landscape spoke around them, uttering its own eternal monologue. It might have been moments or decades before Aeon spoke again.

The fools might be stopped. There are humans.

There are always humans. Or if not humans, then those that came before, and those creatures that came long before them. We have always known them, and they us. But none of them has ever made a difference.

And did we? Aeon asked.

The dead thing pondered, and the tree seemed to breathe with its eventual sigh. Given a chance, we would have.

I have to give them a chance, Aeon said. They choose to call me a G.o.d, but it's their own actions that will define them.

How much of a chance? the old thing asked. How long can you give? Crex Wry cannot rise again. It must not. Last time it froze the heart of a thriving land; next time ...

It will not rise again, Aeon a.s.sured. But if I did stop them this time, they would have more reason to see me as an enemy. And they would try again, and again. Better I give the humans time to halt their own folly. A silent nod, as Aeon agreed with its own thinking. And imagine the results should they triumph?

And you're weak, the dead thing said. Even the tools of magic, the Engines, repel you.

Yes, Aeon admitted. But the humans are stronger than you think.

The dead thing mocked without speaking.

You never did admire them, Aeon said.

They've had their time.

Perhaps, Aeon said. But should they make all the right decisions, they will move on. The advance will be huge. And I will be able ... It trailed off, and Venden sensed the things that made it not quite a G.o.d. There was selfishness there, in its desire not to be involved. And there was a dreadful weariness.

You have existed for so long, the old thing said.

Alone, Aeon said.

Something changed about the dead thing's appearance tangled in the roots of that ancient fallen tree. The skeleton yellowed and crumbled in places, the tree fell to rot, and a distant volcanic explosion splashed it with reflected red light, like flowing blood. Venden saw it as it really was a dead, and long, long gone.

Aeon fell silent.

Father will triumph, Venden said, every sense determined.

Far to the south, his father's burden increased a thousandfold.

Bon was having trouble keeping up with Leki. He suspected it was her Arcanum training. They probably told her how to ride s.h.i.+res. Showed her how to send a racking. Revealed to her every cursed secret of every inner working of the Alderian empire and every creed, state and people. She galloped her mount ahead, and had not once looked back to make sure Bon was following. Maybe she knew. Maybe she was inside his head right now.

I thought I might love you. He wondered if she heard that, or knew it. Still she did not turn around.

Bon had ridden much smaller s.h.i.+res on Alderia. There had been a route that led from their village of Sefton Breaks and along the Ton River, heading towards Gakota but then veering across a shallow part of the river and snaking out towards a huge spread of farmland beyond. It had been a favoured walking and riding path for many villagers, and for the s.p.a.ce of two or three years he and Milian had taken Venden with them. They'd borrowed s.h.i.+res from a neighbour's farm, setting out early morning, lunching by the river, then exploring the farmland into the afternoon and evening. They'd watched crop gathering, and sometimes helped. Venden had caught insects on the wing and told his parents about them. Once, their son had gone swimming in a tributary of the Ton, and Milian and Bon had made surrept.i.tious love beneath a blanket.

Those s.h.i.+res had been small and tame, used to being ridden. These, he was certain, were wild.

The beast beneath him bucked and snorted, spraying foam across its head and back as it ran. Bon held onto its mane, legs tight against its sides, his pack hugged around his stomach and pressed between him and the s.h.i.+re. His jacket was tied, the pocket containing Venden's gift securely closed. Bon had not looked at it since, but it was the centre of his attention.

Leki rode with ease, sitting up on her s.h.i.+re and steering it, urging it on. Bon suspected that his mount was simply following Leki's, and he did not attempt to interfere.

He could feel the great power of the beast beneath him, and could not sense any lessening of speed or energy. But several smears of foam spattered across his hands and against his cheeks, and when he wiped them off he saw specks of blood, thick and heavy in the mess.

He thought of calling to Leki to stop, but she was too far ahead to hear. And if he somehow managed to slow or halt his own s.h.i.+re, he would be lost.

Skythe was white, and growing whiter. Snow fell heavier. Their race south was almost silent, but for the m.u.f.fled impacts of the s.h.i.+res' hooves through thick snow and the creatures' grunting and snorting.

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