rejoice in your skinlessness, your immolation, the nakedness of nerves. Rejoice above all in your fellowship, ere you turn and find it a memory, a dry shell without warmth. But you must never again refuse knowledge, Smythidor. I would have shown you the doctor's mind next.'
'I don't want to see — and what I saw of Ott's mind was hideous. Stay away, stay away, or I swear I'll use that word.' He shook Chadfallow again. 'Wake up, damn you, I need your help.'
Then the eguar hissed a final word in its own language, making Pazel wince — although it was, compared to earlier utterances, remarkably brief:
'Acceptance is agony denial is death.'
With that the creature departed, thrashing and tearing through the trees. Pazel got shakily to his feet and put his hands over his ears. He could see Alyash running towards them along the wall. When he turned around Chadfallow was sitting up, filthy with slime and blood. His nose was bent sharply to the right.
'Get up,' said Pazel, smouldering. 'What happens next is your problem.'
'I have no idea what you're talking about,' said Chadfallow.
Pazel looked the doctor in the eye, and waited. One breath, two. And then he dropped to a crouch and squeezed his eyes shut as the mind-fit erupted in his skull.
26
23 Freala 941
That evening on the Chathrand, Pazel's friends found it hard to keep up their spirits. The landing party had been two days ashore. Hercol remained locked in the brig; and Thasha, Neeps and Marila were hardly less prisoners themselves, albeit in grander quarters. Mr Uskins had painted a red line on the deck along the base of Ramachni's magic wall, and placed four soldiers there with orders to let no one in or out without his permission. Each time Thasha appeared in the doorway, they glared. They were the proudest soldiers in Alifros, and they'd bungled orders to arrest a sixteen-year-old girl.
Mr Fiffengurt came to the stateroom at eight bells, carrying a jug of drinking water and a plate of Mr Teggatz's pigsfoot-and-barley casserole. He also bore the dismal news that the skiff had not returned from Bramian, and presumably would not do so before morning.
The quartermaster did not linger, for the ship was in an uproar of last-minute preparations for the voyage out. 'Don't worry about Pathkendle,' he said as he turned to go. 'The lad's no use to them dead. They may not like him, but they'll keep him safe.'
'It's not what they'll do that worries me,' said Neeps. 'Pazel can get in trouble all by himself.'
Neeps wanted to pounce on the casserole, but Thasha insisted on a fighting class first, despite Hercol's absence.
'Forget your stomach for once,' she said, cutting off his objections before they began, 'and come at me hard, because if I don't think you're trying to kill me I'm blary well going to show you how it's done.'
Neeps hesitated, fuming. He wolfed one bite of the casserole, slammed down his fork and retreated to the washroom to change into his fighting-rags. Thasha whistled her dogs into her own cabin and changed as well, strapping the wooden shield to her arm and tying a leather neck-guard in place.
They unscrewed the furniture and slid it against the walls, and rolled up the bearskin rug. While Marila sat reading quietly in a corner, and Felthrup balanced on the back of her chair, muttering and swaying with exhaustion, Thasha and Neeps battled all around the stateroom with the balsa swords.
For once Neeps rose to her challenge. He had long passed the stage of angry charges, having tired of finding himself flat on the ground or symbolically beheaded. Thasha would not have told him (for Neeps' pride needed no encouragement) but she was astonished at his progress. He was the only young person she had ever known more hotheaded than herself, and yet here he was, biding his time, matching his movements to hers — fighting with his mind. And his form when attacking was better too: his jerky tarboy strength was mellowing into something more fluid, more likely to keep him alive.
It was almost a shame to have to keep winning. Still, Thasha could not approach combat with any outlook but victory: the sixth apothem reminded students that practice is never a game, but the prelude to a moment when a life may end.
'Surprise me,' she taunted him, darting from one side of a stanchion to another, bruising his left side and then his right, turning him at bay or forcing a retreat. 'Do something I haven't seen you do fifty times. Tired, are you? That's when you die, you Sollochi runt. Come at me!'
Neeps did not even blink. He was shutting out her insults, refusing to be drawn. To Thasha this seemed almost a miracle.
At last she raised her hand and stopped him. Neeps dropped his wooden sword and bent over, gasping, his face like a bruised tomato. He fumbled at the buckle on his shield. 'You did well,' Thasha conceded, stepping towards him. 'What made the difference, this time?'
'I just-'
He slashed at her with the edge of his shield, catching her squarely in the gut.
'-pretended-'
He had her down, pulled her against him, caught her neck in the crook of his arm.
'-that you were Raffa, Raffa-'
He spat the name, and tightened his grip uncomfortably. Thasha was furious — surprise me did not mean attack when the drill is over — and resolved to teach him a lesson. But when she thrust her elbow hard into his side, none too gently, his response was not at all what she expected. Instead of doubling over as she had done upon his shield, Neeps hurled them both backwards onto the floor with amazing violence, and at the same time tightened his grip on her neck even further. Much further: Thasha remembered the bite of her necklace: the youth's arm was crushing her windpipe with the same deadly force. She clawed at him. She felt him buck and twist, slamming her face against the wooden floor, putting the weight of his chest against her temple. Her dogs were howling behind the cabin door; Marila was screaming, 'Stop it! Stop it!' and then came an explosion of glass and water. But Neeps did not stop, and Thasha felt her vision dim. She had a vague impression of his sweaty, wild-eyed face above her own, still mouthing the name.
And then, thank all the gods, he let her go — and began to scream himself. Thasha fell on her side and saw Neeps throwing himself from side to side. Felthrup's teeth were locked on his ear.
'Let go! Let go! Damn you, Felthrup, you're out of your mind!'
'He's not!' shouted Marila, from the far side of the room.
Thasha drew a strangled breath, and Neeps whirled. A look of indescribable horror filled his eyes. 'Aya Rin,' he whispered. 'Thasha, Thasha. What've I done?'
Ten minutes later the four of them — Thasha, Marila, Neeps and Felthrup — were all collapsed together on the divan. Thasha was massaging her neck, while Felthrup teased bits of glass (shards of the water jug Marila had hurled at Neeps) — from his fur and the fabric of her shirt. Marila, leaning back against Thasha's knees, was holding one of the Great Peace dinner napkins against Neeps' bloody ear. Neeps himself sat curled in a ball, staring at nothing. When the lamp sputtered out they were glad of it; none of them could quite stand to look the others in the face.
'I almost let the dogs out,' said Marila.
'Oh gods,' said Thasha with a violent shudder. 'He would have died. I'd lost my voice, Marila, I couldn't have called them off. They'd have torn him to pieces.'
'That occurred to me,' said Marila, 'when I heard the door starting to splinter.'
'One of you was meant to die, I think,' said Felthrup.
'Neeps,' said Thasha, touching him with her foot. 'It wasn't you.'
'Yes it was,' said Neeps quietly. 'That's just it. The… madness. It came from inside me.'
'That still doesn't make it your fault,' said Marila.
