The Night of the Swarm

the truth, but part of him was working hard to deny it. No world that held Ularamyth could hold that as well. And yet they themselves had brought a thing into Ularamyth that gave the Swarm all its power. A black sphere, a little flaw in the world’s fabric, a tiny leak in the ship. Give it time and it would sink the ship, every last compartment, even one this small and secretive and blessed.

Often Pazel found himself thinking of Chadfallow. The man was not his father by blood: Pazel had finally forced him to answer that question definitively. But what was blood? Nothing more than an illusion, a lie. Captain Gregory Pathkendle was his blood, but Gregory had abandoned his family and never looked back. If anyone had earned the right to call himself Pazel’s father, it was Ignus Chadfallow.

And how he would have loved Ularamyth! How he would have begged the selk to show him its wonders, to open their libraries, clinics, laboratories, to teach him everything. Chadfallow might have found peace in the Vale. And perhaps the two of them could have made up a little for all the wasted years.

We’ll start that the day I get back to the Chathrand, Ignus. The very minute. I swear.

The others in their party had found pursuits of their own. Big Skip had befriended smiths and carpenters among the selk. Corporal Mandric was fascinated by their weaponry. Myett had travelled the forests with Valgrif, and Ensyl had been invited underground, and returned speaking of wondrous chambers of fire and ice. Hercol and Ramachni walked often with Lord Arim and Nolcindar and other leaders of the selk, but they were never long away, and stayed particularly close to the youths.

Only Cayer Vispek held himself apart. He was courteous, and showed true joy at the speed with which their wounds were healing. But he was not enraptured by Ularamyth, and he kept a stern eye on Pazel’s sister. Neda herself was obedient to her master and dutiful in her prayers. Yet when Vispek allowed it she sought Pazel out, and no sfvantskor discipline could keep her from grinning at him, with that rare Neda grin he had almost forgotten. It had vanished so long ago, that grin. It had sailed with Gregory Pathkendle.

No one spoke yet of leaving Ularamyth. Thasha said that she thought the reason was probably simple: they had nowhere to go. The wilderness was vast, but beyond it lay the Bali Adro coast and the forces of the Ravens. Others reasons for the delay occurred to Pazel, however. Neeps, for starters. But he, Pazel, had not healed fully either, despite how good he felt. Walking was one thing, but if he ran or climbed any distance his leg began to burn. Each day the feeling lessened, but it never quite disappeared.

And then there was Thasha. Her body was healed, and by day her spirits were as bright as the late-summer skies. One morning she even challenged Hercol to a wrestling match, and laughed when he pinned her to the ground: ‘What an old man you are! I remember when you could do that in half the time!’ But at other moments, at night especially, a wall of strangeness descended. Pazel had seen it before: the chilliness in her eyes. The bleeding away of all recognition of those around her. The fierce awareness of something no one could see.

One night Pazel’s sister shook him awake and led him to a window in the common room. Over the streets of Thehel Urred, the Southern moon hung like a pale blue fish egg — and beneath it, in her nightdress, stood Thasha, arms raised as if to pull it down from the sky.

‘You know what’s happening, don’t you?’ said Neda in Mzithrini. ‘The wizardess is stirring inside her.’

‘Of course,’ said Pazel.

‘My master says that Erithusme took a part of her own soul and wiped it clean of memories, and let it grow for seventeen years, into Thasha. Is he right, Pazel? Is she living with just part of a soul?’

‘No,’ said Pazel. ‘There’s nothing partial about her. She’s a whole person, the same as any of us.’

Neda glanced over her shoulder, as if afraid someone else might see her. Then she took Pazel’s hand. ‘Thasha is my sister. I swore as much on the battlefield, and even my master cannot say that I was wrong. But Pazel, there is a martyr’s look in her eyes. We call it kol-veyna, the gaze into darkness. Cayer Vispek says-’

‘Neda, don’t.’

She saw it then, how hard he was fighting for control. They both fell silent. But when Thasha began to drift away from the square, Neda herself walked out into the moonlight, woke her with a touch, and led her back inside.

It was hard for Pazel to remember such moments when Thasha was in his arms, or when she and Neeps bickered contentedly, as they’d been doing since their first encounter on the Chathrand. Together the three youths ranged further across Ularamyth, exploring woods and keeps, caves and towers; and they guarded the memories of those joys for the rest of their days, like windows on a sunlit land.

Early one evening they heard shouting in the street, and left the house to investigate. From all the doors of Thehel Urred, selk were emerging, running and all in the same direction. The youths watched, mystified, until a selk man paused and looked up at them.

‘Join us, citizens!’ he cried. ‘Join us at the Armoured Chamber! The elders have spoken: Thaulinin your benefactor will go free!’

He ran on without a word. Overjoyed, the three friends made to follow at once. ‘As a matter of fact, you two should run,’ said Pazel. ‘Try to get there before he’s released. I’ll come as quickly as I can. Well go on, hurry!’

For once neither argued with him, but merely raced off. Pazel followed impatiently; most of the selk were drawing away. He broke into a cautious run, and had to smile. He could have kept pace with them after all: his leg was finally healed.

A selk man crossed the path ahead of him. Pazel glanced at the figure — and nearly stumbled in amazement.

‘Kirishgan!’

For once again it was he. Pazel’s friend from Vasparhaven was running like the other selk, but in a completely different direction. ‘Wait!’ cried Pazel. ‘By the Tree, Kirishgan, can’t you just stay a moment?’

Kirishgan stopped. He turned back to look at Pazel — but as before, appeared to do so with reluctance or difficulty. Their eyes met. Pazel stepped nearer, and a smile appeared on the face of the selk. But the next instant he turned, as though hearing a summons he could not ignore. Then he sprinted down the path and vanished among a stand of apple trees.

Pazel was confused and saddened. Kirishgan had never acted so strange in Vasparhaven Temple. Why on earth did he refuse even to speak? But there was no hope of catching up with him. Pazel went on his way.

In the square of the Armoured Chamber a crowd had gathered — and there on a platform stood Thaulinin, a free selk once again. The selk did not cheer, as humans might have done at such a time, but hundreds of them pressed close to the platform, obviously delighted. Only a few, at the edges of the square, looked on with unease.

Neeps and Thasha had found Hercol, and Pazel made his way to them through the crowd. When he arrived he saw that Ramachni was there as well, curled like a cat in Thasha’s arms. Pazel had barely greeted them when a hush fell over the crowd. Thaulinin was about to speak.

‘I have little to tell you,’ he said. ‘You all know my heart. But my freedom is a small matter, beside all that we face. Change is upon us. The earth trembles, the Swarm is loosed and spreading its dark cloak over Alifros. The return of human beings is one sign; if you would have another I can provide it. Our pilgrims are coming home, as they always have before a crisis. Some, like great Nolcindar, bring us joy and song. Others pass in silence. Among these is our brother Kirishgan. I saw him through my window this morning, running the silent race.’

A sorrowful murmur rippled through the crowd. ‘I saw him running as well,’ said Nolcindar. A few others spoke up then, saying much the same. Confused and unsettled, Pazel raised a hand.

‘I saw him tonight,’ he said, as hundreds of blue selk eyes turned his way. ‘He was in a great hurry, I think.’

His words caused a stir. ‘Could you not have been mistaken, Pazel?’ asked Thaulinin. ‘You met Kirishgan in Vasparhaven, but this is a very different matter. And no doubt we selk look rather alike to you.’

‘No you don’t,’ said Pazel. ‘and it was Kirishgan. I called his name, and he turned to look at me, and smiled.’

The sounds of amazement grew. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ asked Thasha. ‘Isn’t this Kirishgan welcome in Ularamyth?’

‘As much as any selk who breathes,’ said Thaulinin, ‘but perhaps we should speak of this later. Night comes soon, and there is much to decide.’

The selk began to disperse, glancing thoughtfully at the humans as they went. ‘You never fail to surprise me,