The Night of the Swarm

Pazel,’ said Ramachni, ‘but I should have told you about the selk. You befriended one weeks ago, after all.’

‘Told him what?’ Neeps demanded.

‘I will let Thaulinin answer that question, now,’ said Ramachni. ‘And others, perhaps. Let us go.’

Thaulinin was waiting by the edge of the square. Beckoning, he led them down a twisting staircase bordered by junipers, and then into a dark, moss-covered tunnel. Pazel thought it must lead to some forbidding place, but on the far side lay a pleasant, hidden yard tucked into the bend of a swiftly running stream. A cool breeze touched their faces, carrying smells of nectar and pine. Thaulinin sat down by the stream’s edge, and the others followed his lead.

The selk looked grimly at Pazel. ‘See here, don’t be angry,’ said Neeps. ‘No one told Pazel to keep quiet.’

‘Oh, I am not angry,’ said Thaulinin. ‘It is just that we are all saddened by these glimpses of Kirishgan, and stunned that he answered Pazel’s call.’ He closed his eyes, and the feathered eyebrows knitted. ‘In many ways my people are unique in Alifros. We neither live nor die as you do.’

‘Are you saying. . that you are immortal?’ asked Pazel.

Thaulinin shook his head. ‘Such beings exist, but we are not among them — nor aspire to be, like your enemy Arunis. But our difference is indeed a difference of the soul. Among humans, the soul remains with the flesh, or at least very near it. The souls of dlomu range further afield — much further, during the nuhzat ecstasies. But for the selk, the soul is a distant brother or sister. It roams over Alifros, free and fetterless, and it is our life’s work to seek it out. That is why we are nomads, you see. That is why even blessed Ularamyth is no home for long. Ten years one of us may dwell here, or fifty — even a hundred, in rare cases. But these are only brief pauses in the journeys of our lives.’

Leaning back, Thaulinin cupped a palmful of water from the stream and drank. Then he said, ‘Death comes when at last we find our soul. It is a sacred moment, and no tragedy for the one whose life is complete. But it is sad for those left behind. Much changes in the lifetime of a selk: forests die; streams widen into rivers; kingdoms become entries in books. Our friends, however, witness all this change, and remember with us.’

The shadows were lengthening; far off at the crater’s rim, Pazel saw the last rays of sunset glittering on an icy peak.

‘During our lives, we see no more than hints of our soul: far-off shadows, images, flickers of movement in the corners of our eyes. Only at the very end do we see our souls face to face. Those who will survive us — our soul’s witnesses — may see it somewhat earlier. In outward form the soul is identical to its owner, but it cannot speak, or tarry. We say that it is running the silent race. That is what you saw, Pazel: Kirishgan’s soul. But it was your second revelation that amazed us: that his soul heeded you, and even turned. Except in rare cases, only dear friends and close kin may cause a soul to pause in its flight.’

‘We’re hardly close,’ said Pazel. ‘I mean, he was very kind, marvellous in fact — but for Rin’s sake, we just met once, for a few hours in a temple. We’re not old friends.’

‘Some forms of friendship elude all definition,’ said Ramachni.

‘Yes,’ said Thaulinin, ‘but there is another group of persons to whom our souls must answer: though it happens far more rarely. I speak of those who kill a selk by their own hands.’

Pazel was appalled. ‘This is getting crazier by the minute,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to kill him! I like him, for Rin’s sake!’

‘Something must explain his turning at your call,’ said Thaulinin.

‘Let us hope it is merely friendship,’ said Ramachni. ‘Pazel’s is a most open heart.’

‘But Kirishgan’s not even here, is he?’ said Thasha. ‘Truly here, I mean, in the flesh?’

Thaulinin shook his head. ‘Remember that our notion of soon is unlike yours. Kirishgan’s death may be months away, or years. And when Pazel does meet him in the flesh, he may well be far from the Secret Vale.’

‘But where can we go?’ asked Neeps. ‘Back to Masalym? Further down the Ansyndra?’

Thaulinin’s blue eyes were starting to gleam in the darkness. ‘Neither,’ he said. ‘Only a few reports from the wider Peninsula have reached us lately, but they were worse than our darkest fears. A retreat to Masalym is impossible. The Inner Dominion is held by two Plazic legions, and the pass at Ilvaspar is closed. Soldiers have been billeted in great numbers in all the towns of the northern coast. The Lower Ansyndra and her tributaries are swarming with Imperial troops, and upriver the hrathmogs are innumerable. There will be no escape that way either. And the sorceress has even infiltrated these mountains, vast as they are.’

‘Is Ularamyth threatened, then?’ asked Hercol.

‘Not by Macadra,’ said Ramachni. ‘The mountains are too deep, and this haven is protected by a magic as old as the mountains themselves. Even her winged servants cannot see it.’

‘What about Dastu?’ asked Thasha. ‘What if he’s captured, and tells everything he knows?’

‘Dastu might indeed say much to our disadvantage,’ said Thaulinin. ‘He could tell Macadra that we bear the Nilstone, if she has not guessed already. But he cannot help her find Ularamyth. Your companion was far from here when he deserted, and we would have known if he tried to follow us. No, two things alone could bring ruin on this land: the Nilstone wielded by an enemy, or the Swarm of Night as it completes its killing work. But beyond Ularamyth nothing protects us at all, and I fear the Ravens will have spies at every crossroads.’

‘What’s left to us, if we can’t go back, or follow the rivers to the coast?’ asked Pazel.

Before Thaulinin could answer, something splashed in the stream. It was Bolutu, dressed in some kind of swimming trousers. He climbed up onto the bank, laughing at their surprise; evidently he had covered some distance underwater. Bolutu had been swimming every day in Ularamyth, and had already shared many a story of rainbow-hued fish, flooded ruins, green river dolphins that nipped his toes. But this time he told no tales.

‘Mr Undrabust, why are you not at the house? The doctors are waiting. I have been seeking you high and low.’

‘You are such a donkey,’ said Thasha, socking Neeps in the arm.

‘Ouch! Not fair! I didn’t forget; they had at me first thing this morning. They never do it twice in one day.’

All the same he leaped up and ran for the communal house. Bolutu watched him go, then turned and looked at Ramachni. His look of elation was gone. ‘Have you told them?’ he asked.

His words struck Pazel cold. ‘What’s happened now?’ he asked.

‘I do have good things to tell you, on occasion, Pazel,’ said the mage. ‘This is one such occasion. There is new hope for your friend.’

Joy welled up in Pazel’s chest. Thasha’s eyes lit with happiness, and even Hercol’s face brightened. But Ramachni quickly raised his paw. ‘I did not say that we had found a cure, for there is no cure for the mind-plague, until the Nilstone is cast out of Alifros. But Neeps has suffered no real damage yet, and we have devised a plan that could — if all goes well — delay the advance of the plague by several years. By that time our struggle with the Nilstone will have ended one way or another.’

‘What plan?’ said Thasha. ‘Tell us, for Rin’s sake!’

‘And say how we may help,’ added Ensyl.

‘The latter is easier by far,’ said Bolutu. ‘You may help by not minding any strange behaviour on Undrabust’s part, and never letting on that he is being. . treated at all.’

He turned and looked away upstream. And Pazel saw that another figure was swimming towards them, dark and swift. With a splash the figure broke the surface: it was Lunja. She stood with the water about her calves, her soldier’s arms crossed before her and her silver eyes bright and wary.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘The elders have spoken,’ said Ramachni. ‘If you are willing it may begin tonight.’

‘I’ve told you already that I am willing, if there is truly no other way,’ said Lunja, ‘but I do not do this gladly. The notion repels me. I wish that you could promise success.’

‘No one can, woman of Masalym,’ said a voice from their right.

It was Lord Arim, standing by the tunnel’s mouth. He walked slowly into the yard, and behind him came Valgrif the wolf.

‘From the first ragged militias in their stand against the Chaldryl Argosies, Bali Adro soldiers have been courageous,’ he said. ‘Now you must show courage of a different sort, if you are to help your friend.’

‘Friend?’ said Lunja. ‘Is that what he is?’

She stepped out of the stream. To Pazel’s great surprise it was to him that she came — haltingly, looking him