The Night of the Swarm

— Pazel was swaying, stumbling on his feet, and then he fell. His knees met snow. Wind-driven snow tapped at his face. Everything was white. A hand gripped his shoulder.

‘You’re confused,’ said Hercol. ‘Don’t worry. You will not be for long.’

They were on a narrow ridgetop covered in snow. The sun was high, and the others were all here, ten white-clad figures against the whiter snow. Pazel was exceptionally tired, as though he’d been walking for days. All around them, close and savage, towered the peaks.

‘What — how-’

‘You can’t remember coming here,’ said Hercol.

‘Of course I can, I-’

Pazel looked back over his shoulder. The ridge ran straight behind them for a mile, then twisted down and to the left. There was no door of jade. There was no opening of any kind to be seen.

‘It is happening to us one by one. I myself came out of the memory-fog just minutes ago.’

‘Memory-fog?’

‘The doorway set a spell in motion,’ said Bolutu, coming up beside them. ‘We have been walking a long time, Pazel. We have descended into valleys, and climbed again to saddles like this one, and turned at many forks and crossroads. It has all been stunningly lovely, and quiet. And now as the spell breaks it is carrying away all our memories, from when we passed through the door of jade — to this very moment. Thus is Ularamyth protected: we cannot find our way back there, or tell another soul just where it lies.’

‘Why do you remember?’ Pazel demanded.

‘Because the spell has yet to break for Belesar, of course,’ said Ramachni, picking his way through the trampled snow. ‘In time his memory will vanish, too — and you may be explaining all this to him, or to Lunja, or your sister. Those three are the last holdouts.’

‘How long have we walked?’ said Pazel.

Bolutu flashed him a smile. ‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Ah. Right.’ Pazel struggled to his feet. ‘You mustn’t tell me. That’s the whole idea, isn’t it?’

‘The rule of the house,’ said Big Skip, laughing. ‘And an irritating one, to be sure. I’d like to know how long I’ve been on my feet.’

‘Days,’ said Thaulinin, ‘but more than that we cannot tell you. We have our oaths. But this much I will gladly tell: we are at last upon the Nine Peaks Road. Do not imagine that we will be climbing nine of these grandfather- mountains from the base — not at all. Rather we shall climb once, and never fully descend until we pass the ninth. A massive ridge runs through Efaroc, like a wall of the Gods. The peaks are like turrets along that wall — and the Road is a like a set of daredevil catwalks leaping between them.’

‘I thought it was supposed to be a grand highway,’ said Pazel.

‘We have not yet reached the Royal Highway,’ said Thaulinin, ‘nor will we always be upon it, for we must take every shortcut we can.’ He pointed at a huge, crooked, ice-sheathed summit in the distance. ‘There stands the first of the Nine Peaks, which we call Isarak. A shelter awaits us on its western slopes. And that is fortunate, for I sense that tonight will be colder by far than any other night this year. Our tent will not suffice. We must reach Isarak by nightfall, or freeze upon this ridge. And it is already past noon.’

He started walking — or resumed walking — and the others fell in behind him. Pazel winced: his shoulders were sore and his muscles ached. Of course they do. You have been walking for days! Just how many? It unsettled him to think that he would never know. But his selk boots were dry and comfortable, and the pack, which they had made for him, rode snugly.

Nor was the snow as pervasive as he had thought at first. They were passing through a long drift, but just ahead the ridge was bare, and there were even tufts of ice-withered greenery along the trailside. The peaks themselves were deeply snow-clad, but the slopes beneath them less so. They were not too late, it seemed. Even the light snowfall of a moment ago soon ended, and ahead was bright blue sky.

When they were out of the snowdrift and marching over frozen soil, Hercol approached him again. ‘You’re a lowlander,’ he said. ‘Those bumps above Ormael you call Highlands do not count. Listen to one who came of age in the wicked Tsordons, and take no chances on the trail.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Pazel.

‘I worry with reason,’ said Hercol. ‘Thaulinin says that the way will soon grow treacherous. Besides, the air is thin, and will grow thinner as we ascend. You may feel dizzy and careless, but you cannot afford to be.’

Pazel shivered. Still ascending. He wondered how cold it would get. Then he felt a stinging blow to his cheek: Hercol had cuffed him, not at all gently.

‘Even now your mind wanders!’ Hercol aimed a finger at the peaks ahead. ‘We are going through those, Pathkendle, do you hear? Stay sharp, if you would stay alive. One careless footfall and your journey will have a pitiful conclusion.’

They marched on. Big Skip came and walked by Pazel’s side. ‘He’s had the same talk with all of us “lowlanders” as we pop out of the spell. He didn’t have to smack you, though.’

Pazel looked at the mountains before them: huge, cold, insanely steep. ‘I think maybe he did, Skip. But thanks all the same.’

The path was now climbing steadily, but the mountain did not seem to grow any nearer. In the middle of a rough scramble Pazel saw Lunja stop in her tracks, staring without recognition at the world around her. It was Neeps who went to her and took her hand.

Pazel watched them furtively. She doesn’t look as though she finds him unbearable. But even as the thought came to him, Lunja took her hand from Neeps’ own, and held it strangely, as though repressing an urge to wipe it clean.

Bolutu’s release from the spell came shortly thereafter. As he recovered, Thasha hurried to Pazel’s side. ‘What’s the matter with you? Go walk with your sister! She’s the last one.’

‘I thought she’d rather be with Cayer Vispek,’ he said.

‘With Vispek? Didn’t you — oh, Pitfire, that was before your spell broke. Pazel, he spat at her. I thought he was going to hit her.’

‘What?’

‘Nobody knows what it was about. Hercol started forward, and Vispek shouted at him to stay out of their affairs, and stalked off ahead. Go on, will you? Make her talk to you. Once her memory breaks she won’t even remember fighting with him.’

Pazel moved carefully past Hercol and Bolutu. Cayer Vispek walked twenty feet ahead, with Prince Olik and the selk. Neda marched grim and soldier-straight. But her eyes softened a little at the sight of Pazel.

‘When the spell breaks you don’t feel a thing,’ he said in Mzithrini.

Neda looked at Cayer Vispek’s back, and glowered. ‘Speak Ormali,’ she said. ‘I don’t want him listening.’

‘What happened, Neda?’ he said.

His sister drew a deep breath. ‘He wanted me to tell him. . everything. The length of our journey, and the turns, and everything that happened after we passed through the gate. He wanted me to cheat the spell, before my memory goes. I asked him why he would wish to do such a thing. And he was furious. Of course I already knew. He is afraid. Cayer Vispek, the war hero, the sfvantskor master, is afraid of any spell that affects his thoughts.’

‘So am I, if you care to know.’

Neda shot him an irritated glance. ‘Don’t you understand? I asked him why. Instead of simply obeying. That is not something a sfvantskor is allowed to do. I placed Ularamyth above my vow of obedience.’ Neda paused, eyes straight ahead. Then she said, ‘I am no longer of the Faith.’

‘What!’

‘Pazel, don’t tell.’

‘Because you blary asked him why?’

Again she was silent. ‘Because I don’t believe any more,’ she said at last. ‘In the Path of the Seraphim, in the divine blood of kings, in persecution by devils, in the Unseen.’

Tears glittered in her eyelashes. They crunched forward over the frozen ground. ‘Or maybe I still believe in the Unseen,’ she said, ‘but I don’t believe we know anything about it. Whether it’s good or evil, or distracted, or insane.’