ground. Marius relaxed. Sacred ground meant taboos, and taboos meant that the villagers, even should they be pursuing him, would not rush into the clearing without some form of permission, or preparation, or prayer. He would have time to work things out. He climbed to the top of the table, and sat on the edge, laying Nandus’ crown down next to him and flexing his fingers. The view was really quite exhilarating. As he surmised, a small, enclosed beach lay to the east, waves crashing with some anger against a steeply rising stone slope. To the west, the scrub rose gently into a series of low-lying hills that Marius recognised as the tail end of the Spinal Ranges. With a grin, he placed the world around him. South must lie Borgho City, and if he followed the mountains a day or two, and turned north, he’d wander into the outer fringes of Vernus. Which meant, he thought, turning his neck to peer to the southwest, the highway from Vernus to Scorby lay in that direction, maybe no more than two or three days’ walk, especially if he had no need to sleep or rest. Which meant he could be in Scorby City itself in little over a week, assuming he could keep himself hidden, and avoid confrontations, and find a way to enter the city without arousing suspicion. Then all he had to do was spirit the King away before his entombment, and get him out of the city without being seen… That part of the plan could wait, he decided. He had plenty of time to consider his options as he walked. Any motion was better than none. He reached down to recover the crown.
A hand was wrapped around the thin band of gold. Marius stared down at it. The dead man’s hand was gripping the crown. As Marius watched, the corpse raised it so it hung over his expressionless face. His eyes sprung open, focussing first upon the crown and then sliding over so that he gazed directly at Marius. A blackened tongue slid out from between his lips, licked them, and returned. He and Marius stared at each other for long seconds. Then the corpse sat up, and extended his hand.
“I am Vun,” he said. “Tanning Master of the village of Ebthek.”
“Marius Helles,” Marius took his hand and shook it. Vun looked about himself.
“Ah,” he said, taking in his perch. “It appears one of us is dead. Or perhaps,” he looked himself over, and Marius, “both of us. Are you to be my guide?”
“Uh, no. No, I’m afraid not. I’m just passing through, actually.” Marius indicated the circlet. “I have a… task, I have to complete.”
“I see.” Vun sat up fully, and swung his legs over the edge of the platform. “So I am dead, yes, but not yet in the land of the dead. How is this so?”
Marius shrugged. “I wish I knew. I’m in a similar position. It’s… confusing, to say the least.”
“Confusing? What is to be confused about? We are dead. It is a simple enough thing.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Vun indicated their surroundings. “Life is simple, friend Marius. Death more so. No need to complicate matters. Here,” he handed the crown back. “Complete your task, and good luck to you. Then meet me in the land of the dead.” He swung his feet back up and lay down again. “I will look for you.”
“But… don’t you know what’s going to happen to you?”
“It already has, friend.”
“No, I mean…” Marius pointed to the sky. “You’re out here for the birds. They’re going to peck at you until you’re nothing but bones. And then your villagers are going to climb up here and throw those bones in the ocean. There’s no land of the dead for you in that.”
Vun laughed. If there was one sound he was never going to get used to, Marius decided, it was a dead man’s laugh. “Have you no faith, friend? Do you not follow the Truthful Way?”
Marius sighed. When some people talked, you could just hear the capitals. “No.”
“The body is a jar of clay, my friend, a vessel for the soul. The bird is a messenger from Heaven. He breaks the jar and sets the soul free. I shall walk through the Kingdom of the Dead as a transformed being. Higher, purer, more worthy of God. And I shall look for you, and hope to find you there.” He closed his eyes, and Marius realised why there was no expression on his face. He was at peace. Marius sighed again.
“I envy you your faith,” he said, and realised with a start that, just at this moment, he did. He looked up at the birdless sky. “But…”
“Yes?”
He glanced at Vun, then at his own nakedness., and shuddered. This, he thought, is about as low as I could possibly fall.
“If you’re waiting for the birds to release your soul,” he said carefully, “Surely those clothes you’re wearing are going to get in the way?”
TWENTY
Marius climbed down the final step and jumped onto the clearing floor. Above him, Vun peered over the edge and offered him a wave.
“Safe journey, my friend.”
“And you,” Marius waved back. “I hope the birds come soon.”
He turned his back on the tower and made his way towards the track. He’d learned a lot from Vun as they sat atop the tower. The track led down to a major roadway a mile to the west. Every three months or so, men from the village carried cured hides down to the road where they were met by a trader from Borgho, who paid them a small price for each hide they delivered. The trader took the hides back to Borgho, for what purpose, Vun could not say. He had been born in the village, and had never left. Village men rarely did, and those who left never came back. Marius was not surprised. Faced with a lifetime of rummaging around in the skins of dead animals, he wouldn’t turn his back on the fleshpots of Borgho either. But Vun was made of sterner stuff: he’d grown up at the tanning tables, and had died underneath one when a rotten leg had given away and crushed his back as he was reaching for a fallen rabbit pelt. If Vun’s timing was right, the Borghan trader would be along in a day or so to pick up the quarterly payload. Marius pulled at the seam of Vun’s simple cotton shirt. If he could find something to cover his face, if he could find some method of payment, if the trader agreed to give him space on the cart, he could avoid a long and tedious walk to the outskirts of Borgho.
If not… Marius gazed south, towards the rise that heralded the beginning of the Spinal Ranges If not, he would cut along the trade route that ran parallel to the range, swinging across the plains east of Borgho in a giant loop to eventually arrive at Scorby City. It would be a long journey, and it had already been almost a month since he had seen Tanspar dead on the battlefield at Jezel. Traditionally, the King lay in state for a full season, three months of the year, so that all his mourning citizens could file past in tribute. Then he was interred in the crypt of the great Bone Cathedral, beneath a single stone of more than a ton in weight, carved with scenes depicting his greatest triumphs. Liberating him from that would be a severe test of Marius’ skills to say the least. To say the most, it would be impossible. Far better to spirit him away whilst he lay in the open. All Marius would have to contend with under those circumstances were the thousands of loyal citizens shuffling through the viewing area each day, plus the tense and wary honour guard, and the citizens of Scorby, and the militia, not to mention dragging a heavy and rather recognisable corpse across who knew how many miles of open countryside before finding a way to bring him down to the land of the dead.
He quickly changed the subject. Things were not quite that bleak. He knew how to contact the dead – his conversations with Nandus and Vun had shown him that – and any motion was better than none. And right now, motion meant getting his dead backside to the main road to intercept the trader. He increased his pace. Do the job in front of you – another of his father’s aphorisms, but one that held water in his present circumstance.
He arrived at the track within a few minutes, and turned down it, away from the village. A passer-by would not have noticed anything more than the tiniest gap in the undergrowth. It was only used to bring the revered dead down to their resting place, and four times a year by those carrying hides to the road. Any path the villagers beat through the branches quickly became overgrown again. Nature plays a longer waiting game than man. But Marius had spent half his life hiding from one person or another, and his experienced eye picked out the multitude of tiny clearances and footfalls that denoted the correct passage. He stole forward, senses alert for the first sign of approaching villagers. Having to explain his presence, not to mention his choice of clothing, was not something he relished. He made the road in short order, and waited, crouched behind a bush that offered a ready hiding place with a good view of both the roadway and the track.
For the rest of the day, he was alone with his thoughts. The sun reached its apex, paused to survey its
