The Light of Life Page 14

  They docked on the long pier bisecting the net-enclosed water. Dante entered the nearest of the raft-mounted shacks. Only a bit of dirt lay on the floor, suggesting that, as with the bananas, the villagers had left within the last few days.

  Feeling mildly guilty, Dante made his way through the household's possessions, collecting spoons carved from bone—in the swamps, even tin was too precious to waste on cutlery—and some bottled foodstuffs. In contrast to the spoons, glassware was so common in Tanar Atain that even village peasant-farmers kept their pickles and preserves in colored glass containers that would have sold for good money in any northern market.

  To conserve what little space they had, the beds were framed with a lightweight plant similar to wicker or bamboo and slung against the walls, where they could be secured upright when not in use. The raft's beds had been left down, the blankets rumpled. Dante lifted one and sniffed it. It smelled like another person, but not especially unpleasant. Even so, the idea of using a stranger's bedding, and likely a dead stranger at that, struck him as more objectionable than sleeping in the grass. After considering it for a moment, he called forth a wave of nether to beat at the blanket. When he lifted it, no vermin fell from it, yet he felt mollified nonetheless.

  They picked through a few more houses, replenishing their lost equipment, then gathered in the shade of a vine-covered trellis that ran down a third of the dock. While the others had been salvaging, Volo had used a fishing line and net to bring in a few fish. They lit one of the communal grills to heat the fish, leaving the skin on, then sat down for a proper meal, laying the meat on banana leaves and accompanying it with various pickled vegetables Dante had never seen before.

  "Well," Blays said as the meal wound down. He leaned back and planted his palms on the dock. "We've robbed our way back to competence. Do we have a new plan? Or is it time to try out the life of the vagabond?"

  Dante used a fish bone to pick a shred of onion from his teeth. "I spoke with Nak. He's making arrangements to send us a team of nethermancers. But it'll take two months before they're here."

  "Too long." Gladdic nodded to the empty village. "By then, the Eiden Rane will have an army."

  "You guys know his weakness," Volo said. "Why don't you go and kill the prime body?"

  "Because he'd slaughter us." Dante flicked the fish bone into the water. "There's no way to get close to him without him knowing about it."

  Blays pressed his fist to his mouth and belched under his breath. "What if we got everyone to evacuate the country? Without fresh blood, the lich won't be able to make more Blighted. Or swell his own power any further."

  "How does that beat him? Do you suppose he'll die of loneliness?"

  "I suppose that it will cause him to stagnate, buying us time for our friends to arrive. At which point the smiting happens."

  "Where do we evacuate tens of thousands of people to? A big mass on the coast where the lich can kill them all at once?"

  "That's one option, but how about anywhere that isn't here?"

  "They won't have any homes. No food, either."

  "If they stay here, they're going to become food."

  "By the time we sail around to even half the villages, he'll have taken the other half. Besides, most people won't go, because some of them will be idiots about it, and some of those who wouldn't typically be idiots about it are even bigger idiots who support the Righteous Monsoon, which thinks the Eiden Rane is going to lead them to freedom. It won't work."

  Blays scowled. "It'll save a whole bunch of people. I'd call that 'working.'"

  "It would only save them temporarily while taking up all our time that we could be using to save them permanently." Dante tapped his fingers on his knee. "Maybe the best thing to do is hang back, watch him closely, and see if he makes any mistakes that we can pounce on. Gladdic, what do you think he'll do from here?"

  The old priest gazed blankly into the rows of empty boats. "He has lived and planned for too long to make basic mistakes. He will continue to pass from settlement to settlement, absorbing them to himself. Once he and his legions are of sufficient size, he will bring them to bear against a city. There, his power will be doubled in one blow."

  "That wasn't at all what I wanted to hear."

  Blays got to his feet and paced across the dock. "Figure out which city he'll hit and fortify the hell out of it. Set up traps to separate him from the prime body. Urban warfare is always a nightmare, it'll be a wonder if it doesn't open up a shot at his weakness."

  "Not bad," Dante said. "But it's very contingent. And if we prepare well enough to actually take him down, it's likely he'll hit somewhere else instead." He blinked in thought and turned to Gladdic. "You and the Drakebane had a plan to kill him in a straight-up fight. Why wouldn't the same thing work now?"

  Gladdic gestured in simple dismissal. "The Eiden Rane was at his weakest then. Even if we had the same force right now, it wouldn't be enough."

  "It wouldn't be the same force. It would include me and Blays. And we wouldn't be attacking the White Lich—we'd be ignoring him while we put an end to the prime body."

  Gladdic raised his white eyebrows, but his interest died the next moment. "Our attack relied on the Knights of the Odo Sein suppressing the lich's sorcery. Without them, we stand no chance in direct battle."

  "Let me guess. There aren't any of them left?"

  "Most died fighting the lich or the rebels. Those that survived left with the Drakebane. They would never desert him."

  "Ah. Shit, then."

  "Indeed. This is the first time I have felt hope since the prime body fled from us."

  "We should take this idea to the Drakebane," Naran said. "If it's that sound, it should convince him to return with his knights."

  "Impossible. The Odo Sein are key to his ability to hold onto Bressel. He would not risk losing them." Gladdic smiled darkly. "Besides which, the Drakebane fears the Eiden Rane worse than death itself. He agreed to the assault at the Wound of the World because he believed it was his last chance to save his nation. It is clear that he believes this land has passed beyond saving."

  Dante folded his arms. "We have nothing to lose by trying. I have agents in Bressel. I'll have them speak to the Drakebane."

  "And when they fail? What then do we do?"

  "I don't know. See about Blays' plan to fortify a city. Or maybe we can see if Volo can infiltrate the Monsoon, if she's willing. We may be able to feed them fake information to try to lure the lich into a trap."

  Gladdic said nothing. Somehow, this was worse than any spoken criticism.

  Dante stood. "We'll make for the nearest city. We need to start recruiting the Tanarians to our cause."

  "Hang on," Blays said. "Gladdic, you said that every Odo Sein is dead or gone. Where did they come from in the first place?"

  Gladdic lifted his bony shoulders. "Their powers are a great secret. Anyone who shared such information, especially with worthless hari foreigners, would be skinned from the waist down, tied to the back of a canoe so that the legs and genitals dangled in the water, and then sailed about until the swamp took its course."

  "They seriously do that? Or is that what you would do?"

  "It is a punishment reserved only for crimes that could undo the empire itself."

  "Whatever happened to good old-fashioned beheadings? In any event, the Odo Sein don't fall out of the womb dressed in dragon scale and waving their magic swords about, do they? Don't they need training of some kind?"

  "They have an academy." Gladdic rocked back his head. "You wonder if there might be any trainees there."

  "The Drakebane lit out of here like he was being chased by a thousand-year-old madman, right? What are the chances he swung by the academy to pick up all the knightlings on his way out?"

  "There may be some with the skill to help us. But it can't be done. I don't know where the academy is."

  Blays motioned to Volo. "You seem to know the location of every drop of water in this swamp. You know where this academ
y might be?"

  "I didn't even know there was an academy," Volo said. "The stories I heard were that the knights were immortal servants. Like zombies, but people."

  "I don't suppose it's a great use of our time to comb the swamp for something that we have no idea what it looks like. For the record, though, I think this was a pretty great idea."

  Gladdic lowered his chin. He had that faraway look on his face again. "I don't know where the academy is. But I know someone who does."

  Dante spread his palms in a shrug. "So what? I thought they wouldn't tell a foreigner anything about that. On pain of having their balls eaten by ziki oko."

  "Those were the old rules. With the coming of the Eiden Rane, my source may be made to see reason."

  ~

  After a quick and fruitless sweep for survivors in the village of Halo Vaye, they struck out for Dara Bode. According to Gladdic, his source, an official named Fade Alu, lived there. Or had, at least, prior to recent events like the Righteous Monsoon's rebellion that had seized the capital. And the release of the White Lich. And the fleeing of the Drakebane to Bressel, along with his soldiers, cabinet, and thousands of others.

  A lot had changed, in other words, and as they carried on southward, moving back toward Tanar Atain's particular version of civilization, Dante worried that they'd wind up wasting their time searching for a man who was no longer there.

  Then again, it was the best plan they had. And at least it would be much easier to get in and out of the cities than back when Dante had been trying to hide his skills from Volo.

  During the day, they passed two other settlements. Both times, they diverted to approach the people there and warn them what was happening further north. The villagers looked back and saw three wretched foreigners in the company of a Tanarian girl who barely looked old enough to own her own boat. Yet their scorn fell apart like damp bread when Volo challenged them to send a scout to Halo Vaye and see for themselves.

  As they paddled away from the second village, Blays turned about to watch them send a boatsman out past the nets. "Ah good, they're actually sending someone. Finding all their friends dead will teach them to insult our credibility."

  "Well it will," Dante said. "Along with the side benefit of possibly saving their lives."

  "This feels like madness. The Drakebane's gone and the Monsoon wants to feed these people to the lich. There's no one to protect them. They'll be slaughtered."

  "And? We're doing the only thing we can to stop it."

  Blays shook his head. "I know. But I wish we could do more."

  As the day wound down, Dante's dragonfly spotted a double-hulled war canoe patrolling their way. Until quite recently, the swamp's routes had been held down by the Drakebane's soldiers, but this ship flew the colors of the Monsoon. Volo turned hard to port, detouring for half a mile before continuing to the south. With dusk coming on, they paddled a few hundred yards away from the watery thoroughfare to put in at another island for the night.

  They ate and made camp. It was starting to sprinkle, so they strung up an oiled canvas tarp they'd taken from Halo Vaye. Once this was up, rather than moving under it, Gladdic continued to sit in the rain, letting the droplets flatten his white hair to his head. For some reason, his refusal to get up and move to the shelter not ten feet away annoyed Dante worse than a horsefly.

  When he couldn't take it anymore, Dante got up and stood over the old man. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we've just now invented a way to keep the rain off our heads. I think we'll call it a 'rain-beater.'"

  Gladdic didn't bother to look his way. "Have you come to the realization yet?"

  "That it's annoying to be asked vague questions?"

  "The Eiden Rane points to a single conclusion: that in the end, we cannot win."

  "Sure we can. I'd bet you three tons of silver that you used to think you could never be beaten, either."

  Even this didn't provoke so much as a glare. "Even if we are able to slay the lich, and disperse all remnants of what might be called his soul, eventually, a power like him will arise again. And again. Some day, that power will not be defeated. And all of the world will fall."

  "You have no way to know that. As far as we know, he's the only one who's ever figured this out. Which is supported by the fact that nobody's been able to replicate his work in the last thousand years."

  "People always seek power. Over each other, and over death. Do not tell me that you have not pursued immortality yourself."

  Dante crossed his arms. "And I've failed quite spectacularly to find it. I certainly have no idea how to turn everyone on earth into my undead slaves."

  "You don't want to believe this because it hurts to do so. Then turn away from the pain, if it is too much for you."

  "Even if you're right, and it's inevitable that one day, a great sorcerer is going to destroy everything, what does it matter? Each one of us knows we're going to die someday, but that doesn't mean life isn't worth living. Perhaps someday the world will end. Until that day comes, people will keep loving, and fighting, and being afraid, and finding the courage to go on. We can't save the world forever. But we can save it for now."

  At last, Gladdic glanced at him, briefly and sidelong. "Is it true that you have seen the afterlife?"

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  "From one of the many people I sent to spy on you."

  Dante pressed his knuckles to his mouth. He still wasn't sure how to treat the matter of revealing his knowledge to the priest. Assuming they did go on to eliminate the White Lich, they still had to deal with Gladdic, didn't they? However much good the priest did here, it wouldn't undo the murder of Captain Twill, to say nothing of the thousands of lives lost in the Plagued Islands and at Collen. There would be a reckoning. When it came, Dante didn't want Gladdic to know all of his tricks.

  At the same time, there was zero guarantee that they would win. The best way to increase their chances was to pool knowledge and work together without reservations. Countless lives depended on it. The calculus was ugly, but it was clear.

  "Yes," Dante said. "I've been there. So has Blays."

  "Is it like they say it is? Like we say it is?"

  He laughed out loud. "Not in the slightest."

  "I thought not. Will you tell me the truth of what awaits us?"

  "It isn't a singular place. In fact, it's three. The first is known as the Pastlands. Usually, it takes the form of a good memory, or something you've always wished for. When you're there, you don't know you're dead, or that anything's wrong. You just repeat the same things over and over—and to you, there's nothing wrong with that, because it's what you've always wanted. Except that the Pastlands is a trap. It doesn't want you to leave."

  Gladdic furrowed his brow. "Why?"

  "Hell if I know. Maybe the landlords get to charge our souls rent. Or maybe the gods meant this as a reward. Live out your dream in perfect peace over and over until the day you finally get disillusioned of it. Whatever the case, once you find your way out of the Pastlands, you reach the Mists. It's both everyday and idyllic. Your normal life, but without violence or death. If I had to guess, it's a way to live out anything you missed before you died, leaving you without regrets. And to make peace with the fact that it's over."

  "That does not sound unpleasant."

  "It isn't. But after a while, everyone moves on. Into the Worldsea. I never saw it. Only the dead can go there. My understanding is that when you cross over, you become a part of everyone that ever was, and drift as one forever."

  The old man considered this, then gave Dante a piercing look. "Then there is a way we can escape his power. We can die. And enter a world that will be forever beyond him."

  "While you are technically correct, I feel as though that would defeat the purpose here."

  "Perhaps." Gladdic lifted his left hand to the side of his head and closed his eyes. Ether sparked from his fingers toward his temple.

  Dante shouted out and grabbed for a chunk of nether. He clubbed it
into the light, dispersing them both. "What the hell are you doing?"

  "What does it look like? I am thwarting the lich."

  More light beamed from Gladdic's hand. Better prepared, Dante thrust at it with a dagger of shadows.

  He grabbed for Gladdic's hand. "Stop that! You can't just fry your own head off!"

  The others had rushed from beneath the tarp to watch from ten feet away. Gladdic flapped his hand at Dante. "You are welcome to join me. It will solve everything. Or you can waste your days hovering over me like an overbearing mother, until the lich has won his prize, and you have done nothing to stop him."

  Dante ground his teeth together, keeping the nether tight and pacing in front of Gladdic. "If there was no White Lich to worry about, and you found a way to live for as long as you liked, how long would you stick around?"

  "What manner of question is that?"

  "You can find out by answering it."

  Gladdic snorted. "No less than centuries. Perhaps as much as forever. There is always more to see, and if you traveled across the world, by the time you returned home, you would find that it was now a new place, and so was everywhere else that you had once visited."

  "Right. Which is decidedly untrue of the Mists. First of all, from what I can tell, you are confined to a relatively small portion of them—either the land you died, or where you consider home, I'm not sure. I didn't really die, so I might not have been subject to the same rules. All I know is that you don't get to travel wherever you please. If you died now, you might find yourself stuck in the Mistly equivalent of Bressel, unable to leave the city. Or you could be trapped right here in the afterlife's version of this fetid swamp.

  "Second, as it turns out, most people don't stay in the Mists for more than a couple hundred years, and a lot leave within a single lifetime, or even a handful of years. There isn't the sense of danger that we have here, the urgency. Here, you have to get things right. There, it doesn't matter. There's no striving to better yourself. No history to participate in. The Mists are boring, you fool. That's why everyone moves on, usually sooner rather than later. To pass into the Worldsea. And then whatever you are ceases to exist."