83

Decisions and Revisions

Jory was dead. His spirit had travelled to the Night Nation, and then along the Highway of Souls. Somewhere, in between one moment and the next, while she was eating chocolate cake or browsing the Night Market, he had died. His soul had slipped from the world without her knowledge. Perhaps she had passed him on her travels, perhaps he had been one of the many shadows fluttering across the landscape like starlight on a still, dark lake –just one of the coiling spirits she had glanced at and dismissed as she made her way.

Tears stung her eyelids, and she blinked them away. Jory was gone. He would never teach her anything again. She would never be able to tell him about her adventures, about how she had killed a demon, about how she had blown up a castle and set her first love on fire underneath the cold hard light of an uncaring moon. She would never tell him about how she had run away while he screamed in pain. Perhaps she would not have told him, for the emotions were still raw and wrapped in pain and embarrassment, but now the choice was taken from her. Jory would never know, and she would never have the opportunity to tell him.

In her distress, she latched onto the other piece of information. Anger was better than the hollow of her sadness. She wanted to believe they were mistaken but she had seen the Lochlanach settlements with her own eyes.

"What about the Mester?" she demanded. "The Mester could have done something about the barbarians if she had wanted to!"

"No matter how brilliant she is the Mester is just one woman," said Delen. "What could she do against so many?"

Candle glanced at Pasco, knowing the Teurek man knew about the Mester's demon. The demon that the Mester somehow managed to control. Pasco shrugged.

"The King ordered a retreat," he signed, not meeting her eye. "The Mester honoured his wishes and those of the Sages. The villages and towns as far as Crow's Nest, Boragweyth and Jelling were abandoned and the people evacuated to high ground."

"So not everyone was killed. Not everyone died."

"Plenty of people died," said Locryn, his voice harsh, she winced, as if he had struck a physical blow. Acid pooled in her stomach, warring with the guilt she felt. Could she have done something if she had stayed? She could have convinced Jotham to help. But then she would still be demon-possessed and well on her way to losing her mind. "Most of the population of Havi got out in time. The refugees are sheltering at the Lizard and the King is trying to rehome as many people as possible in the highlands."

"So that's it?" Candle was shocked. "The Mester just – just let the barbarians have everything. Our land. Everything. We just give up? We slink away and live in hiding for the rest of our lives?"

"You saw those weapons, those airships in action," said Locryn. "You saw what they could do. At the Battle of Gwavas that was the full contingent of the Ancestors Own. We are lucky any of us survived. What would you have us do? Would you rather have violence and bloodshed?"

"I – I don't know." And she didn't. It went against everything she knew, everything she had been taught, the faith she had been raised into. And not everyone had the option of transforming into a giant, fire breathing killing machine. What good were bows and arrows against the weapons the Lochlanach wielded? Her people would be slaughtered.

"The barbarians have only expanded as far as Hanternos," said Delen, frowning. "And what do you expect? You know as well as anyone our people are not warlike. Standing against the Lochlanach would just result in the death of thousands. Artists and poets against trained killers. It would be a bloodbath. It has been a bloodbath. This way our culture has a chance to survive."

They all glared at each other, and Candle grit her teeth.

"Since when did you become so anxious to throw your life away, anyway," said Locryn, and she swung around to face him, balling her fists.

"I don't want people to die," she said, breathing through her nose, trying to contain the rage that was swelling in her veins. "But this isn't right."

"It is not right. It is not fair, only a child thinks that life is fair," signed Pasco, and his eyes when he looked at her were so tired and full of sorrow that her anger slipped a little. "Maybe our time has come. Maybe it is time to let the Twilight Kingdom slip into the pages of history ­– a lingering ideal, that was a wonderful dream. An innocent fever dream that turned out to be naive."

"You don't believe that," said Delen, sharply. Pasco shrugged.

"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps not. I have seen Nations fall before. Kingdoms that grow too careless, too complacent, too enamoured with their own beauty to perceive the threat." His hands stopped moving and he gazed into the distance. The rest of them stood in a circle, unable to meet each other's eyes.

"So that's it," repeated Candle, dully, "we give up our land, we hide, we hope the barbarians don't find us. We tell our children... what exactly?"

"We tell them what happened," said Delen, "and we live to have children. They get to grow up and have children of their own, children who know their Ancestors."

"Alright," said Candle. "Answer me this. If you have all just given up, if this land is Lochlanach now – why are you still here?"

"We haven't given up," said Carantok.

"The Mester always has a plan," said Delen. "But she knows how to use her brain as well as her heart."

"Does she?" The words came out with a hard, sharp edge and more bitterness than Candle intended. They all stared at her in shock. She found herself almost consumed with the fire of her rage, angry at them for being so complacent, angry at the Lochlanach and angry at the Mester for her inaction. And angry at Jotham for being nowhere to be found. The worry was gnawing at her guts.

"Where have you been," asked Locryn, eyeing her with unease, "and what happened to you? You seem...different."

"I'm sorry," said Carantok, "I know I'm "new", and I might not have all of the information but what are we arguing with a Revenant? Shouldn't we be... er, I don't know." He waggled his spear at Candle and made a chopping motion with his hand. She bared her teeth at him and had the satisfaction of watching him take a step back.

"I am not a Revenant," she said. "It's not what you think."

Locryn sighed.

"That's what everyone says," he said. "When they start using their demons for power."

"I've never used it," said Candle. She sat down, partly because her legs felt weak and she needed the comforting warmth of the sand beneath her, and partly to appear unthreatening. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. Everyone else remained standing.

"You look exactly the same," said Delen, "that means your demon has been prolonging your life."

"No," said Candle, "if you will just listen, I'll tell you what happened, please just – hear me out." They all looked at her and she groaned. Her stomach rumbled. "Do you have anything to eat?"

This statement seemed to break the tension. Delen let out a bark of laughter and handed her a sandwich and some biscuits that she wolfed down. Pasco and Delen joined her on the sand.

"Go on," said Pasco. "We are listening."

"Wait," said Locryn, "everyone should hear this."

"Everyone?" asked Candle. "Who else is here?"

In answer, Locryn disappeared into the enchanted entrance of the bothy. He emerged shortly with two more people Candle didn't recognise – a young man and a young woman. Her eyes slid straight to the young man's face, where rested eyes of slate grey.

"Hello," he said in heavily accented Havi. "I'm Ansel."

Candle gasped.

"You – you are a barbarian!"

It was a statement, rather than a question. His skin was as brown as hers, and his hair was black and curly but with those eyes, there could be no mistake. They were not the blue of the undead, and their grey was not unpleasant, but she had never seen that shade in Havi. The effect was startling. Candle leapt to her feet, although she wasn't sure what she intended to do once she was standing, her body just responded instinctually to the perceived threat. No one else seemed to be alarmed, and Candle noticed belatedly that he was wearing the uniform of the Ancestors Own.

Ansel inclined his head politely, his lips twitching up at the corners.

"Yes, I am Lochlanach," he said. The way he pronounced the words was unusual, as if he had learned the language recently. Which he probably had. Candle gaped at him.

"What in the Night – How – "

"Ansel, this is Candle," said Delen. "Steren you already know. Candle is just about to try and convince us that she is not a danger to humanity."

Candle turned, to the young woman, her ears buzzing.

"Steren," she repeated, gazing at the last member of the party. The young woman stood, leaning heavily on Locryn's arm, a crutch tucked beneath the other. She only had one leg. Candle knew her. Or rather, she had known her, years ago.

"Steren?" Candle whispered again, taking in the form of her former childhood friend. Here was a stark reminder that five years had flown. While Delen, Locryn and Pasco remained more or less the same physically Steren was barely recognisable. Yes, she had the same blonde tangle of curls, and her features were similar to the child she had known. But the girl she had last seen was eleven, while the girl who stood before her was poised and confident, at least sixteen or seventeen years old. The same age as Candle herself. Here she was, casually standing next to a barbarian dressed in the uniform of the Ancestors Own. Actually, Steren herself was dressed in the uniform of the Own. Candle, sat down again, hard. It was too much to process. Then she got back up again and looked at Steren with pleading eyes.

"Steren?" she blurted. Steren seemed to be as confused as Candle.

"Candle?" she asked. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were dead," Candle said, reaching out a hand towards her former friend, but then dropping it. "I thought you died with everyone else at Hanternos."

"I nearly did," said Steren, her face creasing in pain at the remembrance. "I lay under the remains of the building for days, but then the Mester came and dug me out. She saved me, but I lost my leg."

They both stared at the empty space where Steren's left leg should be.

"I'm so sorry," said Candle, swallowing. "About your leg, but – but I'm glad you are alive. I had no idea."

"But what about you?" said Steren, looking Candle up and down. "I don't understand, you look exactly the same, you haven't aged a day!

"Demon," said Locryn, over to the side.

"It's not what you think," said Candle, dragged back to the present. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, trying to process all the information. "Can I have another sandwich?" she asked, and Delen handed one to her silently.

"So you say," signed Pasco, gesturing to Ansel and Steren to sit. "She is about to tell us the tale. We thought you would want to hear."

"Is it... safe?" asked Steren, looking at Candle with wide eyes. Candle stared right back. Looking at Steren was like looking at the ghost of her childhood. A blessing, she hoped. Pasco shrugged.

"Probably not. But if she is a Revenant, there is not a lot we can do about it, so we might as well listen."

"I'm not about to bite all your heads off," said Candle, tearing a chunk of her sandwich in irritation.

"It's easy to say that," said Locryn. "Remember we saw you in action. In your demon form."

Candle chewed thoughtfully, wondering where to start, what to say. Behind her, the sun was slipping towards the horizon as the afternoon passed into a golden summer evening.

"It's quite simple," she said, at last. "Jotham helped me find a way to kill Belias."

"Why would one Revenant help another?" asked Locryn, and Delen shushed him.

"Let her speak," she said.

"It was very dangerous," said Candle, "I took a big risk, but I thought it was better to try than to stay and lose my mind and to become a monster."

"So it worked?" asked Steren. Candle inclined her head.

"I managed to kill him, and I am now free, from Belias and from my brother. I had to travel to the Night Nation to do it. I wasn't there long, two weeks maybe, and when I came back I find that five years have gone by."

This statement was greeted by incredulous silence, as they all gaped at her. Then they all started talking at once.

"You killed – "

"How in the Night did you get to the – "

"How in the ever-loving Night is that simple –"

"You killed a demon? How?"

"Why," said Locryn, "should we believe any of that? I mean, it's so farfetched I feel like a Revenant would be able to concoct a more believable lie."

Candle waited for them all to stop talking and then held her hand up, palm out.

"Look," said Candle, and she made a flame dance on her fingers. Everyone but Carantok and Ansel leaned in and made awestruck noises.

"I don't understand," said Ansel.

"I mean we can all do that," said Carantok, "why does that prove anything?"

"Candle could never do magic," said Steren. "The Ancestors didn't speak to her." She looked at Candle smiling, leaned over to squeeze her arm.

"Because the demon was stealing her energy," added Delen, "and her Devotions."

"I thought demons were only attracted to evil and bloodshed," said Ansel, looking confused. "Why did she have a demon in the first place?"

"And to power," said Pasco. "They are attracted to power."

"My brother sold my soul to his demon when I was a baby," said Candle. Ansel's expression was gratifyingly horrified, while Carantok made a noise of disgust.

"I always hated Rasmus," said Steren. "I knew there was something wrong with him. Do you know he used to hurt kids sometimes?"

"I'm sure he hurt lots of things," said Candle, "me included."

"Why did you never say?" Steren looked distressed.

"He told me not too," she said, "and his demon made sure I complied. But it's in the past now." And she was keen to leave it there. "Now I can say anything I want, and I don't have to be afraid of them anymore."

"Leaving aside the technicalities of just how you managed to kill a demon," said Locryn, his voice sceptical. "Especially when as far as I know no one else has ever pulled off this feat," he raised his eyebrows at Pasco, who shook his head. "Explain to us exactly how you managed to turn into that... beast."

"The Revenant," said Delen, in an awed whisper.

"I can't believe that's something you just – recover from."

"And that man you were with," said Pasco, "the one the Mester knew."

"Jotham," said Candle, worry squirming in her gut. She looked up at the sky but it was clear, blue fading into gold in the west as the sun set far across the waters. The air was still and peaceful with that hush that sometimes gathered before the twilight. From the beach, there was no evidence of the barbarians, no sign of their airships, and not even any clouds to be seen. "That is another long story."

"We have time," said Pasco. Locryn went back into the bothy and brought out mugs of tea which he handed around. Candle sipped the hot liquid gratefully.

"Mind you keep watch," he said to Carantok, who snapped his heels together guiltily, and resumed his post, staring out at the sky. His gaze kept drifting towards the circle though.

"I met Jotham the same day I arrived at Gwavas for the first time," said Candle. Digging her toes into the sand she told them the story, leaving out some of the details. She had sworn not to tell anyone about the gates, and that included her friends. Which meant she couldn't tell them how she travelled to the Night Nation.

"You set him free!" said Pasco, "no wonder the Mester was furious."

"I didn't know," said Candle, with a shrug, "and quite frankly it was one of the best decisions of my life. Have you seen him? Jotham I mean?"

They exchanged glances.

"Not since the Battle of Gwavas," said Delen.

"I know you are daft," said Locryn, "but whatever possessed you to throw your lot in with a Revenant?"

"He's not a Revenant," said Candle, "and neither am I. The Mester has the wrong information." She almost laughed at the look of shock on Pasco's face, at the thought that the Mester could have the incorrect information. "I'm not saying he's not dangerous, he is, but he's not evil, he's not a demon or anything related to a demon."

"Then what is he?"

"Do you remember when we started clearing out the castle at Dawn Watch, all those months ago, and we were wondering why our Ancestors built so high in the mountains?" Delen, Pasco and Locryn nodded, their faces skeptical. "What if I told you that some of our Ancestors had wings? Some of my Ancestors had wings?"

There was a pause, while they all digested this.

"Just say that is true, unlikely as it sounds," said Locryn. "Why would –"

A bolt of lightning hit the sand further down the beach. Everyone leapt to their feet in confusion, hands reaching for weapons.

"What in the Night," said Carantok.

Murmux strode up the beach, his shoulders hunched, his eyes haunted. His face was smeared with soot and his bare chest revealed not only his writhing tattoos but the raw, flesh of his unhealed skin.

"Murmux," cried Candle, "what are you doing here?"