Krestotes gestured for them to walk with him. “So what brings you to Abaddon? Are you on your way to Qereth?”

“Yes we are,” said Zantheus. He was intruiged by this man.

“So am I,” said Krestotes. “We can walk together. Why have you come this way?”

“We’ve been sailing up the Nahar river,” said Anthē. She looked at Leukos. “We thought this was the quickest way…”

“Really?” said Krestotes. He sounded surprised. “Could you not have just sailed into the city and bypassed Abaddon altogether?”

“We were only in a small canoe,” said Leukos quickly. “The current was too strong for us to make it all the way up.”

Krestotes’ eyes flashed momentarily when he looked at Leukos for the first time, but no one else noticed this. “I suppose that makes sense,” said Krestotes. “I am sure you are here for a reason. My name is Krestotes, by the way. What are yours?”

They told him their names. Anthē spoke last, for herself and Tromo. Rather than pausing to let Krestotes speak again, she asked him a question that had been burning in her heart. “Krestotes, what are you doing here? Where were you inviting that man to come back to?”

“I was inviting him to come and stay in a house with myself and some other of my friends. Most of them were just like him –they were once slaves to the fumes, but they left them behind. I come here every day, and take back those who want to come with me.”

“How much do you charge them to come and stay with you?” Anthē asked. For some reason she had a feeling that it would only be a very small amount.

“Nothing,” said Krestotes. That was a very small amount.

“How can that be so?” asked Zantheus. “You must be a very rich man to pay for all their food?”

“Not at all!” laughed Krestotes. “We make and sell furniture, and do other odd jobs here and there, all of us, to support one another.”

All Zantheus could say was “Why?”

Krestotes laughed again. “Well, if we didn’t then, yes, we’d all starve.”

“No, I mean, why do you do this? Why not work for yourself? Why come to this awful place at all?”

At this Krestotes spoke more sombrely, though he did not get angry or speak out of spite. “If I don’t, who will? Who will come and meet these broken people? Who will go to the places no one else will visit, who will help show them the way back?”

Zantheus could not understand. “But these people are here of their own accord! They have chosen to be here.”

“Yes,” said Krestotes. “I think that is true, Zantheus. But that is not the whole of the story. You saw Psuchē back there. It is not just a simple case of him wanting to be here. He listened to me –and he listened to you, Anthē– and you could see there was a battle going on inside of him. If he single-mindedly wanted to be here, he would not have given me the chance to talk to him. But being here isn’t what he wants with the whole of him self. There’s another part of him that doesn’t want to be there. Like I was trying to say to him, I believe his true self doesn’t want to be in Abaddon at all. In fact, Psuchē has come back with me before. He stayed with us for seven weeks, but then he ran away again and came back here.”

Again, Zantheus found the same question his lips. “Why?”

The chubby man did not reply immediately as he picked his way over the rubbish. But after some time he said “To that question I cannot give an answer. Why do some choose one way, and others, another? Why did he choose to leave Abaddon behind, and give in after seven weeks? Why not six, or eight? Why at all? I do not know. But I do know this: There is a battle going on in Psuchē. Most refuse my offer outright, if they even stop to let me talk with them. But some stop, and listen, and some come back to live with me and my friends and work and be free of the fumes. Psuchē has done this before and he can do it again. He’s torn. And the other thing I know is that there is always a way out available to all of these people, even if it is very difficult to take. So even though I do not understand why it is that they do not always take it, I will keep offering it to them.”

It was strange that he spoke of ‘these people.’ They had not seen any other people for a while now, probably because they had not seen any of the black smoke either.

“Krestotes, are we nearly at the end of the dump now?” asked Anthē. She sincerely hoped that they were.

“Yes,” said Krestotes. “Do you see that really large mound of rubbish just over there? It’s not really a mound. It’s a slope. We’re actually in a kind of basin. At the top of that slope, the ground is higher, you’ll be able to see Qereth from up there.”

It was all Zantheus could do to keep himself from breaking into a run. But he restrained himself and kept his composure. He had come this far at walking pace, what were a few more steps to him? Qereth was at the top of that slope.

Qereth was at the top of that slope.

Soon they were on the slope. It was very long and it would take them a while to get to the top of it. But Qereth was at the top of this slope. He kept his eyes fixed on the top, on the highest point, towards which he was headed.

A woman appeared. That was not right. She was going in the wrong direction. What was she doing in his way? She started to scramble down cautiously, dislodging bits of rubbish as she went, in the opposite direction to them. Zantheus hoped they could avoid her. But when she came level with them, Krestotes said to her “Hey there, friend! Where are you off to?”

The woman stopped mid-scramble. She had shadows under her eyes, her face was swollen, and her dark hair was in knots. It was impossible to tell her age.

“I...I need my rush...” she mumbled, and carried on.

“No! Wait!” said Krestotes.

The woman stopped again, and looked up at the persistent stranger and his companions. She was now lower down the slope than they were. Zantheus stopped his climb with irritation to stay with the others. He so wanted to be over this ridge. Just a few more moments, he told himself.

“What is it?” asked the woman. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any interest in her.

“You don’t have to go that way,” said Krestotes. “You don’t have to go back there.”

The woman hung her head in shame. Krestotes seemed to have struck a chord.

“You can return with me and be healed. I know a woman who runs a house for ladies just like you. You won’t have to pay anything, you can stay as long as you want. Till you’re better again. You’ll be looked after.”

The woman lifted her head when she heard these words. Something in her eyes seemed to light up for a moment. But the light quickly dimmed.

“I can’t...I need....I need the smoke...”

“That’s not true,” said Krestotes. “Look, what’s your name?”

“Poiea.”

“Poiea, you know that’s not true. Your body may want it now, but you don’t need it, do you?”

“It makes me feel alive. It makes me happy,” said Poiea.

“Really? How long have you been inhaling the smoke now?”

“Three years.”

“And has it made you happy?”

“Yes.”

Anthē spoke now. “Has it? Is this what you really want?”

Poiea looked at her. She almost left them to carry on down the slope there and then, but something in Anthē’s gaze, in the way she had asked her those two questions, appeared to have tugged at her. Presently the light seemed to come back into her eyes. She spoke again.

“No, you’re right... Sometimes after I’ve just given in, or when I’ve managed to stop myself from giving in, the darkness draws back for just a second and I know that it’s not what I really want, that it’s never been what I really want…”

“Yes, that’s it!” said Krestotes. He had listened to her very carefully. “And does this knowledge lead you up or down the slope?”

Poiea took a long time to say the word, but it came to her mouth fully formed, with no doubt.

“Up.”

“Then come back with us to Qereth.”

It happened slowly: Poiea turned. The light that had been lit in her eyes was growing. They were wet and clear.

“Well done,” said Krestotes.

“You’ve made the right choice,” said Anthē, adding her reassurance.

“Excuse me,” said Zantheus. He did not want to sound rude, but he felt like he might split in two if they did not carry on soon. “Can we carry on now?”

“Of course,” said Krestotes. They continued on their way up the slope. Poiea held Anthē’s hand.

“You’re very eager to get to the top of this slope, aren’t you Zantheus?” said Leukos.

“You might say that, yes.”

Nearly there now. Come on Zantheus, Qereth is at the top of this slope.

“But of course,” said Leukos, “once you reach Qereth, your journey won’t be over yet, will it?”

“I suppose not.”

Go away Leukos. Leukos with his annoying, mysterious way of talking. Leukos with his nagging questions.

“I mean,” said Leukos, “you still have to cross the city, and find the Sanctuary, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And then there’s the small matter of climbing Awmeer again.”

“Yes, ther is,” said Zantheus. That was going to be difficult, just as it was the first time. But he did not care. They had crested the ridge.

He could see the city walls.