There were no more rains or strong winds. Instead, a stifling humidity closed around us, which, in collusion with the sun’s awful illumination, seemed to compact the wide-open spaces, as if the sky was pressing down. Even when we reached the mountains and soared high over them, there was no sense of increasing distance between the ground and the heavens.
“A lid has been placed over Ptallaya,” I shouted across to Clarissa, who was at that point flying alongside me, “and we are cooking beneath it!”
We swooped through the clouds of steam that bubbled up from the peaks, emerged from them, and saw the Valley of Reflections below us. I recalled my horrible vision and thought again of the Whitechapel killer. The notion that I was Jack the Ripper appeared totally absurd now, but had been such a potent impression at the time that Yissil Froon had been able to take it, exaggerate it out of all proportion, and use it to cripple my ability to properly assert myself.
I gritted my teeth. I had a score to settle!
The rocky terrain flattened into broad savannah. Herds of animals moved far below us—most, it appeared, fleeing from predators. Off to our left, I saw eight Yarkeen drifting slowly over a patch of forest, their tendril-like appendages ripping at the foliage.
We flew at a terrific speed. The air, which now held the odour of burned toast, whistled past my ears. As far as I was able to estimate—though I must admit that by now my sense of time was almost entirely lost—it took us less than two Earth days to cover the same distance that the Ptall’kor had required perhaps months to traverse.
We landed just once. Clarissa, the colonel, and I stretched and worked the kinks out of our shoulders, ate a light meal, then rested for a short period before Gallokomas ordered the flock back into the air.
More savannah, then the Mountains That Gaze Upon Phenadoor rose over the horizon, silhouetted black against the harsh purple sunset. The terrain became increasingly familiar to me. The Yatsill farms slid into view.
“Let’s set down in the fields,” I shouted to Gallokomas. “We should take a look at the nurseries.”
While the rest of the flock circled overhead, my companions and I spiralled down and came to rest beside one of the papery structures. The Zull and Mi’aata both hastily backed away from it.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Gallokomas moaned.
“Dashed uncomfortable, what!” Spearjab agreed. “Familiar, though, I must say. Harrumph!”
“You’re repulsed by the nursery,” I noted. “Excellent!”
Gallokomas twitched his mandibles. “Excellent, Thing? Why excellent?”
“Because if you’re made uneasy, then the nursery must be occupied.”
“Ah, I see. It is very queer, this aversion.”
I gripped a fold that served as the structure’s door and eased it open. Moist heat was expelled from within. Squinting into the darkness, I saw a crowd of Yatsill squatting motionlessly, apparently asleep, though their fingers were moving incessantly.
“The children are safe,” I told the others. “This is very good news. When the yellow suns rise, they’ll make their migration to the Cavern of Immersion. Some will be made Aristocrats. They’ll transmit a degree of intelligence to the rest, and in generations to come, as the Mi’aata and Zull populations are slowly restored, so too there’ll be more seed parasites, until, at some point in the future, all the Yatsill young will play host to them, and the life cycle will be healthy again.”
“Which means we must never again return to this area,” Clarissa commented. “When this lot are made Aristocrats, I don’t want them delving into my mind and overreaching themselves like their forebears did. This new generation will be free of Pretty Wahine and must also be free of me.”
After we’d checked on two more nurseries and found them similarly well stocked, Gallokomas and Colonel Spearjab rejoined the circling flock while Clarissa and I flew out over the devastated city.
The campfires were still burning on the fifth level. We made our way down to them, gliding above the awful rubble and mud until we reached the flat space where the Koluwaians and surviving Yatsill had gathered. They greeted us as we landed, and Baron Hammer Thewflex—sans mask—and Kata pushed their way to the front of the crowd.
“Hallo! Hallo!” the baron exclaimed. “You’re back, hey! Indeed you are!”
“Hello, Baron,” I said. “I’m glad to see you.” I addressed the Koluwaian. “Kata, we’ve come to take you and your fellow Servants away. We can’t allow you to remain here as food for the Blood Gods.”