of gravitation. Accepted. And—the best sign of all—it sets loose the numberless presences that it has ingested over the past epoch. They spin away, vanishing into the currents of magic, and I don’t know what happens to them beyond that. I won’t ever know what happens to souls after death—or at least, I won’t know for another seven billion years or so, whenever the Earth finally dies.
An intimidating thing to contemplate. It’s been a challenging first forty thousand years.
On the other hand … nowhere to go, but up.
I go back to them, your daughter and your old enemy and your friends, to tell them the news. Somewhat to my surprise, several months have passed in the interim. They’ve settled into the building that Nassun occupied, living off Alabaster’s old garden and the supplies that we brought for him and Nassun. That won’t be enough long term, of course, though they’ve supplemented it admirably with improvised fishing lines and bird-catching traps and dried edible seaweed, which Tonkee seems to have figured out a means of cultivating down at the water’s edge. So resourceful, these modern people. But it is becoming increasingly clear that they’ll have to go back to the Stillness soon, if they want to keep living.
I find Nassun, who is sitting alone at the pylon again. Your body remains where it fell, but someone has tucked fresh wildflowers into its one remaining hand. There’s another hand beside it, I notice, positioned like an offering near the stump of your arm. It’s too small for you, but she meant well. She doesn’t speak for a long while after I appear, and I find that this pleases me. Her kind talk so much. It goes on for long enough, though, even I get a little impatient.
I tell her, “You won’t see Steel again.” In case she was worried about that.
She jerks a little, as if she’s forgotten my presence. Then she sighs. “Tell him I’m sorry. I just … couldn’t.”
“He understands.”
She nods. Then: “Schaffa died today.”
I had forgotten him. I should not have; he was part of you. Still. I say nothing. She seems to prefer that.
She takes a deep breath. “Will you … The others say you brought them, and Mama. Can you take us back? I know it’ll be dangerous.”
“There’s no longer any danger.” When she frowns, I explain all of it to her: the truce, the release of hostages, the cessation of immediate hostilities in the form of no more Seasons. It does not mean complete stability. Plate tectonics will be plate tectonics. Season-like disasters will still occur, though with greatly decreased frequency. I conclude: “You can take the vehimal back to the Stillness.”
She shudders. I belatedly recall what she suffered there. She also says, “I don’t know if I can give it magic. I … I feel like …”
She lifts the stone-capped stump of her left wrist. I understand, then—and yes, she’s right. She is aligned perfectly, and will be so for the rest of her life. Orogeny is lost to her, forever. Unless she wants to join you.
I say, “I will power the vehimal. The charge should last six months or so. Leave within that time.”
I adjust my position then, to the foot of the stairs. She starts, and looks around to find me holding you. I’ve picked up her old hand, too, because our children are always part of us. She stands, and for a moment I fear unpleasantness. But the look on her face is not unhappy. Just resigned.
I wait, for a moment or a year, to see if she has any final words for your corpse. She says, instead, “I don’t know what will happen to us.”
“‘Us’?”
She sighs. “Orogenes.”
Oh. “The current Season will last for some time, even with the Rifting quelled,” I say. “Surviving it will require cooperation among many kinds of people. Cooperation presents opportunities.”
She frowns. “Opportunities … for what? You said the Seasons would end after this.”
“Yes.”
She holds up her hands, or one hand and one stump, to gesture in frustration. “People killed us and hated us when they needed us. Now we don’t even have that.”
Us. We. She still thinks of herself as orogene, though she will never again be able to do more than listen to the earth. I decide not to point this out. I do say, however, “And you won’t need them, either.”
She falls silent, perhaps in confusion. To clarify, I add, “With the end of the Seasons and the death of all the Guardians, it