Aghama, their god. Seel did not like religion, and in fact thought it stunted personal growth, so he discouraged anyhar from trying to establish personal relationships with gods. He believed in magic, not prayer, in will and intention over supplication. But to Flick lying alone on the cusp of he knew not what, that seemed an arid and comfortless belief. He wanted a goddess in silver, with moon white skin and moonstone eyes, to stand over him and douse him in grains of sparkling dust that could erase all care. He wanted divine intervention, a higher power to rescue him from his life. Did he want to go back, further even than Saltrock, so that his life would rewind until he was a child again, and Wraeththu would not happen? How easy that life might have been, and yet how incomplete. He did not want to give up the part of himself that was akin to the goddesses of the world.
Come to me, Flick thought. Come down from the moon and scatter your silver incense over all that is female within me. He closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come easily. Even though he felt tired to his bones, Flick could not let go of consciousness. Thoughts gushed through his head in an unending stream: images of Cal, the smell of blood, Seel’s face at his desk on the morning Flick had left Saltrock. He tried to dispel these images, to think of mundane things. But his mind would not rest. He sat up and put his head in hands. He remembered Seel as he’d first known him: the touch of his hands and eyes. His laughter, and the long carefree days. A changeling had taken Seel’s place, soured the friendship. Where had it all gone? How could such a thing happen? Flick felt tired to the innermost core of his being, and his head ached.
Perhaps if he stood up and walked around for a while, peace might come to him. But the cave was so large, and there was a danger of falling into the abyss. The ledge he sat upon was very narrow, and he was sure there were creatures flying round him in the darkness. He could sense their claws. There was no moon in this place. It had crashed into the lightless sea millennia before. He did not realise he was in a different place. He felt he had been there for years.
I cannot invoke the moon, he thought, but I must try to invoke the other light. What is its name?
He couldn’t remember.
A human woman walked up to him along the ledge, carrying a basket of keys, which were rusty. He could see the woman clearly, even though he was surrounded by darkness. ‘Where are the locks?’ she asked him. ‘I need to find them before the keys are dust.’
‘I don’t know,’ Flick replied. ‘Where is the light?’
‘It is coming,’ the woman said. ‘I heard its scream.’
‘Must I wait here?’
The woman shrugged. ‘It is as good as any other place.’
‘Can I have one of your keys?’
‘You already have one,’ she said. ‘It is very small.’
‘What does it open?’
‘The gates.’ She looked behind her. ‘I must go. There isn’t much time.’
She vanished into the darkness.
Flick held his breath. He could sense something approaching him. There was no sound, no change in the temperature of the air, but he could still feel it.
Aghama, he said in his mind, be with me. Help me.
But the words meant nothing. Aghama was not his god. He did not have one. He was alone in a void.
Flick felt his way to the edge of ledge and leaned out over it. He could see nothing but knew a bottomless abyss fell away from him below. He was too high to call out to whatever might fly and tumble in it, but he could see specks of golden light, far away, winking like distant stars. As he stared upon them, one of them grew steadily larger. Flick dared not blink, sure that if he did the star would vanish. His eyes burned. The light grew brighter and brighter, fizzing up towards him. It was a sphere, then a spiral, now a spinning column with golden wings. It was an angel, a furious spirit, a heart of fire. Pellaz.
‘Tell me now that you are dead,’ Flick said, still not daring to blink.
The vision hung before him, the face compassionate. Pellaz was made of gold light. He had no wings. He was simply a blade of