The Tower Broken(127)

The desert grew and though the pattern had become a chaotic blur to him, still he reached for it. When Helmar used it, when Sarmin used it, when Yrkmir used it, he reached for it and tried to understand it again, but he could not. He was unable to see life, but he could not see death either, and so he waited.

Now she felt him beneath her hands, writhing in pain and loneliness. For a thousand years the pattern had been his only company: the pattern of lies and misdirection. If his body truly made a bridge to another world, it was sustained only through his agony.

Sarmin took her other hand, and together they embraced the great rock. ‘We have brought back your meadow,’ he said, ‘and your birds and butterflies.’ He had to shout to be heard above the wind.

‘Remember yourself,’ Mesema said. ‘You are a man of great power. You created the pattern, and then you broke it. We fixed it for you – come and see.’

The god stilled, listening, but she knew their words danced around him like fireflies, detached from their meaning. She stroked the hard stone and imagined a man of Yrkmir, tall, blond, wrapped in woollen robes. ‘Remember yourself,’ she repeated. She tried to show him what the wind had shown her.

A scream rent the rock in two; a great crack sounded and Adam and Didryk dived out of the way as the two pieces of stone fell apart. Inside stood a sculpture of a tree, each part from the roots to the leaves above rendered with lifelike movement. A tree could not live without each of its parts: the leaves to draw in sunlight, the branches to carry water, the roots to drink. Mesema touched the bark, cold from its time inside the stone. ‘We must become part of him.’

Sarmin did not question her. ‘What is the symbol for Mogyrk?’ he demanded of Adam.

Adam stood and frowned at the rich soil that clung to his robes. Though he was the priest of the god who lived here, he seemed the most confused by the Scar. He drew a symbol in the air. ‘Draw it on the tree,’ said Sarmin, and Mesema watched the austere’s fingers as the symbol was constructed. All this time the god was quiet, though Mesema reached out with all her senses trying to find him. And then he reached back, his mental fingers exploring, and she felt her skin pulling away like wet clothes. It did not hurt; it felt as if she became two things – Mesema’s blood and bone, and Mesema’s skin. But then she felt Farid’s hand on her and she became just Mesema once more.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. You see? She directed her thought at the tree. I am human like you. ‘Farid,’ she said, shouting over the wind, ‘bind me to the tree. Use the Mogyrk symbol and bind me.’

The mage looked to Sarmin first, but she grabbed his arm. ‘Bind me.’

‘Bind her,’ Sarmin said. ‘Bind us.’

Farid drew on their wrists with his finger and Mesema felt Sarmin flow into her, felt his love and his determination. Then Farid drew the same mark on the tree and together they plunged into the mind of the god, clasping hands to keep hold of themselves in the presence of such power. And madness.

All alone. Leaf wing wine sand song hair. What petal thorn am oil berry taste. I. Twist string wind warmth drink failure. Cannot tree six. See. Alone. The god shrieked and writhed like a baby.

This Mesema understood. This she knew. Shhh now. You are safe. We have you.

One two petal me. What – what am I?

You are a man. You are a mage. A god. In her mind she wrapped him in her arms, cradled him as she would cradle Pelar. We have come to help you.

A pause. I remember.

Sarmin joined them, his voice resonant and soothing along the bond-marks. Do you remember the pattern?

I remember I cannot die.

You can die now. We have you. You are safe. Your meadow – can you see it?

Yes. I see it. I see you. Both. I see … Mogyrk’s mind faded. Love.

When the god died there was no fire, no trembling of the earth, no parting of the heavens. The wind blew over the meadow, and the flowers scattered their petals.

Mesema leaned back from the stony tree.

Adam fell down on his knees and wept, and Didryk stood to his side, looking lost. Farid and Mura embraced one another; he ran a finger along her wrist and the wind died down. Through all of it Sarmin held her hand and used their bond to stay with her. She liked that. She had been linked to Beyon and then to Banreh, but never before to her husband.

She stepped closer and laid her cheek against his robes and he wrapped his arms around her.

‘Is it over?’ she asked.

‘It is.’ Sarmin raised his voice so the others could hear. ‘It is over.’ His gaze swept back towards his city. ‘And it is just beginning.’

*

Grada found Sarmin a while later and asked for her Knife. He gave it to her with no argument and they stood together, watching the grass bend in the wind. ‘Do my brothers ever talk to you from the Knife?’ he asked.