‘There is power in nature,’ Ilgast replied, ‘and what is often forgotten is that nature lies within us as much as it does out there, amidst high grasses or shoreline. To heal is to draw across the divide; that and nothing more.’
‘It is said that such power grows.’
Ilgast frowned at the suggestion, not because he would deny it, but because the notion — which he himself sensed — disturbed him. ‘It was ever my belief, commander, that we who blinked the mist clear from our eyes, and so saw truly the flow of life, were but privileged, by quirk of temper or gift of vision. We beheld a power in constancy, yet one unaware of itself. Of no mind, if you will. Neither living nor dead; rather, like the wind.’ He paused, chewing on those thoughts, and then sighed and shook his head. ‘But now, I grow to sense… something. A hint of deliberation. Purpose. As if, in taking from the power, it shifts a shoulder and sets regard upon the taker.’
‘That is… strange, Lord.’
‘As if in looking down into the river,’ Ilgast continued, his frown deepening, ‘one discovers the river looking back up at you. Or a stone returning stern attention. A glance catching the eye of earth, or sand.’ He rubbed vigorously at his face again. ‘It leaves one startled, I tell you, as if in an instant the world is unmade, and all its comforts are revealed as false, and the solitude we’d thought private was in truth played out before a silent audience; and the minds that gave thought to all we did, why, they think nothing like us.’
He saw Calat Hustain look away, into the fire.
‘Forgive me, commander,’ Ilgast said, with a gruff laugh. ‘Healing wearies me. There is a Shake word to describe that sense, as of the myriad things in nature giving sudden and most fixed attention upon a person, and the uncanny shiver that comes of it.’
Calat nodded, eyes still on the fire. ‘ Denul.’
‘Just so.’
‘But the monks speak of it as a kind of ecstasy. A moment of spiritual revelation.’
‘And if the revelation diminishes the self? What ecstasy is found in that?’
‘That of helplessness, I should imagine.’
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‘There is power in nature,’ Ilgast replied, ‘and what is often forgotten is that nature lies within us as much as it does out there, amidst high grasses or shoreline. To heal is to draw across the divide; that and nothing more.’
‘It is said that such power grows.’
Ilgast frowned at the suggestion, not because he would deny it, but because the notion — which he himself sensed — disturbed him. ‘It was ever my belief, commander, that we who blinked the mist clear from our eyes, and so saw truly the flow of life, were but privileged, by quirk of temper or gift of vision. We beheld a power in constancy, yet one unaware of itself. Of no mind, if you will. Neither living nor dead; rather, like the wind.’ He paused, chewing on those thoughts, and then sighed and shook his head. ‘But now, I grow to sense… something. A hint of deliberation. Purpose. As if, in taking from the power, it shifts a shoulder and sets regard upon the taker.’
‘That is… strange, Lord.’
‘As if in looking down into the river,’ Ilgast continued, his frown deepening, ‘one discovers the river looking back up at you. Or a stone returning stern attention. A glance catching the eye of earth, or sand.’ He rubbed vigorously at his face again. ‘It leaves one startled, I tell you, as if in an instant the world is unmade, and all its comforts are revealed as false, and the solitude we’d thought private was in truth played out before a silent audience; and the minds that gave thought to all we did, why, they think nothing like us.’
He saw Calat Hustain look away, into the fire.
‘Forgive me, commander,’ Ilgast said, with a gruff laugh. ‘Healing wearies me. There is a Shake word to describe that sense, as of the myriad things in nature giving sudden and most fixed attention upon a person, and the uncanny shiver that comes of it.’
Calat nodded, eyes still on the fire. ‘ Denul.’
‘Just so.’
‘But the monks speak of it as a kind of ecstasy. A moment of spiritual revelation.’
‘And if the revelation diminishes the self? What ecstasy is found in that?’
‘That of helplessness, I should imagine.’
‘Commander, I dislike helplessness.’
‘And so you wage battle with Denul.’
Perhaps. Yes, it could be seen that way. ‘Her wounds will mend. The poison is gone. She will lose no limbs, and even now the last of the fever rides out on her breath. Your captain will return to you, sound of mind and body, in a few days hence.’
‘I thank you, Lord.’
Ilgast studied the commander for a moment and then asked, ‘This Vitr — you have taken its challenge upon yourself. What can be made of the captain’s claim that strangers have crossed this inimical sea?’
Calat smiled. ‘So you gave heed after all.’ He shook his head. ‘I admit, I am inclined to disbelieve. Stone is devoured by the liquid. Wood crumbles after a few moments in contact with it. Flesh burns and the air upon the sea is itself caustic. What vessel could survive those alien waters?’
‘She spoke of no vessels, no ships. She said the strangers have come from the sea. She spoke, with little coherence it is true, of a demon lying on the beach, a thing that appeared to be dead.’
‘This night,’ Calat said, ‘I have only questions.’
‘Have you theories on the origin of this Vitr?’
‘You well know I am firm in my opinion that it poses a grave threat to Kurald Galain. It is destroying land. With each surge of wave more of our world is taken away, never to reappear. Storms open like jaws and teeth descend to tear away stone and clay. Cliffs weaken and crumble, slide down into oblivion. We map these inroads-’
‘Commander, I would hear your theories instead.’
Calat scowled. ‘Forgive me, Lord, but in that I am frustrated. Where are the legends of the Vitr? Not among us. Perhaps among the Azathanai there are old tales referring to it, but I know nothing of them. The Jaghut, in all their written histories, might well have made note of the Vitr; indeed, the entirety of its reason might have been plainly writ in their works-’
‘But those works have all been destroyed, by their own hands-’
‘By the Lord of Hate, you mean. It was his arguments that mined unto crumbling the foundations of the Jaghut, until they could not trust all they stood upon. The losses to us all, of that vast knowledge, are immeasurable.’
Ilgast Rend grunted. ‘I never shared your respect for the Jaghut, commander. They remind me of the Deniers in the manner in which they turned away from the future — as if to wash their hands of it. But we must all face our days and nights, for they are what await us. Not even a Jaghut can walk back into his or her past. No matter how directionless a step seems when taken, it is always forward.’