When they finally reached Gull Crater, once again Arlen explained the idea of having a few hardy men willingly be in the presence of himself and Alfons while everyone else kept away. He delivered one of the medicine kegs.

The island's people had reacted to the news of invasion and plague by preparing as for more war. They'd been salting fish and training in the "Western" fighting style, all while trying to recover from the hurricane damage and a near-total shutdown of inter-island trade. Arlen praised their fortitude and gave them iron.

He had some limited, awkward contact with the chief, old man Hassna. He still looked worn out and sickly but no worse than before the outsiders came. Fearing for his own life, he kept his distance and relayed that he wanted this visit to be a short one.

Alfons told him, "I come in the name of the gods, to make peace with your spirits."

The chief waved him onward, up the mountain.

Arlen escorted Alfons. The priest said, "Fighting in the name of the gods has defined my people. The answers we seek might be here. If I can learn more about our past, that's good for everyone."

At the crater rim, Arlen said, "Hear me. I want to know your will, and tell you what I've seen of the foreigners. This man wishes to speak too."

The crater rumbled and seethed. Steam rose from it. Alfons took a step back in fear. The spirits spoke in a chorus of hissing voices. "Arlen, first, what is your will? Would you go back to your true home, if you could?"

"I would explore this world instead, focusing on learning about the lands beyond here and bringing their secrets back to enrich the islands. I don't need to remain an outsider forever."

"The storm must be re-sealed to protect us!" said one spirit voice.

Another said, "Let him leave but seal it behind him."

"The enemy is already within our lands!"

A third spirit said, "Harness the storm's power instead for our own land and sea and sky."

While they bickered, Arlen asked, "Can that be done? Taking whatever force maintained the storm, as a power source?"

"We do not know. The foreign presence here is more important. The cursed battlefield's anger grows as the bloodline of the Builders returns. You must stop it."

Alfons stepped back up. "Greetings to you, oh spirits of the islands! I come from a faraway land to bring the blessings of our kind."

The answer he got was an incoherent ripple of voices. Finally they told him, "You understand us? The cursed battlefield must be sealed, tailless one."

"If we do this, will you listen to the tale of the powers that rule my people?"

"Your gods?" They spoke with curiosity and scorn and disbelief all at once.

"Yes. I would speak of them."

"The islands are ours! Ours!"

"What do you require of your people?"

"That they keep the old ways."

"I see," said Alfons, turning away to think. He said to Arlen, "I'm amazed that they speak so plainly. Almost like men."

"They puzzle me too," Arlen answered. "Only some people seem to get an audience."

Alfons said, "Again, if my folk do this favor of cleaning up your past, will you listen fairly to us about the future?"

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After a long while, the seething ghosts of the crater said, "Yes."

They retreated downhill and spoke again with the local rulers. They feared the very presence of the outsiders, for good reason, but had the support of its chief and war-chief at least.

#

Back at Newshore, Alfons consulted privately with the expedition's captain. Huygens came back from that meeting looking determined. He said, "The men and I have been testing ourselves against these ghosts. They haven't let up, much."

One of the native officers snapped, "Arlen, the outsiders can fight, but we're going to be overrun at this rate! The monsters grow bolder and even our strange shadow-cat seems afraid."

Arlen said, "Then shall we try to finish off whatever is out there?"

Huygens, Alfons, and the troops agreed, so long as they could go about it cautiously. There'd be eighteen men traveling with Arlen, an island office, and the two foreign leaders. Once again the Marivs insisted on parity.

So far, nobody had dared go all the way back to the ruin Arlen had reached deep in the island. Arlen provided more iron, openly using his powers now, and he helped keep the mystic wall in good repair before setting out. Once they marched, they found the Walker slinking alongside them protectively. The two groups were slightly reassured by having the abomination on their side.

The trail ahead was quieter than they expected, now. They followed the markers while keeping a lookout. Arlen stopped at one of the shelters he'd built and expanded it, wider and taller, with some iron bits scattered around. He transmuted parts of the wall itself into iron.

Alfons prayed over his efforts while he worked. He'd gotten the idea that he understood the village wall's sigils and could do just as well. Arlen figured the prayers couldn't hurt.

Whether it was the consecration or more likely, the presence of this many live bodies drew attention. The mist stirred, and shapes began to condense in the distance.

"Arlen!"

"I know!" he said, hurrying to finish a two-story tower. He enclosed it and peeked out from its window to see a horde. Flying ghosts, and an army of indistinct walking ones. Behind them came something whose footsteps splashed along the ground as though made of inky smoke.

"Rip into them!" he said, and began striking with distant stone attacks.

A few iron arrows flew. The spells did more harm at this range, thinning the ranks. Alfons continued his prayers and the sailors held back, their pistols no good at this range. Soon they had an easier time and could hardly miss. Everyone opened up. Explosions from the arcane guns sent a few pellets crashing into the swarm and penetrating two or three of the shades at once. More arrows found their mark. Arlen wreaked havoc in the center of the mob.

They'd been standing mostly outside the shelter but now made a fighting retreat into it. They struck from narrow windows and a doorway. The forty-foot space made for a kill zone against mindless foes. Not as much against the largest one.

It either grew or distorted light around it as it approached. Elephant sized, no, bigger! Arlen, the only one who'd seen an elephant, continued the assault with jagged spikes everywhere. Even the shadow cat hung back from it and focused on swatting the lesser undead. The great beast slammed into the wall like a wave, its inky flesh flowing and recoiling. On the second impact the thin wall broke. Rubble crashed through onto the defenders. The tower tilted.

Alfons and other men shouted from up there. Arlen stared wide-eyed into the face of the giant, eyeless thing and threw a stray iron chunk. A low, bone-shaking rumble came from it but its liquid-ink body hadn't been damaged much.

The Walker In Shadow pounced, hissing. The two great beasts tumbled and brawled while men fell back, breaking formation, trying to defend against the ghosts they could handle. Captain Huygens bellowed for order.

Arlen reached toward the tower, willing it to stabilize. Ghosts were pouring over the breach in the wall now. Arlen's attention was divided. He pelted the behemoth with stones and iron, distracting it from the big cat's assault. The ghostly wrestling pair crashed into the walls again and threatened to crush everyone in the tower. Those inside screamed for help. Arlen winced and with a gesture tore open a chunk of one damaged section to make enough room for people to jump out. The rock flowed down into a crude ramp to shorten the fall. Quick, rickety work.

The claws of the ghosts cut through men. The armor and shields helped but blows got through. One of the undead grabbed Arlen and he glimpsed an almost real face contorted with rage. Someone slashed through it and the beheaded specter wobbled backward. Arlen fought on. The tower crew dropped to ground level and joined in with melee.

The monstrous horde thinned. The shadow cat tore apart the great beast. Unearthly moans filled the battlefield but faded into silence at last.

Alfons didn't immediately tend to the wounded. Instead he steeled himself, went up to the Walker, and prayed while casting a spell of light.

"What are you doing?" said Arlen.

The beast's titanic form melted away, its darkness fading. What remained was a wounded, weakened black cat. "I think I understand now," Alfons said. "The old darkness here was strong enough to feed on itself and echo endlessly, but some bit of life remained."

Everyone not busy with the healing fussed over the doom cat, which sat there bewildered and smug.

Arlen asked, "Was that giant the source of all this awfulness?"

"That, I don't know. I think we're done for today. Let's see what tomorrow brings."