I sat atop the mound for a long time, watching the clouds billow and bloom across the enormous sky. The barrows were silent sentinels in every direction. The river was a mirror to the vastness of it.

I didn't trust my legs, so I slid down the barrow mound on my back and set off towards the water. I scrambled down the bank, feet sinking in mud. Up close though the river was covered in tiny ripples that spoiled the reflection. I saw brown hair, the suggestion of a beard. I could see no scars. I touched the side of my head. I had two ears. I dipped my hands into the water and watched them rest under the sparkles. They were fine and long-fingered. Elegant hands. I had seen travelling players with hands like these. I remembered the bowl-shaped instrument that I had left up on the hill.

I should have marched north right then, back up towards Telbridge and the Grendlewald. I don't know why I didn't.

Well actually, this is a lie.

The truth is, she had rejected me, and some part of me wanted to do the same to her. Now I was no longer broken, now I had something to offer, some nasty little part of me wanted to pay her back.

"Look at me," I was thinking. "If she could see me now, she'd be sorry."

Teleth Kier was calling. Maybe I could find another girl in the city. I could go back North later with money and a girl in tow, show Fen what she had missed out on, maybe make her jealous.

These are not worthy thoughts, and it shames me to admit to them, especially given what would happen to her. I was a fool, running from a love that scared me.

I clambered up the barrow to spy the road. In the distance, under the sky, I could make out the boxy white outlines shimmering under the bay. I had a new destiny. A new heart beat within me. My old self lay mouldering in the earth.

Teleth Kier was calling, and it smelt of salt and money.

I could see it there, a white line on the horizon, towers and flags and masts, the Centester rising behind it, the white castle in the bay, where Morgan sat counting his gold. I could keep walking and never look back.

But as I watched, the city moved.

The land beneath it seemed to swell, like a boil. The blue sky darkened, kicked up a swirl of vapours that churned in the sky, blocking the sun, becoming the clouds. An unquiet symphony of cloud, and I felt I was looking not into cloud, but the heart of fate itself, the weave of destiny that lies beneath.

And the sky and the sea and the land, opened.

I can't describe it now, I can't even picture it. The sea had been an unbroken line across the horizon. Now it was cracked, like the chipped ring of a cup.

Black sparks began rising into the air from the sea behind the city. At first I thought them birds, but they were too large, too swift.

As I sat atop the barrow, one of them peeled away from the flock and came swooping down over the flat lands, wingtips brushing the grass and lifting spray from the river.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

A curling black line that kicked and wriggled in the air. I could make out features now. It was not a natural thing. It was an absence, a missing tooth, an uncapped well. It imposed itself on the wind, skidding sideways, leewards, pulsing and twitching like a knotted worm. Its body was a fat rope made of filthy rags. Below it hung a tangled complication of claws and silver shards. Its face was a naked maw, lined with black teeth that jutted in every direction.

The sheep scattered left and right beneath its passing.

It curved in the air and stooped, faster than falling, I dove into the chimney that opened at the top of the barrow, bracing my legs and back against the flintstones to keep from sliding. Above me the sky went dark, then light again. A plume of filthy ash billowed down the shaft. I held my breath as it washed over me.

I remained in the shaft for a long time. My feet were numb. My legs, braced against the slippery walls of the shaft, shook uncontrollably, yet still I waited. The pressure in my bladder built into a stinging agony. I sensed my corpse fifty feet below, waiting in the greater darkness.

The disk of sky above me flickered, dark and light, dark and light. I heard cries, like the lamentation of women. Eventually all was still.

When I peered out again, the wyrms had gone. The sky was roiling and the land was grey and silent.

The sheep were all dead. The pieces of them lay tumbled like dice across the darkening plain, red and white, red and white. My hand skidded on a stone. Speckles of blood smeared my palm. Little pieces of meat were mixed in with the grass.

In the distance something tall and impossibly graceful was walking, framed by the clouds. It sashayed like a dancer, its feet barely seemed to touch the ground, yet it was massive, dagger swift, graceful as lilies. Each stride was aeons. The wind spilled from its sides like a ship in full sail, slipping through the weave of the world, secrets and metal. Its legs were sensuous curves. Its feet were points that seemed barely to touch the ground. Its hands were long metal greeves with spikes that trailed behind.

"Sintarael" I breathed.

As though my words had given it solidity, it began to run across the field. Each stride ate a hundred yards. Its foot crunched into the top of a barrow and it leapt, a slow parabola, grazing the clouds with one outstretched hand. The grasses parted like the wake of a ship at its passing. It touched down silently, one hand brushing the stalks.

The southern sky was dark, thick with smoke. The city was ablaze. I saw a woman sprinting across the plain, head down, clutching a ragged bundle. She ran with intent, careful with her feet. One of the straps on her sandals had come undone. It flapped at her ankle, slap, slap, slap.

The armoured creature turned to watch her. Its head was like an insect's head, tiny on top of the massive body. It raised one elegant hand, a painter measuring a space, tracking her, waiting for the perfect moment. There was a drawing in, like an inbreath, as though sound and heat were being sucked from the air. The world became silent and dim. Then it pounced, higher than worlds, covering the space between them in a moment. The woman changed direction, brow furrowed, fists pumping by her sides.

Slap, slap, slap.

The armoured creature crouched, watching her. Slap, slap, she ran, and I thought she would get away. She was dodging between the barrows, clutching her ragged bundle. Her hair flicked out behind her. I could hear her breath, coming in short pants. Still the monster waited.

Faster than thought, one long arm flicked out and snatched her. She struggled, pounding the armoured fist, still clutching her bundle. It lifted her high, level with its eyes. She screamed into its face, furious, battering at the hand. Still the thing held her. Gradually she grew still, no longer screaming, instead she began whimpering. She held her bundle up to the creature, and I saw it was a baby. Still the creature held her, perfectly still, as though time did not matter.

Maybe it would wait forever.

Then it laid her on the ground, and rubbed her with the palm of its hand, and just like that, she was gone. The fresh earth gleamed red.

I stifled a cry and ducked back down inside the barrow. My heart was pounding. I squeezed my eyes shut but the image remained, the young woman, the baby, the rubbed out stain on the grass.

I have seen many things, but I still dream of that sometimes.

It was night before I emerged again, and by then the creature had gone, although I knew already which way it would have travelled. North, towards the ring.

Towards Fen.