Wirrin woke to something heavy on her chest. That much was fine, expected even. Wirrin put her arms over Yern and opened her eyes. She was in a cell. That was nostalgic. She hoped she’d ended up in Ahepvalt and not Epatlok. She wondered if she could tell the difference by feeling, but that sense through the ground didn’t seem to extend past the walls of the cell.

‘Vos tholgek,’ Yern muttered.

‘Were you awake?’ Wirrin muttered. ‘Did you see which way we went?’

‘I was under the ship,’ Yern said. ‘It was awful. I kept throwing up. That man was right about ships.’

‘Did we keep going up the river?’ Wirrin asked.

Yern looked at her with a frown. ‘I think so. Not worth it. We should have walked.’

Wirrin was still dressed in her spring linens with her autumn coat over top. Yern was still hanging with Wirrin’s winter coat. Yern’s new backpack was gone. All of Wirrin’s gear was gone.

The bed in the cell was almost as comfortable as the bed in the bunkhouse had been. Wirrin was tempted to just go back to sleep. Her whole body felt heavy, weak, floppy like her bones hadn’t all returned yet.

‘Vonaer’s mages stand guard outside,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘Only they could block me like this.’

‘Has it been folded in, do we think?’ Wirrin thought. ‘Or do they not know what I’m actually doing here?’

‘If we’re really in Ahepvalt, Azavaer should be common here,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘They could not keep it out of this.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Yern whispered.

Wirrin shook her head gently. ‘Did they say why they hadn’t killed me?’

‘Not that I heard,’ Yern muttered, pouting.

Wirrin had a thought. It wouldn’t work.

She put her hands on either side of Yern’s face and closed her eyes. She took deep breaths and tried to concentrate on something that wasn’t there.

'Wirrin aup Ahepvalt,' Ulvaer was rattling.

'Ekt goltok taktakoget olg?' Herdok wondered. 'Helgettok?'

'Aupk,' Ulvaer rattled. 'Olg gok tholgtok shyavt fogalk. Vikt autakavat.’

‘Tholgtok vosgok shyavt golokt,’ Herdok said.

Wirrin came back to herself, breath ragged.

‘I don’t like that at all,’ Ulvaer rasped.

‘I think it’s fun,’ Naertral burbled.

Yern was frowning down at Wirrin. Wirrin shrugged, then kissed Yern on the forehead. ‘It’ll be fine, probably.’

Yern rolled her eyes. ‘Vos tholgek.’ Then wiped her forehead.

‘You’re so rude to me,’ Wirrin smiled. ‘After I let you travel with me and everything.’

‘I’m starting to think you were right the first time,’ Yern announced. ‘I should have stayed home and been bored.’

‘I thought the same thing, first time I ended up in gaol,’ Wirrin said. ‘Thought my life would be ruined. I’d be sent to Telenva to die in the mines. They just let me out the next day. My mother was much more upset about it than I was.’

Yern managed to settle further into Wirrin. ‘My mother wouldn’t care, if she even remembers I exist.’

Wirrin put her arms around Yern again. ‘My mother cared. She just didn’t know what to do, I think. The world was too unstable for her.’

‘Mine just left,’ Yern said. ‘Popped me out and went about her business. She must have been shyolg, to stay with Vaulgat. But no one ever saw her again.’

Wirrin went ‘hmmm’.

‘Is your mother still worried about you?’ Yern asked.

‘Oh, she’s dead,’ Wirrin said. ‘About twenty years now.’

‘Right in the middle of winter?’ Yern smirked. ‘Did she freeze to death?’

‘It felt like she just gave up. Her heart stopped working, I’m told.’

‘That was probably sad for you,’ Yern said. ‘Hoget tholget.’

‘It was nice, I think,’ Wirrin said. ‘I left as soon as she was buried, started exploring Nesalan. Haven’t looked back since, really.’

Yern nodded. ‘And that’s how I ended up in prison.’

‘We’re in gaol, not prison,’ Wirrin smiled. ‘I’m not going to prison.’

‘You think when they kill you I’ll get sent to Telenva to work in the mines?’ Yern muttered. ‘I could orchestrate a prison break, like the four hundred year parade.’

‘You might live to the six hundred year parade,’ Wirrin said. ‘Might be too old to start another riot by then.’

‘I don’t…’ Yern yawned. ‘I don’t have to wait that long.’

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‘I suppose not,’ Wirrin said. ‘The five hundred and twenty eight year riot doesn’t have the same ring, though.’

Yern yawned again. ‘Maybe five hundred and thirty. Got to… ‘ yawn ‘got to get strong first, working in the mines.’

Wirrin took deep breaths. It was easier than it had been before the Flesh mage. Had she been fixed? That seemed foolish.

Wirrin resisted the urge to follow Yern into sleep. ‘Tell me about the Gods,’ she thought. ‘What are they like? How could I manipulate them?’

‘What are they supposed to be like now?’ Mkaer rumbled.

‘Nothing,’ Wirrin thought. ‘They’re just good and right. They know what’s best for us and they care about our wellbeing.’

Naertral laughed like that pond full of frogs.

‘It’s interesting that they are less, now,’ Ulvaer rasped. ‘Once we were more like people. We had our own thoughts, our own interests. Our own disagreements.’

‘Mkaer and Naertral said that Vonaer and Raerna used to disagree often.’

‘Vonaer was disagreeable,’ Ulvaer cackled.

‘It considered itself the bringer of civilisation,’ Mkaer rumbled.

‘The rest of us represented the natural world,’ Naertral burbled. ‘Especially Ulvaer, Haerst, Finaer, and myself. Swamp, desert, mountains, ocean. All places in need of taming.’

‘It, most of all, did not like Finaer and myself,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘That the people of the south had built so much without it.’

‘As much as we cared about civilisation, we thought of the humans as the bringers of it,’ Naertral burbled.

‘It liked none of us,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘The filthy Mountain says it was hated most by Vonaer. I was included in that number.’

‘It liked us least of all of you. It liked you least of all of us,’ Mkaer rumbled.

‘My people had no interest in settling,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘Vonaer hated it. That is why it and Poison built those rivers. To bring civilisation to the desert.’

‘It conflicted most often with Raerna, I think,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘Even if it liked most of us less. Raerna was most openly opposed to its way of thinking. My mages could build, Finaer always stayed in the south. Raerna wanted a world of growing things, it preferred nomads.’

‘If any of you liked me, it was Raerna,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘It did not like me, we were too opposed. But my people suited it.’

‘Raerna wanted freedom? Wildness?’ Wirrin thought.

‘It thought it should be the only one to intervene,’ Naertral burbled. ‘It wanted my swamps dry and flowering.’

‘It and Finaer got along well,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘It needed Finaer to keep the ice out of the Shielded Valley.’

‘Were all the Gods like that, then? Certain of their own correctness?’

‘Only those two,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘Tontaer was little, uninteresting. It was not war. It spread into the desert for its speed, but it was barely more popular than I.’

‘It was very popular in Keredin,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘All sorts of sport and competition was held in its name.’

‘Keredin is still like that,’ Wirrin thought. ‘When I was there, there was always some kind of athletic competition going on.’

‘It spread all over Nesalan, for its utility. Its mages carried messages quicker than horses could. They worked without tiring, much stronger than anyone else,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘But no, it was not popular.’

‘Iltavaer, too, was inferior,’ Naertral burbled. ‘It was in the west, near Gnaer, at first. Its mages could be strong, but not as strong as Tontaer’s. They could heal, but not as well as Gnaer’s, not as comprehensively. It’s strangeness was off-putting, like Ulvaer.’

‘It was not so interesting,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘Its mages were hardy, they were strong. They could fix wounds much more easily than Gnaer’s mages could. But they could deform their flesh so severely, if they wished. Their medicine was useful, of course, but they were so strange.’

‘It must have been interesting enough, if it wasn’t outcast like you were,’ Wirrin thought.

‘It was useful enough,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘It was popular in the west, for its mages’ strength and their ability to instantly close wounds. It made for a great farmer, if you could put up with its strangeness.’

‘What about Azavaer?’ Wirrin thought. ‘You haven’t mentioned it once.’

‘Azavaer was inoffensive,’ Naertral burbled.

‘It offended me,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘The Mountain quite liked it.’

‘Azavaer may have considered itself above all the rest of us,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘It claimed always to be interested in peace, mindfulness, calmness. We got along well, but it got along well with everyone, bar Ulvaer.’

‘It was my contrast, though certainly it would have said the same of me,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘We disagreed always, from the moment we met. It was near me, further north, but close. It did not like our hunger, our energy. It sought to be warm, and not burning.’

That image of a Light mage burning the eyes out of a young man meandered through Wirrin’s head again. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed,’ she thought.

‘It must love this world,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘It and Vonaer. They would have sought a world like this, filled with order and peace and control. It seemed, before the War, like we all stood in the way of that dream.’

Wirrin frowned to herself. ‘If they want to know how I’m like this, why would they exclude Vonaer and Azavaer? Those two would have just as much interest in knowing, surely?’

‘Unless you’re wrong,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘And they seek to understand you for a different reason. Not simply to prevent it from happening again.’

‘You’re sure there’s been no one like me before?’ Wirrin thought. ‘No one wanted to be a mage for more than one of you?’

‘Oh, many did,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘The power appealed greatly, to some.’

‘And you denied them all? Or did it not work?’

‘I denied them all,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘Someone seeking that sort of power did not interest me.’

‘That’s the only reason they wanted more than one of you? I don’t seek power.’

‘Yes you do,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘You may not have much use for it, once you have it. But you seek it non-the-less.’

Wirrin frowned a little more. ‘Even if that’s true, surely seeking power isn’t the only reason to want to be a mage of more than one of you… Outsiders? Think, for example, how useful a medic a mage of Tontaer and Iltavaer might be. How proficient a farmer a mage of Raerna and Finaer might be.’

‘What combination would include any of us?’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘Perhaps we are simply the wrong ones to ask.’

‘A mage of Raerna and Naertral, too, could be a deeply useful farmer,’ Wirrin thought.

‘Raerna didn’t like me,’ Naertral burbled. ‘Even if its mages were not so convinced, at times, none of them came to me with the request.’

‘No one came to me with the request at all,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘I would have agreed. Think how interesting.’

‘Naertral, you said you didn’t share Mkaer’s morals,’ Wirrin thought. ‘You denied anyone who came to you?’

That burbling, shushing, hissing of Naertral’s voice seemed to hang motionless in Wirrin’s mind. She wondered if she’d ever experienced one of the Fiends just thinking in her mind before. It was similar to the way they talked to each other, but it was only Naertral who did it.

‘It seemed, then, a much more significant request than it seems now.’ Naertral’s voice was slow, measured. ‘Even spread out as we had all become, we were all islands unto ourselves. Individual, separate from each other. I must have refused all who asked, none argued sufficiently to abandon that individuality. Now, it seems foolish to have refused.’

‘You’d best not refuse when Ulvaer’s mages come to the swamp,’ Wirrin thought.

Ulvaer and Naertral laughed like that pond full of frogs being tortured to death.

‘I no longer fear for my individual nature,’ Naertral burbled. ‘It is retained here, despite the others.’

‘We would never have tolerated someone to speak to us so, before you,’ Ulvaer rasped.