Wirrin noticed that her chest was tight almost before she noticed that she was awake at all. She had been injured a lot, in her life, but she’d never been stabbed in the lungs. As she tried to breathe the only thing she could compare it to was having a flu in winter. It wasn’t much like having a flu in winter.

Wirrin opened her eyes. She was in the healer’s wagon, on one of the mattresses that had been stacked along the wall last time she’d been here. Yern was sitting cross-legged right next to her, leg jiggling.

At about the same time, Wirrin was subject to a few too many voices.

‘Oh, good,’ Naertral burbled.

‘Ogakt,’ Yern shouted.

‘Finally,’ Ulvaer rattled.

‘You’re awake,’ Mkaer rumbled.

‘Yes, yes, I’m awake,’ Wirrin rasped.

Yern jumped to her feet and dashed away.

‘Tell them to become mages,’ Ulvaer rasped. ‘They’ve been sitting around my statue for days.’

‘Days?’ Wirrin said.

Yern reappeared with a waterskin. ‘Small sips, and be careful.’

The water was nicely refreshing. It had something of that mineral taste that some mountain springs have, which combined quite well with a little bit of myrrh and a lot of honey.

‘I don’t know,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘It’s been ages. They keep talking to me and not becoming mages.’

‘Why are there no more mages?’ Wirrin rasped. She cleared her throat and her whole torso felt full of phlegm.

‘Even Herdok said we had to wait for you to wake up,’ Yern nodded. ‘They all said it wouldn’t be right without you.’

‘I kept telling them that you’re already a mage,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘They didn’t need to wait.’

‘Some people have respect,’ Mkaer rumbled.

‘You want to lecture me on respect, filthy Mountain?’ Ulvaer screeched like a flock of drowning ravens. ‘After you left me alone in this desert to stand against the liars and their pious beasts? After you abandoned me?’

‘There was nothing we could have done,’ Mkaer rumbled. ‘There weren’t enough mages after Tertic.’

‘We fought together for five years in Tertic,’ Ulvaer rasped. ‘I was just as weakened as any of you. We lasted months out here, alone and unfortified. Think of what we could have done if I was not alone.’

‘Stop shouting,’ Wirrin rasped. She nodded for a confused Yern to give her more water.

Yern gave her more water and it only made that feeling of a torso full of phlegm worse. Wirrin started choking. Yern leapt to her feet again. ‘Roll onto your right side,’ she said, and dashed away.

It didn’t hurt, exactly, for Wirrin to roll onto her right side. It was so distinctly uncomfortable that it seemed it must have hurt. But it wasn’t exactly the same thing as pain.

Yern appeared with a wide bowl. ‘Spit in there.’

Wirrin hacked and spit. It felt more like throwing up. The result was a bowl unpleasantly full of bloody phlegm. Yern wiped around Wirrin’s mouth with a damp rag.

‘Lay back down for a while, breathe, but not too deep.’ Yern disappeared with the bowl and Wirrin lay back down.

Unpleasant as that had been, she felt much better for it.

‘May I return to berating the Mountain and the Swamp?’ Ulvaer rattled.

Wirrin was impressed that it was asking. She was impressed that the Fiends had actually been quiet when she told them to. She took a breath and felt that tightness in her lungs like having the flu and breathing the winter air in Oplalicanen.

‘You don’t have to talk to me about it,’ Wirrin rasped.

Though Wirrin couldn’t understand the Fiends any more than she normally could, when they spoke to each other in the back of her mind, it felt different. It wasn’t just the rattling, cackling power of Ulvaer making for a sharp contrast to the rumbling and burbling of Mkaer and Naertral. She could read the anger, stubbornness and regret in the otherwise unchanged power.

Yern came back with more water. ‘Are you talking to them? The Tesholg? Are they in your head?’ Despite the excitement in her eyes, she was steady and focused helping Wirrin drink.

Wirrin nodded once, it pulled at her left shoulder and hurt. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Ulvaer is berating Mkaer and Naertral about leaving it alone in the desert during the Gods’ War.’

‘And it was shouting?’ Yern nodded. ‘I would shout too, I think.’

‘She seems sensible,’ Ulvaer cackled, then returned to the argument.

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Wirrin smiled. ‘I might not shout,’ Wirrin said. ‘But I’m not so loud in general.’

Yern sat back on her heels. ‘Maybe not loud, but you’re certainly dramatic.’ She grinned. ‘And amazing. But dramatic for certain.’

Wirrin resisted the urge to defend herself. ‘What happened?’

‘You were all talking real quiet and then Herdok yelled to just kill them all,’ Yern started, at speed. ‘And you sent Osga back and everyone was looking confused because of course the Thaulgtok don’t know what Herdok said and then you raised your arms like “he said just kill them already” and that awesome statue burst out of the ground and then you were fighting them all with sand and magic and stuff and there were arrows and Tholsh got killed and then you killed them all and then you just started eating one of them and then you collapsed onto the body and we all ran over but there wasn’t even any blood and you were still alive.’

Yern took a big breath. ‘Since then me and Taug and sometimes Osga have been keeping an eye on you while everyone talks about what to do next and whether we should kill those Thaulgtok people. Herdok says we should kill them so that they don’t tell anyone what happened. No one else is really convinced, but no one knows what to do with them either way.’

Wirrin nodded along, which hurt less than last time.

‘But if you can just talk to the Tesholg any time, then so could the Thautholg and it doesn’t matter if we kill the Thaultok people anyway.’

Wirrin nodded.

‘Plus they weren’t the ones who were trying to kill us, that was the Thautholg.’

‘Just tell them to become mages,’ Ulvaer rasped. ‘Who cares what they do with the idiots.’

‘Faut tholget?’ Wirrin said.

Yern nodded enthusiastically. ‘That’s good. Thaulget.’

‘It doesn’t matter what you call them,’ Ulvaer rattled. ‘This is my only opportunity to have to more mages than Ocean and Disease.’

Wirrin shorted. To Yern, she asked: ‘Am I allowed to get up?’

Yern pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. Then her face lit up with an idea. ‘Try taking deep breaths.’ She leaned over to put an ear to Wirrin’s sternum.

Wirrin tried to take deeper breaths. She felt very congested, and it was uncomfortable in the same way rolling over had been uncomfortable. Technically, she could do it.

Yern sat up, brow still furrowed. ‘Osga said you should be alright to move,’ she said. ‘But I’m going to get you a chair.’ She dashed off again.

It was painful and distinctly uncomfortable to get from supine on the floor to sitting in the cushioned, wheeled chair. Yern got her a cushion to hug as if she had pneumonia and it did help a bit.

Wirrin found herself wearing something like a plain kaftan that buttoned almost all the way down. Presumably her shirt had been ruined by all the blood. It was similar to clothes she’d ended up in at hospitals before.

The sky was bright with fluffy white clouds and a pleasant breeze blew the cloying smell of frankincense from Wirrin’s nose. She hadn’t even noticed it until Yern opened the door.

It felt like every member of Vaulgat came over to enthuse about her survival and success by the time Yern pushed her all the way to the statue of Ulvaer, which was the current centre of the camp. Most of the clan had followed them there, too, with the exception of a couple of shepherds and parents of small babies.

The spring that Wirrin had broken open under the statue was still gently bubbling into a small pond in the sand. Osga and Herdok lounged near the statue, Saush was sat in her own wheeled chair. Ketla and the man were sat on the sand nearby, looking dour, not obviously restrained. A few more members of the clan lounged or hovered nearby, all armed.

Ulvaer’s statue was not disappointing. It was easily twice Wirrin’s height, when she was standing. The bright colours of the veins shifted and glittered in the sunlight. The brown skin glistened, and the fur seemed to rustle in the breeze. And it was looking at Wirrin.

‘Oh good, you’re awake,’ Herdok called, standing from his lounge chair. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Sore,’ Wirrin said, as Yern wheeled her closer.

Herdok grinned his bright, face-wrinkling grin. ‘Better to be sore than dead.’

Osga got up and came over. ‘Not too sore to be out of bed?’ she asked, examining Wirrin’s face and putting a hand to her sternum.

‘I checked already,’ Yern protested.

‘I am well enough to be out of bed,’ Wirrin said.

‘I am simply satisfying myself, Yern,’ Osga said. ‘If you feel well enough to be out of bed, then you are well enough to be out of bed.’

‘Let us begin,’ Herdok proclaimed, clapping his hands. ‘Now that our guest of honour has arrived.’

The members of Vaulgat who had followed to the statue spread out in a half-circle to either side of Wirrin and Yern. Herdok, an unusual air of focus about him, approached and knelt in front of Wirrin.

‘Tell us, Wirrin. What ritual must we perform to bring Tegalk Tesholg back to us?’ Herdok intoned.

‘I was always partial to hunters,’ Ulvaer cackled. ‘But it’s hardly the time.’

‘Simply put your hands to the statue and ask,’ Wirrin said.

Herdok stood and raised his arms in the air, looking around at the assembled people. ‘Gol gok ekt yekt,’ he announced. ‘Vesh ogtok vosaupk?’

The crowd was silent.

Herdok held out his hands, palms up, and bowed. ‘Aupkog, gokavtok.’

He turned on his heel and slowly approached the statue. The man from the Church stood from the sand. ‘You can’t do this,’ he shouted. ‘The Fiends were evil, you can’t bring them back.’

‘Vosaupoll,’ Herdok called. ‘What is you weapon of choice, Touras?’

‘I… what… we don’t need to fight,’ Touras stuttered. ‘You need to listen. They were the reason Nesalan was so divided, so violent. Only by removing their influence could we find peace.’

‘Thaulgtok,’ Herdok called. ‘Do you speak challenge, or only lies, Touras?’

‘Leave it Touras,’ Ketla said, grabbing Touras’s shirt to pull him back down. ‘There’s no point.’

Touras looked around at the crowd, then at the snarling, corpulent statue. Then he sat back down.

‘Fautolg,’ Herdok called. The crowd chuckled.

Herdok resumed his slow approach. This time, everyone was silent. The air was excited, reverent. Yern was bouncing on her heels, shifting Wirrin’s chair just enough to notice.

Herdok, ankle deep in water, held out his hands to Ulvaer’s statue, palms up, and placed them reverently on the Fiend’s huge belly. Nothing happened. So faint she might not have noticed it without the silence, Wirrin felt that cackling, rattling, rasping power of Ulvaer somewhere in the back of her head.

The feeling was difficult to describe. It was something like an arrow passing near Wirrin’s head. Something like a distant mountain shifting just a little. Something like a lasso.

Around Herdok’s feet, the water dried up. He took his hands from Ulvaer’s statue and turned to look at the crowd. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears. The bubbling spring left him untouched as he walked out of the water.

Then he grinned, that big, gleaming grin of his, as tears started to trickle down his cheeks. ‘Ulvaer says we ought to hurry up.’

That feeling at the edge of Wirrin’s perception was drowned out by congratulations and chatter, excitement and questions. The crowd surged out of formation. No one else approached the statue alone.

Of the eighty-odd adults and older teenagers in the clan, forty of them were mages within half an hour, including Saush but not Osga or Taug. At encouragement from the new mages, almost everyone in the clan, including the small children and some of the babies, touched the statue and spoke to Ulvaer.

Cooking fires were lit, alcohol was produced. The feeling changed from that of a ritual to a bright festival. Yern, still holding the back of Wirrin’s chair, was not the only one who didn’t speak to Ulvaer, but she was one of very few.