Isaiah stood, stretching out his muscles and looking around him. It had been two days now since he’d discovered Hereward and the Book of the Soulenai.
Both had complicated everything.
He’d wanted to continue further south, surveying the damage that had been done to Isembaard (and to his river), and discovering what had happened to Kanubai and to the pyramid.
In the latter case, Isaiah now had a very clear idea of what had happened to Kanubai, and had no need to travel south to investigate what had happened to the pyramid.
It was coming north with supernatural strides, coming to talk to him.
Isaiah could not have moved in any case. Shortly after he handed the Book of the Soulenai back to Hereward, Skraelings had begun to congregate nearby.
Not close, perhaps fifty paces away, but within hours thousands upon thousands of the wraiths had encircled them. Still, silent, hunched on the ground staring with their great silvered orbs hanging from their dog faces.
They allowed Isaiah and Hereward to visit the riverboat on two occasions to retrieve some supplies, but would not allow them to move any greater distance from their small camp by the side of the glassed river.
Isaiah knew their purpose was to keep him there for the One’s visit.
The One. The physical manifestation of mathematical perfection, as once worshipped by the Magi?
The wait was troublesome, not merely because Isaiah was highly wary of any confrontation between himself and the One—did it want to negotiate with him or destroy him?—but also because of Hereward.
Isaiah did not like her very much, and she, so far as he understood, loathed him. She also perplexed him, for he did not know how to treat her. His life as a Tyrant had been spent dealing with generals and soldiers, with nobles, with legends and heroes. The slaves and servants at his palace of Aqhat had been all but invisible to him. Isaiah had dealt with his palace chamberlain—he knew the man’s name, and he knew some of the man’s life beyond his role as chamberlain—but as for the others who served him, and who slipped in and out of the shadows of the palace…he had no idea.
He’d recognized Hereward’s face when first he’d seen her, so Isaiah knew he’d seen her about the palace—she’d very likely served both him and Ishbel within his private chambers—but she’d made no impression.
Kitchen steward?
He stretched the muscles in his back, then decided to sit down, and perhaps engage the woman in some conversation.
Anything to relieve the tension of waiting for the One.
“You worked directly under the palace chamberlain?” Isaiah said, trying to keep his mild dislike for the woman out of his voice.
Hereward, who had been looking at the book in her lap, now raised her gaze to his. “Yes. I reported to him. I organized all the meals in the palace, from what appeared on your breakfast platter to what the slaves scavenged in the stables, and supervised the kitchens.”
“An important role then. I must thank you.”
“If you must. I care not.”
Isaiah sighed. “Hereward. I can apologize again if you like. I am sorry that—”
“Oh for gods’ sakes, Isaiah. You’re just uncomfortable talking to someone who is so far beneath you. Leave it.”
Isaiah was sorely tempted to “just leave it,” but Hereward was by now becoming a serious irritation.
“Not everyone has time to take every slave under their wing and offer them endless kindness and compassion, Hereward.”
“I was not a slave!”
“My mistake.” No mistake at all. If she’d held such an important role within the palace then she could never have been a slave, but, as irritated and apprehensive as he was, Isaiah couldn’t resist taking the time to needle her.
They sat silently for some minutes, each careful not to look at the other, before Hereward finally spoke.
“What is happening, Isaiah? Our world is destroyed—do you not owe me some explanation?”
“Ancient demons and gods are risen, Hereward. I’m sorry, it is probably too much for you to take in, so I’ll—”
“Oh, you are a true bastard, aren’t you! Everyone not of your own nobility is a dimwitted ass whom you can safely either ignore or pity. None of you care one jot for anyone beneath you!”
“That’s not true, Hereward. We—”
“Don’t lie to me. Tell me, did Ezekiel take his family north with him? With your invasion?”
Isaiah was disorientated by the sudden question. “Ezekiel? Ah…yes, his three sons were with the invasion and I believe his wife and daughters traveled with the convoy as well.”
“Not all his daughters, Isaiah.”
“Sorry?”
“I am Ezekiel’s daughter, got on a slave one drunken night…and left to die while those born of a noble mother were taken north to revel in the glories and riches of victorious invasion.”
“By the gods, your well of bitterness is bottomless!”
Hereward’s jaw clenched and she looked away. “All I want to do is get away from you,” she said. “All I want is to get to some kind of safety, and live some kind of life. If I can’t have that, then all I want is to die. Damn it. Damn it! Take this book, Isaiah, and do with it what you want! Just let me go.”
She got to her feet and threw the book at Isaiah, who caught it awkwardly. “Let me go,” she said again.
“It is not I keeping you here, Hereward.”
Hereward stared about at the distant circle of Skraelings. Eventually she lowered her face into her hands and turned her back to Isaiah.
He sighed, and looked down the river.