Isaiah sat and watched Hereward sleeping. She was deeply asleep, her entire body relaxed, her mouth slightly open, her face so tranquil Isaiah thought it almost looked pretty.
The book lay at her side.
Isaiah looked at it for a very long time before he leaned over and gently slid it away from her.
He more than thought Hereward would have sprung awake as he took the book, but she slept on, and Isaiah settled himself with the book in his lap.
They’d lit a small fire earlier, and it still flickered enough that he could read the list of chapters.
They were all the same.
What the river god needed to do to save the land.
Isaiah sat with his eyes on the book for some time, then he raised his face to look around.
There must be, he thought, a hundred thousand Skraelings encircling them now. They were hunkered down on the ground, their silvery eyes noting his and Hereward’s every movement, their tongues lolling from their mouths. From time to time one of them would whisper, or whine, but they made no move in their direction.
Isaiah looked to the south. He could feel the One moving closer. He would arrive within the day, and Isaiah felt his stomach turn over with the nausea of fear.
What did the One want? To kill him? To chat?
Even if Isaiah had wanted to, there was no escape.
He returned his attention to the book, and turned the page to the first (and only) story: What the river god needed to do to save the land.
It was not very long, and Isaiah read it in only a few minutes.
He closed the book, his face expressionless, his thoughts in turmoil.
Finally, after almost an hour of sitting completely still, he slid a finger under the cover, opening a very slight gap into the pages, then he whispered a phrase in a strange guttural language.
For a moment, nothing. Then there was a movement among the black braids that hung about his shoulders, and a small green frog crept down his arm, hesitated on his hand, then slipped inside the book.
Another one followed, then another, and soon score after score of frogs were emerging from Isaiah’s braids and moving over his shoulder and down his arm to vanish into the book.
Eventually, it was done. Isaiah closed the book and slid it back close to Hereward.
It was very dark by now, and he did not think that the Skraelings had seen the frogs crawling over his arm and hand into the book.
He hoped not.
Isaiah and Hereward slept.
There was a movement at the edge of the river. A rat, unbelievably, crawled out from the glass river as if it had been mere water. He crept close to the sleeping couple, his eyes keeping careful watch on the encircling hordes of Skraelings, even though he was certain they could not see nor otherwise perceive him.
The rat did not pause to study either Isaiah or Hereward. Instead he moved straight to the Book of the Soulenai. The rat paused as he reached the book, then reached out a forefoot and touched the cover gently.
A moment passed, then the rat edged up the cover and, with a wriggle, slipped inside the book.
The cover of the book sank back down flat, and all was still.
To the south the One strode out, drawing closer to Isaiah and Hereward.
His face was set directly north, but his thoughts were elsewhere—to the northeast, where he could sense the Lealfast aiding Isembaardians to flee through the Salamaan Pass.
Bingaleal. It was Bingaleal who led the Lealfast contingent at the Salamaan Pass.
Good. The One knew that Bingaleal was the most committed to the idea of abandoning the Lealfast’s loyalty to the Lord of Elcho Falling. Whatever Bingaleal decided, the rest of the Lealfast would accept, sooner or later.
Once he’d had his fun with Isaiah, then Bingaleal awaited and the trap for Maximilian Persimius could be set.
How long did the last of the Persimius mages have to live? A few weeks at the most.
And then…then everything on this land—every animal, every flower, every soul—could be absorbed into Infinity.
The One began to sing, his rich voice echoing over the landscape, and he sang of the nightmare of Infinity.