Page 1106

‘Are you done?’ said Garovel. ‘We didn’t come here to have our worthiness measured.’

‘Yes,’ said Rasalased, ‘you found yourselves here by chance and are now trapped. And you wish me to do something about that, I assume?’

‘Would that even be possible?’ said Garovel.

‘Of course. I will free you all once your souls have finished tempering.’

That left a brief silence in its wake.

‘...Excuse me?’ said Chergoa. ‘What do you mean “tempering”?’

‘Did you not notice? Garovel, for instance. He was exhausted and unconscious upon his arrival here, and yet now, he is perfectly well.’

‘Wait,’ said Garovel. ‘Your soul was dormant when we arrived. How could you know that I was--?’

‘Time is not time,’ said the Dry God.

‘Right,’ said Garovel. ‘If that’s true, then why are we “waiting” for this tempering of yours to finish?’

‘We are not waiting. We are talking. The tempering will finish after we are done.’

‘But then--’ said Garovel. ‘Wouldn’t that mean--? What? Does that mean you’re controlling when the tempering finishes?’

‘Am I? Perhaps I am. It matters little. Time is not time.’

‘Uh-huh...’

Chergoa tried to intervene. ‘I’d like to know more about what this tempering--’

‘Young Hector,’ said Rasalased. ‘What is this that you have brought me? I sense its residue in your soul, so it must be yours.’

Hector was confused. ‘Uh...?’

‘An offering? Very kind of you. But then, you ARE very kind, aren’t you? I see that, too. A deserving young soul, yours is. In need of help. But I have no use for gifts. I have no use for anything.’

‘Please don’t ignore me,’ said Chergoa. ‘Tell us what you mean when you say our souls are tempering.’

‘Recovering,’ said Rasalased. ‘Simple. You were exhausted. Now you are not. But for the young ones there, it means more.’

‘...Go on.’

‘You will see.’

‘Ugh.’

‘You may be angry with me at first. But hold true, and you will see.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Garovel. ‘You’re not being cryptic enough for my tastes. Could you add in something about believing in ourselves when the time is right?’

‘Time is not--’

‘Not time, yeah, I got it, thanks.’

Page 1105

‘Do you remember the last person you talked to?’ asked Garovel.

‘I remember everything,’ said Rasalased. ‘Al’raml yatahmmaluh.’

‘Ah,’ said Garovel. ‘“The sand endures.” Indeed, it does.’

‘A petulant whelp, the last one was. Believed the blessing alone made him worthy. But I learned my lesson after the three. I looked into his soul and saw him truly. Saw his dreams. His intentions. His secrets. Just like I am doing to all of you now.’

‘Oh,’ said Garovel. ‘Is that so? Well, then. I would say that such a thing is impossible, but... aha, for you, it probably isn’t, is it?’

‘My spiritual kin,’ said Rasalased. ‘Both of you. Very old, indeed.’

‘Mm, you can sense that, huh?’ said Garovel. ‘Chergoa and I were born Lyzakks, yes.’

‘Very troubled, as well,’ said Rasalased. ‘Very concerned. Very earnest. Selfless, in many ways. Ambitious, in others. Deceptive, too. Hungry for power. As all reapers are.’

‘Hey--’

‘I’m--’

‘And the two young ones, let me see. Emiliana Eirwen Elroy. How anachronistic. Ha! A Rainlord! All is explained, then.’

‘How do you know my--?’

‘You, too, have a troubled spirit. Aching in all aspects. But also still being forged. Burning away remnants of selfishness. Of naivete, too. And there is deep worry. For yourself. For your kin. A terrible homesickness. You, child, have my sympathy.’

‘Ah, um--’

‘And the last one...’

And Hector couldn’t stop himself. ‘Aw, shit,’ he thought aloud.

‘Hector Alexander Goffe,’ said Rasalased. ‘The mixed heritage of a common mongrel.’

‘What the fuck do--?’ tried Garovel.

‘And such an incredibly weak soul. Troubled even by its own existence. Twice broken, now mending. Desperately reforging itself. And angry at its own workmanship. In dire search of purpose and fortitude.’

Well, that hurt even more than he’d expected.

‘However,’ said Rasalased, ‘therein dwells supreme selflessness. And a curious strength in weakness. Almost indescribable. How strange, you are.’

Page 1104

There came an unfamiliar voice from the abyss, but Hector couldn’t understand anything it was saying. It had to be speaking Valgan, he figured, but it didn’t sound much like when he’d heard Asad speak it.

Garovel answered the voice, also in Valgan, probably.

Chergoa was kind enough to keep them informed. ‘Yeah, that’s definitely the Dry God,’ she said. ‘Garovel is attempting to explain our circumstances, along with who we are.’

Hector had about a thousand questions, but he certainly wasn’t going to interrupt.

‘Now he’s explaining what is presumably still going on outside. I’m not sure that’s wise, though. It might be better to take it slower and just--’

‘Mohssian?’ came the unfamiliar voice. ‘You speak Mohssian?’

‘YOU speak Mohssian?’ returned Garovel, sounding truly shocked.

‘Yes.’

‘When did you learn it?’ asked Chergoa.

‘When is when?’

‘...What?’

‘As a child, I learned. An inelegant language. Lazily structured. Full of hard noises.’ His accent was incredibly strong, but Hector had no trouble understanding him. Every word sounded quite deliberately chosen.

Emiliana decided to speak up. ‘How old are you now?’

‘I do not understand the question.’

‘Er...’ She took a second before trying again. ‘You just said that you have memories of your childhood. So do you know how much time has passed since then?’

‘No,’ he said flatly.

‘Oh,’ said Emiliana.

‘Time is not time,’ said the Dry God.

‘What does that mean?’ said Chergoa.

‘Everything. It means everything.’

No one had a response for that, apparently.

Garovel chose to change the subject. ‘Rasalased. That is your name, yes? Rasalased?’

‘Yes. No. It was. Once. Is it still? It should be. Yes. Time is not time.’

Hector was beginning to get the picture.