The wind moaned at their backs, raising small gusts of dust at their feet, rasping like tongues against their skin. It carried in it a faint scent of spice.
Felisin judged an hour had passed before Heboric paused. They stood before the grand entrance to a temple of some kind, where the columns, squat and broad, had been carved into a semblance of tree trunks. A frieze ran beneath the cracked, sagging plinth, each panel a framed image which Kulp's warren-cast light eerily lit from beneath.
The mage was staring up at the images. Hood's breath! he mouthed.
The ex-priest was smiling.
'It's a Deck,' Kulp said.
Yet another pathetic assertion of order.
'The Elder Deck, aye,' Heboric nodded. 'Not Houses but Holds. Realms. Can you discern Death and Life? And Dark and Light? Do you see the Hold of the Beast? Who sits upon that antlered throne, Kulp?'
'It's empty, assuming I'm looking at the one you mean – the frame displays various creatures. The throne is flanked by T'lan Imass.'
'Aye, that is the one. No-one on the throne, you say? Curious.'
'Why?'
'Because every echo of memory tells me there used to be.'
Kulp grunted. 'Well, it's not been defaced – you can see the back of the throne, and it looks as weathered as everywhere else.'
'There should be the Unaligned – can you detect those?'
'No. Perhaps around the sides and back?'
'Possibly. Among them you'll find Shapeshifter.'
'All very fascinating,' Felisin drawled. 'I take it we're to enter this place – since that's where the wind is going.'
Heboric smiled. 'Aye. The far end shall provide our exit.'
The interior of the temple was nothing more than a tunnel, its walls, floor and ceiling hidden behind packed layers of sand. The wind raised its voice the farther in they went. Forty paces later they could discern pale ochre light ahead.
The tunnel narrowed, the howling wind making it difficult to resist being pushed forward headlong, and they were forced to duck into a shambling crouch near the exit point.
Heboric held back just before the threshold to let Kulp pass, then Felisin. The mage was the first to step outside; Felisin followed.
They stood on a ledge, the mouth of a cave high on a cliff face. The wind tore at them as if seeking to cast them out, flinging them into the air – and a fatal drop to jagged rocks two hundred or more arm-spans below. Felisin moved to grip one crumbling edge of the cave mouth. The vista had taken her breath away, weakened her knees.
The Whirlwind raged, not before them but beneath them, filling the vast basin that was the Holy Desert. A fine haze of suspended dust drifted above a floor of seething yellow and orange clouds. The sun was an edgeless ball of red fire to the west, deepening its hue as they watched.
After a long moment Felisin barked a laugh. 'All we need now is wings.'
'I become useful once again,' Heboric said, grinning as he stepped out to stand beside her.
Kulp's head whipped around. 'What do you mean?'
'Tie yourselves to my back – both of you. This man's got a pair of hands and he can use them, and for once my blindness will prove a salvation.'
Kulp peered down the cliff face. 'Climb down this? It's rotten rock, old man—'
'Not the handholds I'll find, Mage. Besides, what choice do you have?'
'Oh, I simply can't wait,' Felisin said.
'All right, but I'll have my warren open,' Kulp said. 'We'll fall just as far, but the landing will be softer – not that it'll make much difference, I suppose, but at least it gives us a chance.'
'You have no faith!' Heboric shouted, his face twisting as he fought back peals of laughter.
'Thanks for that,' Felisin said. How far do we have to be pushed? We're not slipping into madness, we're being nudged, tugged and pulled into it.
A hot, solid pressure closed on her shoulder. She turned. Heboric had laid an invisible hand on her – she could see nothing, yet the thin weave of her shirt's fabric was compressed, slowly darkening with sweat. She could feel its weight. He leaned close. 'Raraku reshapes all who come to it. This is one truth you can cling to. What you were falls away, what you become is something different.' His smile broadened at her snort of disdain. 'Raraku's gifts are harsh, it's true,' he said in a tone of sympathy.
Kulp was readying harnesses. 'These straps are rotting,' he said.
Heboric swung to him. 'Then you must hold tight.'
'This is madness.'