Out from the wagon’s blessed gloom, tumbling across rock-studded dirt-chains whipping on all sides, lifting clear and then falling back to track twisting furrows, lifting again as whoever or whatever was at the other end heaved forward another single, desperate step. The sound was maddening, pointless, infuriating.
Apsal’ara rolled upright, gathering a length of chain and glaring across at Dra-conus. ‘Come closer,’ she hissed, ‘so I can smash your pretty face.’
His smile was humourless. ‘Why would I do that, Thief?’
‘To please me, of course, and I at least deserve that much from you-for dragging me out here.’
‘Oh/ he said, ‘I deserve many things, Apsal’ara. But for the moment, I will be content with your attention.’
‘What do you want? We can do nothing to stop this. If I choose to greet my end lounging on the axle, why not?’
They were forced to begin walking, another step every few moments-much slower now, so slow the pathos stung through to her heart.
‘You have given up on your chain?’ Draconus asked, as if the manner in which he had brought her out here was of no import, easily dismissed now.
She decided, after a moment, that he was right. At the very least, there’d been some… drama. ‘Another few centuries,’ she said, shrugging, ‘which I do not have. Damn you, Draconus, there is nothing to see out here-let me go back-’
‘I need to know,’ he cut in, ‘when the time comes to fight, Apsal’ara-will you come to my side?’
She studied him. A well-featured man, beneath that thick, black beard. Eyes that had known malice long since stretched to snapping, leaving behind a Strange bemusement, something almost regretful, almost… wise. Oh, this sword’s realm delivered humility indeed. ‘Why?’ she demanded.
His heavy brows lifted, as if the question surprised him. ‘I have seen many,’ he said, haltingly, ‘in my time. So many, appearing suddenly, screaming in horror, in anguish and despair. Others… already numbed, hopeless. Madness arrives to so many, Apsal’ara…’
She bared her teeth. Yes, she had heard them. Above the places where she hid. Out to the sides, beyond the incessant rains, where the chains rolled and roped, fell slack then lifted once more, where they crossed over, one wending ever farther to one side, cutting across chain after chain-as the creature at the end staggered blind, unknowing, and before too long would fall and not rise again. The rest would simply step over that motionless chain, until it stretched into the wagon’s wake and began dragging its charge.
‘Apsal’ara, you arrived spitting like a cat. But it wasn’t long before you set out to find a means of escape. And you would not rest.’ He paused, and wiped a hand across his face. ‘There are so few here I have come to… admire.’ The smile Dra-conus then offered her was defenceless, shocking. ‘If we must fall, then I would choose the ones at my side-yes, I am selfish to the last. And I am sorry for dragging you out here so unceremoniously.’
She walked alongside him, saying nothing. Thinking. At last, she sighed. ‘It is said that only one’s will can fight against chaos, that no other weapons are possible.’
‘So it is said.’
She shot him a look. ‘You know me, Draconus. You know… I have strength. Of will.’
‘You will fight long,’ he agreed, nodding. ‘So very long.’
‘The chaos will want my soul. Will seek to tear it apart, strip away my awareness. It will rage all around me.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Some of us are stronger than others.’
‘Yes, Apsal’ara. Some of us are stronger than others.’
‘And these you would gather close about you, that we might form a core. Of resistance, of stubborn will.’
‘So I have thought.’
‘To win through to the other side? Is there an other side, Draconus?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know,’ she repeated, making the words a snarl. ‘All my life,’ she said, ‘I have chosen to be alone. In my struggles, in my victories and my failings. Draconus, I will face oblivion in the same way. I must-we all must. It does nothing to stand together, for we each fall alone.’
‘I understand. I am sorry, then, Apsal’ara, for all this.’
‘There is no other side, Draconus.’
‘No, probably not.’
She drew up more of her chain, settled its crushing weight on to her shoulders, and then pulled away from the man, back towards the wagon. No, she could not give him anything, not when hope itself was impossible. He was wrong to admire her. To struggle was her own madness, resisting something that could not be resisted, fighting what could not be defeated.