Dust of Dreams

round. Sandalath looked ready to ignite and split the heavy clouds overhead. Or cut a devastating path through the ramshackle, stretched-out camp of those islanders Yan Tovis had left behind—the poor fools lived in squalid driftwood huts and wind-torn tents, all along the highwater line like so much wave-tossed detritus. And though the water was ever rising, so that the spray of the tumultuous seas now drenched them, not one had the wherewithal to move.
    Not that they had anywhere to go. The forest was a blackened wasteland of stumps and ash for as far as he could see.
    Just outside Letheras, Sandalath had cut open a way into a warren, a place she called Rashan, and the ride through it had begun in terrifying darkness that quickly dulled to torrid monotony. Until it began falling apart.
Chaos, she said. Inclusions, she said. Whatever that means.
And the horses went mad.
    They had emerged into the proper world on the slope facing this strand, the horses’ hoofs pounding up clouds of ash and cinders, his wife howling in frustration.
    Things had eased up since then.
    ‘What in Hood’s name are you smiling about?’
    Withal shook his head. ‘Smiling? Not me, beloved.’
    ‘Blind Gallan,’ she said.
    There had been more and more of this lately. Incomprehensible expostulations, invisible sources of irritation and blistering fury.
Face it, Withal, the honeymoon’s over.
    ‘In the habit of popping up like a nefarious weed. Spouting arcane nonsense impressing the locals. Never trust a nostalgic old man—or old woman, I suppose. Every tale they spin has a hidden agenda, a secret malice for the present. They make the past—their version of it—into a kind of magic potion. “Sip this, friends, and return to the old times, when everything was perfect.” Bah! If it’d been me doing the blinding, I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have scooped out his entire skull.’
    ‘Wife, who is this Gallan?’
    She bridled, jabbed a finger at him. ‘Did you think I hadn’t
lived
before meeting you? Oh, pity poor Gallan! And if he left a string of women in the wake of his wanderings, why, be so good as to indulge the sad creature—well, this is what comes of it, isn’t it?’
    Withal scratched his head.
See what happens when you marry an older woman? And face it, it doesn’t take a Tiste Andii to have about a hundred thousand years of history behind her.
‘All right,’ he said slowly, ‘what now, then?’
    She gestured after the refugee she’d sent scampering. ‘He doesn’t know if Nimander and the others were with the Shake—there were thousands—the only time he saw Yan Tovis was at the landing, and she was three thousand paces away. But, then, who else could have managed to open the gate? And then keep it open to admit ten thousand people? Only Andii blood can open the Road, and only
royal
Andii blood could
keep
it open! By the Abyss, they must have bled one of their own dry!’
    ‘This road, Sand, where does it lead?’
    ‘Nowhere. Oh, I should never have left Nimander and his kin! The Shake not only listened to Blind Gallan, they then went and
believed
him!’ She stepped closer and raised a hand, as if to strike him.
    Withal backed up a step.
    ‘Oh, gods, just get the horses, Withal.’
    As he set off, he glanced—with odd longing—after the still-running refugee.
     
    A short time later they sat mounted, pack-horses behind them, while Sandalath, motionless, seemed to study something in front of them that only she could see. The waves thrashed to their left, the burnt forest stank on their right. The Nachts fought over a thick, massive length of driftwood that probably weighed more than all three put together.
That’d make a good club . . . for a damned Toblakai. Sink brace plugs, wrap the knobby end in hammered iron. Stud with beaten bronze rivets and maybe a spike or three. Draw wire down the length of the shaft, and then sink a deep and heavy counterweight butt—
    ‘It’s healing, but the skin is thin.’ She suddenly had a knife in her hand. ‘I can get us through, I think.’
    ‘Do you have royal blood then?’
    ‘Snap shut that trap or I’ll do it for you. I told you, it’s a huge wound—barely mended. In fact, it seems weaker on the
other
side, which isn’t good, isn’t right, in fact. Did they stay on the Road? They must have known that much at least. Withal, listen well. Ready a weapon—’
    ‘A weapon? What kind of weapon?’
    ‘Wrong choice. Find another