Chapter 44 #4
‘No,’ Heartshamer says, his voice bitter for the first time. ‘I imagined not.’
He waves the cup towards her. ‘But ask yourself this. What becomes of the woman who is used to being cut and broken and cut again without end? Her flesh kept immortal and whole by the god inside her? What happens when she bleeds, when she suffers? Does she recoil in fear?’
He wipes his lips, inclines a finger to his temple. ‘Or does a curiosity, lizard-like, begin to stir? To see how much, just how much pain she can take? How much others might take in turn?’
Behind his back, Fallon rolls his eyes theatrically, and picks at a scab.
Heartshamer sighs. ‘The death of the gods bred monsters, Shipwright. I’m just the sanest of them.
’ He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Ask yourself what becomes of those who feel the voices gone from a newly silent head? Does peace finally descend? Do they retreat into the simple pleasures of life, do they hold that new silence like a pearl against their chests?’
He laughs. ‘Some, admittedly. Lucky bastards. I knew others that found the silence louder than words. Who took themselves to the old places, the holy and highest places and finding nothing, despaired. Who scattered their flesh, their broken bones on cliffside and shore, who swung a gallows loop from rafters and branches.’
His head sinks into his hands. ‘They were all just trying to flee their own traitor flesh. To find the gods again.’
He smiles sadly. ‘Then, of course, the last few of us simply learnt to lie. To make our own voices a replacement for the cacophony the gods had given us. We kept selling wisdom from the tips of our tongues, until we were discovered, or worse’ – he gestures to the tent, the chairs, the journals – ‘never found out at all.’
His fingers run over the grain of the table.
‘What worries me most is that some of us might have been pushed even further, that maybe out there among the surviving few, a bare pinprick of us all, the truly devoted, the truly driven will have taken their knowledge, their great whispering of the world before Crowkisser killed the gods and begun to dig. Down.’
His one eye fixes Shipwright’s gaze. ‘There’s another world beneath ours, you know. Bones turned to stone. Faint paintings upon walls that have never seen light. Sketches in caves miles below ground.’
Heartshamer’s hands trace the wood of the chair. ‘Echoes of peoples and pasts we can’t even imagine. And I’m scared that buried world had its gods. Had its voices too.’
Shipwright frowns. ‘Other gods?’
Heartshamer nods. ‘Or something like that. I gathered all the little scraps I could.’ He waves towards the tent flaps. ‘Trawled that nest of overpaid jackdaws for months on end.’
His voice is weary. ‘We like to talk about the earth, Shipwright. But we’ve always been afraid of it. Even if most of us don’t know why.’
Heartshamer’s knuckles are white under the bone. ‘I worry that Crowkisser was not afraid of the earth. I worry that it called to her.’
Fallon points at her. ‘See? Told you he’d know the score.’
Shipwright nudges Heartshamer. ‘Did you have to encourage him?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘An unfortunate side-effect of long association. The point is, I have a hunch that Crowkisser might be playing with things we barely understand. That we’re afraid to even speak about.’
He stands. ‘Which normally, I would be professionally loath to even mention, but Fallon impresses on me the importance of your mission north to those degenerates in Thell.’
He selects a book or two from the shelves as he talks and leafs through them absently.
‘We both felt that it was important that you knew a little more about what you were getting into.’ He runs his fingers down a page.
‘Twenty years is a small scrap of time to try and get a handle on the fears of this blasted earth.’
Shipwright feels a little grey, a little sick. ‘Shroud never mentioned this. The hosts. The earth.’ She trails off, uselessly.
Heartshamer raises an eyebrow. ‘Unsurprising. Given what happened with his wife, I think he rather wanted to forget about the gods altogether.’
Shipwright’s face goes still. ‘I think … I think he and I may have some things to talk about.’
Heartshamer closes the ledger with a satisfied nod. ‘Always advisable to know as much as you can about the people responsible for your life, I find.’
He crosses to Shipwright, lays a soft hand on her shoulder. ‘Trust me. Blind faith only gets you so far.’
He turns to Fallon. ‘I’ll continue to provide you with reports, via our mutual friend.’
Heartshamer pivots back to Shipwright. ‘I hope this information helped, Shipwright. More than it hurt, at least. I have the greatest respect for you. For the brave. For the kind.’
She looks at him for a moment. Part of her wants to punch him, for waking that little sliver of doubt in her chest. Instead, she says. ‘It’s given me a lot to think about.’
A moment later Fallon takes her arm, and guides her towards the tent flap. He turns to Heartshamer as he goes. ‘I’ve always wondered, what’s with the wax?’
The one-eyed man laughs. ‘I like the patterns. Calms me down. Plus,’ he grins, ‘it makes me look spooky.’
The trio stand awkwardly for a moment, until Heartshamer sketches a quick bow, and retreats back into the tent.
As the fabric falls back into place, Fallon turns to Shipwright. ‘Are you ready to go?’
She takes a moment to reply. Thoughts racing in her head, breath hot in her lungs.
‘Just get me out of here. I need some light.’