Page 23 of The Death Wish

He’d gone too far with such a threat. But his fatigue, his fear, his utter sick and tiredness of being at the mercy of others was done with.

Silas held the goddess’s gaze. There was a disquieting blueness at Herbert’s lips when Izanami spoke at last.

‘The centuries have not eroded your resilience, ankou. There was always so much humanity in you. Life makes such resolute creatures, defiant even in the face of utter certainty.’ The boy’s head turned, taking in the mass of slumbering souls. ‘Let us hope your daemon is as stalwart as humankind.’

‘There is no one more valiant.’

When Herbert turned back, his eyes were aglow, entirely silver.

‘Time shall tell.’

Silas gestured to his discarded shirt. ‘Please, cover the boy. It is too cold for him here.’

Silver eyes blinked. And Herbert reached for the shirt, shrugging himself into a measure of material that was far too big for him.

Silas laid down in the grave. It’s length and width were generous. He had no sense of being enclosed. There was room to spread his arms out from his sides a little, though he preferred to continue to cover himself for the moment. He stared up at a sharply clear sky; stars were spread like scattered diamonds, with the pearly curve of the moon perched amongst them.

‘Do you understand what it is that the Blight truly craves, my ankou?’ Herbert spoke with a timbre no mere boy should possess. ‘What it hungers for and does not have?’

Silas exhaled; a long bloom of white air. And he saw the answer right there, in the twist of his breath. ‘Life. It has no life.’

‘Clever man.’ Herbert took another fistful of dirt and let it rain down upon Silas’s belly. The warmth was luscious. Welcome. ‘For death to have true power, there must be life. That is what the Blight seeks. But life is too strong for that dark power when she is ripe and full of youth. The Blight preys instead upon the shreds still to be found in lost souls. Those misguided among the dead who think they can ignore my call. Now you must take your fill of what little life remains with them, and use their great number to renew yourself. ’

Silas tore his gaze from the jewelled sky. ‘Will these souls suffer for it?’

‘They shall not wake whilst you reap. And when it is done they shall have no choice but to follow me. This is their last day as a lost soul. As this is your last taste of life, Silas Mercer.’

He did not falter, did not look away. ‘I understand.’ He had one final concern upon his mind. ‘Would you make sure that –’

‘That the prince does not think himself alone?’ Herbert leaned over the grave, and the goddess brushed her fingers against Silas’s cheek. ‘Your only fault these centuries past has been to retain far too much of your human heart. The vessel will be told that he is not abandoned. Now rest, Horseman. Drink of these fading lives, so that you might revive and see us through to restoring the balance lost.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WASa churn in Pitch’s belly that had awoken him. The shift of something in the emptiness within, the space the simurgh had left. He had sat up, gasping for breath, his heart pounding.

To find a three-legged ferret at the end of their bed.

A bed empty of the wide spread of the ankou.

‘Where is he?’

He’d pulled on his trousers and his cloak, and followed the creature.

To the graveyard. Of course. For where else would Silas prefer to be, when not in Pitch’s bed?

But he’d not expected to find his ankou naked in a grave. Curled up on his side, like a child in the womb. Pitch’s heart had stopped. He was sure of it. All the pulses in his body held still. He’d imagined, for a moment, that it was over. That all was lost, for everything lay in that grave.

He had no idea how bright his flame was burning until the boy told him to stifle it.

‘Calm yourself. He is not gone.’

Herbert though, looked like he was on his way to being so. The boy was shivering so hard it was a wonder he could stay on his feet. The shirt he wore was clearly not his, trailing near hisknees, dwarfing his shoulders. Silas’s shirt. Any fool would know it. Especially this fool.

Pitch reshaped his fire, making it less injurious, and more useful to a child possessed.

‘He is freezing. You are too much for that boy.’ Pitch had little time for the goddess who had held him back in that gods-forsaken cave in the cockaigne.

‘I am too much for everyone. That is entirely my point.’