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I T WAS NOT a true tangle, Shreever reflected to herself.

A true tangle gathered itself to follow a respected leader.

These were stray serpents who they had picked up one or two at a time as the provider moved north and the tangle followed it.

The serpents that swam alongside them now shared no camaraderie with Maulkin’s tangle.

They were simply following the same food source.

Still, there was comfort in the company of other serpents.

Some of them seemed almost lucid at times.

Others were ghost-like in their silence and blank stares.

The worst ones were little better than animals, likely to turn venom or fangs on anyone who came too close to food they had claimed.

Shreever, Maulkin and Sessurea had learned to ignore those who had reverted to such a bestial level.

In truth, their presence was not the hardest to bear.

The heart-wringing ones were those who were pathetically close to recalling who they were and what they had been.

The three original serpents of Maulkin’s tangle had fallen almost as silent as the newcomers.

It was difficult to find topics that did not lead all of them deeper into despair.

Shreever could dimly recall earlier times of physical starvation.

Too long a fast could make anyone’s thoughts become scattered and unfocused.

She had her small rituals to keep herself sane.

Daily she reminded herself of their purpose.

They had come north when Maulkin had known the time was right.

She Who Remembers should have greeted them.

That one should have renewed all their memories, and should have led them through the next step.

‘But what would that be?’ she muttered softly to herself.

‘Eh?’ Sessurea asked sleepily.

The three were anchored together in the midst of a grove of slumbering serpents.

There were about a dozen of the other serpents.

Only at night did they seem to recall any vestige of civilized ways, and link their coils in slumber as if they were a true tangle.

Shreever gripped her thought tightly. ‘After we find One Who Remembers, and our memories are restored. What happens then?’

Sessurea heaved a sleepy sigh. ‘If I knew the answer to that, perhaps we would not need to find a memory-keeper.’

Between them, Maulkin did not even stir.

The prophet seemed to dwindle every day.

She and Sessurea had become more aggressive in holding on to the food the provider distributed to them.

Maulkin refused to forsake the old ways.

Even after he had grasped a limp body tumbling through the Plenty, if one of the soulless ones seized it, he would let it go.

He would relinquish his rightful claim to food rather than fight for it like an animal.

The once-bright false-eyes that ran the length of his body were now little more than dappling in his colour.

Sometimes, he would allow Shreever to bring him food, but as often he turned away from it.

She had not had the courage to ask him if he, too, were close to abandoning their quest.

There was a sudden shifting in the forest of sleeping serpents.

With dreamlike slowness, a slender, verdantly green serpent wriggled free of the slumbering tangle and languorously rose up to the Lack.

Shreever and Sessurea exchanged glances that were at once puzzled and too weary to be curious.

The actions of the soulless ones made no sense; there was no future in speculating about his action. Shreever lidded her eyes.

Then, from high above them, came the curiously pure notes of a voice raised in song.

For a time, Shreever listened in awe. Each note was true, each word perfectly enunciated.

It was not the random piping and roaring any lighthearted serpent might indulge in, but the glorious exultation of one called to sing. She unlidded her eyes.

‘Song of Simplicity,’ Maulkin breathed hoarsely. Sessurea’s eyes spun slowly in agreement. Gently the three worked themselves free, to undulate to the top of the Plenty, and then lift their heads out into the Lack.

There, under the light of a full round moon, the green serpent flung back his head and sang.

His heavy mane hung lax about his throat.

His maw gaped wide in full, carrying voice.

Clear and sweet, the words emerged from one who had been mute.

Verse after verse he sang of the elegant words of the ancient song of beginnings.

In the old days, listeners would have joined in the refrain, to celebrate together the days of warmer Plenty and migrating fish.

Now they were voiceless, listening to this blessing, but fearing to join in lest they break it.

The singer was beautiful in his intensity and concentration.

His head swayed slowly as he sang, his throat distending and then stretching as he pumped out the deep, rich notes.

Shreever did not look at his eyes. They were wide and empty of intent even as he gave voice to this most sacred of songs.

Beside her, Maulkin bowed his head. Emotion rippled through him, bringing a brief gleam to his false-eyes.

Very slowly, his mane began to stand out about his throat.

His venom, once so plentiful and toxic, now barely brimmed to the tips.

A single drop fell to sting ecstatically on Shreever’s skin.

For a long moment, the night was clear, bright, and warm with promise.

‘Save your strength,’ Sessurea advised him sadly. ‘His music is beautiful, but there is no heart behind it. We cannot revive him. To try would only weaken you.’

‘My strength is not my own to hoard,’ Maulkin observed.

More sourly, he added, ‘Sometimes I fear there is nothing to save it for.’ Despite his words, he did not move towards the green serpent.

Instead, the three remained as they were, sharing in his enraptured song but oddly divorced from it.

It was as if the words reached them from a distant past, a time they could never revisit.

His gaze fixed on the moon, head swaying gracefully to his song, the green serpent repeated the final refrain the prescribed three times.

As he held a last pure note, Shreever became aware that some of the other serpents had joined them.

Most gazed randomly about as if they expected a food source.

The provider had moved on through the night as it always did.

Its bulk did not distort the horizon. Tomorrow they would all follow its scent through the Plenty. It was easy to catch up with it.

Without the provider to focus on, their eyes turned to the green serpent.

He remained poised as he had been, his gaze fixed on the moon.

The last of his breath flowed from his throat in that single sustained note.

It ended. A silence that seemed the only correct continuation of the song engulfed them all.

In that moment, Shreever became aware of a very slight difference in the group.

Some of the other serpents looked puzzled as if they struggled to recall something. All kept the stillness and silence.

All save Maulkin. With a suddenness that belied his dimmed coat and shrunken girth, the great serpent flashed across the distance between himself and the green.

His faded false-eyes gleamed gold and his eyes spun copper as he wrapped the green.

Maulkin smeared the other serpent with what little toxin he had been able to produce, then bore him down in his embrace.

Shreever heard the creature’s outraged shriek.

There was nothing of intelligence in that cry.

It was the fury of a cornered animal given vent.

She and Sessurea dived down, following the struggling pair to the murky bottom.

As they thrashed together, silt clouded and then choked the Plenty.

‘He’ll smother!’ Shreever cried out in alarm.

‘Unless that green shreds him to pieces first,’ Sessurea replied grimly.

Both of their manes began to swell with toxins as they lashed downwards in pursuit.

Behind them, Shreever was dimly aware of the other serpents coiling and tangling in confusion.

Maulkin’s actions had alarmed them; there was no telling how they would react.

It was possible, she thought coldly, that they would all turn upon the three.

If they did, Maulkin’s tangle had small chance of survival.

She flanked Sessurea as he plunged into the silt-laden darkness.

Almost instantly, she was choking. It was a terrible sensation.

Every instinct she possessed urged her to flee to cleaner water.

However, she was not an animal to be controlled by her instincts.

She forced herself down and deeper until she felt the vibration of the struggle and could wrap the combatants.

She was so choked she could not smell who was who.

She had lidded her eyes twice against the gritty silt.

She released the puny cloud of toxin she could muster; she hoped it would not stun or weaken Sessurea.

Then she lapped a coil of herself about the struggling bodies and devoted all her strength to pulling them up to clear water where they could all breathe.

She felt she swam through a school of tiny glowing fish.

Specks and streaks of colours taunted her vision.

Someone beside herself had released venom.

It scorched and seared her, burning visions into her mind.

Surely, it was the floor of the Plenty itself that she strove to lift.

She longed to let go of her burden and shoot up to where she could breathe. Doggedly she struggled on.