Gotim's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Gotim followed the trail of pits across the frozen plain. The wind died. The radar in his hand slowed its purple swirl and pulsed once, low, at his back. Something behind him was moving when he moved, and stopping when he stopped. He did not turn. He walked three more steps to be sure. He crouched by the next pit and pretended to study the dark water. In the reflection he saw it — a lesser shadow-thing, low to the ground, ribs like a skull's teeth, claws long enough to drag. A wraith. It had caught his scent in the open dark and pinned itself to his heel. If it kept following, it would call louder things. It would call the crown's bearer, or worse, the hunger he was tracking. Either would ruin him. He rose and changed course. He turned toward a broken doorway in the ice, a chamber he had known was near — a hollow where old fire once burned, a pool of dull metal ringed by dead roots. He walked at the same slow pace. The wraith followed. He led it inside. A figure was already there. Chao DeVoid stood at the edge of the reflective pool, one clawed hand hovering above the surface. He did not look up. "You brought company," he said. "I don't share rooms." Gotim stopped in the doorway. "I need one minute of your fire." Chao DeVoid's black eyes lifted. "For what." "To burn a tail off my scent." A pause. "Fine. Then leave." Gotim stepped aside and let the wraith come in. It cleared the doorway in a low rush, claws scraping stone, jaw open. Chao DeVoid dropped his hand into the pool. A pillar of flame tore up from the metal, white at the core, red at the edges. Gotim spoke one word into the shadow at his feet and the shadow rose in a thin veil, soft as silver water, and wrapped the wraith's shoulders. The veil held it for half a breath. Half a breath was enough. The fire took it. The wraith did not scream. It came apart into black flakes and the flakes went up the pillar and were gone. The flame sank. The pool went dull again. Chao DeVoid wiped his hand on his robe. "The old gods are listening now," he said. "You lit a candle in their house." "I know." "They'll send more than a wraith next time." "I know that too." Gotim stepped back into the cold. The trail of pits still led forward, still pointed at the crown. He had bought his silence, and he had spent a favor to buy it, and he had told a primordial where he was going. He began to walk again. He did not hurry.