The Tower of a Thousand Follies grew larger every time Ingo looked up. The summit plunged into the heavy clouds above and the main body was held up by thick trunks of metal that leaned in at angles. He struggled to judge the size of the base until they were close enough to see people atop it. Then he realised how massive it was. These were not the foundations of the crooked tower that leered over the landscape like a praying mantis, but great, black city walls that surrounded it. They looked like a mountain that had curled defensively in on itself and regarded the surrounding land with suspicion and malice. Ingo’s doubt about this visit grew into fear. Even with sleepers awoken and a war in the forest, he would feel safer now amidst its cool, damp boughs than out here on the dusty road, walking towards this fortress of a city.

  “It’s not so bad on the inside." Hesio must have guessed his thoughts. "You won't be the first Servile to set foot in there, either.”

  “There's no turning back,” added Gavan. “We have business beyond the gates.”

  “It looks like we have business outside the gates, too,” Hesio commented and pointed ahead. They slowed as five riders approached.

  Ilargia herself led the group to a standstill in front of them. Ingo squinted up at her, then looked away when he saw how she watched him, head cocked to one side, as though he were a piece of machinery that she was dismantling in her mind. In the sweat of the midday heat, it looked as though the side of her face were dripping off.

  “You’re really going in?” she asked.

  He looked up again and realised she had addressed the question to him. He nodded.

  “Does he speak?” She looked at Gavan. Gavan nodded in response and she smiled her half smile. “What does the old fox hope to accomplish, sending his pet before the listener and all his attendants?”

  “He’s keeping the grand listener informed, Advocate. That's all.”

  “He’s keeping the rest of us informed too, I understand.”

  She edged her steed forward and reached down with her good hand. Hesio looked sidelong at Gavan, who shifted on his feet and stared ahead. She withdrew her hand as though it had been burned.

  “And to think, I heard that letters had gone out to all the Advocates. Even Advocate Tessa has received one, though she's too blind to read it.”

  “He hasn’t given me a letter for you.”

  Ilargia pushed her shoulders back and glared down at them. Ingo felt her gaze pass across his skin like the heat of a forest fire lashing out on a sudden breeze. This omission had injured her deeply. He sensed Hesio beside him, tensed and ready.

  “Come!” she commanded. Her four companions trotted round to follow her as she tugged her horse’s reins.

  “Aren’t you staying for the lights?” Gavan called after her. Ingo did not know what ‘the lights’ were, but he understood the tone of Gavan’s voice. Why did he provoke someone who wielded such power?

  “I make the lights,” she replied as she turned her back to them. “I don't need to gawk at them from below.”

  Her group pointed their horses towards the grey buildings he had seen in the distance. The dark clouds seemed to hang lower there. Some even appeared attached to narrow towers which rose from atop them, if that were possible.

  Before she was out of earshot she shouted back: “Welcome to the Sundered Republic, Servile.”

  They continued on their journey and the walls of the city grew ever larger.

  When they reached the gates, Ingo understood the true size of them. The black, iron entrance reached as high as five men and just as wide. Inlaid into one of them a smaller door stood open, but the view was obscured by a group of guards. Atop the blackened walls, soldiers looked down as though from the top of a cliff.

  “Here they are, the prodigal sons!” One of the guards stepped forward to greet them.

  “Virto.” Hesio slapped his shoulder and embraced him.

  “Hesio,” the man responded. “Good to see you. And you, Gavan.” The guard looked at Gavan and his smile faltered. Gavan's armour hung off his thin frame and his face looked sunken. Since the night in the barracks, he'd looked better than before, but this man had not seen him at his worst. Hesio looked him in the eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  “We’re going straight to the chamber, Virto. We'll catch up after that.”

  “In you go, friends.”

  Hesio went first, and then Gavan. Ingo followed behind them. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine that he was stepping inside his own front door. When he opened them again, he was inside the Godless City.

  Kastor lulled in and out of consciousness. At some point water was dripped into his mouth. In a more lucid moment, he heard two men discussing his leg.

  “Someone dressed it. There’s an ointment oozing out. It smells disgusting.”

  “I’ve looked underneath the bandage. It’s amputation if he’s going to live.”

  “Wait to hear what the captain says.”

  “They're dead weight, the pair of them. I don’t see why we should haul them around. We’ve got enough to carry.”

  “They keep finding more of it, too! Barrels of the stuff. I've never seen the captain happier.”

  Both men chuckled and Kastor drifted off again. Another time, he awoke to the sounds of soldiers shouting and struggling, to cries that the 'mountain beasts' had returned and calls for retreat. Each time he awoke, though, he found himself in the same predicament. Lying on his back on the ground with his arms and legs bound. He recalled a moment of chaos and confusion beneath the earth, in that place he thought of as the star chamber. He had fought soldiers. Soldiers had fought him. The huge, black hoarder had fought everyone. Eventually he had run, but no sooner than he'd emerged from the mountainside he'd found himself surrounded.

  His head lolled sideways. Joturn lay awake beside him. The Hallin elder had returned to find Oli missing and Kastor subdued by their enemy. Despite all their arguments and the suspicion between them, the old man had fought to free him. He was a man of the forest, though: a hunter who stalked his prey between the boughs. A pitched battle on an open slope was not his domain and now he too lay restrained in bonds.

  “How are you?” Joturn asked, seeing that he was awake. The elder's head was swollen at the side and dried blood caked his face.

  “Nearly dead,” Kastor croaked, “and dying too slowly.”

  “What happened to Oli?" Joturn whispered. "Do you know anything? Can you... Sense him?"

  Kastor closed his eyes and exhaled. Nothing good, his expression said. He replied:

  “He escaped. He got out before the fight began.”

  “But?”

  “He’s gone south. There’s no doubt. My... I had a familiar. It's gone. It must have taken him there.”

  Joturn was silent for a moment and Kastor opened his eyes. Red tunics moved to and fro, loading wagons. How are they going to use wagons in the forest?

  “What’s waiting for him there, Kastor? You know more than you told me.”

  “I know less than you think. I’m like an apprentice builder who inherited a crumbling keep. I don’t even know where the dungeon is and you’re asking me to find the lost treasures of my bloodline.” He coughed and blinked, and a jolt of pain travelled up his leg. “I know that my old master was looking for a sacrifice. Someone he wanted to bring to the lake.”

  “But you heard his roar!" Joturn pushed his face closer to Kastor and the elder's eyes glittered with pride. "You heard him roar like a lion on the mountainside. What if he has the power to fight whatever he finds there? What then?"

  "There’s a chance. A better chance than if he was here.” Kastor did not believe it, though. He had heard Oli's shout and marvelled at its power. But he was a lion cub at best, and he was walking into the nest of a power that no living person understood.

  Joturn rolled onto his back and breathed out deeply.

  “I know you tried to help him. I’m sorry I didn’t believe it at first. I tried to help him, too, but his feet always took him south. Every time I showed him a path he found another, and always one which pointed that way. It was a mistake his parents made. Their secret crime. They did not know that I tracked them. Oli was bound to your kind before he was born.”

  “He wasn’t a mistake. I liked him.”

  Kastor caught himself speaking in the past too late to correct himself, but his words touched Joturn nonetheless. The elder smiled at him. Was it the first time? He investigated that old face, etched with the lines of worry spent on his clan and its future. Its children. He would have liked to have been one of those children, under the care of this oak of a man. He thought of his own father, smooth and smiling but in a different way.

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  “Tell me, Kastor, did you find what you were looking for up there? Did you find those creatures of yours?” Joturn asked.

  “I didn’t think you cared.”

  “I didn’t. And now at our journey's end, I find that I do.”

  Kastor smiled back and almost wept. What a place to find a friend.

  “Those creatures of mine are your hoarders. They write in beautiful letters that flow together like water. They draw the night sky in glowing colours in caverns beneath the depths of their mountains. They watch the heavens at night and copy everything they see.”

  “What do they write about?”

  “The gods.”

  “They have gods?”

  “They write about our gods.”

  Joturn did not reply. What reply could he make to such a statement? They lay still and quiet with the enormity of Kastor’s words for company until the scraping and thumping stopped and the captain of the soldiers finally took an interest in them.

  A red face, dripping sweat from its brow, leered over Kastor.

  “Awake, are you?”

  A sharp point touched Kastor’s throat. “We’ve met before. I've been watching you. You’ve got nothing left in you, have you? Not a word of sorcery or prayer to get you out of this bind. I could have your throat open in a moment.”

  Kastor grunted and leaned into the blade. The captain pulled it back. So, the man wanted him alive. If Kastor had enough strength, he could have used that. Sorcery and prayer didn’t need words. Priests used them for effect. Medicine men didn’t use them at all. In his mind, he tried to find a path, to push through it and pull back into this world what he desired. He found the branching tunnels in his mind, down which he had once seen endless possibilities. He thrust his spirit into them, but they crumbled before him and left him blind. Something of the effort must have shown on his face, because the captain grinned.

  “My name’s Tristor, but that won’t mean much to you. Your name, on the other hand, is worth something.”

  Kastor went rigid as the captain held up a book. His book! All my work, fallen into the hands of apostates. Tristor’s grin broadened at Kastor’s dismay, and he opened it to the front, squinting to read the tiny script.

  “Kastor Hal-Talen of Terras. That’s you, isn’t it?”

  Kastor was silent.

  “Quite a name,” said Tristor, betraying a little awe behind his show of disdain. “A Southern noble, wandering around on the King’s land pretending to be a forest clansman. What will your family say if we demand a ransom? Will they want you back? Or are you too sullied, now?”

  Kastor shut his eyes and prayed for the infection to take him. This could not be how his journey would end: ransomed back to his parents, half mad with a missing leg and all his findings stolen. What would his father say? What would Aunt Tee say? The decision would rest with her. Would she buckle and pay for her favourite nephew? The one who did not even ask her permission before coming on this adventure. The shame of it! Let me die here...

  “They wouldn’t believe you’d found me, and they wouldn’t pay a penny to have me back.” He thought of his brothers and sisters and the lie stung him, but he had to persuade this man there was no point in trying.

  “That’s what I thought. You god-botherers hate each other as much as you hate us.”

  “We don’t hate you. We pity you.”

  Tristor pushed his face close and Kastor felt the man's sweat on his own forehead. His green eyes cast a fury on him as he spoke.

  “Pity? If you saw what we’ve built you wouldn’t pity us. What power we’ve found. While you’ve scratched a living out of mountainsides, we’ve learned. I’ll give you a prophecy, since you Southerners like them so much. Before my lifetime is over, we’ll stand before the walls of Terras.” He jabbed a finger at Kastor’s chest. “What Cadrafel could not pass and Brunulf could not scale, we will topple. We’ll smash your city of white stone into pieces. And then we’ll see who you pity.”

  Tristor stood and spat. A group of soldiers had gathered to witness the exchange. They looked at Kastor with a hatred he could not comprehend.

  “If there’s space on the wagon when we leave,” Tristor called as he stalked away, “then we’ll take them both. Otherwise, dump the old man and bring our honoured guest alone.”

  Adalina walked beside her mother, who lay on a stretcher between Luthold and Otmer. She looked around and commented on the colour of the leaves and the types of trees.

  "The trunks are so broad here! The trees rise like pillars."

  "I'm glad you're feeling better, Mother. I told you Elder Mildred would set you right. But you should still rest."

  "I'll be walking again soon."

  Otmer laughed.

  The journey to the Levonin village from where they had camped the day before was short. Before they reached it, they passed beyond a line of trees and emerged onto a broad, open bank with the Levon falls to their right and the river winding away through the trees on their left. The falls were impossible to comprehend. There was no angle Adalina could look at them from, that the whole spectacle could be taken in at once. Her gaze roved between the cascades and she marvelled at the brilliant white of the spray. It seemed to roar with a thousand voices. The ceaseless crashing of the water spoke of untold power. The power of the forest. For a moment, she doubted her people's path. Must we leave this place? As hard as it is to live here, I can't believe there is anywhere more beautiful than this.

  Beresa sidled up to join them. She almost shouted over the noise:

  "They say the medicine men made their home up there, and the Levonin made theirs down below. And in the olden days, when it wasn't a curse and their gifted children visited them with new powers, they would see them playing games with the other apprentices here." Beresa pointed up. "Jumping between the rocks that jut out of the cascades. Washing themselves beneath the spray as though it were a gentle forest stream. The forest held so much power, in those days. No soldiers would have managed to invade us then."

  "Come!" called Luthold. She looked at her father and his face reminded her of their link to this place. He must have come here when he brought her to the medicine man. Beresa looked between the two of them, reading something in their expressions that she did not understand. Adalina caught her gaze and moved.

  "Father is right, we should press on. Let's get to the village now."

  They crossed the broad river at some huge stepping stones, behind their two Levonin guides. Between them, they managed to get her mother across. They waited for Elder Mildred to cross safely and walked again. They travelled until the sound of the falls became a quiet rush in the background. At midday, they entered an enormous clearing.

  The Levonin village, on the outside, was like a giant version of their own. Clusters of little roundhouses made of wattle and daub and topped with thatched straw dotted around the perimeter. There must have been enough of them for at least five times the number of Hallin. Towards the centre the constructions were completely different. Not all trees had been cleared. In the middle of the village, seven great pines rose to scrape the very bottom of the sky. On the base of each trunk was the symbol of one of the seven gods and, running between one tree and another, were platforms, bridges and even suspended chambers with roofs. It looked like a tower that reached for heaven, with resting places along the way. In the empty space between the circle of the seven trees, two figures sat waiting with one empty seat beside them. The Levonin Elders.

  The man who had led them finally turned and spoke. He stood before them and bowed.

  "I am Feren, of the Levonin. I welcome you home."

  Luthold looked behind, saw that Elder Mildred had not yet caught up, and replied: "I thank you for your welcome and the offer of a home, Feren, but we are not staying."

  "I know," said Feren. "But you are fellow Seveners. You are the true children of the gods. Wherever you go in this world, whether you stay for seven days or seven years, every step you take is your home."

  Adalina's hand found her father's and she squeezed it tight. They had arrived. They were safe. From here they could regain their strength and plan a journey to the border of the forest, far from the reach of the Republican soldiers.

  Elder Mildred caught up as they approached the meeting place. Adalina heard a noise and turned to see Erlends hurrying to join them. The Sullin warriors had separated from the Hallin and walked now as a separate column. Feren did not turn, and Erlends asked a question loudly.

  "Your village is large, Levonin, but empty. I see only children playing and a few old men and women. Where are your warriors and hunters? Where is the strength of your clan?"

  Feren replied, still walking: "Before you arrived, a new path appeared from North to South. The sleepers are already trying to reach it, and all those with the strength are keeping them away. Come, Elders Gilda and Harada are waiting for you. They have been waiting for some time."

  Adalina glanced back at Erlends and quickly looked away. He met her eyes with his usual leer and a sparkle of excitement, too.

  Oli was alone, but he was not lost. He couldn’t be lost. That absorbing dread on the edge of his awareness pulled him in one direction only and he did not resist it. He dived headlong in, and the world opened to carry him forwards. The question would be answered, whatever the cost. He ran until he grew too tired to run and then he walked. He never stopped.

  Sometimes he heard a hissing in the distance. Was it the wind? Was it sleepers? He walked faster. At times he heard shouting and fighting, too, and the deep ringing of a battle horn. He smelled the sweet scent of sleeper trails on the air, but the hissing and fighting never reached the path.

  He walked through the day and the night as well. He had no idea how near or far he was. The trees grew thicker and taller.

  The path inclined and ended at the foot of a low hill. Oli looked from left to right and saw that it curved away smoothly on each side, leaving the trees and bushes behind. The trees closest to the edge looked sickly and weak, with rotting branches hanging off and stumps festering around them. He reached forward and touched the ground in front of him. He felt the lake behind it. Something old. Something deep. He climbed.

  At the summit, Oli shut his eyes and the calm and certitude of earlier slipped away. The dread returned. Doubt probed at the back of his mind. The sight of the lake from afar had fascinated and horrified him. Was he ready to stand right next to it? My mother is there, he reminded himself, and crossed the edge.

  The circular shape of the lake was less easy to discern so close to its bank, but the stillness of that vast, black water was unmistakable. The lake was so wide that the trees on the far side appeared no taller than his finger. He peered inside it and could have been looking into the darkness of a moonless night. He could not picture himself fishing there, any more than he could imagine casting his line upward in the hope of catching a shooting star. He looked for where the lake fed the river that he knew so well. To his right a mouth gawped from which the water escaped and, in passing over stones and rocks, gained a little life and movement.

  He stepped to the edge and peered over. The ground fell away swiftly, so that he thought if he jumped a couple of yards in, he could probably submerge his whole body. He tried to see the bottom. The emptiness that had disturbed his dreams manifested physically before his eyes. It writhed and slithered over itself, rooting itself through the darkness into a thousand corners he could not see. He shuddered and stepped back. What was he doing here? My mother is by the lake, isn’t that why I came?

  He pulled his eyes away from the water and scanned the perimeter. He began to walk around it and saw a few lifeless trunks on the edge, with what looked like a small cave mouth nearby. As he neared the skeletal copse his eyes widened in hope and surprise. Someone sat slumped against the largest of the trunks. Her head hung lifelessly and her long hair lay draped over her naked body. Oli ran, tripping and regaining his stride and shouting as he neared the figure.

  “Mother! I’m here!”

  As he slid to a halt, raising a cloud of dust around himself, he saw that the woman's hair was silver and white. He blinked in confusion. He breathed in and out hard. What is happening? Who is this? He had known his mother was here. And yet, was this person different from whom he saw in his dream?

  The head raised up as though pulled by a piece of string. Two deep, dark eyes, as cold and as empty as the lake itself locked onto his. They were set against a face so aged that it could have belonged to Elder Mildred’s grandmother. The woman’s nostrils flared and she breathed in through her nose, pushing it towards Oli as though searching for his scent. Her face broke into relief, just as Oli’s fell in disappointment and fear.

  “You...” Oli stammered. “You aren’t my mother.”

  “Don't you recognise me?” she smiled, or tried to. "Then again, I hardly recognise myself. Look a little closer, child."

  Oli looked into the black eyes. They weren't black. They glittered as though with starlight. He stared into her eyes and saw the sky at night.