After a little while, the Behkdaz came.
Her white robes were a little frayed, a little less lustrous and bright than the robes I had seen on that first guide-of-the-way, all those years ago. She walked with the briskness of one who has made this journey a hundred times, going about her daily business, straight to the heart of the spire. Looked up, looked around as if she could picture a whole choir assembled there, hear the voices of the absent still singing in her ears, saw me, acknowledged me with a touch of her fingers to her shoulder, kept on looking at the empty places, then sang the morning song.
Gebre had sung it to me once – one of the older songs, that had nothing to do with Exodus or the end of the world. A song of happiness to be alive, of gratitude to see the seasons turn and thelight move across the world. A giving thanks for the day, expectant in all that it might bring.
I knew I was meant to join in – this was a song spire, after all – but couldn’t remember the words, or catch at the tune, and so she sang it alone, as if she sang it for everyone.
When she was done, Rencki trotted down the steps to greet her.
“Greetings, kinn of the forest,” Rencki said, a phrase I guessed was localised for the area. “We are trying to get to Kiskol on a calling from the Assembly, but the shuttle does not come. Do you know anything of this?”
The Behkdaz looked from Rencki to me, then blurted: “Off-worlders?”
“Indeed.”
“Is your ship in Kiskol?”
“No.” Shockingly rude to give a one-word answer; at the end of the world, Rencki did not appear to care, and neither did the Behkdaz.
“You should not have come here. It is not the right way of things, for the living to set foot on Adjumir.”
“It is a measure of how important our calling is,” Rencki replied, tails swishing, ears twitching as qe spoke. I realised with a start that this was qis effort at high effect, at adjusting the motion of qis small, furry body to in some little way mimic the grand gestures and sweeping declaratives of Adjumir. I wondered if I was meant to smile, or frown, or say something meaningful. It seemed better to let Rencki do the talking.
“The shuttle failed a tenday ago.” The Behkdaz was fascinated now, reassessing the pair of us. “There’s no one around to do repairs, and not worth sending out a team to fix it.”
“I see. Is there an alternative means of travel?”
“You could ask around town. There are some still left alive who might help you. You could try Ho, in the blue-tiled house beside the water office. But be careful. The song spire is empty, as you see. Those who stay have fallen silent. Cut themselves off from us.They do not threaten me, so long as I keep to myself, but there are numberless – only numberless. And the ones who refuse to die. Do you understand?”
“I believe so, guide of the path,” Rencki replied.
“Well then. Well then. Well then.” And then a click of tongue, a tilting of chin towards me, a sudden shift of attention. “You. You are not Adjumiri?”
“No.”
“Do you know how you will die? If your mission fails, do you have a plan?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I will give you a flask of Grace,” she declared. “You may not be from here, but it will still kill you. These days, you should not travel without it. You should not be seen to travel without it either. If you are asked. It is the height of arrogance to think you will make it off this world alive.”
This argument struck me as compelling, so I waited politely while the Behkdaz vanished down a little passage at the very bottom of the song spire, returning a few moments later with a black iron flask and a single ceramic cup, wrapped in red cloth. I took them in both hands, feeling like I should mumble some ritual words, awkwardly shoved them into the bottom of my bag, the weight of poison suddenly far heavier on my back than the little flask deserved.
“Good travels,” the Behkdaz said, touching two fingers to her lips in farewell. “May your song be sung and your name remembered, wheresoever you lay your head.”
The blue-tiled house next to the water office was silent.
I tapped on the door, and Rencki pinged the house’s internal systems, requesting superficial data from the still-humming server.
“No one in,” qe murmured. “No one has been home for three days. There is a message. ‘I have gone to be with my kinn. I havegone to be with them. I have gone.’ That is all. We should keep moving.”
I followed qim silently from that house, and did not look back.
In the end, a lift found us.
We had made our way to the vigil house – shuttered and silent, like everything else in Millopix, but, Rencki thought, perhaps still housing a speeder in its sealed garage.
“You want tosteala vigil vehicle?” I blurted.
