‘What! Someone else is in here?’
‘She won’t bother you. Might be she’s dead but I don’t think so. She’s sleeping, I think.’
Sukul pulled up. ‘All right, you win. Tell me how to see.’
‘Close your eyes-’
At that nonsensical beginning she snorted, in spite of her fear.
‘Close your eyes,’ he said again, this time more forcefully. ‘Picture a cavern in your mind. Earthen walls, a sagging dome for a ceiling. Roots everywhere, even underfoot if you care to feel them. Pushed into the walls all around you are wolf skulls, but bigger wolf skulls than any you’ve ever seen. Big as horse skulls. Those are the Ay, who run with the Dog-Runners and give them that name. There’s hundreds of them here. The roots grip them like the hands of the earth itself.’
Ribs’s trembling had now taken her as well. Her mouth was dry and she felt currents tracking across her skin, caressing her face. ‘The air is moving,’ she whispered.
‘Yes. It never stops moving down here. I don’t know why, but I think it’s the magic’s doing, milady. This energy is restless. She was a powerful witch, I think.’
‘Tell me more,’ Sukul said. ‘About the witch.’
‘The altar she’s sitting on is hard-packed earth. Clay, mostly, along with pretty stones-’
‘Stones?’
‘Pushed in. Offerings. Garnet, onyx, skystone, various raw metals. Gold and the like. And animal claws and fangs, bits of carved ivory. A few feathers. Chipped stone tools. This is how the Dog-Runners give offering to a beloved one.’
‘I see it,’ she said suddenly, her breath quickening.
‘She’s cross-legged on the altar,’ Rancept went on. ‘Or she was at first. Her bones are transformed, into wood, into roots, and what’s left of her hide looks like bark. She grows out of the altar like a tree, milady, and all these roots — all the way up the passage and all around us here — they all grow out from her.’
She gasped. ‘And you cut through them!’
‘I wounded her, yes, in my ignorance. I wounded her deeply, milady.’
Sukul heard the anguish in his soft admission. ‘I’m sorry, Rancept. Has she eyes left? Does she look upon you now?’
‘They’re grown over, so I don’t know. I’ve troubled her dreams, though. I did that and I know it and if I could mend her, I would.’
‘If she still lives, Rancept, they’ll heal. The roots will grow back.’
‘No sign of that yet, milady.’
‘I have never seen a Dog-Runner. Describe her, please.’
He seemed grateful for the command. ‘Her face is polished wood, a deep brown that seems to hold gold in its depths. The wood has grown over the bones of her face. Once, that face would have been fair-skinned, the features heavy but open to all pleasures and joys — this is how the Dog-Runners are. They laugh with ease and weep with even greater ease. Every word is a confession and they do not understand dissembling. To speak with a Dog-Runner, milady, is to be humbled and to feel blessed. Many among the Tiste found resentment in that.’
Though she doubted he could see, she nodded to that observation, well understanding how it would be so. ‘We surrender nothing.’
‘There is wisdom in you, milady, beyond your years.’
But she felt anything but wise at this moment. ‘You believe the witch sleeps.’
‘I believe she is the one, yes.’
‘The one?’
His hand tightened slightly around hers. ‘The Dog-Runners of the southwest speak of the Dreamer, the greatest witch of their kind — who remained behind when her people left. She stayed, to keep emptiness from the world.’
Sukul thought of Mother Dark, and that terrible hint of the Abyss that swirled around her presence in the sacred chamber where was found the Throne of Night. ‘She resists Mother Dark?’
She felt the motion of his shrug. ‘That might be so. That is beyond me.’
‘Rancept, are you a Denier?’
‘I do not stand against Mother Dark, milady.’
But that was not an answer; still, she knew that it was all he would give her, and she decided to respect that. Her question had been improper by any standards, made worse for coming from a child. ‘Forgive me,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Do you see all that I have described?’
‘Yes. I see it clear. I see the cavern, and all its roots coming from the walls — back to her, where she sits with a face of wood and eyes grown over and for ever closed. We stand inside the cavern, like errant thoughts inside a skull.’
