Here stood Phyreios, the holy city, much diminished: the great Iron Mountain was no more than a gentle hill, lower than the spires of the newly rebuilt temple complex. No paths etched the rust-colored earth, and the black maw of the mine remained closed, perhaps never to be opened again. The towering forge had not yet been restored, and the place where it had once loomed over the industrial quarter was only empty sky.
In my memory, Phyreios was a ruin, its pale stone scarred by fire and cast down to lie in broken piles of rubble. I had not seen it for more than ten years. How strange it was to behold the walls rebuilt, the great gate remade and standing open to let in a procession of travelers and merchants, the streets cleared of debris and paved smooth and even. Guards in white tabards stood smiling in the sun, greeting each of the passers-by with a nod. Overhead, a new aqueduct came down from the mountain, water sparkling like silver and babbling like the laughter of children. There were children, too, clean and well-fed, running through the market square, asking the shopkeepers not for money but for sweets. The dark, reeking slums outside the walls were gone. Colorful tents spread out like bright insects from the gate, and fresh water flowed easily from a pump beside the wall, where the women of the caravans gathered with their baskets and jugs. The passage of the great worm was like the dream of a dream, forgotten upon waking.
But I, who had seen the city fall, knew where to look for its scars. The stones that made the arch over the gate had scorch marks on the underside, and the columns holding the aqueduct aloft were rough with chips and scratches. As I passed through the gate and wandered away from the market, the city fell quiet, and empty houses with dark windows sat silently on either side of the thoroughfare. Even now, with travelers coming and going each day, not enough people lived in the city to fill these rebuilt dwellings.
I followed the aqueduct toward the remains of the mountain. More channels reached out across the city, unfinished for want of laborers. The work continued, the sound of hammers ringing out across the streets, but it was slow. I turned a corner as I approached the new temple, a rectangular structure flanked by columns not unlike those I had seen in Torr’s pristine, sterile city in the world beyond the world, and piles of cracked stone greeted me like old friends. This was the Phyreios I remembered.
Without thinking, I walked on, and my feet carried me to what was once the industrial quarter and the footprint of the great forge. I was retracing a path I had walked so many times during the Cerean tournament, from the colosseum to the rented house where my companions and I had slept. The arena was gone, as was the house. A few small dwellings had been erected around the low ring of weathered stone that was all that remained of the forge.
On the first door, the emblem of an open hand had been painted in a vibrant blue.
It was unlocked. I pushed it open.
Dim embers smoldered in a hearth of red bricks. The single room smelled of smoke and herbs, and plants hung from the rafters so close together that I thought I might have walked into a forest. A plain wooden table, rough with splinters, lay scattered with rolls of linen bandages. The only sounds were the quiet of a pestle grinding herbs and the wind moving from the door through the hanging plants. I pushed the nearest ones aside.
“Watch your head, there,” a soft voice said. “What can I do for you?”
Khalim sat at the table, his hands stained green as he worked. His eyes went wide as he turned to me, and he stood up, crossing the small room in two steps.
I could not speak. I held out my hands, and he took them in his, and he was warm and solid and real, at last. I ran my thumbs over the calluses on his fingers.
My knees buckled, but he pulled me into his arms and held me there, my face against his neck and his hand in my hair. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and his blood pulsed against his skin. He was alive. I had found him.
“Eske,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stepped back and took his face in my hands. He was still so young, but time had touched him at last. His hair was long enough to tie back at the base of his neck. A recent nick from a razor shone red on his cheek.
“I had to cross the whole world again,” I said. “I thought you might not have waited.”
He smiled. “I knew you were on your way.”
I could have stood there for an age. I feared that if I turned my eyes away, if I removed my hands from his face, he would disappear.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, releasing me from my paralyzing fear.
I shook my head. He took my hands and led me to the wobbly chair, and left me there to busy himself with stoking the fire.
I watched him move, slow and careful, just as he had been in the house that had once stood here. We had cooked meals together, along with Aysulu and Garvesh the scholar, in the days of the tournament. Tears ran hot down my face, and I wiped them away.
The fire was blazing and a small pot bubbled before I had the ability to speak again. “You’re working as a healer?” I asked.
“I don’t have magic anymore,” he said, “but I learned some things over the years, and a few more in the months since I came back. They tried to keep me in the temple, Roshani and Reva and the others, to see if Torr would return. When he didn’t, they let me go. I think he’s gone for good.”
“Even the Ascended couldn’t keep him away,” I said.
Khalim sat back on his heels, watching the fire. “I don’t dream anymore.”
Then the god was truly gone—far enough away that his influence could no longer touch Khalim. Perhaps he thought this was a fitting punishment, to leave his erstwhile prophet alone. It was one more thing that a god could not understand.
“The city is in good hands,” Khalim said. “I think he was planning on leaving them, eventually, like he did with the Ascended. It might have been a hundred years from now, but I don’t think he meant to stay forever.”
“I spent so long trying to find you, but you didn’t need me, in the end. You freed yourself.”
Another smile. I would never tire of them. “You helped me,” said Khalim. “If you hadn’t crossed over, if the world of the spirits hadn’t rejected you and bent around you, I wouldn’t have been able to convince Torr to let me go. Not for another hundred years.”
He poured rice from the south into the pot, and added spices from the east in tiny spoonfuls. The small house filled with a familiar, warm scent. How long had it been since I felt at home? Was it in the house beside the forge, before Phyreios had fallen and stood up again?
I closed my eyes and listened to Khalim work. It had been so long.
“Ten years I searched for a way to reach you,” I said at last. “Compared to that, our time together was so short. I never got the chance to know you, not really.”
He looked up, searching my face. “I suppose I don’t know everything about you, either—only that you’re the bravest of men, and the most faithful. And I don’t know who I am, now, without the god.” He held out a hand. “I’d like to find out. With you, if you’ll have me.”
I took the offered hand between both of mine. “Neither death nor disaster, nor the vast distances of the world, could keep me from your side.”
“I’d like to see it,” he said. “The world is so vast, and I’ve only seen a fragment of it.”
“It’s cruel and rough, most of the time. But there’s beauty there, if you look.”
“I want to see it all. Even the ugly parts. I’m free, now. I can go wherever I choose.” He got to his feet. The wind stirred the hanging herbs, and the fire crackled and spat. “And I choose to go with you. I’ve been given a life, thanks to you, and I want to spend it knowing you better.”
“All the time I have left is yours,” I said.
All around us, the city went on, broken and battered but living still.
Back to Chapter LXVII: The Long Way Back
Journey to the Water is now complete. I hope you’ve enjoyed coming along for the ride, and I appreciate you. If you have any feedback, feel free to leave it in the comments here or on any of the other chapters, or you can find me on Facebook or Instagram. I would love to hear what you think while I’m working on edits! Your comments will help shape the final version of this story. This version will stay here on the blog forever for posterity.
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