The Blind Bard kept an eye on the mighty wall as he readied himself as best he could. Much of the food would be left behind with the wagon, for he could pull it no further. He looked over the wall again, seeing again no door nor gate to cross neath. He did not know how he was to enter, yet he felt no doubt this was at last the Land of the People of the Shore. His course had stayed true even after Abernathy the True fell neath him, the sun always rising fore them in the morning. There was no sun this close to the wall; thick clouds of smoke and fog seemed to hang above the great town, spreading out for days in all directions.

The Seer had not told him how he was to enter the People of the Shore’s green land once he had reached it, yet he thought again of the Archer and knew he would not risk approaching the wall in the veiled light of day. He would rest til night fell and then he would move close to the outsiders’ town as he could fore he was seen. le Fay lay at his feet, unable to sleep for the stillness of the pups in her belly. Her young had not stirred since she had eaten the night fore, say true, and the Blind Bard knew she thought them lost.

They’re not gone yet, say true, he whispered to her sweetly. He knew as she did the pups still lived, yet he knew as she did they hadn’t much strength left in their small bodies. Yet were they not of Roundtown, say true? Though they may be born unto this strange land, were the hands of the Architects not still ever upon them, say true, say true?

The Blind Bard remembered the Serpent’s oath that the pups would live and had faith, blind and lost as he never knew he was.

He filled his pack as best he could and readied to leave the wagon behind. He would carry le Fay to the wall and beyond, as her legs could no longer hold her weight, yet he felt barely strong enough to carry himself, say true. He thought again of the loss of sweet Abernathy and felt his heart break for the hundredth time. He was not made to bear as Abernathy had been; his feet had grown black and bloodied as he pulled the wagon and it had been days since last he felt the rubble of the ruins neath him. His arms and back felt as hot stones upon him, weighing him down even as they burned him to the bone, say true, say true.

Together he, le Fay and Abernathy had faced three trials already; now there were only he and le Fay, say true, and the Blind Bard did not know how many more trials he could survive.

le Fay struggled to her feet and vomited into the foul soil near the Blind Bard’s pack. He stroked her neck til she finished and listened to her whine as she lay back at his feet. He told himself he did not smell the blood on her breath nor feel the fever burning within her. How long had it been since they were well?

Each morning the Blind Bard found more of his long hair lost in his restless sleep and his nose had bled each day this week, say true; though he forced himself to eat it seemed not even an hour passed fore he would vomit his meals upon the ruins, and his head had not felt clear for many days. le Fay fared no better than he; her feet had fallen neath her when last she tried to walk and she felt weak as a pup while she rode in the wagon.

The Blind Bard continued to load his pack, yet in his mind he went back to when he first tasted the foul air of the ruins and felt the Great Gates close behind him. He had not looked back as Abernathy the True had carried him neath the Gates and through the mountain, say true, nor had his head turned as they first arrived in the ruins. He swore he would not set eyes upon his home again til he had finished his quest and earned his name and at the time believed his own oath.

Abernathy had snorted at the foul wind blowing round them, yet had calmed as the Blind Bard stroked his great neck. The land round the mountains was kept bare by the Lookouts and the first day’s journey was a smooth one. Even as the Blind Bard choked on the air in his chest and le Fay’s hackles were raised against this foul new world they did not falter, say true.

Though the Blind Bard had never felt as lonesome, he could not help but feel glad to see with his own eyes the places from many of the old stories. Here, just to their left, was where the People of the Shore themselves had made their camp and endured the winter of many generations past. The ground bore no signs of their presence, yet the Blind Bard saw them through the eyes of his longfathers. So many they had been! Thin and haggard yet upright and proud, say true, human still no matter the prices they had paid to survive. Strong women and men and children, all of them, kept from the valley only by the Architect’s law, say true, say true.

Abernathy the True walked on and the Blind Bard saw the great pit where the bodies of the birds had been burned, say true. Such loss! Yet what were our longfathers to do? The Town came fore all, say true, and it could not bear another plague. Fore the Town was the Town, had the Flu of old not almost cut the very feet of the Architects from neath Them, say true? The Blind Bard imagined what could have been if Wise Cherry had not Seen the coming doom and the birds had spread their sickness throughout the valley. Many would have been lost, say true, perhaps too many for the Town to live on. The Blind Bard had never heard the birds’ sweet song with his own ears, yet he heard it now through his longfathers and wished the Town had not demanded such sacrifice.

Abernathy the True walked on and the Blind Bard saw where Wil of the Mountain’s shack had stood while he lived with the girl who would be his murderer, say true. The Blind Bard did not look through his longfathers’ eyes to see Wil’s sweet face, for the loss of the Firn blood was wrapped ever round his heart. Had not the Architects meant for each blood to flow long as the Town stood? Say true, were each of the bloods not made to fill their place, to be both part of the Town and the Town itself? And had the people of the valley not failed with the loss of the Firns? The Huffs? The Sipes, say true, say true? The Blind Bard held each of the lost bloods close to his heart as he passed where the dead ash had drunk deep of Wil of the Mountain’s own spilt blood.

Abernathy the True walked on and the Blind Bard saw the patch of soil still black and knew fore him was all that remained of the great horde, say true. How the bodies had fallen! The Blind Bard saw through the eyes of his longfather Berry the Deadeye (Berry, first of her name, she who never missed, say true) the coming of the horrors of the ruins as they charged toward the mountains. Never had Berry seen such terrors as those that moved toward the valley, say true; it seemed to her the horde was one being made of twisted limps and gaping, toothless mouths and not a hundred horrors and half-men twisted by the world beyond the valley. The Lookouts had cut through them as they were made of only air, yet still more and more had come til they overwhelmed even the mighty Lookouts and the people of the valley had taken up their arms. How the arrows had rained upon them, say true! How Berry had taken up her bow and stood side the Archers of the clear Robb blood and how her aim had been ever true as fore! And how the foul horde had fallen and burnt in the Lookouts’ terrible flames, say true, the smoke of their pyre still reaching toward the unbroken sky of the ruins days after.

Abernathy the True walked on and the Blind Bard saw fore him the dens of the sleeping Lookouts. They woke as Abernathy drew near and tore themselves from the ash and rubble which hid them, towering above even the Blind Bard as he sat atop Abernathy’s back. le Fay let loose a growl at the sight of them, and the Blind Bard could not fault her. They were monstrous, say true, yet the Blind Bard did not fear them. He climbed from Abernathy’s back and approached the nearest of them, looking up at its smooth, hard body and admiring the grace and skill that had created it. There could be no end to the wonders crafted by the hands of the Architects, say true, say true. He placed his own many-colored hand upon its body and thanked it and its fellows for watching over his Town since fore even it was the Town. The Lookouts have no names nor voices nor even the Song held close within them so the Blind Bard could not speak with it as a sibling, yet he loved it just the same. It had no answer to his thanks and he needed none, say true.

He kept his hand on the Lookout, feeling comfort in its sure, steady silence. None had been beyond the Lookouts since fore even the Keep had been sealed. The Blind Bard had already gone further than any fore him in twelve generations, say true, must he now go even further? He stared out at the great pit that was the ruins and was shaken by its bleakness and its emptiness.

Surely he had passed the test, say true? Surely even coming this far had shown the Carr what he had wanted to see, surely he would not truly have to go beyond the protection of the Lookouts and the warmth of the valley, say true, say true?

Yet no one rode forth to bring him home and the Blind Bard stood at the Lookout’s side, seeing as it saw the world beyond the valley. In time he thanked the Lookout again and returned to his place atop Abernathy’s back. He patted the stallion’s neck again and urged him forward.

∞∞∞

The sickness had come upon them during their first days beyond the valley. It seemed to the Blind Bard he could take no more than a few shallow breaths fore the coughs came upon him again, and le Fay and even strong Abernathy fared no better. The air of the ruins burnt their throats and smoldered in their chests and ash was ever in poor Abernathy’s eyes.

The Blind Bard had known the sickness would come though the Seer said nothing of it. He was a Belle, and Belles know more of the world than they will ever tell, say true; the Blind Bard knew of the Dragon’s Breath and how it had covered the world that had been. He knew the Architects had Seen the fires fore they burned and it was through Their wisdom the valley was still green, say true, yet even They had felt the Dragon’s Breath as They emerged from the Keep to begin Their great work. Through Them the Belles had ever remembered even as other bloods forgot, and the Blind Bard did not despair as he felt the Dragon’s Breath come upon him.

Within the first week the Blind Bard felt the fever begin to burn within him and the ache in his head took root. It seemed to him he became dizzier each time he lowered himself from Abernathy’s back to let the stallion rest, and the food the Seer had packed for him and his sat heavy in his belly and ever threatened to betray him. All of this he could bear with faith, say true, yet he could not bear to feel the pains of his companions.

He felt the same aches and fever that were within himself bloom within le Fay and Abernathy. The further Abernathy pulled the wagon from the Town the slower he seemed to move, his head growing foggy and his thoughts more confused with each step of his great hooves. le Fay kept her eyes shut tight as she lay in the wagon, each bump in their path jostling her and causing nausea to course through her. He pups protested night and day, catching their dam’s worry and feeling more of the Dragon’s Breath pollute le Fay each time she breathed.

Each of the travellers vomited daily, say true, and they each felt diarrhea tear through their bellies. Even chewing on the sweet herbs prepared for them by the Joneses eased their pains only a little, though they had never failed the Blind Bard fore.

On the first day of their second week within the ruins they faced their first trial.

Once they had traveled beyond the reach of the Lookouts the sentinels had lowered themselves back into their dens, covering themselves with ash and rubble as they went, and Abernathy had struggled through the untamed ash and rubble fore him. Two days out they had come upon an ancient, ruined road heading east and the going had been easier on the stallion. Though the wheels of the wagon often caught in the road’s cracks and craters Abernathy never slowed, say true, his head bent ever to the task.

On the first day of the second week of their journey, the terrain round them became rougher and the ancient road began to slope steadily upward. Abernathy strained to pull the wagon and was nearly spent when they finally reached the top of the hill. From this point the Blind Bard could see far all round them and was amazed at what he saw, say true. He thought the land fore him must have once been much as the woods beyond Red River; great dead trunks of once-mighty trees jutted out of the ash for miles, stripped of their leaves and bleached by the hot sun above.

The Blind Bard was humbled by the sight. He’d known the Dragon’s Breath could turn even the greenest soil black as the Keep, say true, yet he’d never seen such death and the Nazk blood of his father within him cried out against it. As he continued to study the dead forest, he saw in its heart some green still shone through. He thought at first the sickness had played a trick upon his eyes, yet he looked again and, say true, there was green amid the pale, dead trunks. He could not decide what it was he was seeing and his curious heart got the better of him as it ever would, say true, say true.

The Blind Bard dismounted from Abernathy and led the stallion through the trunks toward what he had seen. The dead trunks loomed round the travellers, seeming to the Blind Bard as the ruins answer to the Lookouts of home.

le Fay let loose a low growl and the Blind Bard froze. She had caught the scent of something she did not know and it set her hackles to rise. She and the Blind Bard both listened hard, yet they heard nothing stir amid the gnarled trunks. He bid his companions to stay and continued on through the forest alone, his hand ever ready to draw his boline.

As he moved further into the forest the Blind Bard could smell for himself what had shaken le Fay, and he now heard what he thought was a splash of water. He continued and found himself fore a small, green pond circled by stunted saplings. He thought again his eyes had betrayed him, yet he blinked and the pond remained fore him. He looked up at the hot sun; Why hasn’t this dried up? he wondered.

He heard a splash again and felt a hand grip his ankle hard as coldiron. He looked down and saw coming from the pond something that was as a human and not as a human, say true; it had a head, yes, yet its face was only a massive, gaping maw bubbling with slime and froth. Its body was wet, glistening muck roughly shaped as a human, yet the Blind Bard felt the strength in the hand that gripped him. He cried out and tried to pull himself free, yet the terror pulled his foot from neath him and he fell hard to the ashen forest floor. He saw a second terror emerge beside the first and reach out toward him, digging its claws into the dead ash to drag itself toward him.

Just as a third beast terror to surface, the Blind Bard felt thunder through the ground neath him and heard Abernathy crashing toward the dead trees toward him. The stallion was there, the wagon still dragging behind him, his nostrils flaring and his eyes rolling. le Fay leapt from the wagon, no matter the weakness she felt within her, say true, and sank her mighty teeth into the arm of the terror which held her man. The beast gurgled and howled as black slime oozed from its wound, yet le Fay’s bite could never be shaken, say true. With one great shake of her head her teeth cut through the terror’s arm and it retreated, its foul hand still clamped hard round the Blind Bard’s ankle.

The second and third terrors had sank neath the surface of their pond soon as Abernathy had arrived, yet the Blind Bard had his boline ready fore the first could escape. With one fierce slash the beast’s throat was open, black pouring from the wound and pooling over the surface of the pond. The beast shook and tore at its open throat with its one hand, then sank neath the surface and out of the Blind Bard’s sight. After a moment it resurfaced, floating lifeless fore him. The Blind Bard watched as green hands surfaced round the fallen terror and dragged its body below.

∞∞∞

On the sixth day of their second week within the ruins they faced their second trial.

The dead forest had stretched on for miles fore them and they met nothing else alive while Abernathy carried them through. As the trunks fell behind them the road became more cracked and splintered fore it was swallowed up by rubble and lost completely. They continued on in open, empty desert fore they came to the town.

This must be it! the Blind Bard called to his companions. Say true!

For what could this place be but the Land of the People of the Shore? Rows of houses of all shapes and sizes stretched fore them with empty land in the middle where the road must have once run. He searched for any sign of movement or life, yet the town lay still and silent fore him in the light of the setting sun.

They made camp where Abernathy stood, for the Blind Bard would not enter the town at night, and slept well that night. Surely their journey had come to an end! Say true, surely here the Blind Bard would find the Seer’s darkness and earn his name!

Yet as the sun rose the Blind Bard saw he had been wrong as he had been so many times already.

This was no town; say true, this was a graveyard. The houses which had shone out to him the dying light now stood plainly as they were fore him. They were blackened and broken, some with entire walls missing and others only piles of rubble. The Blind Bard saw no signs of life and thought he never would in such a place. His companions caught his disappointment and their hearts fell heavy in the ash as it swirled round them, say true.

Though the Blind Bard doubted he would find life here, he would not repeat the mistake he’d made in the dead forest. When they were close enough to the ruined town the Blind Bard Sang out, swirling the Song round him til it found a listener.

Here was Abernathy the True, say true.

Here was le Fay, say true.

Here were her pups, say true, roiling within their dam and feeling her nerves.

Here were a hundred insects swarming neath the ash, say true, as blind to him as he had been to them.

Yet within the town his Song was heard by none.

The Blind Bard shook his head. What fools would build a town only to leave it, say true? Had the people of the ruins no pride? Say true, could they abandon what they had built as it were nothing at all?

He felt contempt for the outsiders take root within him as he urged Abernathy forward. The houses which still stood loomed over them as Abernathy’s hooves stirred up the ash fore them. The houses may have once been grand, say true, yet they were not built as the Architects had built the homes of Roundtown. The Blind Bard felt proud as he took in the waste round him. Nothing built by the Architects could fall as these houses had fallen, say true, no matter the years nor the weather.

The Blind Bard was still reveling in his contempt for the poor craftsmanship of the outsiders when he heard a great click and Abernathy spooked neath him. Had the Blind Bard been on foot the spikes now jutting from the ash where Abernathy had just stood surely would have run him through, say true.

The Blind Bard leapt from Abernathy’s back and rolled through the ash, drawing his boline fore he stood again. He looked round him while Abernathy whinnied and his great eyes rolled. With the ash disturbed the Blind Bard could see the trap plain as day; it was a pressure trap as the Latrosians lined their caves with. Abernathy had been lucky to rear up in time, say true; the spikes were old and rusted with neglect, yet they still looked too sharp for the Blind Bard’s liking.

The wagon had jostled when Abernathy reared, yet le Fay remained inside as the Blind Bard bid. The thought of her walking atop another trap was enough to make his stomach turn, say true, and as sick as he was now his stomach needed no help turning. Instead the Blind Bard continued pulled a board from the nearest house and stirred the ash fore him as he walked, checking Abernathy’s path fore the stallion continued on his way. He found many traps, say true, yet only a few still reacted to his touch. Most had been ruined long ago, their gears rusted or the springs snapped.

When he reached the center of the town, he froze as a great voice boomed all round him: Y-Y-YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY VERY LUCKY OORRR YOU YOU WOULDN’T HAVE MADE IT TH-THIS FAR. WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU. PL-PL-PLEASE GO.

The Blind Bard’s eyes grew wide as he looked round him.

Where are you? he cried, terrified of these phantoms his Song could not reach. He Sang again, yet still he found no listeners in this place.

The great voice boomed again: THIS THIS IS YOUR FFFFFINAL WARNING. WE WILL NOT SHARE AND WE WE WILL NOT BE TA-TAKEN.

We haven’t come to take anything, the Blind Bard cried, feeling his head spin. How could they have escaped the Song? Say true, what fresh horrors had he stumbled upon in this foul land? He heard no answer so he cried on: I say true, we have no ill will toward you and yours!

THIIIIIIIIIIS IS YOOOOOOUR FIN-FIN-FINAL WARNING. WE WE WE… the great voice crackled and broke round him fore it faded away with a mighty groan.

The ground shook as the house to his right erupted in a storm of flames and smoke. The Blind Bard threw himself aside yet still his many-colored skin was pierced by a cloud of splinters and singed by the deafening fire. He lay in the ash, his head pounding, and thought himself fallen for a moment; yet he was a Belle, say true, and a Belle never lived could fall so easily.

He felt the ground shake again and thought another house would erupt, yet he saw it was only Abernathy trotting toward his man. The Blind Bard struggled to his feet and hauled himself onto the stallion’s back. He could not think, say true; it seemed the world swam and shook fore him. Abernathy galloped from the burning remains of the house fast as his mighty hooves would carry him, yet the Blind Bard was asleep fore the stallion left the ancient town.

∞∞∞

The Blind Bard’s head swam and he slept for two days after he awoke on Abernathy’s back, the town now far behind them. The Blind Bard thanked Abernathy for carrying him to safety and stroked his great neck.

Abernathy had kept to the east, true as he ever was, say true, and after a day’s rest the travelers continued. They walked through open land now, nothing to see for miles save for a small mountain or mound of rocks to the far side of their path. The Blind Bard sat atop Abernathy and, for the first time since he’d crossed neath the Great Gates, felt hope taking root within him.

Had they not survived, say true? Had the ruins not come for him twice now, only to be fought back by his precious companions? Say true, how could he fail his quest with beasts such as these to aid him? The Blind Bard stared out across the barren ruins and breathed deep. He and his were hurting, say true, and the Dragon’s Breath had already taken a toll upon them, yet they were not beaten.

The Blind Bard smiled to himself, never knowing the Archer even now spied him from the distant rocks and was readying the arrow that would soon slay sweet Abernathy.

So began the second day of the third week of their journey and their third trial, say true; so began Abernathy the True’s last day, say true, say true.

Next Chapter: Watchtower 11