“These times have challenged us all in many ways,” said Argyll. “We can assume there is worse yet to come.”

Damn my eyes. Had I not been such a fool atop Sin, I could have been awake these past few days. And I could have ensured Fionn remained in the city.

“There’s something else,” said Ruairí. He stood up, and slowly walked to the window. He pulled back the thin veil of a curtain that hung before it, revealing the view to Argyll.

No!

He would have dashed to the window if he could. The familiar skyline of the Dustworks and the Basilica to the south were all visible and intact, but the scene was wholly alien now. A thick blanket of snow covered the city, more drifting down in thick flakes, buffeted by rough winds. Ice filled the streets, with large mounds of snow piled up either side. Whereas only the peaks of the Steel Mountains would see snow at the height of winter, to see the same snowfall cover the land like this was an abomination.

“It just started yesterday,” said Ruairí. “The Rustlake and Móráin Sea are frozen over. I’ve heard rumours that the Eternal Sea is turned to ice too, but that would be—”

“Expected,” said Argyll. “Expected under the direst of circumstances. It means the Lady Meadhbh has been killed.”

“Excuse me?” said Ruairi. “We’ve had no communication from the army stationed at Dromán. Are… are you saying—”

“I’m saying not to expect any from them,” Argyll cut in. There was so much to plan, so much to prepare in so little time, he was loath to spend the time they had explaining all he knew to Ruairí.

But he’ll need to be in the know for when the time comes.

“The Church has had very tight control over all of our airships for as long as we could fly,” Argyll started. “But over the past few years, we have manged to sneak some vessels over the Móráin Sea to explore the lands to the east.”

Ruairí’s raised his eyebrows. “Lands outside of Alabach? But what about the Grey Plague?”

“I’m getting there,” snapped Argyll.

Skies above and below, there’s so much he doesn’t know, he thought. I invite him into the inner circle of the Movement, and he presumes to think there’s no more secrets kept from him.

“We found lands to the east and to the south of Alabach,” Argyll started. “Some as close as a hundred miles away. But they were not inhabitable. An eternal winter grips them, with sheets of ice and plains of snow spreading out for as far as we could fly.

“My whole life, I had doubted the account of the Grey Plague as the Church had put it. If the Firstborn were fleeing some sort of blight, or an illness, then why risk bringing it to their so-called Promised Land? I’ve seen these lands of ice and snow with my own eyes, and once I did, I understood.” He pointed to the window. “This. This is the Grey Plague. If ice has ravaged the rest of the world, then there was just one source preventing it from doing the same to Alabach. The answer lies within your sect’s scriptures.”

“‘Against our enemies, He is our sword,” muttered Ruairí. “‘Against the plague, He is our shield….’”

“Not quite. The Church has a verse just like this, but with minor changes. Referring to the Trinity, an old version of a similar creed reads it ‘Against our enemies, They are our sword. Against the blight, They are our shield.’ This was before the Church conceived the lie that the Grey Plague was a disease from which the Firstborn fled. For here it is referred to as the more ambiguous term ‘blight.’”

Ruairí shook his head. “So, if they—He, was our shield against this, does this mean the Godslayer killed Him?”

“It is a possibility. Either that or His power is weakened, which could be the case if the Lady has fallen.” On seeing Ruairí’s scowl, he added, “According to the Church, of course.”

The door to the clinic opened. Two healers came in, pushing a large leather chair atop a set of tiny wheels appended to the bottom of its feet. They pushed it using two handles protruding from the back.

Argyll looked at the chair, then back up to the healers.

“Is this all you have?” he said. One of the healers nodded meekly.

This won’t do at all, thought Argyll. It’s far too heavy. It requires another person to push it. The centre of gravity is too high. Skies above, the frame is made from timber!

“Bring me a pen and parchment,” he said, extending his hand. “Then leave us in peace.”

One healer pushed the chair beside Argyll, who regarded it with disgust. The other handed him a roll of empty parchment and a Simian-made inkpen. Then both vanished from the room.

Argyll began scrawling widely on the page, in silence.

“You were saying,” said Ruairí. He craned his head to see what Argyll was drawing, but the Simian leaned back, keeping the contents of the page out of sight.

Conceal what you know. Let them see you as weak. Let them underestimate you.

“Yes,” said Argyll. “The gods are no longer a concern of mine. Nor should they be on of yours. If Morrígan has indeed transcended to godhood, either by killing Meadhbh or Seletoth or both, then there’s no use trying to stop her.”

Ruairí started. “But we must do something! Are we supposed to just wait until she returns?”

“Of course not,” said Argyll. He quickly flicked one piece of parchment behind the other and continued with his work. “You said the Triad took ships to Dromán. Did they take them all?”

“What?” said Ruairí. He seemed confused.

Please keep up, lad, thought Argyll. You’re slowing us all down.

“Oh.…” said Ruairí, eyes closed in thought. “The Dreadnought, Sinfall, and Thunder are still docked in Sin. Farris convinced the Church to hand over focus-crystals for the engines of the rest of the ships, but they denied him those needed to fly the three larger vessels.”

“Of course,” said Argyll. “And if Farris couldn’t convince the Church to hand them over, I doubt anyone would.”

Ruairí frowned. “But what does this have to do with Morrígan?”

“We are leaving Alabach. Between the three ships, we can take most of the city’s population with us comfortably. Perhaps all of it with a squeeze.”

Ruairí’s mouth was ajar. He stroked his chin. “But you said the lands outside of Alabach were uninhabitable.”

“Only to the south and to the east. But we’ll travel west.”

“West? Over the Eternal Sea?”

“No sea can be eternal,” said Argyll. “Our best astronomers theorise that the world is set upon a globe. And the lands east of those to the east of us can be reached by travelling west. They discuss this only in secret, of course. Lest they anger the Church.

“This globe, they say, is over twenty thousand miles in circumference. In comparison, the distance from Elís Point to Gorán is around three hundred and fifty miles. Our supposed Promised Land of the Church is a mere speck upon the vastness of the earth.”

“So… how far is the Eternal Sea, then?”

“That much we do not know,” said Argyll. “But properly fuelled and properly fitted, the long-distance ships can sail for some two thousand miles without needing to land. Given the largest ocean we observed to the east was in the region of six hundred miles, we should have more than enough to span the Eternal Sea, even if it’s three times as wide.”

Ruairí clasped his hands together. “Many Humans, even the Sons, would consider this talk blasphemy. But with the threat of Morrígan, and the Grey Plague upon our lands now, I don’t see us having much of a choice.”

Argyll didn’t respond and started sorting and folding the pieces of parchment he had been drawing on. When he was done, the pages formed a tight rectangle, with the text and drawings inside concealed within.

“Take this to Red Ezra’s workshop in the Stone Ward,” said Argyll, handing the pages to Ruairí. “They are for his eyes only. Confirm that he can follow the instructions without issue, then report back to me.”

“Of course.” Ruairí pocketed the parchment. “I’ll get to it right away.”

Shame there’s no seal, thought Argyll. In truth, it was no real worry. Ruairí had demonstrated his loyalty to Argyll many times in the past. He certainly was one who could be trusted.