But this was not a fight for survival, for he had already succeeded in stopping Morrígan, at least from a time, from burning The Dreadnought from the sky. He was some distance away from Sin, and it was possible that Sinfall was already leaving. If it left without him, there would not be much lost, for if his life was what it took to give hope to so many others, then so be it.

With great effort, he reached the end of the street, which reached a main basalt road that led all the way to Sin. Without a grip upon individual stones, however, Argyll found no way to pull himself onwards.

Ironic, he thought, rolling himself forward with the strength of his shoulder alone. That the roads of our Simian engineers replacing the cobblestones of the Seachtú would seal my fate.

He could roll, using a significant amount of energy in the process, but he was maybe half a mile from the tower. Perhaps this was no longer a struggle he could partake in. If the other two ships could set off, wouldn’t that be enough?

With that, Argyll gave up. He lay on his back upon the basalt road, his arms spread wide, facing the cloud-covered sky. The pain within him displaced his fighting spirit. Perhaps this fall, this second fall, had done irreparable damage to him. It was likely only the final wind of an animal struggling to survive had taken him this far, and perhaps there was no other option but to die here.

He closed his eyes and welcomed the embrace of death.

“It’s him,” came a frail voice. “See if he’s alive.”

Argyll didn’t bother opening his eyes, for why burden anyone to save him now, if his purpose had already been served?

“He’s alive, your Holiness. What should we do with him?”

No, thought Argyll. Don’t bother.

“See if you can carry him,” came the first voice. “All of this was his idea, after all. It wouldn’t be right, to leave him behind.”

It doesn’t matter. Just leave me to die.

“Come on,” said the second voice. “I’ll need a few hands to help. Let’s see if there’s a healer aboard.”

Argyll struggled to open his eyes and saw the distorted shapes of a dozen or so Humans surrounding him. He could not make out their faces, only blurs that suggested robes, of silver and gold and grey and red. The effort it had taken him to open his eyes left him, and he drifted out of consciousness again.

For a time, Argyll had a vague awareness of what was around him. The air was cold, for some time, but the breeze that brushed his face subsided, indicating that he was indoors. Around him, he heard more voices, and more hands touched his body, and he felt himself moving faster than before.

When he felt the cold wind blow against his face once more, he opened his eyes. This time, the image was clearer.

He was aboard an airship, presumably Sinfall, and was surrounded by Humans. Strange faces all around smiled with glee upon seeing him conscious.

“He’s alive!” one voice called. “Quick, get him to a healer!”

They lay him down on the wooden floor of the deck, and Argyll felt the rumble of engines beneath. Were they already flying?

He turned his head to the side and saw two Humans in the white robes of healers rush to him.

A crowd had gathered now, Humans all, looking to steal a look at the Simian who once would have seen them all dead, only to give his own people a place to call home.

Among them, one Human was dressed in a bright red cloak, with a golden stole draped around his neck.

Upon seeing him, Argyll laughed, for this Human did not bear the all-too-familiar dour expression of the Arch-Canon, but instead smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Argyll,” he said, approaching the Simian’s side. He took off his headgear and laid it on the ground next to him. “If not for you, the Sons would have killed us all in the Basilica.”

“Outside,” Argyll said. “I need air.”

Quickly, the healers took him out to the deck, where other Humans looked on as they carried him out.

“The gunnel,” he grunted, gesturing to the edge of the ship. “Sick….”

The healers didn’t hesitate to bring him to the side of the ship. They allowed Argyll to lean over it, where he saw the foaming waters of the Eternal Sea flowing far below.

Expecting him to throw up, the healers politely looked away. On seeing this, Argyll feigned coughing and retching, and reached into his coat pocket as he did. When he was sure nobody was looking, he tossed The Truth overboard and watched as the tome splashed into the sea.

“Thank you,” he said, turning up the healers. “I feel much better now.”

***

High in the sky, Fionn turned around to face the earth. With Hydromancy, he parted the clouds, and saw the landscape beneath. Alabach was covered in snow, from Elis Point to Gorán. As he surveyed the land, the dark shape of Morrígan came flying towards him. But this time he was ready.

He surged the flame of his soul, which burned brighter than all the stars of the firmament, and pulled upon every mote of vapour from the surrounding clouds. With a glance towards Morrígan, he sent a torrent of icy water at her, slowing her ascent.

“You were brought up to never learn the truth of your birth,” roared Fionn. “The man your mother was married to knew all along, but he kept his feelings inside him, lashing out at you and your mother whenever he drank.”

“What are you doing?” yelled Morrígan. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it means something to you.”

Fionn tore downwards towards Morrígan, and pulling upon the air, sent them both plummeting to the ground, away from Penance, away from the Simian ships.

Somewhere in the Midlands they crashed, sending the earth all around them upwards, forming a crater in the ground.

“Why would that matter?” said Morrígan, pressing a hand into the earth. With a burst of energy, a huge fissure formed between them. The land parted, and Fionn leapt backwards to avoid the dark chasm that opened.

“Because you once lived with purpose,” he said. Somewhere far to the north, the sound of running water rumbled. Fionn glanced towards the source to see the High Sea itself bend to Morrígan’s command. It came flooding through this fissure, bursting forth and consuming all in its path. Fionn quickly took flight as the water rushed beneath him.

Desperately, he let his own thoughts quieten and allowed the knowledge of the Tapestry of Fate rush forth as he reached out towards Morrígan, hoping she would see, hoping she would understand, and all of those lives she had touched upon came forth and her life was laid bare before them If our ancestors claimed this land from the Simians, what use was an axe and a shield? thought a girl as she watched her mother’s coffin being carried through the chapel, and how untidy her hair was, if only her mother could have helped tidying it this morning, as she had done so many times, for Aoife Ní Branna loved nothing more than Morrígan, and her husband did too, despite knowing the child was not truly his.

“Stop!” said Morrígan, covering her ears, “Don’t show me this!”

But Fionn gave in more to the Tapestry, and it showed all those mornings that Aoife and Cormac Ní Branna had just stayed in bed together, letting the hours of the morning turn to the hours of noon and even into the evening, doing nothing but playing with the baby Morrígan, as Cormac would hold her under her arms bouncing her body over their laps, both parents taking so much joy in talking nonsense to her, and how Aoife would warmly grasp Morrígan’s foot saying, “that’s your foot!” and then her arm saying, “and that’s your arm!” and the two would take so much joy from the baby’s reaction for hours and for hours and for hours and they would smile as she would smile back, for despite the fights they had before, despite how deep down Cormac knew Aoife had sought Yarlaith’s bed, in this moment, and in many moments afterwards, everything was perfect was perfect was perfect was perfect and safe for surely if a child was to grow and develop surrounded by so much love, they could overcome every hardship and failure and disappointment life could throw at them, no matter what, and even though the love between Cormac and Aoife was to fade and turn to something worse, the love for that child was still there, and even if Morrígan was to grow, and fight with her parents, they could never bear anything close to hatred towards her, for how could any parent ever hate a child that once bounced upon their knee and responded to their funny faces and their silly voices with a wet gummy smiles and high-pitched giggles and gurgles and—

“No more,” said Morrígan, tears in her eyes. “I… I cannot remember this. I… I don’t believe this. The man who named himself my father was a drunkard, and—”

“And still he loved you,” said Fionn. “He knew you were not of his blood, but still he loved you, for despite where you came from, you were worthy of love.”

Fionn readied himself for another attack, but Morrígan reacted by falling to her knees. She held a hand to her head.

“You were his purpose,” said Fionn, stepping forward. “The circumstance of your birth had no bearing on his love for you.”

Then Fionn reached towards the Tapestry of Fate, and showed Morrígan more, so much more than either could have ever comprehended before, for there once was a captain of the Cruachan City Guard who loved a low-born woman, and they spent many hours lying together, eyes locked upon eyes, despite never telling another soul about the love they shared, because nothing else mattered to them but moments like that, and they longed to make more, and an innkeeper’s son, who once bore feelings he could not understand for a neighbour, but just when he was mature enough to understand what he felt, she was gone and he searched and he asked and he wanted nothing more but to speak to her and tell her all that he had ever felt, but she was gone, alone, in darkness, coping with her own grief in a terrible, profane way that left no room for growth, for strength, because the death of a parent is a terrible thing that befalls every living person fortunate enough to not die young, and one thing that makes Humans who they are is their ability to deal with grief with the help and the support and the love of those around them who have experienced the same, if through conversations or through relationships or through the rituals of their religious beliefs, every person who has ever lived has gone through that pain and has come through the other side, not stronger, not without that pain, for that pain never fades, but through the other side with the knowledge that they must cherish every coming moment with every other person they come upon even more than before, and this force named love must be appreciated and respected and sought no matter its form, no matter where it comes from, and perhaps that child who dissected bodies in the darkness of those caverns could have healed and learned to love again, stronger than she ever had before, if she confronted her grief instead of hiding away from it, fantasising about a reunion that would never come, for others around her did love her, if she did not see it, and Taigdh and Sorcha and Darragh had all lost things themselves, but each loved Morrígan enough to share their own pain to let her overcome her own, but she pushed them away, she pushed them away because she saw a chance to circumvent the cycle of life, to conquer death, but instead of conquering death, she conquered only her own humanity, and this is why she saw the life created by Seletoth as a mistake, not because He created life for His own selfish purpose, but because she denied herself a process of healing so ubiquitous, so commonplace, so Human that no one can ever live a life with any real purpose without having once gone through that loss, for to the parents who spent a day in bed playing with a child with so much tenderness and so much care and so much laughter, and the Simian who lay next to his love, unaware that she felt the same, with the same feelings hidden so deep within that he could not recognise them himself, and the regret he felt when they left that one place he could be himself, and the unspeakable pain he felt when she was taken away from him; if they were all to learn that the life they were given was never intended to have any meaning, would that even come close to nullifying any of those feelings? No, for if one were to interrupt any of those moments, between Aoife and Cormac or Farris and Nicole or Padraig and Aideen and tell them how their lives have no purpose because of Seletoth this or Seletoth that, they would not care, because they have found something else to care about, something that renders the Truth and their origin and the true nature of Seletoth and the vast black void from which He came irrelevant in comparison.

As if struck by a force stronger than Fionn could muster even now, Morrígan fell to the ground, whispering to herself as Fionn caused more images to pass through her mind; the quick glances Taigdh gave her in the inn, the way he clasped his hand into Sorcha’s, the way he pushed through the crowds at Sorcha’s mother’s funeral, desperately searching for Morrígan, for it had been so long since he had seen her.

“No,” Morrígan wept. “They… they didn’t understand what Yarlaith, what my father, sought to do. They feared the power they could not understand. They….”