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What can change the nature of a man? The Nameless One was supposed to be asking that question, not answering it. He had nothing to offer.
The kip house was comfortless, but Nameless and his party had a long room to themselves, with a bare fireplace and slightly less stench than he had expected going in. Annah rushed to build a fire to a blaze. Everyone else dropped their things on their respective bunks. Neither Grace nor Annah had requested a separate room for herself, not even to get away from each other. Maybe they just didn’t want to be alone just yet. The maze still seemed to crowd around them, watchful and lethal.
“So I thought that went well,” said Morte. The flames painted him in a sinister light.
“What do we seek when we seek mortality?” said Grace. “Is it animal? Mineral? Another one of Ravel’s brambles? Can it move?”
Dak’kon had let his chin fall to his chest. “Can it fight?”
“That’ll be the deva’s chant,” said Annah, and spat. “If he even exists. Ravel’s barmier’n the smoldering centerpiece.”
“Was she always so?” said Nameless.
The room was silent. He was the closest to the question, and it was dark to him.
“I mean,” said Morte, “probably.”
“Couldn’t yeh get a better answer?” said Annah. “’Regret’ just got her going.”
“Any answer would have done the same,” said Grace.
“Are you sure of that?” said Nameless.
“If we knew what could change the nature of a man, we could have changed hers. There was no answer for her. Therefore there was none for us.”
The thought of the hag that had claimed to love him seemed suddenly too much. Nameless left the stifling room. He did what he wanted to do, what always drew him in times of turmoil. He walked outside and found a path up battered refuse in the alleyway to the roof.
Sigil was a toroidal city; it looped back upon itself far, far overhead. Any roof you went to, you would see the tops of buildings curving away in either direction, rolling up and up toward the far side. The light of thousands of windows served for stars, and for reminder of the life of the city. It was the only city in his memory.
Curst’s sky was flat. It was haphazardly jabbed with soulless white lights. He had to turn fully to one side or the other to see the remainder of the place, and instead of rising in a progression of roofs it slid to a horizon so nearby it felt fake. To get back to the proper perspective he would have to fall up…and up, and up….
“I hate this place,” he said.
“You have been here before,” said Dak’kon behind him.
“Did I hate it then, too?”
“It was…difficult, to know your desires at the time.”
“I see.” He didn’t see, of course. That was the point. “What can change the nature of a man? She accepted my answer. I think. But I was guessing. I don’t have any insight she didn’t. Do you…gods, you of all people should know. You’ve known me longer than I have. Is regret enough?”
Curst rustled and shouted at a distance. The sky above was black and terrifying. Dak’kon settled beside Nameless and stilled.
“If I could say yes,” he said solemnly, “I would.”
Then the penances of this lifetime hadn’t been enough. “I see,” he said. The maze was gone, the sky was barren, and the gith was still here, visibly aching from the truth he spoke. “If I could ever be your friend after all that’s happened, I think I would be honored to call you such.”
Dak’kon’s lip twitched. “But we would never have known one another. I share your path only because you thought me useful.”
“If this were still about being useful, you’d be getting to sleep downstairs right now.”
“Hm.” Dak’kon stood. He headed to the edge of the roof and half turned. The karach on his back stayed quiescent but he seemed to struggle with words. “You fear you have no answer,” he intoned. “Yet you chose. If you had lied, she would have destroyed us all.” Then he was gone.