‘We hunted them. For pleasure.’

‘It is the legacy of most intelligent beings to revel in slaughter for a time,’ Haut replied. ‘In this we play at being gods. In this, we lie to ourselves with delusions of omnipotence. There is but one measure to the wisdom of a people, and that is the staying hand. Fail in restraint and murder thrives in your eyes, and all your claims to civilization ring hollow.’

‘Is there such a legacy among you Jaghut?’

‘There was a time, Korya, when the Jaghut ceased their forward stride.’

A faint chill came to her at that, as if he but plucked at her earlier thoughts with fullest knowing.

‘We faced a choice then,’ Haut went on. ‘To resume our onward journey, or to turn round, to discover the blessing that is walking back the way we came. In our standing in one place, we argued for centuries, until finally, in our mutual and well-deserved disgust, we each chose our own paths.’

‘And so ended your civilization.’

‘It was never much of one to begin with. But then, few are. So, you recall a grim memory, and would now chew it. Your next decision is crucial. Do you spit it out or do you swallow it down?’

‘I would walk from civilization.’

‘You cannot, for it resides within you.’

‘And not within you?’ she demanded.

‘Do not be a fool, Korya,’ he replied, his voice drifting back soft as a knife edge on a whetstone. ‘You saw well my array of weapons. Most arguments in iron are arguments of civilization. Which paint shall we wear? By which name are we to be known? Before what gods must we bow? And who are you to answer such questions on my behalf? I take up this axe to defend my savagery – but know this: you will hear the echo of such sentiments in every age to come.’

She snorted. ‘You imagine that I will live through ages, master?’

‘Child, you will live for ever.’

‘A child’s belief!’

‘An adult’s nightmare,’ he shot back.

‘You would I never grew up? Or are you happy to contemplate my eternal nightmare?’

‘The choice is yours, Korya. Spit it out or swallow it down.’

‘I don’t believe you. I will not live for ever. Nothing does, not even the gods.’

‘And what do you know of gods?’

‘Nothing.’ Everything. I stood with them, at the window.

In the dark of the trunk, the eyes saw nothing, yet knew it not. She could have taken the dolls out before she left. Set them out in a row upon the windowsill, among the dead flies, and pressed their flat faces against the grimy glass. She could have told them to see all there was to be seen.

But, goddess that she had once been, she was never so cruel.

We are not flies.