He slid forward slowly, afraid of seeing the details, but knowing he had to. As he got closer, he began to make out individuals. Timur’s big frame hulked larger than the rest. There was Sezim, the little girl, still clinging to her doll with her three arms. And Bulat, flat on his back, the tiny lizard that lived below his skin just as still as he was, its head jutting out of the man’s cheek. Jyrgal leaned shoulder to shoulder with his wife, and Nurassyl was not far away, at the center of the entire group. It was too much to bear. Marcus ducked his head and, fingertips pressed against his closed eyes, he bawled out his misery. He was some time at this, as there was a lot of misery, and he didn’t want to do what he knew he still had to.

When his tears were dry and he couldn’t put it off any longer, he raised his head, took a deep breath, and continued looking for Olena. He found her all too quickly. She was at the far end of the group, lying on her back. One hand—the one wrapped in the bandages—she cradled close against her belly. The other stretched out to one side, the fingers of it interlaced with the stubby digits of one of the other joker children. Marcus pressed his body against hers. He felt the tears welling up again. He tried to blink them back, but they escaped him as he leaned over her.

Olena, I’m so sorry, Marcus thought. I should’ve been here. I’d rather have died with you. He suddenly remembered Father Squid screaming his long-lost lover’s name at the moment of his tortured death. Would he be the same? Years later, when he left this world, would it be Olena’s name on his lips? Yes, he was sure of it. And every day between this one and that would be a misery for not having her with him. I love you. I always will.

Thinking he would carry her outside, he slipped his arms under her. That’s when she opened her eyes and looked at him. She studied him a moment, and then asked, “Is it over?”

Marcus stared at her, stunned and uncomprehending. She sat up. Her arms slipped around him and pulled him against her. He felt the warmth of her breath and the brush of her lips against his neck, and he heard the emotion in her voice as she said, “You’re so bloody. Oh, God, you’re so hurt. But it’s over, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here. Tell me it’s over.”

Marcus wouldn’t have been able to answer even if his tongue-less mouth hadn’t been full of blood. He was too elated that she was moving, talking, holding him. He brought a hand up and hesitantly stroked her hair. She’s alive, he thought.