The wizard peered into the shack’s interior. ‘Hood’s breath, there’s only room for you in there!’ Vague objects cluttered the walls, dangled from the low ceiling. Shadows swallowed every corner, and the air still held the chill of the night just past.

‘Just me!’ the woman cackled. Her face was little more than skin over bones, her pate hairless and blotched with moles. ‘Show what you have, many-headed snake, the breaking of curses is my gift!’ She withdrew from the tattered folds of her robes a wooden card, held it up in trembling hands. ‘Send your words into my warren and their shape shall be carved hereupon, burned true—’

‘No curses, woman,’ Quick Ben said, crouching down until his eyes were level with hers. ‘Only questions.’

The card slipped beneath her robes. Scowling, the witch said, ‘Answers cost plenty. Answers are worth more than the breaking of curses. Answers are not easily found—’

‘All right all right, how much?’

‘Colour the coin of your questions, twelve-souls.’

‘Gold.’

‘Then gold councils, one for each—’

‘Provided you give worthy answer.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Burn’s Sleep.’

‘What of it?’

‘Why?’

The old woman gaped toothlessly.

‘Why does the goddess sleep, witch? Does anyone know? Do you?’

‘You are a learned scoundrel—’

‘All I’ve read has been speculation. No-one knows. Scholars don’t have the answer, but this world’s oldest witch of Tennes just might. Tell me, why does Burn sleep?’

‘Some answers must be danced around. Give me another question, child of Raraku.’

Sighing, Quick Ben lowered his head, studied the ground for a moment, then said, ‘It’s said the earth shakes and molten rock pours out like blood when Burn stirs towards wakefulness.’

‘So it is said.’

‘And that destruction would be visited upon all life were she to awaken.’

‘So it is said.’

‘Well?’

‘Well nothing. The land shakes, mountains explode, hot rivers flow. These are natural things of a world whose soul is white hot. Bound to their own laws of cause and effect. The world is shaped like a beetle’s ball of dung, and it travels through a chilling void around the sun. The surface floats in pieces, on a sea of molten rock. Sometimes the pieces grind together. Sometimes they pull apart. Pulled and pushed by tides as the seas are pulled and pushed.’

‘And where is the goddess in such a scheme?’

‘She was the egg within the dung. Hatched long ago. Her mind rides the hidden rivers beneath our feet. She is the pain of existence. The queen of the hive and we her workers and soldiers. And every now and then ... we swarm.’

‘Into the warrens?’

The old woman shrugged. ‘By whatever paths we find.’

‘Burn is sick.’

‘Aye.’

Quick Ben saw a sudden intensity light the witch’s dark eyes. He thought for a long moment, then said, ‘Why does Burn sleep?’

‘It’s not yet time for that. Ask another question.’