‘Because if you don’t, you need to get me,’ Chetta jabbed herself in the chest with her thumb, ‘into there!’ She pointed at the swirling power of Niklau’s ritual.

The witch began to involuntarily turn her head.

‘Don’t look at the sky!’ Chetta yelled. ‘Look at me! Focus on me!’

The witch looked back at her.

‘Get up!’ Chetta urged. ‘Get up and help me! I can save us both. I can save everyone. I can make all of this go away, but I can’t move. I can’t do this by myself. So if you want this entire planet to die, and if you want to suffer an eternity of screaming torment in the warp, then you stay right where you are. If you want a chance at living for a while longer, then help me up!’

For a long moment, the heretic didn’t move. Then, just as Chetta was about to either scream in frustration or simply lie down and give up – she honestly wasn’t sure which – the other woman scrambled to her feet and ran towards her. She arrived in a clatter of stones and dust, and Chetta shielded her eyes with her hand. When it had settled, she looked up at the slight figure looming over her.

‘You killed Radimir,’ the witch said, looking down at Niklau’s body. Her voice was flat, dispassionate.

‘He was trying to kill me,’ Chetta grunted.

‘I never liked him,’ the witch commented. ‘I should have trusted my instincts.’ She crouched down next to Chetta, dark eyes scanning over her. ‘Why can’t you move? Are you injured?’

‘My body and I are not currently on speaking terms,’ Chetta said acidly. ‘No, I’m not injured, as such. I just… can’t, any more.’

The witch nodded, and reached out. Chetta stamped down on the revulsion she felt at having the heretic touch her.

‘This may hurt.’

‘Every day hurts,’ Chetta replied, gritting her teeth. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

It did hurt: the witch was neither skilled nor experienced at helping a battered Navigator in chronic pain to her feet. However, it hurt less than it would have done had Chetta tried to get up on her own. She clung to that fact, even while her head was spinning and she was fighting the urge to throw up into her respirator.

‘Right,’ she gasped, when she could speak again, with the witch supporting her on one side. ‘Now, we’re going to need to get inside the ritual.’

‘I… We… I can’t walk into that,’ the witch said in a small voice. ‘I can’t.’

‘What’s your name?’ Chetta asked.

‘What?’

‘Your name,’ Chetta repeated. She felt like she was wasting valuable seconds, but this would all be for nothing if she couldn’t get the witch to do as she wanted.

‘Evelyn.’