Gull sleeps quiet in his corner, untroubled by what his tale has awoken. I see barren hills. It is desolate, empty country where folk scratch a sparse living and forlorn spirits wander. A haze wraps the slopes, rendering them uncertain, treacherous. Below, down below, lies Yeun Ellez, where strange lights come and go. The dark ooze is patched with eruptions of ominous bubbles. Rank pools defy the probing of the longest stick. There are places where an object, thrown in, vanishes as if seized by an invisible hand. Flickering; fading; changing. A gateway to another world . . .

Who told me this? Is it a tale recounted around the fire, a thing of magic and wonder from time past? I remember the voice, a seasoned voice, expert in the telling of stories. I see the eyes, a vivid blue, the skin like old parchment. A hand in mine, knotted fingers warm with love. Is this a true memory? Have I conjured this from my real life, the life I have forgotten? Lying here on this pallet in the darkness, I see the Ankou striding out of the swamp, rags dripping bog water, eyes ghastly with mad intent, hands tipped with scythe-like nails black as pitch. His flesh is pale; his stride is long. My heart sounds a drum beat. My feet are rooted to the ground. Slowly, I begin to sink. I am on a steady, inexorable descent to the place beneath. Terror snatches away my breath. I stretch my mouth in a silent scream.

If you will go there, Felix, at least go armed with knowledge. The wise old voice speaks in my mind and I am back in the chamber again, in the dark, and the Ankou is gone. My heart is knocking at the walls of my chest; chill sweat coats my skin. I have made some sound, surely. But Gull does not stir, and in the little chamber beyond the curtain all is silence.

Felix. I think that is my name. I will not tell them. In this place of secret threats, knowledge is dangerous. The brave name Sibeal has given me will serve. I shiver, remembering that man’s gesture, the knife across the throat. Is that how he would do it? Or would it be a sudden cord around the neck, or poison drops in the jug? Perhaps I harmed someone dear to him. Or stole his treasure. Maybe I betrayed his trust. No. Use your wits, Felix. He fears my knowledge. I have seen something. I have witnessed something he wants forgotten, something he does not wish these good people to know about. The hair prickles on my neck; my heart is chill. Remember, Felix. Why can’t you remember?