But the gates of Hades were still wide open and, looking at the stars, I thought that I still knew nothing about life. Was it really so beautiful? Was it worth it for me to rise from the grave to see strange cities? The waves of distant seas and the sands of the desert? To know the wonder of wandering?

I knew nothing about women either. Maybe there are many women, there, beyond the gates? Maybe there is at least one more, like her? For me?

With these thoughts, I fell asleep. I dreamed of a black bull walking across the sky. On its back sat a maiden with hair darker than the night and a face paler than the moon. In her hand was not a sword and not a bow, but a silver sickle. I also dreamed of a white bull, swimming in the sea. On its back sat a maiden with hair golden as the sun and eyes blue as the sky. In her hands she held a bunch of grapes. I always loved to swim, and I liked being alive better than being dead. I followed the white bull.

I woke up around noon and saw only one star, glowing in the sky. I pressed a kiss to Wind Petal’s cold forehead, finally touched her earrings — they would chime no more. I climbed out of the grave and, as quickly as I could, buried her in the earth.

I returned to the road and, after some contemplation, decided to bury the dead by the hill. I felt neither fatigue nor pain, but I knew my strength was nearing its end, so I shifted and, in my half-bull form, I dug graves for two days, carrying bodies through the vineyard. I sang a children's song about geese, the words of which I still remembered, but still did not understand.

Terehoyno

Gereyhoyno

Hori garan

Haragaluun

Holuyraba

Hori Garan

Hongorhaltargaluunuud

No one came for the dead, only flies, ravens and foxes. These lands had been scorched by war and lay deserted, and it was at least a two-day journey to the fortress.

There were two hundred and four people, and I had killed one hundred and twenty-eight of them, without a doubt. I could recognise the wounds I had inflicted, as others recognise their own handwriting. Besides, marks left by horns and hooves cannot be mistaken. One hundred and twenty‑eight lives against one, and mine still remained with me.

Having covered the last of them with earth, I crossed the road and found a mountain creek. I spent several hours in the icy water, washing off the dirt, blood and the smell of death. Nothing remained of my clothes, not even rags. I fought without armour, but, strangely, there were no serious wounds on my body, except those received at El Iqab, although in places the skin looked as if someone had clumsily tried to scrape it off. Among the baggage remaining in the caravan I found some clothes, a sword in a simple sheath, some money, a bag of dates, a couple of flatbreads and all seven of Petal’s scrolls. I dressed, ate and left without looking back. At the port of the Southern Gates, I boarded the first ship I came across and sailed east.

‘I do not know what you wanted to hear about Wind Petal, hastatus, but this is all I can tell about her.’

*****

Scarlet blinked, coughed. His throat was dry, as if he had been the one telling the story for two hours straight. Asterius appeared exhausted — as though he’d spent two days straight burying the dead.

Scarlet took the last bottle of sour lemonade from the basket and took a sip that brought tears to his eyes. The mint leaves made the drink seem colder than it was. Scarlet wiped his lips and passed the bottle to the tauran.

Asterius took a sip and, without looking, returned it to the knight. He stretched out on the stone, threw his hands behind his head and stared at the sky.

So, that woman was dead, thought Scarlet. That woman who had bewitched him, thrown him off course. That woman whom Scarlet had planned to bribe, intimidate, or even seduce — so that she would back off from Asterius, or Asterius would scornfully turn away from her. But the dead cannot be defeated — that was also one of the mottos of the Order. Die, but do not surrender, for the dead cannot be defeated.

She had died and Scarlet even felt a little sorry. For some reason, he could clearly imagine her — small, agile, fearless — like a cat, like a stray cat with glowing narrow eyes. And those earrings.

‘It seems that she’s lying in the sky just as I’m lying on the stone,’ Asterius said lazily.

‘Who?!’

‘The seagull.’ The tauran pointed upwards. Scarlet raised his head and saw a seagull, its wings spread high above them. He lay down on the stone and, hiding his embarrassment behind a sneer, asked:

‘And is life really so beautiful?’

‘Yes.’

‘And…?’

‘No. I was wrong there. There is no other like her.’