A Whisper of Southern Lights by Tim Lebbon

fell, the men ran and time moved them closer to the end.

Ten
    I KNEW BY THEN that he was not a man. Gabriel had told me that a demon wanted me dead, but he had yet to talk about himself. About why he wanted me alive, and needed to find Mad Meloy’s grave, and why whatever Davey had written down and buried with Meloy might be so important.
    I was just a soldier. I had fought my way down through Malaya, been captured when Singapore fell, imprisoned, escaped, and now I was on the run with . . . something that was not a man.
    Then what was he?
    Escape from Changi Village was easier than I could have expected. Getting out of the jail itself had been difficult, but the area of Changi was left mostly to the prisoners, with Japanese guarding the outer extremes only. We made it to the sea, dodged a couple of patrols and found a boat to steal. Before launching, I told Gabriel I needed food and water. He seemed impatient but nodded and told me not to be long. I left, heading for a house that looked abandoned, wondering whether he even needed to eat or drink at all.
    I found some tinned food and a tank of water, warm but sweet. I opened two tins and ate a meal, careful not to give my starved stomach too much of a shock.
    It was a small, well-kept home, and I wondered what had become of its occupants. There were no pictures and little to indicate who had lived there. I took a quick look around for weapons and found some knives in the kitchen. They were very sharp, and I slid a couple into my belt.
    Gabriel was sitting beside the boat as I approached. “We have to go now,” he said.
    “I found some food and a couple of knives.”
    “Good. In the boat.”
    “Is he coming?”
    “He’s closer than before.”
    We launched the boat and climbed in, taking turns at the oars. When Gabriel rowed, he stared over my shoulder, back at the land we had just left. Sometimes, he winced in pain. Once away from the land, we both took a minute to dip in and wash away some of the filth. I felt better, but I thought that even if I bathed forever, the smell of my escape would still be upon me.
    Even with the looming threat behind us, I found the sound of the oars dipping into the water soporific.
    “So, are you going to tell me anything?” I asked.
    Gabriel smiled, and it shocked me. I had not seen it before. It did not suit his face. “You’d never believe me.”
    “Try.”
    “I can’t. I don’t. All the people I’ve met . . . I’ve never really explained what I’m doing. I don’t know myself.”
    “Is it revenge?”
    “Yes, revenge. Is it that obvious?”
    I nodded. “And you’re not a soldier.”
    Gabriel stopped rowing. “Is that obvious, too?”
    “It was a guess, but I was pretty sure. So, what are you? Spy? Special Operations?”
    “None of that.” He seemed almost disappointed, as though he wished I could guess more.
    “So, Temple . . . this demon, this Twin thing . . . killed someone you cared for?”
    He stared over my shoulder again, but he was seeing something far more distant than the shores of Singapore. He rowed, arms reaching, shoulders flexing, and the whole movement—Gabriel, the boat, the water—was unbelievably calming. “Yes, that’s what he did.”
    “And the man with the snake in his eye?”
    He stared at me with his one piercing eye, and I felt naked beneath his scrutiny.
    “Sorry, I—”
    “I haven’t seen him for centuries. It’s his fault I’m here, chasing Temple. And because he’s here again, something must have changed.”
    “Centuries?”
    Gabriel shook his head and rowed harder.
    “Gabriel, centuries?”
    He said no more. Our brief conversation was over, and I had no idea when or even if it would ever begin again.

    Night fell as we were on the water, and Gabriel was keen to move quickly to take advantage of the darkness. It took us a couple of hours to reach the mainland, and from there he wanted to flee the built-up areas for the jungle. I guessed that Mad Meloy’s grave was maybe