Something whispers in the darkness, and Hood is in many places at once. Many places, and there is light in the centre of the darkness. A light that burns black with cold dark flames. And the places exist in the flames. And the whispers are the darkness and the flames, and at the centre of the flames, such that each whisper seems to be everywhere and nowhere, in all places, and in none. And each whisper can be felt like the legs of a spider crawling, as they scurry across the vault of darkness, across the inside of Hood’s mind. There is pain everywhere, an overwhelming, unbearable sensation that causes Hood to scream. Hood screams in silence - a silent scream - a void from out of which a whisper forms, crawling forth, its creeping legs grasping and clawing. Hood continues to scream, claws at the whisper, claws at his mind. Screams himself inside out until he is the scream and the scream is him and he is nothing but whispers all tangled up, a nest of gossamer strands along which the whispers tip toe and pick their way, mandibles clicking and chattering, itching Hood’s mind. Without relief from this sensory onslaught, Hood will go mad, is going mad, and so, desperately searching for solace, he looks to the flames. Each flame, each flickering petal of cold, shimmers like a memory, like a refuge, beckoning him to enter. If he looks, he will see himself reflected, he will be there in the flame and so Hood looks, stares silently within - Hood will always stare in silence - stares silently into a black rose of darkness, which blossoms and transforms and…

Hood nods awake, sitting cross legged at the bottom of the stairs in moonlight and shadows. A strange sound whispers, causing a shudder to run up Hood’s spine. The sound, no longer a whisper, but a strange mewling, and from the shadows two orange eyes glow.

Walking along the twisted body of the master, prowls the creature, smiling its needle sharp smile, pleased, it would seem, with itself. Pleased and replete, droplets of blood dripping from the corners of its mouth, dark stains glistening its fur. It pads with a lithe sway towards Hood and nuzzles his chest, its leathery wings vibrating somewhat as if about to unfold, but they remain tucked in, as it sits back on its haunches and, with its mesmeric eyes locked firmly on Hood’s, lifts its left foreleg and raises a twisted digit. Intuitively Hood understands this gesture and lifts his right hand, curled in a fist except for his outstretched pinkie which he wraps about the twisted digit that has been proffered. The diabolical blinks, its digit tightening about Hoods finger. Slowly it tilts its head one way then the other, then pulling Hood’s arm to one side opens its mouth to reveal its strange yellow tongue before sinking its array of needle teeth firmly into Hood’s wrist. Hood feels the pain lance along his arm, feels the weird sensation of the creature’s tongue flick and dance along the length of his wrist - a strange almost pleasurable feeling - completely at odds with the initial feeling of the bite, which now seems an age ago, as if he is here in this moment but looking out through eyes that belong elsewhere in a different time. And then he hears the whisper, the long drawn out sound like a wind that slowly winds through his mind…Mmmmm’Aaaaarrrrrrbbbbbjjjjjjaaaaaa…

A heaviness overcomes Hood, it feels as if everything is draining away, everything except those two large glowing eyes that burn into his awareness, that maintain him from slipping away from the here. Everywhere is pain and shards of shattered glass, the mirror having broken. He feels the pieces lodged in his palms, feels one sticking from his cheek, looks across at Ambrosia and freezes with sickening dread and horror. He tries to cry instinctively for help but all he does is cough up blood, spraying it into the face before him, which cleans itself with a yellow tongue and blinks expectantly, head tilted to one side, a three clawed hand pawing at his arm. He sits up, wincing as the glass grinds further into his hands as he uses them to push himself upright. M’A-bja bends hier head low and uses hier nose to nudge a strange smiling wooden mask towards Hood - the meaning is clear, but where did this mask come from? Where did M’A-bja come from? Ambrosia’s body is shaking and the seizure extends to her legs, which tremble and spasm, a horrific gurgling is coming from what remains of her mouth. M’A-bja whines, a shrill piercing shriek of insistence that cannot be mis-understood: time is of the essence. Hood scrambles across to where Ambrosia lies jerking upon the ground, takes the mask and places it without question upon what remains of her face. The jerking and trembling stop and a strange ripple runs the length of Ambrosia’s body and then…nothing…Hood panics, thinking his friend dead, grasps Ambrosia’s hand in his, squeezes it tightly and with his other shakes her shoulder. Ambrosia’s chest rises, a painful shuddering breath is taken and a whispered voice that is no longer hers: “Hood, help…heal me…promise…”

Hood closes his eyes, steals himself, for his throat is burning and it feels that his lips have been ripped away. “..romise,” he rasps - his voice sounding like the growl of some feral animal. But pained and damaged as he is, he can still murmur the words of power, and drawing from the weave, spins and twines upon the mask a healing charm, which coils like a snake upon itself and pulls from Hood what little energy he has remaining. The world dims almost to darkness and all Hood can feel is pain, but he has struck the right balance, Ambrosia’s breathing steadies, the mask turns and a single eye gazes at Hood, as a trembling hand rises affectionately to carefully touch the side of his cheek…

Hood holds his hand to his cheek, remembering the sensation of his friend’s touch. Why, he recalls this at this moment, he cannot fathom - the memory, almost a ghost that haunts him - but an instant later his mind is elsewhere as he gazes down from the prow, at the plates of bright blue ice that crack and splinter, piling to the side as the icebreaker slowly, and slower still, moves forward against the freeze. The sky is greyed over, and a chill wind whispers snow in eddies and circles across the surface of the frozen landscape. Hood shivers, his legs and knees ache with the cold, and drawing his hood more tightly about himself, he gazes behind at the frozen rigging, ice rimed and heavy, hIs breath steaming forth in clouds. A large familiar figure appears on deck, swaddled in sealskin furs, and clumps towards him.

“Didn’t think we’d ever get this far if truth be told. And if truth be told I don’t think we’ll get much further…we’ll need to walk from here.”

Hood nods and turns back to look at the bleak ice-scape before him, juxtaposed mountains of jagged ice and rock, mishmashed together like the cracked and broken teeth of some fallen colossus. The ship grinds to a halt, a final shuddering splinter sounding out, slowly transforming to a dull crunch. Breathing slowly, Hood, feeling as if he is just a minuscule, insignificant speck lost amidst this huge icy expanse, stands at the prow a moment longer, staring in silence, watching the snow scurry and whirl, and listening to the wind whisper…

Darkness, cold and damp. His body seems to sway from side to side, as if he is floating, but in a most peculiar way. His head bent forward, pressure beneath his armpits and ankles. Somebody is by his side, their hand holding his. Darkness, as if he is swimming in it. And then a voice close to his ear whispers…