Paul floated in the dark. He was aware through some primordial instinct that the darkness was full of malevolent forces just beyond his touch. Furcas spoke to him from the inky depths.

"It is done. Not quite conventionally, perhaps, but the end result is satisfactory. Roath is beyond reach, and the circle is turning once more. Our relationship is at an end."

"Scarth?" asked Paul.

"He is no longer bound to you."

"But what's going to happen to him?"

"Do you care?"

"Ess does."

"Ah, the witch. Very well, observe."

***

Scarth plummeted. For a moment he twisted and thrashed, but millennia in the Inner Circle had taught him what to expect. There was no hope, no choice. He would experience pain without end again. Struggle was pointless. He closed his eyes and tensed, braced for the inevitable.

He hit the soft resistance, which broke then washed over him. His skin burned. So, the lake of molten lava to start with. He kicked and flailed for the surface, knowing it was hopeless.

Something wasn't right. His skin burned, yes, but not with the blistering heat that peeled skin and charred flesh. His surroundings resisted, but the texture wasn't right. It wasn't lava.

He pushed his head clear and opened his eyes. This definitely wasn't right. It was dark, but not in the oppressive solid dark of the underworld. It was twilight, and overhead a magical display of purple and greens played from horizon to horizon. Scarth gaped in wonder. Paint Your Wagon had been beautiful, evoking emotions Scarth had never experienced before, but this was a quantum leap beyond. He lay on his back, staring at the wondrous sight for minutes, not speaking, not even daring to blink, in case it disappeared.

Suddenly he shuddered. This wasn't the Pit, he knew this now, because everything was different. This wasn't even lava. He wasn't choking in suffocating heat. In fact, he was cold. Deliciously, painfully, wonderfully cold. He struggled to his feet and looked around him. The horizon was miles away, and in every direction he looked he could see only a vast white expanse. He looked down at his feet, at the crater he had created when he landed. There was something familiar about this all.

Scarth reached out a trembling finger and scooped up some of the substance on his claw. He sniffed it tentatively, then tasted it on his tongue.

"Ice-cream?" he wondered aloud.

He scooped up a handful and stuffed it into his mouth, biting down on the harsh coldness and feeling it drizzle down his throat.

"Ice-cream!" he shouted to the wilderness.

He looked around him. For mile on mile in every direction, all he could see was whiteness, horizon to horizon.

"Ice-cream," he repeated, reverently, his voice hoarse with the immensity of the concept.

Then he leapt, throwing handfuls of snow into the air and dancing in erratic circles, shouting wordless shrieks of joy at the southern lights above him.

****

Paul awoke, the dream still vivid in his mind. Was it true?

He carefully slid Ess's arm off his chest and eased himself out of the cramped warmth of her bed. It was dark, and he couldn't remember where he had left his clothes. Naked, he felt his way across the unfamiliar room and fumbled open the door.

"Scarth?" he whispered. There was no response from the gloom of the living room. He found the bathroom, slipped in and turned on the light. Wincing, he screwed up his eyes until he could see without it hurting, and regarded himself in the cabinet mirror. Was it true?

He opened the cabinet and guiltily dug through the contents. Women's ablutions were a strange and wondrous foreign world to him, one that had been locked up and unexplored. He could only guess at what the various solutions and contraptions were for. He found a pack of safety pins. Unclipping one, he gingerly stabbed himself in the finger, and squeezed the spot of blood out.

It was true. He was normal again, with his old life back. He thought back to events after the cab ride home and smiled. Well, not quite his old life.

He found his way back to the bedroom again and slid under the covers. Ess stirred lazily.

"Ess," he whispered. "It's over."

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"It's over, pet. Scarth has gone."

"Mmm?" she muttered, sliding her hand over his chest.

"Mmm," she repeated, sliding her leg over his, running her insole up his calf and snuggling her nose into his neck. "What?" she asked, still half asleep.

Paul wrapped his arm over her waist and pulled her closer.

"Nothing, pet. It can wait till morning," he said, running his hand down her back.