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A few hours after the Hordamen retreat, John sits on the docks of Maelport looking out over an empty horizon, Sefawynn leaning against him. His emergency nanite system has patched him up enough to move; he has a massive scab along his side, his nose is freshly broken, and his face is a mess. She tells him scars will look nice on him in this dimension if he isn't going to grow a beard. He doesn't mention that his nanites will probably erase the scars on their own eventually. He realises, as her body warms his side, that the nanites have been regulating his temperature so consistently that he has not felt warmth from another person in years — that the system has been quietly stealing something basic about being human from him.

Sefawynn apologises for the *aelv ring* — the portal he smashed; she thought, plausibly enough, that it was one of the mushroom-rings the Weswarans say lead to the world of the aelvs. He'll have to find another way home, he tells himself: the rig and the beacon are both wrecked beyond his ability to repair. But first he wants to hold her a little longer. He tells her what she did in the square was amazing; all of Weswara is safer because of her. She is sure Woden will strike her down for the boast. *If he hasn't yet, he won't,* John says.

She kisses him, and asks to learn all the writing he knows — every word of his world, every word of every land. He smiles, hating what he knows comes next, and tells her she is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to him. *Well, you have misled me,* she says. *You are not the lowest of aelvs, are you, Runian?* *No,* he says. *No, I'm not.* And he believes it. He adds, just to prove the man is still in there, that he is in fact pretty incredible — good with women, one of his talents. She laughs and points to the perfectly ordinary clouds overhead.

A voice behind them — *not that I mind. In fact, I enjoy watching* — and they spin to find Thokk standing on the dock, still in the body of a short, stick-bearing old woman. She tells them Ealstan is still breathing and likely to keep doing so, but that she hasn't yet broken it to him that Ulric killed the earl Godric. *We'll need a new earl,* Sefawynn says. *Fortunately, you have a good candidate.* Sefawynn glances at John and he grins. *I meant Ealstan, you aers!* Logna snaps. *You're both idiots.* *We are our own idiots, Goddess.* Logna grunts and tells Sefawynn to go check on Ealstan. Sefawynn kisses John and goes; he watches her walk up the steps and disappear into a city now glowing with a new runestone inscribed in the liquid-looking letters she carved.

Alone with the goddess on the empty pier, John tells her he understands why Woden discarded these people — he was running the same play Ulric did, beating one city down to terrify the worshippers in every other. Basically Ulric with a priesthood. Logna allows that he has gotten a little smart, and informs him she is done doing his bidding; the wight-trick had been a way to hide her presence from her brother's eyes, and his *aura* has interesting effects on her kind. *That's fine,* he says. *I won't be here to hurt you much longer anyway.*

He looks out over the ocean. His nanites are too depleted to fire the anti-drowning protocols or keep his lungs going once they fill. He has never learned to swim. His existence poisons the wights and unravels the wyrd; if he stays, the land that just saved itself will rot out from under Sefawynn. He thanks Logna for helping him find the man he could have been; it was nice to know him for a few days. He steps off the dock.

And sits up a moment later. *It's only about two feet deep here, dullard,* Logna says. *Why do you think the pier extends so far out?* He climbs to his feet, dignified, and turns to walk farther out. She comments admiringly on how stupidly, amazingly, ridiculously brave he is being. He glares. She tells him the chance for dignity has passed; he tried to drown himself in knee-deep water. He sighs. *Why do I always end up in the dimension with the annoying gods?*

Then she relents. He is right that outsiders poison her land — but only if they stay still. Ulric had been parked in Maelport a full month, which is why she had not been able to act against him sooner. A man who keeps moving from town to town will not stay anywhere long enough to ferment. And — she adds, casually — if John stays close to Sefawynn, his presence will keep Woden from touching her, because the pain his kind cause her brother is just enough to drive him away. So if he stops trying to belly-flop into puddles and instead travels the country at her side, John can keep Sefawynn alive and protect the wyrd at the same time. Of course, Logna notes, when her skops tell the tale they will leave out the part with the puddle.

He could stay. He could *stay.* She offers him her hand — a surprisingly firm grip, for a god — and pulls him out of the water. He thanks her. She shrugs that she is in it for the stories; eternity gets boring, especially when one's remaining kin are the kind of geniuses who can't tell their tree from their elbow. She sends him up to dinner. He asks what they're having. *Fish.* *Think I'll seize a few, eh?* She actually grins. He turns back toward the city and, out of habit, casts about for a rating to award the experience — and finds himself unable to land on one. He has what he wanted; the rating system can retire. (Five out of five, his brain mutters anyway, on the way out. *You served me well.*)

He runs up the steps to meet Sefawynn and Ealstan with a whoop. Even a coward can save the world — turns out — so long as you leave him with no other options.