‘He still lives,’ Tornus said.
‘No. He persists.’ Morbus looked at Tornus. ‘As you persisted. A perversion of the natural order, skewed all out of joint and made monstrous.’ He shook his head. ‘There is a point where resignation and stoicism are warped into an unholy perseverance. A refusal to accept what must come, while at the same time losing all hope as to a worthy ending. That is the point where our enemy raises his walls and erects his towers. You fell to it, as this one did. Your refusal to die, when all hope fled, brought you to ruin.’
Tornus, confused, shook his head. ‘You are saying we are to be surrendering?’
‘No. Only that we must recognise the difference between acceptance and surrender. All things have their season. All things have a beginning and an ending. To cast that aside is to deny the natural order.’
‘I was once knowing much of seasons,’ Tornus said. He realised that he could recall the Lifewells, but only dimly. As if they had been seen by someone else, in another place and time. He was Tornus again, but not the same. ‘I was once feeling the turning of the leaves in my heart. Now, I am feeling only the storm.’
Morbus looked at him. ‘And this too shall pass. Storms have their ending, as all things do. The stars burn out, suns go dark and storms pass. Only death does not die.’
‘So long as there is being life,’ Tornus said, looking at the Lord-Relictor.
–Plague Garden








