screams, the way the sound choked off when the fire burned away their voices. She squeezed her eyes shut and
willed
the memory to shut itself away behind a closed door.
“Whsst!” called Falcon Mask. “Gone now, into the trees. Yet there! Do you hear?”
From nearby came a raspy cry. At the unexpected sound, Liath opened her eyes.
“What is it?” demanded Buzzard Mask, pushing his mask up. He was as young as Falcon Mask. They might have been twins with their bronze faces, broad noses, and dark eyes.
“It’s a tern,” said Liath, recognizing the call. “It must have been blown inland. How far away is the sea?”
“I’ve forgotten,” said Eldest Uncle.
“I’ve never seen the sea,” said White Feather as the young warriors nodded to show that they, too, had never seen it. “I’ve only heard stories. How far the shore lies I do not know. I walked most of yesterday and all this morning to reach you, Uncle. Feather Cloak asks that you return. The warriors have moved out to explore the borderlands. There will be a council soon.”
“What of my daughter?” asked Eldest Uncle.
White Feather shrugged. “She is stubborn.”
“Ha! Tell me a truth I do not yet know.”
“Feather Cloak thinks Kansi-a-lari has left the land. She cannot hear her footsteps on the earth. If she crossed the White Road, she would be invisible to us.”
“How could she cross such devastation? It is a steaming wasteland.”
“North of here,” said Liath. “But what about the coasts? It might be possible to cross along the coast.”
What had become of Gnat and Mosquito? No way toknow, not unless she reached the sea, and even then she might never find them.
She barely had strength to rise and relieve herself in the privacy of the woods, barely managed afterward to stagger up the path with the mantle clutched around her torso and find her way to the remembered clearing that she had walked in so short, and so long, a time ago. Once, the burning stone had appeared here. The pallet of leaves and grass she had gathered days—nay, months or years—ago was scarcely disturbed. She collapsed onto it, under the shelter of a holm oak, and plunged into sleep.
Sanglant, riding on an unfamiliar horse. He is filthy and his expression is grim
.
Fire burned in her heart, and in its flames she glimpsed Hathui and Hanna, looking for her, seeking, calling … but she was too exhausted to rouse.
Blessing shouts at a young man whose face seems familiar although Liath cannot name him, and he turns to face
a landscape of burning sand. A lion with the torso and face of a woman rears above her, raking with its claws as the girl screams, only it is not herself she sees but a young woman as dark of complexion as she is. A silver-haired man leaps into the fray, thrusting a burning torch between sphinx and bleeding girl. As he spins, panting, he sees her and cries out
“Liathano! Where are you?” The centaur shaman walks on the shore of a shallow river that snakes away through grassland
but the bright currents drag her away. She drowns, yet at the same time the aether feeds her as it feeds all that is elemental
.
She stirred at intervals, sometimes finding food and drink waiting for her although she barely recalled eating and drinking; the threads of aether nourish her; it is all the food she needs. Other times she woke hoping to see the stars, but the haze never lifted and it was ungodly warm.
Thoughts emerged with unexpected clarity.
I should have looked for him at nightfall with Eagle’s Sight
.
Land displaces water of equal volume
.
Did all the Seven Sleepers die, or did some survive
?
If the thread that bound the Ashioi land to Earth is severed, then is the aetherical realm closed to us? Is the mage’s ladder gone? Is my mother’s home lost to me now? Where does the aether come from that is woven around the Earth? Is it constantly replenished or will it fade? Is there less of aether in the world now that the gateway is closed
?
At
willed
the memory to shut itself away behind a closed door.
“Whsst!” called Falcon Mask. “Gone now, into the trees. Yet there! Do you hear?”
From nearby came a raspy cry. At the unexpected sound, Liath opened her eyes.
“What is it?” demanded Buzzard Mask, pushing his mask up. He was as young as Falcon Mask. They might have been twins with their bronze faces, broad noses, and dark eyes.
“It’s a tern,” said Liath, recognizing the call. “It must have been blown inland. How far away is the sea?”
“I’ve forgotten,” said Eldest Uncle.
“I’ve never seen the sea,” said White Feather as the young warriors nodded to show that they, too, had never seen it. “I’ve only heard stories. How far the shore lies I do not know. I walked most of yesterday and all this morning to reach you, Uncle. Feather Cloak asks that you return. The warriors have moved out to explore the borderlands. There will be a council soon.”
“What of my daughter?” asked Eldest Uncle.
White Feather shrugged. “She is stubborn.”
“Ha! Tell me a truth I do not yet know.”
“Feather Cloak thinks Kansi-a-lari has left the land. She cannot hear her footsteps on the earth. If she crossed the White Road, she would be invisible to us.”
“How could she cross such devastation? It is a steaming wasteland.”
“North of here,” said Liath. “But what about the coasts? It might be possible to cross along the coast.”
What had become of Gnat and Mosquito? No way toknow, not unless she reached the sea, and even then she might never find them.
She barely had strength to rise and relieve herself in the privacy of the woods, barely managed afterward to stagger up the path with the mantle clutched around her torso and find her way to the remembered clearing that she had walked in so short, and so long, a time ago. Once, the burning stone had appeared here. The pallet of leaves and grass she had gathered days—nay, months or years—ago was scarcely disturbed. She collapsed onto it, under the shelter of a holm oak, and plunged into sleep.
Sanglant, riding on an unfamiliar horse. He is filthy and his expression is grim
.
Fire burned in her heart, and in its flames she glimpsed Hathui and Hanna, looking for her, seeking, calling … but she was too exhausted to rouse.
Blessing shouts at a young man whose face seems familiar although Liath cannot name him, and he turns to face
a landscape of burning sand. A lion with the torso and face of a woman rears above her, raking with its claws as the girl screams, only it is not herself she sees but a young woman as dark of complexion as she is. A silver-haired man leaps into the fray, thrusting a burning torch between sphinx and bleeding girl. As he spins, panting, he sees her and cries out
“Liathano! Where are you?” The centaur shaman walks on the shore of a shallow river that snakes away through grassland
but the bright currents drag her away. She drowns, yet at the same time the aether feeds her as it feeds all that is elemental
.
She stirred at intervals, sometimes finding food and drink waiting for her although she barely recalled eating and drinking; the threads of aether nourish her; it is all the food she needs. Other times she woke hoping to see the stars, but the haze never lifted and it was ungodly warm.
Thoughts emerged with unexpected clarity.
I should have looked for him at nightfall with Eagle’s Sight
.
Land displaces water of equal volume
.
Did all the Seven Sleepers die, or did some survive
?
If the thread that bound the Ashioi land to Earth is severed, then is the aetherical realm closed to us? Is the mage’s ladder gone? Is my mother’s home lost to me now? Where does the aether come from that is woven around the Earth? Is it constantly replenished or will it fade? Is there less of aether in the world now that the gateway is closed
?
At
Similar Books
