Into the Dark Lands by Michelle Sagara West Page B

allowed him to just relax; he should have known that it was too good to be true. He pulled at a piece of grass, inspected its end, and inserted it between his lips.
    â€œThey?”
    â€œThe Light and the Dark.”
    He shrugged. “Don’t know. Why not ask Kedry?”
    â€œKedry doesn’t know either.”
    â€œWell, if she’s adult, and a teacher, and she doesn’t know, how should I?”
    Erin sighed.
    â€œBut someone—something—must have made them. I mean, everything has a beginning.”
    â€œErin—” He cut back the sentence and picked another piece of grass. “No one knows that, not even the Lady herself.” He propped himself up on one elbow, shielding his eyes from the sun. He watched her for a moment, then frowned.
    â€œYou’re thinking about the dead again.” It wasn’t a question.
    She nodded, biting her lower lip gingerly between her teeth. Her mother had been at the front for nine months—no, ten now. And the attacks along the front had shifted the line of defense; the Enemy and his cursed Servants had once again gained ground.
    We believe that the spirit goes beyond, into peace and a different life—one free of our eternal conflict.
    Believe. She snorted. Why didn’t anyone know?
    She walked over to the edge of the lawn, where a small row of flowers had been planted by Belfas’s mother. She stared at
their brightly colored faces without really seeing them—she often didn’t notice the outside world when she was thinking.
    If someone or something had created this Light and this Dark—this endless conflict—why had they bothered? Why not just create something peaceful and whole to begin with?
    Then her father would be alive. Her mother would be happy. And they wouldn’t have to say so many good-byes to so many of their line-mates. She ground her teeth.
    â€œC’mon, Belf. Let’s go down to the Gifting.”
    â€œWhat, now?”
    â€œYes, now. I’m not going to use it; I’d never be that stupid.”
    â€œI didn’t think you—”
    â€œThen stop being so lazy.”
    â€œLazy? Erin, it’s five miles. We might miss dinner.”
    She brushed her robe clean. “Well, I’m going.”
    Belfas grumbled. He stood, looked at the plain front of his house, and thought about what his mother would say if he told her where they were going. It wasn’t good. But he followed Erin; he almost always did.
    Â 
    Erin kicked at a dry branch. Birds fluttered away at the noise. Thoughts about the histories still held her fast; she could hear the din of battle and the cries of the dying more clearly than the twittering of the birds.
    She kicked another branch, noticing the shadow it cast as it flew. Belfas was right; they would definitely miss dinner. Never mind; they were almost there. The dense forest had opened up slightly around the gentle depression of the footpath that arrowed into the Gifting. The Gifting of God; the wound from which the blood of the Bright Heart flowed freely, to aid His followers in their battle against the Servants of the Dark Heart, grim nightwalkers who cast a shadow of death wherever they chose to walk.
    They hated life. Erin remembered that most clearly when she thought of her father. Their hate for life was their power, for in destroying it they grew stronger.
    And God, they were so strong right now . . .
    She shook her head; beyond the last uneven row of trees, she could see the Gifting of Lernan . Even Belfas stopped grumbling as they entered the well-kept clearing. No eyes had ever seen the keeper of it, but no eyes could doubt that he or she existed; the flowers and grass, the wild weeds and stones, seemed placed perfectly to highlight the nature and strength of the well.

    It didn’t look like much to human eyes. A large, stone well, surrounded by pretty white flowers—flowers that remained in bloom no matter what the season. The