drew my big knife. If he was here and alive, he must be a hisaf – but for which side? A deep groan and he opened his eyes. They were bright green.
‘ A big man with black beard and green eyes … He witched our babes in Stonegreen …’
The bearded man stared at me and groped for his weapon, but he could barely move his arm. I knelt beside him, swiftly found and confiscated two knives, and put my own blade at his throat. ‘Who are you?’
Glaring at me with hatred, he tried to speak but managed only a hoarse, unintelligible whisper.
Unbidden, words of Mother Chilton’s floated into my mind: ‘ Everything has a cost, Roger Kilbourne – when will you learn that ?’ She had meant the web women who became birds to rescue me and nearly died from their transforming effort. But hisafs could not become animals. Of what action was this man paying the cost? No hisaf was necessary for the spinning vortex to rob the Dead; I knew that much.
I said, ‘What have you done here? Tell me or I will kill you.’
He smiled . A feeble smile, barely a bending of his lipsbetween the black beard and bristly black moustache, but a smile nonetheless. His green eyes shone with contempt. And I understood. He did not think I was capable of murder.
He was right.
I had killed Hartah, but that was in the heightened passion of fear and unexpected grief after he had just slain my Aunt Jo. I had killed my sister, but she had caused the deaths of two people I cared about, menaced me and threatened my son. To drive my knife into the throat of a stranger – I could not do it. I was either not hard enough or not courageous enough, and I could not even tell which.
So instead I said fiercely, inanely, ‘What did you do here that depleted you so?’
Again that contemptuous smile.
‘What did you do to those infants in Stonegreen?’
This time he turned his head away from me. It took all his strength, and his eyes closed in exhaustion.
I tied him hand and foot with what was left of Tom Jenkins’ rope; the odious children of John the Small had stolen most of it for their games. Too bad those children had not been tranced into quiescence!
The hisaf did not rouse as I bound him. I was just wondering what to do with him now when another sound took me. Something crashed through the underbrush across the stream – something moving fast where nothing should move at all. Once before I had heard such a sound, right after I hurled my sister into the vortex. I did not know what it had been then, although I assumed it was more hisafs coming to rescue her, and I did not wait to see what it was now. With both hands I seized the inert body of the bound hisaf , bit down on my tongue so hard that blood filled my mouth, and crossed over.
We emerged inside a structure. Dim light, even dimmerthan in the Country of the Dead, filtered through two very dirty windows. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I stood inside a mill, undoubtedly built beside the swift stream I had noted on the other side. The great millstone did not turn; the mill was empty; the door wide enough for wagonloads of grain was closed. But outside, loud enough to be heard above the mill race, people shouted and screamed.
‘The babes!’
‘—witched—’
‘Help me! Help my child – someone, anyone! Oh please help!’
So it had happened here, too. The black-bearded hisaf had stolen children, as he had done in Stonegreen, and left them neither dead nor alive. At that moment, I could almost have killed him – except that these villagers would do it for me, as was their right. But if I were caught with him, they would kill me, too.
I spat out a mouthful of blood and turned to the two dirty windows overlooking the stream. I unlocked one, shoved open the casement, and climbed through onto a narrow shelf of land between the building and the mill race. The red of a summer dawn streaked the sky. There was no way to move away from the mill without being seen except to descend into the water,
‘ A big man with black beard and green eyes … He witched our babes in Stonegreen …’
The bearded man stared at me and groped for his weapon, but he could barely move his arm. I knelt beside him, swiftly found and confiscated two knives, and put my own blade at his throat. ‘Who are you?’
Glaring at me with hatred, he tried to speak but managed only a hoarse, unintelligible whisper.
Unbidden, words of Mother Chilton’s floated into my mind: ‘ Everything has a cost, Roger Kilbourne – when will you learn that ?’ She had meant the web women who became birds to rescue me and nearly died from their transforming effort. But hisafs could not become animals. Of what action was this man paying the cost? No hisaf was necessary for the spinning vortex to rob the Dead; I knew that much.
I said, ‘What have you done here? Tell me or I will kill you.’
He smiled . A feeble smile, barely a bending of his lipsbetween the black beard and bristly black moustache, but a smile nonetheless. His green eyes shone with contempt. And I understood. He did not think I was capable of murder.
He was right.
I had killed Hartah, but that was in the heightened passion of fear and unexpected grief after he had just slain my Aunt Jo. I had killed my sister, but she had caused the deaths of two people I cared about, menaced me and threatened my son. To drive my knife into the throat of a stranger – I could not do it. I was either not hard enough or not courageous enough, and I could not even tell which.
So instead I said fiercely, inanely, ‘What did you do here that depleted you so?’
Again that contemptuous smile.
‘What did you do to those infants in Stonegreen?’
This time he turned his head away from me. It took all his strength, and his eyes closed in exhaustion.
I tied him hand and foot with what was left of Tom Jenkins’ rope; the odious children of John the Small had stolen most of it for their games. Too bad those children had not been tranced into quiescence!
The hisaf did not rouse as I bound him. I was just wondering what to do with him now when another sound took me. Something crashed through the underbrush across the stream – something moving fast where nothing should move at all. Once before I had heard such a sound, right after I hurled my sister into the vortex. I did not know what it had been then, although I assumed it was more hisafs coming to rescue her, and I did not wait to see what it was now. With both hands I seized the inert body of the bound hisaf , bit down on my tongue so hard that blood filled my mouth, and crossed over.
We emerged inside a structure. Dim light, even dimmerthan in the Country of the Dead, filtered through two very dirty windows. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I stood inside a mill, undoubtedly built beside the swift stream I had noted on the other side. The great millstone did not turn; the mill was empty; the door wide enough for wagonloads of grain was closed. But outside, loud enough to be heard above the mill race, people shouted and screamed.
‘The babes!’
‘—witched—’
‘Help me! Help my child – someone, anyone! Oh please help!’
So it had happened here, too. The black-bearded hisaf had stolen children, as he had done in Stonegreen, and left them neither dead nor alive. At that moment, I could almost have killed him – except that these villagers would do it for me, as was their right. But if I were caught with him, they would kill me, too.
I spat out a mouthful of blood and turned to the two dirty windows overlooking the stream. I unlocked one, shoved open the casement, and climbed through onto a narrow shelf of land between the building and the mill race. The red of a summer dawn streaked the sky. There was no way to move away from the mill without being seen except to descend into the water,
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