Her pale face flushed from chin to scalp. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."
He closed his eyes. "I've seen it before. When we get close to death we don't think about anything but escaping it. Anyway, you saved me too, didn't you?"
She looked down. "I might have."
"So we're even. We'll share some stew sometime."
The door opened. Minn burst inside, eyes bulging. "Are you all right? What happened?"
"Somebody else tell her," Blays croaked. "I can barely talk."
"Hellen was Between," the red-haired woman said. "Lost it in the waves. Your dog paddled out and retrieved her."
Minn pressed her palms together and held them tight to her mouth. "Is everyone all right?"
"We've warmed them. They're fine. I'll get tea."
Minn paced around while Blays warmed various parts of himself in front of the fire. He toweled off on a blanket and slung it aside. Minn exited. He was suddenly too tired to do more than stare at the flickering orange flames. Minn came back with a spare set of clothes. He hopped into them. The red-haired woman returned with tea.
Blays gargled his, rinsing out the taste of salt. "What's Between?"
Minn turned to the woman. "Maybe you'd take Hellen to get dressed."
The woman laughed. "Enjoy yourself."
She helped the girl stand, then walked her out. Minn closed the paper-thin door and spoke in a low tone. "Thank you for saving her."
"Wouldn't you have done the same?" he said. "Or would that interfere with the People's 'save yourself' ethos? By the way, I'm fairly out of it, yet I've managed to notice you persist in ducking my question. What was Hellen doing in the water? What is Between?"
Minn was quiet a moment. "Worlds."
"Worlds?"
"Between worlds. It's a process we discovered long ago. When we find outsiders and bring them here to become People, they must place themselves between life and death."
"Like, for fun?" Blays gargled another mouthful of tea and spat it at the fire; the salt was impossible to wash out, as if it had marinated him.
"To become one of us."
"You think the best way to add to your numbers is to convince recruits to kill themselves?"
"Betweening is voluntary."
"And what happens if they don't take part?"
Minn took his cup and refilled it. Bitter steam wafted from the dark liquid. "They're sent home."
"Throw yourself into the waves, or be exiled?" He laughed harshly, then choked. He soothed his throat with more tea. "No wonder you're all so grim."
"You don't understand. We go Between to make ourselves stronger. When there is nothing left but you, your heartbeat, and death, the nether comes so close a child could touch it. There is no better way to train those who can't yet do what we do."
Blays blinked. "Well, that would explain what just happened to me. When I was drowning, I saw it melt. I could melt it again right now."
"You can?" She moved close enough to feel the heat of her skin. "How?"
"By wanting it."
"Show me."
He set his tea on the mantel and focused on the nether in her. He saw it. Touched it. Wanted it. It became liquid, reaching back at him.
Minn's eyebrows shot up. "Welcome to Summer."
"Thank you," he said. "Now please explain why you throw girls into the ocean naked, but treat me like I can't be trusted with anything sharper than a spoon?"
She folded her arms. "You weren't vetted."
"Do you think I'm no good? Too weak? That I can never be one of you?"
"It doesn't matter what I think. And if I cared what they think, I wouldn't have put my lee on the line to take you in."
"'Lee'?" Blays sighed. "Do you expect me to know what that is?"
"It's..." She rolled her hand through the air. "My reputation. My standing. My place as a part of Pocket Cove. They didn't want you here. I did."
"Why?"
"I already told you—because we all deserve to be free."
"No more bullshit." He picked up his mug and slugged it down. It tasted like spirits without the burn, like food for the soul. "Take off the kid gloves. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
She stared him down. "You have no standing to make demands of me. I'm the only reason you're allowed to stay."
"I think I can do more. That I can complete the same trials the rest of you endure. Do you think I'm wrong?"
"I can't know that until we try." She held her ground, but her gaze softened. "I'll discuss it with Ro."
"Wonderful." He pushed his palms into the small of his back, stretching his spine until he thought the bits might pop. "Now why don't you tell me what Hellen's training to do?"
"To move earth."
"I know that. Which is why you think it's safe to tell me that. So why don't you tell me the rest? How do you go unseen?"
Minn laughed and shook her head. "Just because I'm embarrassed and humbled doesn't mean you can bully me into blabbing."
"How about if I ask you, nicely, as someone who just risked his life to save one of your people? People who look at me like I'm a farm dog of questionable housetraining?"
"Shadowalk."
He threw off his blanket. "Is that their name for me?"
"That's what we do. We shadowalk. Move through the places others can't see."
"What does that involve? Besides words that sound like a foreign language?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." Her eyes ticked between his. "We walk through the shadows. We move like the nether, invisible, silent. And you'll never know we're there."
"Okay," he said. "I'm going to need you to teach me that right now."
Minn shook her head. "Summer first, dog. You've seen, reached, melted. Now you learn to move it. In summer, people want to slow down, to rest. It's too hot. But the rest of nature wants to grow. To move upward. The nether does, too. Can you make the darkness grow?"
"You know, my friend didn't have to pass through a mystical gantlet. All he had to do was read an old book."
"The Cycle?"
"That's the one." Blays bit his lip. "How'd you know that? I thought you guys isolated yourselves from earthly affairs."
"We haven't always been so isolated." She shifted her weight, then moved to a pile of pillows in the corner and sat down. "The Cycle is a tool for people who don't require this depth of training. Exposure to it is enough."
"Whereas for people like me it requires suicide attempts."
"And you may never be all that good." Minn smiled. "But you're more dedicated than most. Whatever your limitations, that helps."
"So how do I bring Summer to fruition?"
"Give it three days."
He laughed. "That's it?"
"I mean I'm commanding you to take three days off. Lyle's balls, an hour ago you nearly drowned. Now you want to skip right through the last Season?"
"Well, all right. But in return, I demand more tea."
He thought she was babying him, but whatever the redheaded woman had done to push death from his shoulders, it wasn't complete. He was soon tired, and after that he was so weak he could do no more than wander back through the halls (with Minn's guidance) to his bed. He slept until he felt good. That took two days.
Once he'd relieved his bladder—the tunnels had water closets with holes in the ground, cunningly wrought to drain moisture from the plateau down through them and wash it out to sea; they even had valves to rinse yourself with—he ate what must have been an entire flounder.
"Finished?" Minn said once he'd flopped into a heap of his blankets. "Then let's go see Ro."
Clutching his bloated stomach, he righted himself and followed her down the tunnels. Ro's room was thick with the smell of singed wintrel leaves. The woman combed her fingers through her gray-streaked hair and shifted on her cushion of blankets.
"What are you doing here?"
Blays covered his mouth to suppress a belch. "My master is taking me for a walk. Arf?"
She narrowed
one eye in distaste. "Why did you come to Pocket Cove?"
"I'm guessing Minn's already told you. That hasn't changed. I came to learn to disappear. To walk outside without fear of being seen."
"Do you consider yourself a part of this place?"
"Despite all your efforts to keep me separate from it."
The woman chuckled. "Thank you for saving Hellen from the waves."
"You're grateful? I figured a drowning here and there must serve to strengthen the herd."
"We keep ourselves strong so we're able to keep ourselves safe." There was an edge of warning in her voice. "We don't need to kill our own to do that. So, if you will accept it: thank you."
"You're welcome," he demurred. "Is that the reason you summoned me here?"
"Minn has permission to train you however she sees fit." Ro turned to Minn with a smile. "If he drowns, remember to bury the corpse six feet deep. The sand does an awful job concealing the smell."
Minn didn't seem to know if she ought to smile back. She inclined her head and took Blays outside. It was as cold as ever, but he hardly noticed.
"It's Summer," she said. "Can't you feel it?"
"It would feel more like it with a cold drink."
"Time to feel the nether grow. And when it's ready, to take it."
"How would one of your perfect recruits be instructed to grow and to take?"
She ambled toward the tideline. "By swimming naked in the worst of winter. Or running through fire. Or being sent to the plateau, shoeless and unarmed."
He scratched his neck. His beard was getting thick. "This truly helps them progress? Into things other than a worm's breakfast?"
"When you're Between, your only weapons are your wits, your hands, and the nether. What could be more motivating?"
"Sex. Booze. A roasted pheasant smothered in gravied mushrooms. No? Then I'll take the cliffs."
She nodded once and headed toward the staircase. "You'll spend three days in the Fingers. You can come down at any time—but if you return early, you'll be sent home."
"What if I don't know where home is?"
"Then you carry your home in your pockets, don't you? Free to make it wherever you wish."
He unbuckled his sword. "Keep it safe for me."
She wagged her finger. "Knife, too."
He glanced at his ankle in mock surprise. "Oh, this isn't one of those killing knives. This one's purely sentimental."
"Oh? What cherished memories does it carry?"
"...killing things." He handed it over.
She pocketed it. "You can keep your shoes if you like. We don't normally send people up to the Fingers this late in the year."
"If it costs me a toe, that's why the gods gave us ten of them."
"But if you come down early, I'll have to send you out."
"I want to do this the way the People do. Otherwise it means nothing." He pulled off his shoes and handed them over. "Practice too much with wooden swords, and when the real things come out, you're liable to get gored."
Minn pointed to the overcast sky. "It's noon. Or close enough to it to pretend. I'll see you in three days."
He grinned and surprised himself by hugging her. Equally surprised, she patted his back. He walked into the stairwell. Without Minn there, it went pitch black after the first turn. The steps were damp with ocean spray. He moved up in perfect silence, trailing his fingers over the walls. Eventually, light peeped from above. He turned a corner and was shrouded in light. It was cloud-filtered and wintry, as weak as noontime got, but after the blankness of the staircase, it was blinding.
Well, that was two minutes down. Only four thousand-something to go.
Fog slunk between the upthrust columns. Moss and vines clung to knobs of rock and wedged their roots into nooks. The ground was slippery, a mishmash of bare stone, thick mud, moss, and water that couldn't decide whether it aspired to be frozen, slush, or fluid. A peaty, half-rotten odor lingered among the smells of fresh and salt water.
Water was going to be a problem. Finding stuff that wouldn't turn him into a two-ended fountain, anyway. But he might be able to find some clean pools condensed on the fingers of rock. Or lick it from the moss or something. At least he wouldn't be doing any sweating. Maybe water wouldn't be so much of a problem after all. It was just three days.
The cold, on the other hand—that was liable to kill him. And if he didn't find some way to insulate his feet or at least keep them off the ground, his dancing days were over. There was the matter of the giant centipedes, too. As he had that thought, an ant the size of his thumb wandered over a clump of moss and stopped to wave its antennae at him. Blays frowned. Forget food, water, shoes, or shelter. The first thing he needed was a basher.
A fist-sized rock at the base of a column would do for now, but he really needed a stick. Something that would keep his precious hands at a safe remove from all stingers, mandibles, and smelly ichors. He wiped the rock's muddy bottom off on a patch of fuzzy lichen and stepped forward, keeping one eye on his feet. A single cut could be the end of him.
It quickly became apparent that there weren't a lot of trees around. Nor...anything, really. Besides fog, the slimier sorts of plants, and bugs so big it made you want to sit down and cry. After just a few minutes, he had to sit on a rock and tuck his feet into his lap and rub the feeling back into them. He really should have accepted Minn's offer to keep his shoes. Principles were for idiots.
Once he'd warmed his feet, he moved on. Most of the rock pillars were as steep as towers, but he soon found one with a natural staircase. On a lark—maybe it was a sign!—he climbed it to a small plateau. A gnarled tree grew there, orange berries festooning its branches. With no idea whether the berries were poisonous, he let them be, but beard-like gray-green moss hung from the branches as well. He tore this off, wiped off as much moisture as he could on the thighs of his trousers, and put the moss in his pockets. He tore off a springy branch as long as his arm and as thick as his big toe. What he really needed was a proper bug-whompin' log, but the stick would do for now.
Careful not to slip, he got back down, rubbed his feet some more, and wandered on.
And that was as exciting as it got for three hours. Bouts of walking regularly interrupted by bouts of sitting and sole-rubbing. On the eighth or ninth stop, he noticed three toes on his left foot had gone numb. The moss in his pocket was dry, but unless he ripped up his clothes (something he was loath to do, given that he was barely warm enough as is), he had nothing to secure the moss to his feet with. He picked at the bark on his stick, but it was much too thick and rough to tear into strips.
Grass grew beside a pillar, but it would shred within seconds of walking. His clothes were the only way. Stomach rumbling, he found a loose string on the bottom of his cloak and began to pick at it. He unraveled eight feet of string, bootied his feet in moss, and tied it in place.
"Ha!" His laugh died in the mist.
He got up, hefting his stick, and decided to see if there was any food that wouldn't wriggle all the way down his throat. Not ten minutes later, the string tore from his left foot, dragging moss behind him.
He secured it back around his foot, but the same incident repeated twice. He sat down and pressed his palms to his forehead. He did his breathing trick to warm himself up a bit, and then, to boost his sagging morale, he climbed around on the rocks until he found a shallow, fresh-smelling pool. It tasted good. And if he caught a disease, so what? At that point, the warmth of a fever would feel good.
Using the stick, he poked around in lichen and moss, exposing a handful of white grubs. They twitched disturbingly, but a quick chomp ended that. They tasted fatty, almost sweet, but it wasn't much, and only stirred his hunger.
The day grew short. He picked up his pace, eyes out for shelter. Could be a natural cave around. The People of the Pocket might even have built a cabin or something to house those on sentry duty in the Fingers. Twilight came, then a descending gloom. With the stars and moon blocked by fog, he curled up beside t
he eastern exposure of a pillar, shielded from the worst of the mist and steady wind, and proceeded to pass what might have been the most miserable night of his life.
On the second day, he decided all this running around was foolish. It wasn't as if he had to find the necessities of life. He didn't have enough to work with here. If he'd mysteriously woken up in the Fingers, he wouldn't try to live here. He'd walk out of it as fast as possible. Find somewhere with trees whose branches you could use to bash mammals whose skins you could wear to avoid dying.
All he had to do was get through another 48 hours. Then it was back to the caves. No point breaking his back with the end so close.
Anyway, he was supposed to be up here to get closer to the nether. He sat with the bottom of his cloak swaddled around his feet and practiced his Seasons. And there it was, all right. Shadows everywhere. Fall no longer took him any thought. Winter was as easy as a snap of his fingers. Spring still required conscious focus, but now that he knew the mood necessary to make the nether pliable, he could do so with few failures.
To shore up his ability, he spent the rest of the day getting the nether to melt. Now and then he got up to stir his blood. On one such meander, he found a rock structure so massive a rivulet of water trickled down its side. He let it pool in his palm to make sure it wasn't clouded with bad humors, then drank until his thirst went away.
His stomach sucked against his backbone, but there wasn't much he could do about that. To help ignore it, he cycled through his three Seasons, repeating Spring over and over.
He got lost in the work. Instead of walking around when he got cold, he breathed in and out, tensing and relaxing, willing his temperature to rise. Night came and all warmth went. Nether seemed to fill the void, surging everywhere. He called out to it like you'd call in the herd. It wobbled, but refused to detach from the moss, like a drop of water clinging to the underside of a window sill, defying gravity.
He woke. It was light again. His cloak was draped over his lower half. One of his moss-wrapped feet stuck out. He was very warm. He lay there, enjoying the sensation. Shadows roiled over him, mingling with the mist. He'd never felt closer to peace.
With a completely inappropriate sense of amusement, he realized he was on the brink of death.
The Black Star (Book 3) Page 22