Marcus sat up and moaned, shading his eyes against the sun.
“Can we reach the forest?” Kyja asked. “Master Therapass said we’d be safe there.”
“No. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet, but they will soon. They’re all over.” In his panic, Riph Raph coughed out a ball of flame that barely missed burning off Marcus’s left eyebrow.
Kyja grabbed Chance’s reins, searching for the approach of the dark creatures. There was no sign of them yet, but if Riph Raph said they were out there, she believed him. “We’ll have to run for it,” she said, trying not to think about how fast the snakes had reached the Goodnuff’s farm.
“You’ll never make it,” Riph Raph almost shrieked. “The dogs have us surrounded.”
Kyja grimaced, wishing for the millionth time that she had some kind of magic she could use. “We don’t have any choice.”
“Maybe I can . . . help.”
Kyja turned to see Marcus pull himself onto the log. Sweat bathed his face and matted his hair, but his eyes held the same determination she’d seen when he was facing down the man in Master Therapass’s aptura discerna.
“Boost me onto Chance,” he said.
Kyja helped him up until he could get his left foot in the stirrup and his right hand on the saddle. Heat radiated from Marcus’s body in sick waves. He was burning up.
Pulling himself with his right arm, Marcus swung his weak leg over the pommel. “Now you . . . behind me.” Marcus swayed in the saddle and Kyja had to steady him as she climbed onto Chance’s back.
“This may not work on you, so duck down behind me,” Marcus said, his voice raw. “And I don’t even know if I can use it with a horse. But there’s only one way to find out.”
Kyja had no idea what he was talking about, but she thought she could hear the Fallen Ones moving about nearby. “Whatever you’re going to try, do it now,” she whispered. Turning to Riph Raph, she pointed in the opposite direction of the forest. “Fly that way. Maybe some of them will follow you.”
As the skyte launched himself into the air, Kyja wrapped her arms around Marcus’s waist and picked up Chance’s reins.
“Nobody came to see me today,” Marcus muttered under his breath.
“What?” Kyja asked. But Marcus shook his head. Whoever he was talking to, it wasn’t her. A cough wracked his body as he started again.
“Nobody came to see us today, nobody saw us arrive.”
“Quiet,” Kyja whispered. “They’ll hear you.” What was he doing? Was he delirious? She was sure she could hear movement now, and not very far away, a low-pitched growling carried on the still air.
“Nobody saw us walk away. Nobody knows we’re alive.” Marcus had dropped his voice, but his words still made no sense.
Chance whinnied softly as a dark shape appeared out of the tall grass less than thirty yards away before slipping out of sight again. Kyja tightened her hands on the reins, trying to decide which way to ride, but Marcus put his hand over hers in a not-yet gesture.
“Nobody knows when we come and go. Nobody seems to care.”
Something was coming. The grass to their left rustled back and forth.
“Nobody take us away with you. Take us into your care.” What was he talking about? It had to be the fever talking.
On the other side of the brook, a pitch-black head emerged from the grass. Something that looked like an eight-legged dog—so skinny its ribs poked out from its matted fur—stood panting on a small rise less than twenty feet away. Its red eyes glittered as a pair of long, pink tongues curled and uncurled from its mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth. The creature raised its snout to the air and looked directly at them.
Kyja turned from the foul creature and her breath caught in her throat. Marcus and Chance were gone. She blinked and they were back again. Deciding she’d been seeing things, she lifted the reins and started to dig her heels into Chance’s flanks. Before she could, Marcus caught her hand. “Don’t move,” he whispered so softly she could barely make out what he was saying.
Marcus stared over his shoulder at Kyja with a grim urgency. His face seemed to swim before her, blurry and indistinct. She rubbed her eyes furiously—wondering if she was getting sick too—and again tightened her fingers on Chance’s reins. But Marcus shook his head and put a finger to his lips.
Kyja turned toward the eight-legged dog. Clearly in sight, it should have charged them, but it continued to sniff the air, searching the meadow as saliva dripped from its tongues. What was it doing? Chance rolled his big, gray eyes but remained steady as Kyja ran her fingertips along his neck.
After a moment, the dog-thing leaped over the brook and disappeared into the grass on the other side. Leaning forward in the saddle, Marcus pointed a shaking finger toward the edge of the woods. “Go forward,” he whispered. “Quietly.”
Kyja nudged Chance with her heels, keeping the reins tight, and the horse started at a gentle walk. Was the dog blind? Is that why it hadn’t seen them? A hundred feet to the left, another dog appeared. Its skull-like head swiveled toward Kyja and Marcus.
Kyja pulled back on the reins, but again Marcus gestured forward. As if they were being protected by some kind of magic, the dog’s eyes passed over them, and the creature skulked away.
All at once she understood. “Magic,” she whispered. “You can do magic, can’t you?”
Marcus shrugged his shoulders, wiped the sweat from his face, and whispered, “Not . . . magic. Just a . . . gift.”
The dogs were everywhere now, growling and whining, snapping at each other. They clearly could smell Marcus and Kyja, but were unable to find them.
“But how can your magic work on me?” Kyja asked. “Magic doesn’t affect me.”
“Not sure,” Marcus said, the strain evident in his voice. “I don’t . . . think I’m actually . . . making us invisible as much I’m bending the light. Stay close. And hope no one comes from behind. Don’t think it would work on you from that direction.”
“How long can you keep this up?” Kyja asked, sliding closer.
“Normally . . . not this hard,” Marcus panted. “Feels like something’s fighting against me—trying to pull off whatever makes us hard to see.”
Kyja looked forward and sucked in a sharp breath. Standing between them and the forest were two figures with black cloaks pulled over their heads—the Thrathkin S’Bae. Both held black staffs forked at the top. Tongues of flame danced over the cloaks and arched across the tops of the staffs.
Marcus muttered something that sounded like “dream” and slumped a little in the saddle.
A scream sounded from overhead, and Kyja looked up to see Riph Raph flying low in the air, drawing at least a dozen of the black dogs howling and snarling behind him. Staying just out of their reach, the Skyte turned his head and shot a ball of blue flame at the pack of dogs. The fire sent them scattering for a moment, but quickly they rejoined the chase.
One of the Thrathkin S’Bae raised his staff, and a bolt of green lightning split the sky, narrowly missing Riph Raph. As the skyte reached the edge of the woods, another of the lightning bolts clipped his left wing. He wheeled into the trees and disappeared from view.
“Can’t . . . hold on,” Marcus murmured. “Too strong.”
“You have to,” Kyja whispered. It was a hundred yards to the figures and another quarter mile beyond them to the first trees. They’d never make it to the forest if they were spotted.
Marcus moaned and slumped forward. Wrapping her arms around Marcus’s chest to hold him up, she urged Chance to go a little faster. Would her hands be visible if anyone or anything looked in their direction? It didn’t matter, because she could feel Marcus swaying more and more in the saddle. She was sure if she didn’t hold onto him, he would fall right off the horse.
The two cloaked figures stood about a hundred feet apart. Each held his staff in both hands, waving them before their bodies in a circular fashion. Although Kyja couldn’t feel anything, Marcus began to tremble as they drew
near the two men.
Marcus’s labored breathing was so loud Kyja was sure he would be heard. “Hang on,” she said under her breath. She clasped the reins tightly—her heart thudding—and tried to look in both directions at once, expecting to see one or both of the hooded heads turn. Then they were past, with no other creatures visible between them and the woods.
As she released a noiseless sigh of relief, Marcus jerked in her arms and gave a rasping cough. Both of the figures spun around.
“Nhet tei gar,” one of the men cried out.
Kyja had no idea what that meant, but she kicked Chance with the heels of her slippers and shouted, “Fly!”
Chance was old, but it seemed he still understood danger. Almost before the word was out of Kyja’s mouth, the old warhorse broke into a gallop that nearly tore Marcus’s limp body from her grasp.
Still, the woods seemed impossibly far away. Peeking over her shoulder, Kyja watched as both figures raised their staffs. Bolts of bright green energy sizzled through the air toward her. The one on the right missed, but the one on the left hit her directly between the shoulder blades. She grimaced, bracing herself for the pain, but the bolt bounced harmlessly away. Her immunity to magic had protected her, and for once she was glad to be different.
Realizing their prey was escaping, both men raised their arms and transformed into the huge snakes Kyja had seen before. Leaning as far forward in the saddle as she could while still holding onto Marcus, Kyja shouted encouragement to Chance. The old gray and white stallion snorted and pumped his legs furiously.
Kyja risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Grass and rocks flew past, but the snakes were coming even faster. They would never make it to the forest before the snakes reached them.
Clutching Marcus’s body, she shouted for Chance to give everything he had. Foam flew from the stallion’s mouth as he charged toward the trees. Kyja heard a sharp hiss behind her and turned to see one of the snakes launch itself through the air. She yanked the reins hard to the left, and Chance turned sharply, churning up clumps of dirt and grass with his hooves as the snake flew harmlessly by.
With effortless speed, the other snake slithered up next to her. Looking into its golden eyes, Kyja felt her heart stop beating. The snake’s pupils grew and spun, and Kyja began to lose her balance. The snake opened its mouth, which was big enough to swallow her whole. Its forked tongue flicked toward her, and Kyja’s robe sizzled and smoked where it touched.
Kyja tried to tear her gaze from the snake’s entrancing golden eyes. They were almost to the woods, but it was too late. She felt herself slipping from the saddle as the world spun around her. The snake opened its mouth, and Kyja was falling onto glistening razor-sharp fangs.
But then a long, brown limb reached out from the woods and crashed down across the glittering, black scales. The snake’s eyes blazed with fury as its body twisted and writhed. A second limb slapped down on the coils, and Kyja thought she heard something snap. Then she dropped from Chance’s back, and the world went black.
Chapter 26
The Weather Guardians
Marcus awoke to the touch of something cool and slippery on his cheek.
“Open your mouth,” said a deep voice that sounded as if it were coming from inside a drum.
His lips parted, and a warm liquid flowed over his tongue. It tasted sweet but burned as it touched the back of his throat. Gasping, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the slippery limbs held him pinned to the ground. He jerked and twisted, unable to see in the dim light what he was fighting against.
“It’s all right,” a familiar voice said. “They’re trying to help you.”
“Kyja,” he murmured, as a face appeared in the shadows above him.
He allowed his body to sink back to the ground. He had no choice. What little energy he possessed was used up quickly in his struggles. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
“Where am I?” he tried to ask, but his tongue wouldn’t form the words.
“Relax,” the deep voice said. “You are safe.”
Marcus fell asleep.
* * *
He’d been having a dream in which he was playing a game with Elder Ephraim. The game involved moving colored rocks. Elder Ephraim explained the only way to win was by patiently waiting for your adversary to reveal his or her strategy. The first person to make the wrong move almost always lost. He tried to remember exactly what the rules of the game were, but the dream faded too quickly.
An orchestra of cheeps, chirps, and croaks filled the cool, damp air. Lifting his head, Marcus opened his eyes and saw that he was glowing. As he started to sit up, a cloud of shimmering, red sparks rose from his skin and clothing. They held the shape of his body in the air for a moment before breaking up and humming away into the darkness.
Looking to his left, he saw a frog no bigger than the tip of his finger. The frog’s eyes glowed an eerie green. Marcus watched the frog open its mouth and begin to swell—first to the size of an apricot, then a baseball, and finally a balloon. Its skin stretched so thin Marcus could see its heart pumping inside its body, illuminated by the light from its eyes. Just when he was sure it was going to pop, the frog released all the air inside it with a rapid, tee-tee-tee-tee tee-tee-tee-tee, and hopped out of sight.
Where was he? He vaguely remembered running from some danger he couldn’t quite recall, and then . . . nothing.
Now sitting up, he realized two things. The first was that he was lying in the branch or branches of a tree—resting on a bed of what felt like pine needles, only they were as soft as feathers. The second was that the ground was more than a hundred feet below him. Gasping, he rolled over and wrapped his arm around the nearest branch.
Somewhere nearby, a voice chuckled. “The child is afraid of tumbling from its nest? Perhaps the child should stay out of high places.” Marcus’s first thought was of Bonesplinter. But the voice wasn’t the same. The needles rustled beneath him as if a strong breeze had blown through the branches.
Marcus searched for the voice, but there was no one in sight. Looking up, he couldn’t see the sun. Was it night then? If it was, how could he see at all?
Still clinging to the branch, he noticed that the millions of the tiny red lights which had covered his body flickered from the tree branches around him. Looking closer, he saw there were other colors as well—orange, purple, gold, pink.
The branches trembled beneath him again and Marcus remembered the song about the baby sleeping in the treetops.
“Rock-ee by, rock-ee by,” the voice sang as though reading his mind. This time the branch actually dropped a foot or two, and Marcus felt his hold on the branch begin to slip.
“Stop it,” scolded a second voice. “You’re scaring him.” Neither of the voices sounded human. For one thing, they sang more than spoke. And for another, they had a deep echoing quality to them. But Marcus thought the first voice sounded male, while the second had a more feminine tone.
“What’s wrong with scaring him a little?” the first voice said. “He brought the Dark Circle with him.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose,” the second voice said. “Let the boy down.”
A groan shook the branches of the tree he was in, and Marcus could feel the wood vibrating beneath his fingers. “Fine. But I still say it would save us a lot of trouble if I let him fall.”
The branch Marcus was holding drooped, and he felt himself beginning to slip. Holding as tight as he could with his good hand, he tried to find some purchase with his left foot.
“It’s all right,” the second voice said. “Let go. Ithspin won’t drop you.”
Ithspin? Closing his eyes, Marcus released his grip on the branch. He felt himself falling and reached out. Before he could grab anything, he dropped onto another bed of needles. That branch lowered and he slid from it onto another branch. Before he knew it, he landed with a gentle plop on the moss-covered ground.
Someone approached, and Marcus tensed as he peered into the
darkness.
“How are you feeling?” Kyja emerged from the shadows, a halo of miniscule pink lights circling her head.
All at once, Marcus remembered how sick he’d been. How did he feel? “Better,” he said. His stomach still felt a little queasy, but the pounding in his head had disappeared. “I think my fever’s gone.”
Kyja gave a sigh of relief. “I was worried about you.”
“You were?” Marcus felt a strange warmth in the center of his chest. They were silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest. It was impossible to separate all the different hums, chirps, and clicks. There were hundreds of them blending together from all around the forest like a natural orchestra.
“Here,” Kyja said, holding out a length of tree branch to him. It was a little thicker than his wrist at the top and narrowed to half that size at the tip.
“What’s this?” he asked, running his fingers along the polished smoothness of the wood.
Kyja blushed. “I found it over there a bit,” she said, pointing off into the trees. “I thought it could be a kind of walking staff. That maybe it would help you . . . get around.”
“Like a cane,” Marcus said, grinning. “Kyja, that’s a great idea!”
Kyja smiled—obviously pleased—as Marcus used the staff to push himself carefully to his feet. Leaning his weight on the staff, he found he could walk. Slow and limping it might be, but still, it was walking.
“This is awesome!” he said, shuffling around the forest floor.
Kyja beamed. “It even sort of looks like you.”
“Huh?” Marcus turned the staff in his hands and discovered a gnarled knot about six inches below the top that actually did resemble a face if you squinted a little.
“Wrinkled old thing looks more like Master Therapass.” He tried to scowl, but couldn’t help grinning.
Kyja clapped both hands to her mouth, not doing a very good job of hiding her giggles.
“Where are we?” Marcus asked, as something that sounded like a squirrel chattered above him.
“The Westland Woods,” Kyja said. “Don’t you remember coming here? You cast a spell that made it so the Fallen Ones couldn’t see us.”
Water Keep Page 13