by L. J. Smith
“I still have to go,” she said, a little more calmly. “She’s sick. And maybe Gavin came back.” A wave of fear surged through her at the thought.
“If they catch you, you’ll wish you were dead,” he said distinctly. Before Maggie could answer, he was going on, his voice as brusque as ever. “Stay here. Don’t come out until everybody’s gone.”
She felt the movement of air and the brush of cloth as he passed in front of her. The light from the entrance crack was cut off briefly, and then she saw him silhouetted for an instant against gray sky.
Then she was alone.
Maggie stood tensely for a moment, listening. The sound of her own breathing was too loud. She crept quietly to the entrance and crouched.
And felt a jolt. She could hear footsteps crunching on the broken slate outside. Right outside. Then a shadow seemed to fall across the crack and she heard a voice.
“Delos! What are you doing up here?”
It was a light, pleasant voice, the voice of a girl only a little older than Maggie. Not a woman yet. And it was both concerned and casual, addressing Delos with a familiarity that was startling.
But that wasn’t what gave her the big jolt. It was that she recognized the voice. She knew it and she hated it.
It was Sylvia.
She’s here, Maggie thought. And from the way she’s talking she’s been here before—enough to get to know Delos. Or maybe she was born here, and she’s just started coming Outside.
Whatever the truth, it somehow made Maggie certain that Miles had been brought here, too. But then—what? What had happened to him after that? Had he done something that meant he had to disappear? Or had it been Sylvia’s plan from the beginning?
Could Delos have really . . . ?
I don’t believe it, Maggie thought fiercely, but there was a pit of sick fear in her stomach.
Outside, Sylvia was chatting on in a musical voice. “We didn’t even know you’d left the group—but then we saw the blue fire. We thought you might be in trouble—”
“Me?” Delos laughed briefly.
“Well—we thought there might be trouble,” Sylvia amended. Her own laugh was like wind chimes.
“I’m fine. I used the fire for practice.”
“Delos.” Sylvia’s voice was gently reproving now, in a way that was almost flirtatious. “You know you shouldn’t do that. You’ll only do more damage to your arm—it’s never going to get better if you keep using it.”
“I know.” Delos’s brusque tone was a sharp contrast to Sylvia’s teasing. “But that’s my business.”
“I only want what’s best for you—”
“Let’s go. I’m sure the rest of the party is waiting for us.”
He doesn’t like her, Maggie thought. All her whinnying and prancing doesn’t fool him. But I wonder what she is to him?
What she really wanted at that moment was to dash out and confront Sylvia. Grab her and shake her until she coughed up some answers.
But she’d already tried that once—and it had gotten her thrown into slavery. She gritted her teeth and edged closer to the entrance crack. It was dangerous and she knew it, but she wanted to see Sylvia.
When she did, it was another shock. Sylvia always wore slinky tops and fashionable jeans, but the outfit she had on now was completely medieval. More, she looked comfortable in it, as if these strange clothes were natural to her—and flattering.
She was wearing a sea-green tunic that had long sleeves and fell to the ground. Over that was another tunic, a shade paler, this one sleeveless and tied with a belt embroidered in green and silver. Her hair was loose in a fine shimmering mass, and she had a falcon on her wrist.
A real falcon. With a little leather hood on its head and leather ties with bells on its feet. Maggie stared at it, fascinated despite herself.
That whole fragile act Sylvia puts on, she thought. But you have to be strong to hold up a big bird like that.
“Oh, we don’t have to rush back just yet,” Sylvia was saying, moving closer to Delos. “Now that I’m here, we could go a little farther. This looks like a nice path; we could explore it.”
Cady, Maggie thought. If they go to the end of the path, they’ll see her. Sylvia will see her.
She had just decided to jump out of the cave when Delos spoke.
“I’m tired,” he said in his flat, cold way. “We’re going back now.”
“Oh, you’re tired,” Sylvia said, and her smile was almost sly. “You see. I told you not to use your powers so much.”
“Yes,” Delos said, even more shortly. “I remember.”
Before he could say anything else, Sylvia went on. “I forgot to mention, a funny thing happened. A guy named Gavin dropped in on the hunting party a little while ago.”
Gavin.
Maggie’s stomach plummeted.
He got away. And he saw everything.
And he must have moved fast, she thought absently. To hook around and get to a hunting party on the other side of this ledge—in time for Sylvia to come find Delos.
“You probably don’t know him,” Sylvia was saying. “But I do. He’s the slave trader I use to get girls from Outside. He’s normally pretty good, but today he was all upset. He said a group of slaves got loose on the mountain, and somehow his partner Bern got killed.”
You . . . witch, Maggie thought. She couldn’t think of a swear word strong enough.
Sylvia knew. There was no doubt about it. If Gavin was her flunky, and if he’d told her that Bern was dead, he must have told her the rest. That Bern had been killed by Prince Delos himself, fried with blue fire, and that there were two slave girls in front of Delos at the time.
She knew all along, Maggie thought, and she was just trying to trap Delos. But why isn’t she afraid of him? He’s the prince, after all. His father’s dead; he’s in charge. So how come she dares to set up her little traps?
“We were all concerned,” Sylvia was going on, tilting her silvery head to one side. “All the nobles, and especially your great-grandfather. Loose slaves can mean trouble.”
“How sweet of you to worry,” Delos said. From what Maggie could see of his face, it was expressionless and his voice was dry and level. “But you shouldn’t have. I used the fire for practice—on the other slave trader. Also on two slaves. They interrupted me when I wanted quiet.”
Maggie sat in helpless admiration.
He did it. He outsmarted her. Now there’s nothing she can say. And there’s no way to prove that he didn’t kill us. Gavin ran; he couldn’t have seen anything after that.
He saved us. Delos saved Cady and me both—again.
“I see.” Sylvia bowed her head, looking sweet and placating, if not quite convinced. “Well, of course you had every right to do that. So the slaves are dead.”
“Yes. And since they were only slaves, why are we standing here talking about them? Is there something about them I don’t know?”
“No, no. Of course not,” Sylvia said quickly. “You’re right; we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go back.”
In her mind, Maggie heard Gavin’s voice. “It’s not like they were ordinary slaves. If we don’t deliver that maiden we’re dead.”
So she’s lying again, Maggie thought. What a surprise. But who’s the maiden? And why’s she so important?
For that matter, she thought, who’s this great-grandfather of Delos’s? When Sylvia mentioned him it sounded almost like a threat. But if he’s a great-grandfather, he’s got to be ancient. How are Sylvia and some old geezer teamed up?
It was an interesting question, but there was no time to think about it now. Sylvia and Delos were turning away from the cave, Sylvia murmuring about having to take a look at Delos’s arm when they got back. In another moment they’d passed out of Maggie’s line of sight and she heard the crunching noise of feet on slate.
Maggie waited until the last footstep faded, then she held her breath and waited for a count of thirty. It was all she could stand. She ducked through t
he entrance crack and stood in the open air.
It was fully dark now. She was very nearly blind. But she could sense the vast emptiness of the valley in front of her, and the solidity of the mountain at her back.
And she should have felt relieved to be outside and not caught—but instead she felt strangely stifled. It took her a moment to realize why.
There was no sound at all. No footsteps, no voices, and no animals, either. And that was what felt eerie. It might be too cold at night for mosquitoes and gnats and flies, but there should have been some animal life to be heard. Birds heading into the trees to rest, bats heading out. Deer feeding. Bucks charging around—it was autumn, after all.
There was nothing. Maggie had the unnerving feeling that she was alone in a strange lifeless world swathed in cotton, cut off from everything real.
Don’t stick around and think about it, she told herself sternly. Find Cady. Now!
Gritting her teeth, she thrust the water bag into her jacket and started back. By keeping close to the mountain’s bulk on her left and feeling ahead with her foot before each step, she could find her way in the dark.
When she reached the ledge, her stomach tightened in dismay.
Terrific. Going down in pitch darkness—there’s going to be no way to see the footholds. Oh, well, I’ll feel for them. The worst that can happen is I fall a hundred feet straight down.
“Cady,” she whispered. She was afraid to talk too loudly; the hunting party might be anywhere and sound could carry surprisingly well on a mountain slope.
“Cady? Are you okay?”
Her heart thumped slowly five times before she heard something below. Not a voice, just a stirring, like cloth on rock, and then a sigh.
Relief flooded through Maggie in a wave that was almost painful. Cady hadn’t died or been abducted because Maggie had left her. “Stay there,” she whispered as loudly as she dared. “I’m coming down. I’ve brought water.”
It wasn’t as hard going down as she’d expected. Maybe because she was still high on adrenaline, running in survival mode. Her feet seemed to find the toeholds of their own accord and in a few minutes she was on the boulders.
“Cady.” Her fingers found warmth and cloth. It moved and she heard another little sigh. “Cady, are you okay? I can’t see you.”
And then the darkness seemed to lighten, and Maggie realized that she could see the shape she was touching, dimly but distinctly. She glanced up and went still.
The moon was out. In a sky that was otherwise covered with clouds, there was a small opening, a clear spot. The moon shone down through it like a supernatural white face, nearly full.
“Maggie.” The voice was a soft breath, almost a whisper, but it seemed to blow peace and calm into Maggie’s heart. “Thanks for letting me rest. I feel stronger now.”
Maggie looked down. Silver light touched the curves of Cady’s cheek and lips. The blind girl looked like some ancient Egyptian princess, her dark hair loose in crimped waves around her shoulders, her wide, heavy-lashed eyes reflecting the moon. Her face was as serene as ever.
“I’m sorry it took so long. I got some water,” Maggie said. She helped Cady sit up and put the water bag to her lips.
She doesn’t look as feverish, Maggie thought as Cady was drinking. Maybe she can walk. But where? Where can we go?
They would never make it to the pass. And even if they did, what then? They’d be high on a mountain—some mountain—in the dark and cold of a November night.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” she said.
Cady stopped drinking and gave the bag back. “I don’t think there’s anything like that here. There might be some healing woman down there in the castle—but . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “It’s not worth it.”
“What do you mean, it’s not worth it? And, hey, you’re really feeling better, aren’t you?” Maggie added, pleased. It was the first time Cady had gotten out more than a few words. She sounded very weak, but rational, and surprisingly knowledgeable.
“It’s not worth it because it’s too much of a risk. I’m too much of a risk. You have to leave me here, Maggie. Go down and get to shelter yourself.”
“Not this again!” Maggie waved a hand. She really couldn’t deal with this argument anymore. “If I left you up here, you’d die. It’s going to get freezing cold. So I’m not going to leave you. And if there’s a healing woman down at the castle, then we’re going to the castle. Wherever the castle is.”
“It’s the place all the Night People are,” Arcadia said, unexpectedly grim. “The slaves, too. Everybody who lives here is inside the castle gates; it’s really like a little town. And it’s exactly the place you shouldn’t go.”
Maggie blinked. “How come you know so much? Are you an escaped slave like Jeanne?”
“No. I heard about it a year or so ago from someone who had been here. I was coming here for a reason—it was just bad luck that I got caught by the slave traders on my way in.”
Maggie wanted to ask her more about it, but a nagging voice inside her said that this wasn’t the time. It was already getting very cold. They couldn’t be caught on the mountainside overnight.
“That road the cart was on—does it go all the way to the castle? Do you know?”
Cady hesitated. She turned her face toward the valley, and Maggie had the strange sense that she was looking out.
“I think so,” she said at last. “It would make sense that it does, anyway—there’s only one place to go in the valley.”
“Then we’ve got to find it again.” Maggie knew that wouldn’t be easy. They’d run a long way from Bern and Gavin. But she knew the general direction. “Look, even if we don’t get to the castle, we should find the road so we know where we are. And if we have to spend the night on the mountain, it’s much better to be in the forest. It’ll be warmer.”
“That’s true. But—”
Maggie didn’t give her a chance to go on. “Can you stand up? I’ll help—put your arm around my neck. . . .”
It was tricky, getting Cady out of the nest of boulders. She and Maggie both had to crawl most of the way. And although Cady never complained, Maggie could see how tired it made her.
“Come on,” Maggie said. “You’re doing great.” And she thought, with narrowed eyes and set teeth, If it comes to that, I’ll carry her.
Too many people had told her to leave this girl. Maggie had never felt quite this stubborn before.
But it wasn’t easy. Once into the woods, the canopy of branches cut off the moonlight. In only minutes, Cady was leaning heavily on Maggie, stumbling and trembling. Maggie herself was stumbling, tripping over roots, slipping on club moss and liverwort.
Strangely, Cady seemed to have a better sense of direction than she did, and in the beginning she kept murmuring, “This way, I think.” But after a while she stopped talking, and some time after that, she stopped even responding to Maggie’s questions.
At last, she stopped dead and swayed on her feet.
“Cady—”
It was no good. The taller girl shivered once, then went limp. It was all Maggie could do to break her fall.
And then she was sitting alone in a small clearing, with the spicy aroma of red cedar around her, and an unconscious girl in her lap. Maggie held still and listened to the silence.
Which was broken suddenly by the crunch of footsteps.
Footsteps coming toward her.
It might be a deer. But there was something hesitant and stealthy about it. Crunch, pause; crunch, pause. The back of Maggie’s neck prickled.
She held her breath and reached out, feeling for a rock or a stick—some weapon. Cady was heavy in her lap.
Something stirred in the salal bushes between two trees. Maggie strained her eyes, every muscle tense.
“Who’s there?”
CHAPTER 11
The bushes stirred again. Maggie’s searching fingers found only acorns and licorice fern, so she made a fist instead, sliding out fro
m underneath Cady and holding herself ready.
A form emerged from the underbrush. Maggie stared so hard she saw gray dots but she couldn’t tell anything about it.
There was a long, tense moment, and then a voice came to her.
“I told you you’d never make it.”
Maggie almost fainted with relief.
At the same moment the moon came out from behind a cloud. It shone down into the clearing and over the slender figure standing with a hand on one hip. The pale silvery light turned red hair almost black, but the angular face and narrowed skeptical eyes were unmistakable. Not to mention the sour expression.
Maggie let out a long, shuddering breath. “Jeanne!”
“You didn’t get very far, did you? The road’s just over there. What happened? Did she drop dead on you?”
It was amazing how good that irritable, acerbic voice sounded to Maggie. She laughed shakily. “No, Cady’s not dead. Bern’s dead—you know, the big slave trader guy. But—”
“You’re joking.” Jeanne’s voice sharpened with respect and she moved forward. “You killed him?”
“No. It was—look, I’ll explain later. First, can you help me get her to somewhere more protected? It’s really getting freezing out here, and she’s completely out.”
Jeanne leaned down, looking at Arcadia. “I told you before I wasn’t going to help you if you got in trouble.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “Can you sort of pick her up from that side? If we both get an arm under her shoulders she might be able to walk a little.”
“Bull,” Jeanne said shortly. “We’d better chair-carry her. Link hands and we can get her up.”
Maggie clasped a cold, slender hand with calluses and a surprisingly firm grip. She heaved weight, and then they were carrying the unconscious girl.
“You’re strong,” she grunted.
“Yeah, well, that’s one of the side benefits of being a slave. The road’s this way.”
It was awkward, slow work, but Maggie was strong, too, and Jeanne seemed to be able to guide them around the worst of the underbrush. And it was so good just to be with another human being who was healthy and clearheaded and didn’t want to kill her, that Maggie felt almost lighthearted.