Iliff and Skye continued eastward the following morning, stopping for the night at another familiar Garott settlement. They traveled on in this manner for several days, crossing the wooded lands and streams that had become well known to them over the years. Where there were no settlements, they laid out their blankets and slept beneath the wooded canopy.
Iliff held Skye close on those nights, waking often to feel for the rise and fall of her breaths. Try as he might, he could not banish the long-ago image of Adramina withering to nothing. It was the lesson that had firmed his resolve to seek the Sun. For in witnessing Adramina’s dying, he had seen the frailty of all things and despaired. But soon he had remembered the old man’s story. He had remembered the Sun telling Salvatore that it was eternal, that it was the source of all things. He understood that if he journeyed to the Sun, that if he were able to get there and look upon it, he need never fear death or ruin again.
But when he listened to Skye’s breathing, thin and finite in the great night, he feared death more than ever.
It had not always been thus. Following Troll’s demise, Iliff had engrossed himself in dismantling his walls, rebuilding the township, undertaking diplomacy, raising Tradd. And in his ever-emerging love for Skye, everything had seemed abundant and without end. But then came the changes: the dimming of her light, the subtle coarsening of her hair and voice, her waning stature. As was the fate of all Fythe, she was aging too soon. Iliff could no longer pretend that their union was immune to the seasons.
The one hope he held to—and held to passionately—was their resolve to seek the Sun together. Just as he was no longer bound by his walls, neither was Skye any longer bound by her role as queen. They spoke of leaving when the new township of Fythe and Garott was safe and established and Tradd old enough to care for himself. Both moments were near now.
But despite the many lands they had traversed and explored in the last years, they had neither seen nor felt the Mountain of her mother’s stories, not even in the far distance. Neither had anyone they encountered heard of such a mountain.
Your path must be up, Adramina had told him. Ever up.
Yet with every new ascent, no matter how lengthy or steep, the land always led them back down again.
And Skye was fading.
* * *
One day, more than a week after they had set out, the lands fell sharply and the trees became crowded and dark. Skye pulled on her reins, and Iliff stopped beside her.
“Can you feel them?” she asked.
Iliff closed his eyes and imagined a halo around his chest, just as she had taught him. He breathed deeply, and as the halo swelled, so too did his awareness, his feeling. He sensed Skye beside him—a ribbon of light. The beasts beneath them became earthen colors; the trees rose in vibrant spires. He breathed the halo out farther until he could no longer feel himself. Or rather, he could, but what he felt was conjoined with everything living within the sphere, as though they were extensions of himself, or he of them—he could not tell which. It was a state he had yet to become fully accustomed to, and he fought the urge to open his eyes.
“Yes, down there,” he said at last.
He sensed them, like low whispers. A Garott sentry of perhaps a dozen or more, their thoughts steely and unyielding. Many more Garott stirred beyond. When he opened his eyes, Skye was nodding. They had found the settlement.
They tethered their horses to a tree and stepped carefully downhill. The falling land sharpened into a ravine. Down beyond the trees, Iliff sensed the outer sentry. He paused and looked to Skye. She moved her blue eyes to the stony cliffs on either side of the winding ravine. And now she was inside him, nudging his awareness outward so that he, too, could feel those concealed among the rocks.
With few natural barriers and their guard posts spread thin, the other settlements had been easy for Iliff and Skye to enter unseen. Once inside, they felt for the most accessible members of the settlement and then met with them to declare their friendly intentions. Only then did they request an audience with the leader. But this settlement was different than the others.
“Is there a way around?” Iliff asked when they had retreated back up the ravine.
“The river beyond is wide and strong,” Skye said, “and the stone cliffs enclose the settlement by land.” She shook her head as she looked back to Iliff. “The ravine is the only way in or out.”
“I can go,” Iliff said.
“You feel the guards as I do. They are far too fearful.” Her brow creased above her closed eyes. “But there is illness among their people. They may receive me as a healer.”
“Or detain you as a spy.” Or worse.
“Which is why it is important that we make clear our mission as soon as we can. If any settlement were to act on its misperceptions, it would be this one, Iliff, and violently so. Listen there.”
He felt her awareness ripple past him and followed it to where he could just make out the chattering of hammer strikes.
“Those are not tools they forge,” she said.
Iliff thought for a moment. “Perhaps we can return with a contingent of Garott. With Stype and Severna, even.”
Skye shook her head. “They do not trust the Garott with whom we trade, and they trust those in the township even less. They believe they are being deceived and that all Garott will pay the penalty for their folly.”
“What choice does that leave us?”
Skye’s eyes deepened in thought and color. As Iliff watched, he wondered how he could ever love someone more.
“We may obscure ourselves from their sight,” she said.
“There are too many.”
“For me alone, yes…”
Iliff turned toward her suddenly. He searched her expression to make sure he had not misunderstood. “You know I haven’t the ability,” he stammered. “Why would you even suggest—?”
“Have you ever tried?”
“No,” he said. “But this is hardly the time to learn.”
Skye took his hand in both of hers. “You are far more powerful than you allow yourself, Iliff. There are few who could have developed the ability to feel as quickly as you have. And from feeling, it is but a short leap to other abilities.” She lifted his hand, placing his first finger against the space between her fine eyebrows. “Close your eyes and feel me here, Iliff. Deep, but not too deep.”
Iliff did as she said, and shortly, beyond her soft ribbons of color, he sensed what felt like a small plate, thin but firm. As he examined the plate, he was surprised to find an image appear inside of it. A hand. And beyond the hand was an arm, and beyond the arm… himself!
Iliff watched the image vibrate and become rose-colored as Skye laughed beneath him.
“Yes,” she said. “There is the place by which we see. Now back away, but hold onto the image.”
With his eyes still closed, Iliff watched his hand and arm fall away and the mirror image of himself retreat slowly. It stopped where he stopped. The wind picked up for a moment, and Iliff watched the flicker of dark silver at the same moment he felt his hair against his cheek.
“Good,” Skye said. “Now you must but cover the image of yourself.”
Iliff hesitated, then imagined himself placing his hand over the plate. Suddenly, the image went dark.
“No, just yourself,” Skye called out. “You’ve left me with no sight at all.”
Iliff dropped the imaginary hand and instead placed an imaginary finger over the thin picture of himself. Now the plate revealed only the earth at his feet, the trunks and low branches around him, bits of the gray sky. But what of the void in the middle? No sooner had he begun to wonder about this than the natural elements in the plate grew over the empty shadow. In an instant, the scene appeared seamless.
He moved to one side, and still the image in the plate did not change.
“You see,” she said. “Even though I know you stand there, my mind has filled in the gap nevertheless. It is the way our minds work. Only the most vigilant would se
nse something amiss.”
Iliff opened his eyes. “But that was only your sight,” he said, glancing back toward the ravine. “What of the sentry? I counted more than twelve.”
“Yes, but feel how they are positioned. There is a line of three, then another line of three, then a final line of four.” She moved her hands out in steps. “Four more Garott watch from the cliff walls. If you hide us from those on the walls, I can get us past those on the ground.”
Iliff began to protest, but when he saw the trust in her gaze, and felt the same in his heart, he stopped and nodded his head. She raised the hood of her cloak. After a moment, he did the same.
Chapter 3
It felt eerie to Iliff to be so near the sentry, but not hear them. He could feel them, though, in the three lines Skye had described. He could feel the hardness of their vigil. He did not go with a weapon now, and neither did Skye. The only sword he owned was ornamental, a gift from a Garott craftsman, which he had worn at his wedding.
Iliff placed a hand against the tree they had stopped behind. The tree sloped downhill and was one of the last large ones before the winding ravine narrowed to stone. A little farther and they would be in view of the sentry. He tried to peer through the foliage to the cliff walls. Though he could make out slabs of stone here and there, he could not see the Garott who hid behind them. When he closed his eyes and probed along the stony ridges, he became aware of them again.
“They crouch with bows,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Skye said, “but they cannot use them on what they cannot see.”
Remembering himself, Iliff probed each of the four for the thin plates beyond their eyes. They were not difficult to find, but theirs were different than Skye’s. The images over the plates dimmer, and yet sharper. In each one he saw the trees from above, all the way up to the ridge from which they had begun their descent. And in one of the plates, he was able to pick out the top of the tree behind which he and Skye now stood. He was relieved to see nothing of themselves.
“Here,” Skye whispered, taking his hand. “The first line is under my power. Be prepared to cover us.”
They moved from behind the tree and crept down the ravine. With all of his attention on the Garott above them now, Iliff became ignorant of the space in which he moved. He had only Skye’s hand to guide him. So fascinated had he become with his new perceptual powers that he was almost too late in realizing that something now stirred in the vision of one of the Garott. It appeared down through the tree foliage, dun-colored and slow moving.
In the same instant that the Garott’s image of them brightened red, Iliff covered it with an imaginary finger. He watched the Garott nock an arrow, watched the bowstring draw to his shoulder, as though it were his own shoulder. From far away, Iliff was aware he had stopped breathing. He was too stunned to move, too stunned even to squeeze Skye’s hand to alert her.
But in the next moment, there were only the trees and ground again, and the Garott’s sudden perplexity. Iliff quickly scanned the sights of the other Garott along the cliff walls to ensure that he and Skye remained hidden from their view.
“Does anything move down there?” a harsh voice called from above.
Iliff understood that this was their commander. Through the commander’s vision, he saw the space where he and Skye should have been.
“Nothing,” one of the Garott called back.
Several others echoed this response, and it was only then that Iliff realized Skye had guided them past the first line of Garott and nearly to the second. She kept them moving, one careful step after another. And now they were clear of the trees, for Iliff could no longer feel them around him. Through the vision of the commander above, he could see the final line of sentries, four of them, and the settlement beyond.
Iliff calmed his breathing. With a little more concentration, he found he could take all of the perceptions of the Garott above and array them before him. Three of them had already returned their gazes to the trees leading up to the ridge. But the commander continued to scour the exposed ravine beneath him. Iliff was careful to move his concealing finger to where, now and again, a sliver of himself and Skye reappeared. Though these glimpses were too fleeting to register in the commander’s awareness, they were sufficient to keep him on his guard. He had slackened his bow, Iliff saw, but not removed the black arrow.
“Rear line!” he called down.
Through the commander’s vision, Iliff watched the four faces of the rear sentry turn up. Twine held dark hair from their narrowing eyes. They were young, the four of them, hardly men. Liable to strike first and inquire second, thought Iliff. He pulled gently on Skye’s hand until he felt them come to a stop. He concentrated anew to ensure they remained concealed from the commander’s sight.
“Perform a sweep,” the commander ordered. “Up to the middle line.”
The guards looked around them, then back to their commander. “What are we looking for?” asked one of the upturned faces.
“Do as I say!”
Iliff watched the faces become the dark crowns of heads again. He watched them turn toward where he and Skye stood, perhaps ten paces away. It was still remarkable to Iliff, this power of going unseen, even with so many eyes upon him. But there was danger in vigilance, Skye had said, and the four men before them were being especially attentive as they advanced.
Iliff’s heart thumped against his chest wall. He tried to pull Skye into a retreat, but she guided him into a crouch instead. Iliff listened to the slow footfalls of the Garott. He fought the urge to see them with his own eyes, for he knew that doing so would risk his control over the Garott above. And all four of them were looking down now, each plate revealing the barren ravine from a different angle.
Iliff braced himself against the ground with one hand and held Skye around the waist with the other. Just as he was about to compel her backward, the commander shouted again.
“Middle line!” he called. “Sweep toward the rear!”
And though he could not see the three Garott of the middle line, Iliff imagined them advancing, their swords drawn, arms outstretched. He hugged Skye nearer, trying to make themselves as small as possible. She had not moved this whole time, and he understood now that she intended for the Garott to pass over them. The dread of the realization threatened his hold over the high sentry.
He and Skye’s position had to be perfect. If the rear line moved even one foot to the right or—
A blade of pain shot through Iliff’s hand. The dun that was his and Skye’s cloaks appeared briefly in the sight of the commander before Iliff could cover it again. And in that quick glimpse, Iliff saw that the rear line was on top of them, the heel of the Garott’s boot still crushing his hand.
“Stop!” shouted the commander.
The four faces turned up again. Iliff tried to slip his hand from under the Garott’s boot, but he was pinned fast.
“There’s something there!” the commander shouted. “Something beneath you!”
Iliff watched the bowstring draw to the shoulder again, the tip of the black arrow pointing to where they had just appeared. With his free hand, Iliff eased Skye further beneath him, all the while struggling to keep his hold over the four Garott on the cliffs. His eyes burned as sweat trickled inside his clenched lids. He could hear the quickening paces of the middle line. The Garott on top of him shifted his weight, grinding his hand harder into the ground.
The pain threatened his concentration until he was certain he was going to lose it, certain that he and Skye were going to appear suddenly, that the black arrow would fly and sword strikes rain down.
But now came Skye’s presence inside him, soothing his thoughts, his crushed hand.
Wait, she seemed to be saying. Wait another moment.
And suddenly the commander was shouting, and through his angry vision, Iliff saw the rear line breaking apart. In the same instant, bloodflow returned to his hand in vicious throbs. Free of the guard’s boot, he pulled his hand to his chest, while
keeping himself and Skye hidden.
“What are you doing?” the commander screamed. “Back in your line!”
Come, Skye whispered inside him.
She guided Iliff forward. Through the visions of the guards above, Iliff watched the rear line pull itself together, but it was too late. Their attentions were directed the wrong way. Iliff and Skye were at their backs, moving down the last stretch of ravine. They climbed the wooden gate, which was unmanned now, and crept along the stone face of the settlement until Iliff sensed that they were beyond the sight of the Garott high above.
Iliff pulled his attention back into himself and inhaled cool air. The space around them was dark and close. Skye had led them into a crevice in the cliff wall, and their breaths echoed around them.
“I’m sorry,” Iliff said softly. “I lost my hold for a moment.”
“Shh,” she whispered, pushing back the hood of her cloak. “Your hand.”
He had forgotten about his injury. When he tried to make a fist, the long bones in the back of his hand seemed to grate. He grimaced as Skye took his hand in hers. But shortly he felt her warmth and then heard the small clicks and pulses of bone and tissue knitting together. His hand flushed briefly with her light. When he flexed his fingers again, all was well.
He cupped the back of her head with his healed hand and pressed his cheek to hers.
“What happened back there?” he whispered.
“I had to confuse their emotions.”
Iliff nodded, recalling the moment before the Great Battle when Skye had compelled the Fythe guards to open the gate so that she could retrieve the white flag. He had not known her to exercise the power since.
“It is a dangerous manipulation,” she said, as though in answer to his thoughts, “especially on those who hold strongly to an emotion. Push too hard and you risk harming them. Fortunately, I did not need to push hard just now. We only needed a moment.”
Final Passage (The Prisoner and the Sun #3) Page 2