“Be quiet!” Keone commanded them
both.
Holt lowered his eyelids, giving all his
attention to his ears and nose. He would not
see them first; it was night and they were
jirran. But will I even hear them? I am just a
boy from Darnouth who has never been
trained to fight trolls. Why doesn’t he demand
the stone?
He felt Keone rising slowly, silently. He
looked up, saw the stonediver attain his full
height, and saw the bound wrists hovering.
Keone was peering into the darkness to their
west, his back to the tree. Holt did the same.
Had the trolls somehow flanked them
already?
He heard the spear slicing the air, but
did not see it until the sole of Keone’s boot
had disrupted its path. In almost the same
instant, the troll appeared, not calling out its
fury as the monsters had done that day on
the bridge at Darnouth but silently, fleetly—far
more terrifyingly. The monster carried a
small, stone-headed mallet in its left hand. The stonediver moved forward, kicking
his right boot again. The troll stooped,
continuing its charge, darted under the kick
and turned with its weapon raised. But even
before his right foot found the ground, Keone
kicked backward with his left, catching the
monster in the belly. The troll grunted, thrown
back, and bounced off the fallen tree. Keone
pivoted, bent at the waist, crouching. His
shoulder found his opponent’s belly again. As
the troll folded over him he rose, hoisting it
into the air. The beast flipped in the air,
managing to land on its feet and instantly turn to face its attacker. The mallet was still in its
hand.
In the silence, the impact of the troll’s
feet with the ground was deafening. Holt
might run for three days and not snap as
many twigs. Surely more trolls would be
drawn to the noise. He held the knife close to
his chest. Somehow the imp had been
wounded.But these are not kaol; these are
jirran.
Keone attacked, limited to kicks, leading
again with a right. The monster thrust its left
arm down, catching the stonediver’s bootheel
with the head of its weapon. Even in the
darkness, Holt could see the wicked glee on
the creature’s alien features. It yanked the
mallet up, pulling Keone off balance. The
stonediver managed to leap at the last
moment before toppling, rolling in the air. His
left boot slammed against the monster’s
head.
The troll staggered back as Keone crashed to the ground. Another earsplitting cacophony of breaking undergrowth and crushed snow. Holt felt his arm moving, whipping the blade out, away from his chest. He saw it twist through the night, reflecting flashes of moonlight. The blade met the center of the monster’s chest, sinking nearly
to its hilt in the furry pelt.
Keone came up onto one knee. They
watched the monster fall—to its knees, its
hands, over onto its side, to its back. The
stonediver moved quickly to retrieve the knife.
He tossed it back to Holt, moving to claim the
spear.
Suddenly he spun and dived, his hands
stretched out in front of him. Too late, Holt
heard the second spear’s whistle. Almost in
the same instant came Sihr’s pained cry. He
turned, seeing with horror the long, thin shaft
of wood lodged above the girl’s hip. She
grasped it with both hands as she slid down
into the snow, looking startled and amazed,
but mostly as if she must hold it in place. Holt was lost, unable even to move
toward her. He heard the troll’s advance and
turned as Keone came up onto his feet. A
sound rose from the stonediver’s throat as he
dashed to meet the monster head on—an
could defy the pain that would elicit such a
response. Leaping, Keone crashed his knees
into the troll’s chest, dropping his arms on
either side of its head. Overwhelmed, the
monster fell backward. The man twisted
around it, rolling it, bringing his wrists and the
ties binding them up under its chin. He leapt
again, pulling the creature’s head up and
bringing his knees down into its back. The troll folded backward, grotesquely,
and Keone instantly disentangled himself from
its corpse. A figure rushed by Holt, toward
the girl, and he straightened holding the knife
out in front of his shoulder. He took a step
forward before realizing it was Ardee. The ranger knelt facing Sihr, reaching out gingerly
to explore the wound.
“It hurts.” The girl’s face, like the
woman’s, was drenched in sweat, but she
managed to smile.
Keone suddenly lurching toward them
allowed Holt to rein in his shattered senses.
He recognized the man’s expression all too
clearly. He had seen the same look in
Kawika’s eyes—in too many eyes recently.
He jumped into the stonediver’s path as Ardee
turned to face them. Holt drew their attention
from one another by raising his knife and
severing the cords binding Keone’s wrists. “She’ll live,” Ardee told them, turning
back to face the girl. She took hold of the
spear with both hands, clutching it at the point
where it penetrated the flesh. “Hold still.” Sihr shook her head. “No. No, I can’t.” The ranger lifted her left foot, placed it
against the girl’s right shoulder, and pressed
Sihr back against the fallen tree. Holt felt Keone press against him, trying to move through him rather than around, helpless to take even the single required step to the side. He put his back squarely to the man, knowing it was all charade, Keone could any moment pick him up and break him into pieces. The spear snapped with a heavy wet sound. Sihr choked on a cry, as if the pain was too much
to vocalize.
Ardee looked angrily back over her
shoulder. “I must push it through. Are you
completely helpless? Can’t you take her
somewhere, distract her from the pain?” Keone’s weight flowed fluidly around
Holt’s right side. The stonediver lowered
himself to the ground and took his pupil’s
shoulders in his hands. He bowed his head,
touching it lightly to Sihr’s own, just above her
ear.
“I don’t think I will be a ranger,” she told
him.
He said nothing at first, his eyes shut tightly, his lips clenched. His head shook. The fingers of his left hand rose to gently brush
her lips. “Come with me,” he whispered. Her eyelids fluttered. She gulped air,
two big mouthfuls. “Anywhere.”
Ardee gave them a moment, Holt
watching with her as Sihr’s body began to
lose its rigid contraction. Finally the ranger,
too, took a breath, filling her lungs through her
nose. She braced herself to work quickly and
steadily. The muscles across her shoulders
writhed beneath her skin.
Abruptly, she sat back on her haunches
and Holt saw the red stained speartip in her
hand. She tossed it away with an expression
of disgust. Falling back further, she sat
heavily in the snow. Holt knelt and began
clearing a pit for the fire.
“In the morning you must take her back
to Fort Ridge,” Keone said. “Infection will set
in otherwise.”
“I alone?” Ardee’s voice sounded strained and breathless. She looked up, apparently somewhat surprised that he had risen so soon from his trance or whatever he
had used to quiet his ward.
“Take Holt.”
She dismissed him with a brisk shake of
her head. “Madness.”
Holt began searching for small bits of
timber. Ardee’s eyes were on him, but he
could not return her gaze. He could not listen
to their argument again. He had made up his
mind.
The ranger said, “I must go back out. I
had no time to ensure all were dead. Holt?” He abandoned his work, rising. Ardee,
too, got to her feet. She addressed the
stonediver, “You can properly dress that
puncture, I trust?” When the man nodded she
explained, “Tomorrow we will all head back to
Fort Ridge.”
Keone’s arm was still across Sihr’s
shoulder. He obviously wished to pull her
close but feared aggravating the wound. “No.” Ardee’s breath whistled harshly between
her lips. She made the same helpless gesture
of exasperation Holt had seen her use on Sihr
the first day he had woken to find them all
together. “I’ll tie you and carry you.”
“No. You’ll need to carry her. More than
two days and the infection will be serious.
Catching me every hour as I try yet again to
escape will result in her death.”
“And it will be on your hands!”
“No.” Anger began to temper his voice.
“It will be because you attempt to force me to
do as you wish!”
She took a step toward him. “Damn you!
You want to die. Admit that much!”
He jerked suddenly to his feet. His fists,
flameless, clenched at his sides. When he
stepped forward, Ardee took a reciprocal
step back. “What if I do? What possible
consequence can my death wage upon you?”
He closed another step, but the ranger had remembered herself enough to stand her ground. “How dare you presume to dictate to
me?”
Holt, fearing another outbreak of
violence, was far more surprised by Ardee
throwing back her head and laughing. “You are truly beaten now,” she said, “if
that is the best you can do. You, who has
manipulated us all until we can not even guess
at our own desires.” She shook her head
again. “I will not be confused so easily.”
Stepping away from Keone, she took hold of
Holt’s shoulder. “And I will see you punished
for risking the boy’s life.”
The stonediver’s ire had not ebbed. “So
you will let Kawika’s murderer escape to fulfill
your own selfish desire for vengeance?” “You can not speak of selfishness,
stonediver. It is all you monsters know.” “Monsters? Did you callhera monster?” Holt felt the hand leave his shoulder—
felt the violent recoil of the ranger’s body as she thought to fly at Keone again. Somehow he caught her wrist. She strained only a moment before she, too, gave into playing at the charade a child might somehow control either of them. “She was a fool! I told her that. And day after day she spent more time away from me. More time diving down into
the world’s dank cracks.”
“And you left her…What? Half of each
year?”
Ardee jerked her wrist free, turning and
stomping further away from Keone. “No. I will
not discuss her with you!”
“You won’t discuss her with anyone. But
you’ll use her memory to justify your hatred of
me.” The stonediver waved angrily at her
back. “All I sense from you—” He abruptly
turned and offered Holt an identical gesture.
“—either of you—is your burning disbelief.
How could Kawika have loved this man? And
you look at me as if I might answer you. I
have no answer. In fact, no one can answer, because Wika’s dead. The question I can answer, the more important question because it concerns the living, is how did I love him. Not in what way, but how much. I am the one who shared his bed for six years—no, three years, because like you he lived half of each year out here. I ate the food from his hand and fed him with my own. What am I to do now? How am I expected to survive his
death?”
Ardee appeared unmoved. “More
selfishness! You, you, you! Bad enough in
itself, but you drag all of us into your
schemes. You nearly got your ward killed!” “Do you think I would have come here if
there were any other way? I could go to
Belfayne; I could petition the parliament. But
they would greet me with hands raised in
helplessness, and then laugh at my back as I
sailed home. No, if I am to survive it will be
because I have come here and done this thing
myself.”
“But you will die!” The ranger came
toward him again, her own hands raised, not
in helplessness but in supplication, as if all
she wished was for him to understand these
three words. “You—will—die!” Her hands, her
head, dropped suddenly. Holt wondered if
she, too, had only just become aware of her
meaning. Her voice was lower, more
contained, nearly back to normal, when she
continued. “And then Kawika’s death will have
been worse than a waste.”
Keone’s eyes met hers—held them.
“Wika’s death is already worse than a waste.” Holt felt himself moving suddenly,
purposefully toward them. He claimed the
middle ground, instinctively sliding his
shoulders back, raising his chin. He searched
within his chest for his father’s voice. It had
dwelt there once, and surprised him by being
readily operable. He aimed it toward the
ranger. “You will take Sihr back to Fort
Ridge. He and I will find the demon and kill it.” Watching Ardee’s expression crumble
under the shock of his command nearly
robbed Holt of his resolve. She shook her
head, momentarily too bewildered to speak.
Her feet shuffled uncertainly, nudging a dry
leaf—a cacophonous heralding of her
disorientation.
“He is using you,” she said.
His voice was a whip, slicing the air and
driving her back. It was no longer his father’s,
but he had heard the tone somewhere. “No.
He did use me. Now I’ll use him. It’s inside
me. Maybe it always will be, but I know I
won’t survive if it escapes. I’ll take him to it
and he’ll kill it for me.”
The helplessness in her face should
have warned him. It was not an emotion she
had built up an affinity for or ability to su
stain.
Like the hardness before it, it crumbled and
was itself replaced by a new resolve, a
bitterness that was no longer directed at the
stonediver alone. “How will he kill it?” But Holt was ready. The stone was
ready. He had it in his palm even as the
words wounded him, seeking to strike him
down. He showed it to her, lifting his palm flat
with the white-flaked stone bathing in the
moonlight.
She gave it only the briefest of
appraisals, as if she had known of its
existence all along but the idea abruptly
proved more than she could bear. Her eyes
did not return to his face, however; they
sought out the girl on the ground against the
side of the dead tree. She moved back to
Sihr’s side, snatching up her own pack. A
bandage was produced—a piece of cloth that
could be torn for winding. Maintaining her
silence, she went about securing Sihr for the
journey.
Holt turned to Keone. The stonediver’s
back was also to the tree. His head was
bowed slightly, his eyes closed. Holt went to
him, pushing the stone into his curled, bloodstained fingers. But the eyes above did not open. Keone showed no sign—offered no
acknowledgement of the exchange.
It is as if he fears I will be swayed
again,Holt thought.It is as if he can read my
mind. Of course, he can; and he is no doubt
right about this as well.
Ardee rose, pulling Sihr up into her
arms. She did not look at either Holt or
Keone; she simply adjusted her belongings
and her burden and moved quietly off on her
journey back toward the fort.
Holt’s knees began to tremble and he
put them to the ground beside the firepit,
mindlessly gathering his twigs once more. “We must not sleep here,” Keone said
from somewhere miles distant through the
suddenly dark and mist-shrouded world. “The
bodies will attract hungry things. Things with
which we will not want to keep company.” And suddenly, as if Keone had read his
mind and seen the future and somehow forced upon him some dark destiny, Holt was up and running. He sped westward, fast and silent, straining his keen ears to the soundless noise of her footfalls somewhere up ahead, confident only in the knowledge that they did not exist and yet he would hear them. Running, running until he was in her arms and Sihr was lying still asleep, in some deep unnatural sleep, like so many things were unnatural now except this woman’s arms that offered him a warmth that would never burn him but would warm him long after they were