“Break its hold!” Haplo was shouting. “Quick!” He was trying to help her, but the lurching of the ship made it difficult for him to reach her.
Marit knew what she had to do. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the flapping bat in her hands and yanked on it as hard as she could. The claws tore her flesh out with them; the bat squealed and bit her hands. Every bite shot another dose of poison into her.
She flung the bat away, hurling it with her remaining strength into the wall. She slumped to her knees. Haplo dashed past her; the dog bounded over her. Marit felt her dagger beneath her palm. Her fingers closed on it. She slid it up the sleeve of her blouse. Keeping her head down, she waited for the sickness to pass, waited for her strength to return.
Behind her she heard a snarling and thumping, and then Haplo’s voice.
“Hugh, stop that damn knife!”
“I can’t!”
The sunlight that had been shining through the porthole was gone. Marit looked up. Arianus had been replaced by a dazzling display of swiftly altering images. A world of green jungle, a world of blue water, a world of red fire, a world of twilight, a world of terrible darkness, and a bright white light. The thumping ceased. She heard the heavy, labored breathing of the two men, the dog panting.
The images repeated themselves, swirls of color to her dazed mind: green, blue, red, pearl gray, dark, light. Marit knew how Death’s Gate worked. She focused on the green.
“Pryan,” she whispered. “Take me to Xar!” The ship altered course immediately.
Haplo was staring blankly at the dog. The dog was staring at the deck. Growling, wondering where its prey had gone, the animal began pawing at the rune-covered wooden hull of the ship, thinking perhaps that the bat had somehow managed to crawl into a crack.
Haplo knew better. He looked around.
Hugh the Hand was holding the weapon—a crude iron knife. Pale and shaken, he dropped it. “I never did trust magic. You got any idea how the damn blade works?”
“Not much,” Haplo said. “Don’t use it again.” The Hand shook his head. “If we were on solid ground, I’d bury the cursed thing.” He looked out the window, his expression dark. “Where are we?”
“Death’s Gate,” said Haplo, preoccupied. He knelt down beside Marit. “How are you?”
She was shivering hard, almost convulsively.
Haplo took hold of her hands.
Angrily Marit snatched them away, pulled back from him. “Leave me alone!”
“You’ve got a fever. I can help...” he began, and started to brush aside the feathery chestnut bangs that she wore low over her forehead. She hesitated. Something inside her wanted him to know the truth, knew it would hurt him worse than the knife’s blade. But Xar had warned her not to reveal this secret power she possessed, this link to him.
Marit shoved Haplo’s hand aside. “Traitor! Don’t touch me!” Haplo lowered his hand. “I’m not a traitor.”
Marit eyed him with a grim smile. “Our lord knows about Bane. The dragon-snake told him.”
“Dragon-snake!” Haplo’s eyes flashed. “What dragon-snake? One who calls himself Sang-drax?”
“What does it matter what the creature calls himself? The dragon-snake told our lord about the Kicksey-winsey and Arianus. How you brought peace when you were ordered to bring war. And all for your own glory.”
“No.” Haplo’s voice grated. “He lies.”
Marit made an impatient negating motion with her hand. “I heard what the mensch said for myself. Back there on Arianus. I heard your mensch friends talking.” Her lip curled. She cast a scornful glance back at Hugh the Hand.
“Mensch friends armed with Sartan weapons—made by our enemy for our destruction! Weapons you undoubtedly intend to use on your own kind!” The dog whined, started to creep over to Haplo.
Hugh the Hand whistled, spoke gruffly, “Here, boy. Come to me.” The dog gazed woefully at its master. Haplo appeared to have forgotten its existence. Ears drooping, tail hanging limp, the dog wandered over to Hugh and flopped down at his side.
“You betrayed our lord, Haplo,” Marit continued. “Your betrayal hurt him deeply. That was why he sent me.”
“But I didn’t betray him, Marit! I haven’t betrayed our people. Everything I’ve done has been for them, for their own good. The dragon-snakes are the true betrayers—”
“Haplo,” the Hand called warningly, casting a significant look out the porthole. “We’ve changed course, seemingly.”
Haplo barely glanced out. “This is Pryan.” He eyed Marit. “You brought us here. Why?”
She was rising shakily to her feet. “Xar ordered me to bring you here. He wants to question you.”
“He can’t very well do that if I’m dead, can he?” Haplo paused, remembering Abarrach. “On second thought, I guess he can. So our lord has learned the forbidden Sartan art of necromancy.”
Marit chose to ignore the emphasis. “Will you come to him peacefully, Haplo? Surrender yourself to his judgment? Or must I kill you?” Haplo stared out the window at Pryan—a hollow stone ball, its suns shining in the center. Basking in eternal daylight, the plant life on Pryan grew so thickly that vast mensch cities were built in the limbs of gigantic trees. Mensch ships sailed oceans floating on broad moss plains far above the ground. Haplo looked at Pryan, but he wasn’t seeing it. He was seeing Xar. How easy it would be. Fall on my knees before Xar, bow my head, accept my fate. Quit the fight. Quit the struggle.
If I don’t, I’ll have to kill her.
He knew Marit, knew how she thought. Once the two of them had thought alike. She honored Xar. Haplo did, too. How could he not? Xar had saved his life, saved the lives of all their people, led them forth from that heinous prison. But Xar was wrong. Just as Haplo had been wrong.
“You were the one who was right, Marit,” he told her. “I couldn’t understand then. Now I do.”
Not following his thoughts, she eyed him with suspicion.
“ ‘The evil is in us,’ you said. We are the ones who give the Labyrinth strength. It feeds off our hatred, our fear. It grows fat on our fear,” he said with a bitter smile, recalling Sang-drax’s words.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marit said disdainfully. She was feeling better, stronger. The poison was abating, her own magic acting to dilute it. “I said lots of things I didn’t mean then. I was young.” Mentally, silently, she spoke to Xar. I am on Pryan, Husband. I have Haplo. No, he is not dead. Guide me to the meeting place.
She rested her hand on the steering stone. Runes flared. The ship had been drifting aimlessly; now it began to fly swiftly through the green-tinged sky. Her lord’s voice flowed inside her, drew her to him.
“What is your decision?” Course set, Marit let go the stone. She pulled her dagger from her sleeve, held it firmly, steadily.
Behind her the dog growled low in its throat. Hugh the Hand quieted the animal, petting it gently. He watched intently; his own fate—bound up in Haplo, who would lead him to Alfred—was at stake. Marit kept the human in her line of vision, but she was paying scant attention to him. She discounted him as a threat, as she would discount any mensch.
“Xar’s made a terrible mistake, Marit,” Haplo told her quietly. “The dragon-snakes are his true enemy. They’re the ones who will betray him.”
“They are his allies!”
“They pretend to be his allies. They will give Xar what he seeks. They’ll crown him ruler of the four worlds, bow down to him. Then they’ll devour him. And our people will be destroyed as surely as were the Sartan.
“Look at us,” he continued. “Look what they’ve done to us. Since when, in the history of our people, have two Patryns fought each other?”