It was Walker. Bek rose and stood staring about the empty clearing, the sky overhead clear and bright, filled with thousands of stars, their light a silvery wash over the forest dark. He looked around. His sister slept. Truls Rohk had not returned. He stood alone in a place where ghosts could speak and the truth be revealed.
–Bek–
The voice called to him not from the clearing, but from somewhere close by, and he followed the sound of it, moving into the trees. He did not fear for his sister, although he could not explain why. Perhaps it was the certainty that Walker would not summon him if it would put her in peril. Just the sound of the Druid’s voice brought a sense of peace to Bek that defied explanation. A dead man’s voice giving peace—how odd.
He walked only a short distance and found himself in a clearing with a deep, black pond at its center, weeds clustered along the edges and pads of night-blooming water lilies floating their lavender flags through the dark. The smells of the water and the forest mixed in a heady brew suffused with both damp and dry earth, slow decay and burgeoning life. Fireflies blinked on and off all across the pond like tiny beacons.
The Druid was at the far side of the pond, neither in the water nor on the shore, but suspended in the night air, a transparent shade defined by lines and shadows. His face was hidden in his cowl, but Bek knew him anyway. No one else had exactly that stance and build; Walker in death, even as in life, was distinctive.
The Druid spoke to him as if out of a deep, empty well.
–Bek. I am given only a short time to walk free upon this earth before the Hadeshorn claims me. Time slips away. Listen carefully. I will not come to you again–
The voice was smooth and compelling as it rose from its cavernous lair. It had the feel and resonance of an echo, but with a darker tone. Bek nodded that he understood, then added, “I’m listening.”
–Your sister is my hope, Bek. She is my trust. I have given that trust to you, the living, since I am gone. She must be kept safe and well. She must be allowed to become whole–
Bek wanted to say that he was not the one to bear the weight of this responsibility, that he lacked the necessary experience and strength. He wanted to say that it was Truls who would make the difference; Bek was acting only as the shape-shifter’s conscience in this matter so that Grianne would not be abandoned. But he said nothing, choosing instead to listen.
But Walker seemed to divine his reluctance.
–Physical strength is not what your sister needs, Bek. She needs strength of mind and heart. She needs your determination and commitment to see her safely back from where she hides–
“Hides?” he blurted out.
–Deep inside a wall of denial, of darkness of mind, of silence of thought. She seeks a way to accept what she has done. Acceptance comes with forgiveness. Forgiveness begins when she can confront the darkest of her deeds, the one she views as most unforgivable, the one that haunts her endlessly. When she can face that darkest of acts and forgive herself, she will come back to you–
Bek shook his head, thinking through what little he knew of the specifics of her life. How could one deed be darker than any other? What one deed would that be?
“This one deed . . . ,” he began.
–Is known only to her, because it is the one she has fixed upon. She alone knows what it is–
Bek considered. “But how long will it take for such a thing to happen? How will it even come about?”
–Time–
Time we don’t have, Bek thought. Time that slips away like night toward day, a certainty of loss that cannot be reversed.
“There must be something we can do to help!” he exclaimed.
–Nothing–
Despair settled through him, pulling down hopes and stealing away possibilities. All he could do, all anyone could do, was to keep Grianne out of the hands of the Morgawr and his Mwellrets. Keep running. Wait patiently. Hope she found a way clear of her prison. It wasn’t much. It was nothing.
“Truls wants to leave her,” he said quietly, searching for something more upon which to rely. “What if he does?”
–His destiny is not yours. Even if he goes, you must stay–
Bek exhaled sharply.
–Remember your promise–
“I would never forget it. She is my sister.” He paused, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t understand something. Why is she so important to you, Walker? She was your enemy. Why are you trying so hard to save her now? Why do you say she is your hope and trust?”
Shards of moonlight knifed through the transparent form, causing it to shift and change. Below, the waters of the pond rippled gently.
–When she wakes, she will know–
“But what if she doesn’t wake?” Bek demanded. “What if she doesn’t come back from where she has hidden inside?”
–She will know–
He began receding into the dark.
“Walker, wait!” Bek was suddenly desperate. “I can’t do this! I don’t have the skills or experience or anything! How can I reach her? She won’t even listen to me when she’s awake! She won’t tell me anything!”
–She will know–
“How can she know anything if I can’t explain it to her?” Bek charged ahead a few steps, stopping at the edge of the pond. The Druid was fading away. “Someone has to tell her, Walker!”
But the shade disappeared, and Bek was left alone with his confusion. He stood without moving for a long time, staring at the space Walker had occupied, repeating his words over and over, trying to understand them.
She will know.
Grianne Ohmsford, his sister, the Ilse Witch, mortal enemy of the Druids and of Walker, in particular.
She will know.
There was no sense to it.
Yet in his heart, where such things reveal themselves like rainbows after thunderstorms, he knew it to be true.
15
Bek returned to the camp to find Grianne still sleeping and Truls Rohk not yet returned. The position of the stars told him it was after midnight, so he went back to sleep and did not wake again until he felt the shape-shifter’s hand resting on his shoulder.
“Time to go,” the other said quietly, eyes on the woods behind them.
“How close are they?” Bek asked at once. It was first light, the sunrise just a silvery glow east.
“Still a distance off, but getting closer. They haven’t found our trail yet, but they will soon.”
“The caulls?”
“The caulls. Mutations of humans captured and altered by magic.” He shifted his gaze back to Bek. “Your sister’s work, I would have said, if she wasn’t here with us. So it must be the Morgawr. Wonder where he found his victims.”
Bek sat up quickly. “Not Quentin or the others? Not the Rovers?”
Truls Rohk took his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Don’t think about it. Think about staying one step ahead of them. That’s worry enough for now.”
He walked over to the supplies pack he carried and pulled out some of the bread. Breaking off a piece, he handed it to Bek. “If you were like me, you wouldn’t need this.” He laughed softly. “Of course, if you were like me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Bek took the bread and ate it. “Thanks for staying with us,” he said, nodding toward the still-sleeping Grianne.
The shape-shifter grunted noncommittally. “Packs of caulls and Mwellrets are everywhere in these woods, dozens of them. They’re not chasing only us, either. I heard the sounds of someone else fighting them off when I went back to scout—a larger group, somewhere off to our right, heading into the mountains. I didn’t have time to see who it was. It probably doesn’t bear thinking on, except that maybe it will draw some of the rets away.”
He gestured impatiently, a faceless darkness within his hood. “Enough. Let’s be off.”
He scooped up Grianne, and they started out once more. They went swiftly and silently through the trees, then Truls moved them into a shallow stream, which they followed for several miles. It was as if they were repeating the events of less than a week ago. They were taking a different path, but traversing the same woods. Again, they were fleeing a hunter possessed of magic and a creature created to track them. Again, they were fleeing the ruins of Castledown, heading inland. Again, they were running away from something and toward nothing.