The woman cried out, begging. Another voice answered, too softly to understand.
The tenuous thread holding him in place snapped, and he set out at a reckless pace.
He pushed through brush tangled with great spider webs. Dew that had collected on wide leaves and within trumpet-shaped flowers soaked his robes. Trailing vines and thorny creepers caught his feet, determined to trip him. He pressed on, mind bent on the woman.
He finally came to rocky outcrop draped in gnarled tree roots. Above the outcrop, the blue light shone brighter than ever. Leitos clamped the dagger between his teeth, and began to climb up the roots, causing dirt, moss, and crawling things to dribble over his head. At the top, he scrambled up and hid behind a huge tree trunk.
Settling the dagger back in his hand, he edged around the tree. Through the azure glow, he saw a cliff rising into the night. At the base of the cliff, a path led into an arched opening, the source of all that glaring illumination. As his eyes adjusted, and he made out a terrible visage carved into the rock above the arch. Narrow and long, it was a Fauthian face, but engraved all over with angular glyphs. Similar engravings decorated the arch’s stonework.
A low moan drew his eye back to the opening. He crept farther around the tree, breath caught in his chest. If anyone guarded this place, surely they would see him. When he stepped fully into the open the radiance fell over him, and a prickly sensation crawled over his skin. He drew back, and the feeling vanished. “What is this place?” he murmured.
His answer was a blade pressed to his throat. An instant before he smashed aside the weapon and brought his own dagger to bear, the keen edge pressed harder against his neck, and a female voice cautioned, “Do as I say, or I’ll have off your head.”
She sounded young, but no matter how he rolled his eyes, she remained out of sight. Leitos weighed his chances of escaping without earning a severed windpipe, and found the odds against him. He grunted in answer, and relaxed.
“Very good. Now, step back before someone sees you.” With the utmost caution, guided by the girl’s firm hand, he backed up until lost in deep shadow.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Leitos decided the truth might persuade her to ease the blade from his neck. “I heard screams, and came to help.”
“You came to the Throat of Balaam, intending to help? You are either you are a fool, or a liar.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To grieve.”
Leitos kept quiet for a moment, then asked, “What is this Throat of Balaam?”
His captor spun him around, slammed him against the tree, and pressed the tip of a broad knife into the fold under his eye. At the sight of her, Leitos’s breath caught, his legs quivered. Zera’s ghost lurked in this girl’s face and pale green eyes.
As surely as shock held him, it clutched the girl. “You!” she said. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
Leitos tried to speak, but no words came. A leather thong held back her short dark hair. Smears of dirt covered much of her face, doubtless placed on her cheeks and brow in an effort to better conceal her presence in the forest. Her closefitting clothing was equally dark, all of mottled greens and browns and dark grays. She was not Zera, but there could be no question that Zera and this girl had a shared ancestry.
Something behind him drew her eye, and she dragged him down, hissing into his ear, “Stay quiet, or we will both die.”
At his questioning expression, she caught his chin in a strong grip, forced him to look toward the arched opening. He squinted against the glare, and saw a pair of men walk out. Their height, gangly limbs, and long kilts marked them as Fauthians. Behind them came an equally tall, beautiful woman in flowing robes, her arms cradled around a small bundle. Like the others, she was Fauthian.
“What is happening here?” Leitos whispered harshly. “What is this place?”
The girl jabbed a finger against his lips, shushing him. She remained quiet long after the Fauthian trio departed. He was about to break the silence again, when two more Fauthian men emerged from the opening under the cliff. Each held the ankle of a nude, lifeless woman who was clearly not Fauthian. They dragged her behind them. Blood covered her torso and legs from a gaping wound in her belly.
The girl at his side moaned and shut her eyes. Leitos swallowed the bile that flooded the back of his throat.
After the Fauthians turned off the path and vanished into the forest, yanking their burden over root and rock with cold indifference, Leitos leaned closer to the girl and asked again, “What is going on here?”
“This night,” she said in a halting voice, “one of my kindred died … and a demon was born into the world.”
That hair on the back of Leitos’s neck stood on end. “I must return to Armala and warn my friends.”
“You mean the men who were with you on the beach?” Nothing in her demeanor hinted that she might still want to stick her knife into his gullet, and that seemed promising.
“Yes,” Leitos said, standing. “And it was you I saw hiding in the forest,” he said, remembering the face he had seen.
She nodded. “As long as I can remember, I have been waiting for you to land on our shores,” the girl said, gazing into the empty space between them. “The night of the wreck, I awoke and knew you had come.” She faced him, looking uncomfortable. “I went to you, but found that you had already joined the Fauthians.”
“I have not joined them, we were taken into their care.” He shot her an inquisitive look. “And what do you mean, you have been waiting for me….” He trailed off, as understanding dawned. “You are a seer, is that it?”
She made a vague gesture toward her head. “Until tonight, I have always seen you in my mind-not as you are now, but as you will be. Your name is Leitos, yes?” He gave her a startled nod, and she added, “I am Belina.”
“Belina, I must return and tell my brothers about what I have seen.” In truth, he was not sure what he had seen, but knew it troubled him.
“You cannot.”
“Of course I can. I snuck here, didn’t I?”
“I mean,” Belina said, some of the fire coming back into her eyes, “that I will not allow you to return. You must come to my camp. Elder Damoc will have questions, especially now that my visions of you can be proven.”
“I will return,” Leitos promised, “this time on the morrow. For now, I must go. My people might be in danger. When I tell them what I saw, they will join me in helping you.” Considering Ba’Sel’s apparent trust of Adu’lin, he hoped he was not telling the girl a lie.
Belina’s gaze flickered over his shoulder. “No!” she hissed.
Leitos dropped to his haunches and spun, belatedly sensing a presence. His flung up his dagger against a looming shape, but a cudgel crashed against his skull. Blackness cascaded over his eyes, stealing away the sharp pain in his temple. From far away, he heard Belina’s protests. His shadowy assailant struck again, driving him to the ground. Then he was falling in to darkness, unfeeling, unknowing.
Chapter 17
A snuffling squeal filled Leitos’s ear, and something cold and wet bumped his cheek. He sat up, reaching for his dagger, but it was gone. A coarse-haired piglet bolted away, its squeals like spikes piercing his skull. He raised a muddy hand to his scalp, felt a pair of lumps under his crusted hair.
“Behave, and we’ll get you cleaned up,” a girl said.
Careful to not make any quick motions, Leitos glanced around in the predawn gloom. The rank air surrounding him was thick with dew and buzzing midges. For a moment, he did not recognize her. Then, slowly, the events of the night before came back, as well as meeting this young woman … Belina. She was prettier without mud covering her face.