swiped at the monster, but the creature ducked, leaping off Isabella’s chest and hurtling itself at the man.
It slammed into his chest, knocking the man backward. The man hit the earthen floor hard, then rolled to the left, taking the creature with him. The monster lay beneath him. The man rose up on his knees, arced his war club over his head, and brought it down on the creatures face.
It bellowed and screamed, slashing at him. One of the talons sliced his cheek; his response was to pummel it a second time with his club.
The creature shrieked with rage. The man leaped to his feet, straddling the monster. He leaned forward and gripped the monster by its shoulders, grunting as he forced it to a standing position. As it wobbled, he threw down his club and began to chant. He made fists and threw himself at the monster, head-butting it in the abdomen.
The creature staggered backward. Then the man began to dance. He extended his arms to the side and stamped his feet against the ground, whirling in a circle. His hair whipped like a cape around his face. His back and chest glistened with sweat. He lifted one knee and whirled in another circle, his voice rising and falling, cresting and waving…
Isabella stood on the deck of the ship again; her mother slowly released her, gazing sadly at her. She said, “Now is not our time, my Bella. Our rime has passed.”
Fog rolled across the deck as her mother stepped away from her, slowly waving. The fog thickened; her mother glided backward into it, touching her fingers to her lips and blowing Isabella a kiss …
“Mama!” she screamed, throwing open her arms. “No!”
Then the man spun in a circle around the monster, stamping his feet harder, harder; his voice was insistent—
hey-a, hey-a!
The monster lunged at him, its talons flashing. But its movements were duller. Its roar, softer.
He danced; and as she watched, he attacked the monster again, kicking and punching it; blood gushed from its fanged mouth. It batted at him.
Then he pulled a knife from his breechcloth and drove it straight into the monster’s heart.
The thing threw back its enormous head and screamed, and he picked it up and hurled it against a wall made of thatch.
It shattered into pieces, and each piece became a shooting star.
Isabella stared mutely, too stunned to make a sound. Her forehead trickled with sweat and she was suddenly quite cold.
Then she fainted dead away.
“Mahwah.”
Isabella started. Her eyes flew open to find the tall man standing over her. Then, as she took in the wall of matting behind him, the horrible realization hit her: She was back in the prison hut.
She broke down. “We didn’t make it,” she sobbed. “Oh, please, please, what have you done to my father?”
A hand slipped beneath her heavy coverlet and wrapped around her bare shoulder. It held tight as she surrendered to all the fear and horror of the last days, weeping miserably, completely at a loss. She had never felt so defeated and hopeless in her entire life.
She was so sick and exhausted that she stopped sobbing almost as soon as she had begun. Then she lay passively, her eyes half-closed, as tears streamed down her blank face. She felt her mind leaving, as if it could no longer bear the weight of everything that had happened to her.
“Your father lives,” the man said gently, steadily. “Mahwah, your father lives.”
“Wh … what?” she asked, holding her breath. She tried to turn over to look at him, but the weight upon her was too heavy. She realized that a heap of furs had been lain over her. She wondered if her fevered mind had turned them into a demon; she vaguely remembered dreams, good and bad. She understood that she had been delirious. No matter; a thousand demons could plague her if only her father were alive.
He released her, and walked around her head to
face
her on her other side, apparently so that she could see him comfortably without moving. She ticked her glance up to him, and caught
It slammed into his chest, knocking the man backward. The man hit the earthen floor hard, then rolled to the left, taking the creature with him. The monster lay beneath him. The man rose up on his knees, arced his war club over his head, and brought it down on the creatures face.
It bellowed and screamed, slashing at him. One of the talons sliced his cheek; his response was to pummel it a second time with his club.
The creature shrieked with rage. The man leaped to his feet, straddling the monster. He leaned forward and gripped the monster by its shoulders, grunting as he forced it to a standing position. As it wobbled, he threw down his club and began to chant. He made fists and threw himself at the monster, head-butting it in the abdomen.
The creature staggered backward. Then the man began to dance. He extended his arms to the side and stamped his feet against the ground, whirling in a circle. His hair whipped like a cape around his face. His back and chest glistened with sweat. He lifted one knee and whirled in another circle, his voice rising and falling, cresting and waving…
Isabella stood on the deck of the ship again; her mother slowly released her, gazing sadly at her. She said, “Now is not our time, my Bella. Our rime has passed.”
Fog rolled across the deck as her mother stepped away from her, slowly waving. The fog thickened; her mother glided backward into it, touching her fingers to her lips and blowing Isabella a kiss …
“Mama!” she screamed, throwing open her arms. “No!”
Then the man spun in a circle around the monster, stamping his feet harder, harder; his voice was insistent—
hey-a, hey-a!
The monster lunged at him, its talons flashing. But its movements were duller. Its roar, softer.
He danced; and as she watched, he attacked the monster again, kicking and punching it; blood gushed from its fanged mouth. It batted at him.
Then he pulled a knife from his breechcloth and drove it straight into the monster’s heart.
The thing threw back its enormous head and screamed, and he picked it up and hurled it against a wall made of thatch.
It shattered into pieces, and each piece became a shooting star.
Isabella stared mutely, too stunned to make a sound. Her forehead trickled with sweat and she was suddenly quite cold.
Then she fainted dead away.
“Mahwah.”
Isabella started. Her eyes flew open to find the tall man standing over her. Then, as she took in the wall of matting behind him, the horrible realization hit her: She was back in the prison hut.
She broke down. “We didn’t make it,” she sobbed. “Oh, please, please, what have you done to my father?”
A hand slipped beneath her heavy coverlet and wrapped around her bare shoulder. It held tight as she surrendered to all the fear and horror of the last days, weeping miserably, completely at a loss. She had never felt so defeated and hopeless in her entire life.
She was so sick and exhausted that she stopped sobbing almost as soon as she had begun. Then she lay passively, her eyes half-closed, as tears streamed down her blank face. She felt her mind leaving, as if it could no longer bear the weight of everything that had happened to her.
“Your father lives,” the man said gently, steadily. “Mahwah, your father lives.”
“Wh … what?” she asked, holding her breath. She tried to turn over to look at him, but the weight upon her was too heavy. She realized that a heap of furs had been lain over her. She wondered if her fevered mind had turned them into a demon; she vaguely remembered dreams, good and bad. She understood that she had been delirious. No matter; a thousand demons could plague her if only her father were alive.
He released her, and walked around her head to
face
her on her other side, apparently so that she could see him comfortably without moving. She ticked her glance up to him, and caught
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