Griel and his patient.
They were caught in the middle of a territorial war.
Two more long-limbed Panic appeared in the entranceway. One said something to Griel in a whisper too soft for her to overhear. Griel nodded.
‘We’re leaving,’ he announced. ‘All of you, including the sick one. You’re coming with me to stand before the Quorum. Pack everything you need, quickly.’
With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Shilly thought of Sal, last seen on his way to help Skender. ‘What about the others?’
‘They fought well. The survivors are retreating up the Pass as we speak.’
Who? Shilly wanted to ask. Who are the survivors? But Griel was unlikely to know names. To him, they were probably indistinguishable: flat-faced, short-armed, in various shades of brown.
‘How long will we be gone?’ asked Rosevear, rummaging among his supplies.
‘Assume forever,’ said Griel, turning and walking out onto the deck. He clicked his fingers before disappearing into the mist, and two guards came to take his place.
‘This is just great,’ Shilly muttered, fighting tears of frustration and anger. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘As we’re told,’ said Schuet. A significant glance added more clearly than words, for now. It was little comfort. In the time it took them to think of a plan and escape, they might be marched kilometres away. Where would Sal be by then? Would he think her dead?
Deep inside her burned the spark connecting them. While that lived, she would never give up hope — and neither would he, she knew. But hope was a tenuous thing, just like life itself. It could be snuffed out in a moment. She dreaded that day more than she dreaded her own death.
Putting the thought from her mind, she set about packing on the assumption that Sal would join her at some point, stuffing as many of their belongings into one bag as she could carry, then helping Rosevear prepare Kemp to be moved.
* * * *
Sal stopped by one of the human bodies to pick its pocket. Seeing the narrow hilt of a pocketknife protruding from its belt, an idea occurred to him — one both unpalatable and necessary at the same time. He needed something more permanent than the muddy concealment charms he had drawn on his forehead and chest while descending. Already the waterfall was beginning to undo the protection they provided.
Ducking into a small recess near the base of the waterfall, he set to work. The sound of fighting from both quarters had died down, but he was aware that he might be spotted at any moment. Charms to confuse the eye and ear were second nature to him, but he had never been in such concentrated combat before. He preferred not to test them against a sword-wielding warrior whose senses were heightened from adrenalin.
The blade was clean and sharp. Its tip tugged neatly across his skin, leaving bloody lines in its wake. Quickly, calmly, he redrew charms that wouldn’t fade in a hurry. Just as long as his concentration remained intact, so too would the illusion that he wasn’t there. The pain helped keep his mind focused.
When he was finished, he folded the blade closed with a snap and put it into a pocket. Blood trickled down his cheeks and neck, but he ignored it. Stepping out of the recess, he headed off through the fading fog to where the boneship still floated, tied firmly to the shore. Shilly was in there; he could feel her anxiety, her nervousness. He wanted to call her, to put her mind at ease, but feared alerting the Panic. If there were Change-workers or sensitives among them, he would immediately reveal himself by doing so.
Two slope-shouldered Panic stood on guard by the gangplank. These creatures had the same physical arrangement as a human of two arms, two legs, trunk and head, but the way they walked and moved was very different. When they attacked the humans on the beach, he had seen that they loped with smooth grace across flat and stony ground and that their long arms had the extra strength that
They were caught in the middle of a territorial war.
Two more long-limbed Panic appeared in the entranceway. One said something to Griel in a whisper too soft for her to overhear. Griel nodded.
‘We’re leaving,’ he announced. ‘All of you, including the sick one. You’re coming with me to stand before the Quorum. Pack everything you need, quickly.’
With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Shilly thought of Sal, last seen on his way to help Skender. ‘What about the others?’
‘They fought well. The survivors are retreating up the Pass as we speak.’
Who? Shilly wanted to ask. Who are the survivors? But Griel was unlikely to know names. To him, they were probably indistinguishable: flat-faced, short-armed, in various shades of brown.
‘How long will we be gone?’ asked Rosevear, rummaging among his supplies.
‘Assume forever,’ said Griel, turning and walking out onto the deck. He clicked his fingers before disappearing into the mist, and two guards came to take his place.
‘This is just great,’ Shilly muttered, fighting tears of frustration and anger. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘As we’re told,’ said Schuet. A significant glance added more clearly than words, for now. It was little comfort. In the time it took them to think of a plan and escape, they might be marched kilometres away. Where would Sal be by then? Would he think her dead?
Deep inside her burned the spark connecting them. While that lived, she would never give up hope — and neither would he, she knew. But hope was a tenuous thing, just like life itself. It could be snuffed out in a moment. She dreaded that day more than she dreaded her own death.
Putting the thought from her mind, she set about packing on the assumption that Sal would join her at some point, stuffing as many of their belongings into one bag as she could carry, then helping Rosevear prepare Kemp to be moved.
* * * *
Sal stopped by one of the human bodies to pick its pocket. Seeing the narrow hilt of a pocketknife protruding from its belt, an idea occurred to him — one both unpalatable and necessary at the same time. He needed something more permanent than the muddy concealment charms he had drawn on his forehead and chest while descending. Already the waterfall was beginning to undo the protection they provided.
Ducking into a small recess near the base of the waterfall, he set to work. The sound of fighting from both quarters had died down, but he was aware that he might be spotted at any moment. Charms to confuse the eye and ear were second nature to him, but he had never been in such concentrated combat before. He preferred not to test them against a sword-wielding warrior whose senses were heightened from adrenalin.
The blade was clean and sharp. Its tip tugged neatly across his skin, leaving bloody lines in its wake. Quickly, calmly, he redrew charms that wouldn’t fade in a hurry. Just as long as his concentration remained intact, so too would the illusion that he wasn’t there. The pain helped keep his mind focused.
When he was finished, he folded the blade closed with a snap and put it into a pocket. Blood trickled down his cheeks and neck, but he ignored it. Stepping out of the recess, he headed off through the fading fog to where the boneship still floated, tied firmly to the shore. Shilly was in there; he could feel her anxiety, her nervousness. He wanted to call her, to put her mind at ease, but feared alerting the Panic. If there were Change-workers or sensitives among them, he would immediately reveal himself by doing so.
Two slope-shouldered Panic stood on guard by the gangplank. These creatures had the same physical arrangement as a human of two arms, two legs, trunk and head, but the way they walked and moved was very different. When they attacked the humans on the beach, he had seen that they loped with smooth grace across flat and stony ground and that their long arms had the extra strength that
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