glances as we stepped into the swamp, our feet squelching loudly.
Steaming vapors rose all around, tying knots of mist, churning endlessly. Judging from the vague light filtering through the clouds, it seemed to be late afternoon, though it could easily have been some other time of day. While I felt a surge of gratitude that at least some daylight brightened the swamp, keeping the marsh ghouls at bay for the moment, I knew that it wouldn’t last long. Soon darkness, thicker than the mud on my boots, would return. As would the ghouls.
We stood in a putrid pool, listening to the eerie quiet. The swamp seemed empty, a lifeless receptacle of molding plants and debris. So different from the vibrant underground world we had left behind! For an instant, I recalled the tingling touch of liquid light on my skin: my forearms, my lower back, the soles of my feet. Then the memory vanished, replaced by the reality of muck oozing inside of my boots.
Hallia stepped closer, sending ripples of slime across the pool. “It’s so silent.”
“Too silent.”
Concentrating hard, I stretched my second sight as far as I could into the swirling vapors. Past the murky pool, banked with peat. Past the moss-splattered boulder where a lone crane perched, never blinking, ready to fly at the first sign of trouble. Past the gnarled tree in the distance, tilting almost to the point of toppling into the marsh grass. The tree shone as white as a skeleton, with only a few shreds of bark on its trunk and a mass of dead leaves clinging to one of its branches.
For the briefest instant I caught the scent of something new. Unlike the rest of the aromas assaulting us, this smell was actually pleasant—almost sweet. Although it vanished before I could be sure that I hadn’t just imagined it, the smell reminded me of blossoming flowers. Yes, that was it. Rose blossoms.
Hallia leaned closer. “Where do we go now?”
Again, I tried to gauge the light. It seemed to be growing darker. I smiled sardonically, telling myself that at least for the time being I wouldn’t be facing any more trouble from my shadow. What trouble we would be facing, though, I didn’t want to think about.
“Best we find someplace to wait out the night.” I pointed toward the leaning tree. “Over there, beyond that dead tree, is some sort of rise.”
“Dry enough to have no snakes?”
“I think so. All I see growing there is some sort of shrubbery, dotted with berries, I think. Red ones.”
Hallia followed the line of my gaze. “Your vision is so much better than mine in this mist,” she lamented. “I can’t even see the tree, let alone what lies beyond.”
I sighed, stirring the murky water with my boot. “The most important things that lie beyond, I can’t see either.”
We started slogging through the muck, our footsteps echoing over the watery terrain. Rather than breaking the silence, our movement seemed to emphasize it, deepen it. After each step, the quiet took hold again, as if its own relentless steps were following just behind ours.
Through the steaming pools we trudged, doing our best to avoid the decaying branches floating there. At one point I saw, hanging from a branch, a single leaf that seemed to glow in the half-light. I paused to watch it swaying slowly, like a long-forgotten flag. Its fleshy interior had almost completely disintegrated, leaving only a delicate tracery of veins. Placing my hand behind it, I marveled at how much I could see through the open places—and yet how much of the shape of the original leaf still remained. How could so much of it be invisible, and yet visible, at the same time?
Suddenly I heard Hallia groan. I whirled around to see her standing rigid, staring at something at the edge of a murky pool. Slogging to her side, my attention fell to a rotting, dismembered carcass that lay on the peat. What little of the hide remained shone tan and gray. A twisted leg, stripped of all its meat, stretched toward us, its hoof stained
Steaming vapors rose all around, tying knots of mist, churning endlessly. Judging from the vague light filtering through the clouds, it seemed to be late afternoon, though it could easily have been some other time of day. While I felt a surge of gratitude that at least some daylight brightened the swamp, keeping the marsh ghouls at bay for the moment, I knew that it wouldn’t last long. Soon darkness, thicker than the mud on my boots, would return. As would the ghouls.
We stood in a putrid pool, listening to the eerie quiet. The swamp seemed empty, a lifeless receptacle of molding plants and debris. So different from the vibrant underground world we had left behind! For an instant, I recalled the tingling touch of liquid light on my skin: my forearms, my lower back, the soles of my feet. Then the memory vanished, replaced by the reality of muck oozing inside of my boots.
Hallia stepped closer, sending ripples of slime across the pool. “It’s so silent.”
“Too silent.”
Concentrating hard, I stretched my second sight as far as I could into the swirling vapors. Past the murky pool, banked with peat. Past the moss-splattered boulder where a lone crane perched, never blinking, ready to fly at the first sign of trouble. Past the gnarled tree in the distance, tilting almost to the point of toppling into the marsh grass. The tree shone as white as a skeleton, with only a few shreds of bark on its trunk and a mass of dead leaves clinging to one of its branches.
For the briefest instant I caught the scent of something new. Unlike the rest of the aromas assaulting us, this smell was actually pleasant—almost sweet. Although it vanished before I could be sure that I hadn’t just imagined it, the smell reminded me of blossoming flowers. Yes, that was it. Rose blossoms.
Hallia leaned closer. “Where do we go now?”
Again, I tried to gauge the light. It seemed to be growing darker. I smiled sardonically, telling myself that at least for the time being I wouldn’t be facing any more trouble from my shadow. What trouble we would be facing, though, I didn’t want to think about.
“Best we find someplace to wait out the night.” I pointed toward the leaning tree. “Over there, beyond that dead tree, is some sort of rise.”
“Dry enough to have no snakes?”
“I think so. All I see growing there is some sort of shrubbery, dotted with berries, I think. Red ones.”
Hallia followed the line of my gaze. “Your vision is so much better than mine in this mist,” she lamented. “I can’t even see the tree, let alone what lies beyond.”
I sighed, stirring the murky water with my boot. “The most important things that lie beyond, I can’t see either.”
We started slogging through the muck, our footsteps echoing over the watery terrain. Rather than breaking the silence, our movement seemed to emphasize it, deepen it. After each step, the quiet took hold again, as if its own relentless steps were following just behind ours.
Through the steaming pools we trudged, doing our best to avoid the decaying branches floating there. At one point I saw, hanging from a branch, a single leaf that seemed to glow in the half-light. I paused to watch it swaying slowly, like a long-forgotten flag. Its fleshy interior had almost completely disintegrated, leaving only a delicate tracery of veins. Placing my hand behind it, I marveled at how much I could see through the open places—and yet how much of the shape of the original leaf still remained. How could so much of it be invisible, and yet visible, at the same time?
Suddenly I heard Hallia groan. I whirled around to see her standing rigid, staring at something at the edge of a murky pool. Slogging to her side, my attention fell to a rotting, dismembered carcass that lay on the peat. What little of the hide remained shone tan and gray. A twisted leg, stripped of all its meat, stretched toward us, its hoof stained
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