Through it all went Linay, threading forward like a chisel down the wood grain. Without the split he opened, Kate thought, they would not have been able to move at all. But there was something about him—a thundering, haunted power—that made people inch aside even when there was not an inch to spare. And so they were able to follow him, keeping his narrow, bleeding back in sight. And soon the gate loomed.
A clump of towers bulged from the city wall, bigger than the tithe barn at Toila, bigger than anything Kate had ever seen. In the center of the towers a tunnel gaped, with a huge gate for teeth. Behind the gate were dark-dressed city guardsmen, with the red boats on their chests like second mouths. They had pikes. Here it was: her moment. Kate stopped.
As she paused, an icy swirl of wind lifted her hair. Fat drops splattered here and there, and squalls tugged at hems and hats. The crowd moaned in fear and surged forward, smashing together. Taggle’s claws skittered on her shoulder and she lost track of Drina. Kate was flung against the broad back of the man in front of her, and for a moment she could see only his sheepskin coat. And then she heard Linay shouting in a voice like a string that was about to snap: “Look!” he shouted. “Behold, the fate of Lov!”
People froze; the crush eased. Kate could move again, and she wormed her way sideways until she could see what was happening. There was a wagon smashed against one of the gate towers. Linay was standing on top of the wreck like a stork on a stump, holding a knife, and shouting.
“I did this!” His voice was high and half singing. “I drew the rain and the sleep across the whole country. I am a witch and I curse this city.” He threw his arms open. Blood was running from both wrists. “Lov: I show you horrors! Sister: Come to me!”
And from the green cloud, something came.
It was the monster he had shown her, the rusalka with a shadow, a thing made of wings and howling. It struck into the crowd.
Kate grabbed Taggle off her shoulder, folded herself up around him, and covered her head as the crowd exploded into panic and screaming. Toward the gate, away from it, in all directions, people pushed and staggered and ran. The blows of their rushing feet rained across her back and sides. Again she felt the monster’s wing beats thundering overhead.
Then, sudden as they’d come, the wings folded and were gone; Kate felt them go. An eerie, moaning silence fell. It was so still that for a moment Kate could hear the sparse, cold drops of rain tocking into the mud around her. She lifted her head cautiously. The cat squirmed out from under her. Drina, turban gone and one eye swelling, crept back to her side.
The two girls were on the edge of a circle of—
They had been bodies. But they were crumbling, falling apart like rot-riddled wood. It was hard to tell even how many: a dozen? They made a ring of blackish mush, an open space between them and the gate. On the other side of it, Linay was still standing on the shattered wagon, panting and folded with effort, an ugly grin on his pallid face.
Kate was just getting to her feet when the great gate of Lov screeched open. The portcullis came up a few feet and the pikemen ducked under, slashing at the air to hold back the crowd. With them came another man in the city’s colors, with a gray-shot beard and a broad red sash and a huge hat: a grand man, who looked, just then, sick with fear. “Witch!” he shouted up to Linay. “Why do you disturb the peace of Lov?”
Lina barked a disbelieving laugh. “The peace of Lov?!”
Half the crowd shouted back at him, and Linay whirled around and silenced them with a look, his eyes flashing like pearls. He turned back to the gray-faced, gray-bearded man, who said, “What’s your business?”
“Death is my business,” said Linay. “I’m a witch, after all. Take me off to be burned, please.” He hopped neatly down—the pikemen winced—and held his hands out for lashing. The crowd roared and pushed forward again. Kate and Drina were shoved as if by a tidal wave, into the open space where the rusalka had struck. Kate staggered and fell—Taggle flew from her shoulder—she had a moment’s horror about the stuff she was falling into—and she found herself in familiar arms.
“Linay!” she gasped. The mob was all around them.
The magician grasped her arms and hauled her up, and for an instant they were face-to-face, forearms clasped, like warriors. “Flee this city,” he whispered as one of the pikemen pulled him toward the gate and the others tried to keep the crowd from killing him. Stones and mud came flying. Linay snuck Kate a smile. It was boyish, terrified, and amazed. The pikemen jerked him away.
“Linay!” Kate shouted after him.
And again, she saw his frightened eyes snatch at her, like a drowning man. She threw out a hand—
But it was too late. His smile hardened, and he was gone.