Eanrin shrugged and his look darkened. “I’m not so well acquainted with your mortal ways as all that.”
“What has mortality to do with it?” Granna reached out then and snatched hold of Alistair’s wrist. He startled but did not draw back, offering what was probably meant to be a friendly grin. It was a bit condescending, but Granna shrugged it off. “Come here, lad,” she said, though she could see that he did not understand her. She tugged gently. “Come, all of you. I’ll show you the way.”
She led them up the short incline. The wind grew harsher within a few paces, warning of danger and darkness. She felt hesitancy, even fear, running up and down Alistair’s arm. But he was a good boy, she thought, for he did not resist her. She liked those she didn’t have to battle, especially these days.
The open mouth of the cave awaited them. But it would not reveal itself even to the Faerie until Granna stood before it. “Look!” she said, pointing one gnarled finger.
They looked. They saw. Alistair drew a hissing breath, and Eanrin said, “Lights Above! So it’s true!”
The cave like the head of a wolf yawned before them, and the breath of the Netherworld eased to and from its mouth. Mouse, who had seen it before, nevertheless hung back, and even Eanrin, who had walked the Paths of the Netherworld, felt the hair on his neck bristle.
But Alistair gently freed himself from Granna’s grip and stepped forward, gazing into the darkness. “So,” he said, “I’m to venture in there and find the Chronicler.”
Eanrin nodded. “Try to anyway.”
“And all I have to do is walk in and look? No guide? No map? No . . . no light?”
Eanrin stepped up alongside the young man and folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t promise you anything,” he said. “I know only what I’ve heard. Blood calls to blood. Kinfolk know kinfolk, in the dark better than anywhere. If you’re meant to have a light, light will be provided. If you’re meant to walk in the dark, then in darkness you’ll walk.”
“But I’ll find the Chronicler?”
“I hope so,” said Eanrin. And suddenly he turned and placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “I wish you well, mortal. You’ve demonstrated courage in all of this, and I think . . . I think you might have done your uncle proud had you inherited Gaheris.”
“Too bad for that, then, eh?” said Alistair, and his voice was bitter. Then he shook himself as though he could shake away all the thoughts crowding his head. “What will you do?” he asked. “You’ll not venture into this dark with me?”
“No,” said Eanrin. “I would not be able to help you in any case. This is a matter of kinship and blood ties, and has nothing to do with me. Mouse and I will return to the Citadel. I have my comrade to free, and Mouse must try to rejoin the ranks of the priestesses. If they haven’t found her out already, we might be able to infiltrate their number and possibly prevent Etanun from cursing the world yet again.”
Alistair nodded. “Very well,” he said, “it’s a plan. I’m not saying it’s a good one. But it’s a plan.”
He squared his shoulders and moved toward the cave mouth.
He looked into the dark of his nightmare.
He recognized the smell and felt the fingers of shadows reaching to touch his face. He strained his ears, expecting even now to hear the Dogs baying. He heard nothing more than heavy silence. That didn’t matter, though. He would hear them soon enough.
“So it’s not a child after all,” he whispered. “It’s the Chronicler I’ll find. Before I die.”
He had known this was coming. Yes, he could protest. He could tell Eanrin his fears, and he did not doubt that the cat-man, for all his sharp tongue, would tell him not to bother, to back away, to let them invent some other scheme.
He took a step.
Then he stopped and looked around.
Mouse stood in the shadows apart from the others, her arms wrapped around her small body.
Alistair drew a long breath. Then, despite Eanrin’s muttered protest, he strode down the incline, and Mouse’s face tilted back farther and farther as he approached, for he was much taller than she.
“I have something I want to say to you.”
She didn’t understand him. But she prepared for the tirade about to fall. After the kindness he had demonstrated to the bedraggled urchin begging at the gates, after the courageous way he had faced the goblins of Gaheris by her side . . . after all that, and after what she had done, she deserved whatever he gave her.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier,” he said.
Though she knew none of the words, she heard anger, frustration. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though she feared she would embarrass herself with tears.