“Yes,” said the prisoner. “The time is coming, the end of Halisa’s sleep. The heir will take up the sword. And he will put an end to these chains that bind you. The heir will set free the captive names of my people!”
Mouse tried to draw her hand back, but those gentle fingers were stronger than they looked. “The goddess requires Fireword,” Mouse said. “The goddess will use it for her great purpose.”
“She will use it for no purpose other than vengeance,” said the prisoner. “And when she is done, she will destroy it.”
“It is an evil weapon,” said Mouse. “I saw it kill Stoneye.”
“The sword did not bring about his death,” said the prisoner. “His misplaced loyalty was his undoing. His misplaced love.”
“Love is a terrible thing,” Mouse whispered.
“Only love gone astray,” said the prisoner. “Only imperfect love.”
Mouse tried once more, feebly, to shake off the prisoner’s grip. “You frighten me.”
“Oh, child!” said the prisoner. “The time has come you should be frightened. If fear will awaken you, be afraid! And then be courageous in your fear and act!”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“You aren’t the mouse they have made you be. You were meant for so much more!”
“The goddess has made us more,” said Mouse. “She liberated us from the Wolf Lord, and she gave us back our voices. Now we are stronger even than the men, and we rule this land.”
But the prisoner shook her head, and she squeezed Mouse’s fingers. “You do not rule,” she said. “You are more enslaved now than you ever were. And you know it.”
Mouse bowed her head and did not say what she thought. But she whispered at last: “How can I help you, lady?”
There was a long silence. Then the prisoner said, “Bend down here so that I may see your face.”
Mouse did not like to, but she could think of no excuse to refuse. She leaned down, her face once more close to the stone bars. The gleaming starflower shone in her eyes, but its light was mild. It reflected in the dark depths of the prisoner’s eyes, which studied her and read things Mouse suspected she did not wish to show. She could not meet that gaze. She felt as though it could look down into the hidden places of her soul, and she feared what it would see there.
“Poor lost one,” said the prisoner. “But my Master has always used the most unlikely to accomplish his ends. Perhaps, little mouse, you are bound for a greater destiny than this future of ashes before you.”
Then the prisoner pressed her face as close to the stone as she could and spoke her next words in a hushed, hurried tone. “Listen now; listen carefully. I am going to ask you to do something quite dreadful. I know they have required things of you as well. I know they are driving you, like the Black Dogs themselves at your heels. But I am asking you to do this for my sake, not for theirs.”
Mouse went cold as stone inside.
“Follow the blue star,” said the prisoner. “You will see it in the north sky tonight. Follow the blue star, without turning to the right or left, walking straight and true after its course. It will lead you to Etanun, Halisa’s former master. When you find him, tell him that I have done as he asked. And tell him that the rest is up to him.”
Mouse’s voice shook so that she could scarcely speak. “Will he know where to find the heir?”
“Ask him,” said the prisoner. One hand reached up between the stone bars and touched Mouse’s cheek. “Ask him,” she said again, “but don’t think you’ll deceive him.”
“Deceive him?” Mouse said. “What do you mean?”
“You will know what I mean soon enough.”
Then she drew back into her cell, and the light of the starflower was hidden so that Mouse could no longer see her. “If you meet my comrade, Sir Eanrin the cat, he will help you. He is good and noble, though he may not at first seem so to you. Tell him of my fate, and he will help.”
The prisoner’s voice was low and strong despite the darkness into which she was now plunged. “Follow the blue star, child. Do what you must.”
6
I WAS TOO WEAK TO FLEE. The Dragon took my face in his hands and they burned me, yet somehow the burn felt right.
“You are my kin,” said he, the Dark Father. “You don’t belong in this world or any world where Lumé and Hymlumé sing. They sing in praise of the One whom Etanun serves. Can you bear that?”
I shook my head even as he held it.
“No,” he agreed. “You cannot. So let us make these worlds after our own fashion. Let us see what songs they will sing when fire rains from the sky.”
I whispered, “Fire from the sky.”
“Let me kiss you,” he said.
“Kiss me, then,” said I.