You mean in bringing the girl?
“Indeed,” said the scrubber. “Among others. Everything is falling together rather nicely, don’t you think?”
Are you afraid to answer me?
The scrubber shrugged. He looked frailer than ever, and his voice was thin when he spoke. “I’m afraid of very little anymore.”
But you are afraid to see her again.
“Yes. Yes, I am. And I’m afraid of what I must do.”
Then you do expect to die.
“No indeed,” said the scrubber, chuckling to himself. “In fact, I rather hope to finally live.”
The star, shining high in the vaults above, watched the old man until the Wood had quite swallowed him up.
2
I FOUND THE GIRL. I had searched long and hard for her, following rumor, following whispers. I learned during that time to contain my fire and to walk in a form similar to my original. I wore a cloak to hide my featherless wings, which hung like a bat’s at my back. No one knew what I was unless they smelled the sulfur on my breath.
It was thus I found the girl. Was she a princess of mortals? Was she a beauty, a worthy rival to my queenly glory?
No indeed. She was a farmer’s daughter, a creature of mud and labor. Her face and clothes were stained, her hands callused, and she stank of mortality.
But she sang as she worked, a simple, cheerful song of her own invention. And it was a reflection, imperfect yet lovely, of the Songs sung by the Spheres above. Her eyes shone with inner light, and despite her humble state, she was, I could see, lovely.
I hated her.
“Klara,” I called.
She turned and saw me standing at the gate of her father’s farm. “Good morrow,” she called, her voice as charitable as it was sweet. “Do I know you?”
“No,” I said.
“May I help you? Are you lost?” She approached me, her face open and kind. “I will share my supper and give you a place to lay your head, for you look weary.”
They were the last words she spoke. I opened my mouth, and fire billowed forth.
I destroyed the entire farm that day, decimated that ground so that nothing should grow there evermore. Every living thing within miles fell under my flame.
Three somber figures stepped from the shelter of the Haven in the wake of the orange cat. They walked with heads bowed, as though afraid to see more of this strange Between than they must, and each face was bound up in unspoken thoughts.
Mouse’s bare feet made no sound as she trod behind the cat, allowing him to choose their Path without question. After all, he knew better than she where to find her world. This journey was different from her journey with the star. Though they moved outside of Time, she still felt the presence of Time pressing in around them, and it seemed to her that the journey went on and on, though it may have been mere moments. Sometimes she thought she heard or glimpsed other beings in the surrounding shadows, beings for which she had no name.
“Fire burn,” she whispered. Would all this dreadful experience serve for her purification? In the end, would the holiness achieved be worth the trial and terror?
Could she save the Silent Lady?
She felt the presence of Lord Alistair, a little to her side and behind her. She tried not to startle when he spoke.
“This Wood is something else, isn’t it?”
She gave him a quick look. Although the words formed themselves into something comprehensible in her brain, the meaning escaped her. Something else? As in, something not a Wood? Well, perhaps. After all, it certainly didn’t feel like the mountain forests of her childhood. Still, not liking to make a fool of herself, she opted not to answer.
“It gives you the feeling it’s watching you,” Alistair persisted, adjusting his long legs into a stride that matched hers. It was a rather lumbering gait, for she was quite short and he was obliged to keep amending his pace to stay beside her. Mouse glanced up and found him looking earnestly down at her, as though hoping for an answer. Having no answer to give, she offered a small smile. Then hastily looked at her feet again. Women of the Citadel did not smile at men. And men did not speak in a woman’s presence.
“Ah, well,” Alistair persisted, “perhaps you’re used to it. You’re quite the adventurer! Star follower, wood trekker. They could write legends about you without much trouble, couldn’t they?”
Here Mouse smiled again, though she tried to stifle it. She, an adventurer? How the Citadel dwellers would laugh at the idea! Mouse the trembling, the hiding, the soft speaking . . . a legend! She rather liked the idea.
Suddenly, with more daring than she felt, she asked, “How long did you know?”
“Know what?”
Mouse licked her lips. “How long did you know that I was . . . that I wasn’t . . .”
“That you weren’t a boy?” There was a brightness to Alistair’s voice, a cheerfulness close to a laugh that seemed strange indeed in this half-lit world between worlds. “Well,” he said slowly, “if you must know, almost at once.”