At least they had permitted her to stop awhile. And it was well that they did, or their cursed errand would have met an untimely end. She could not bear the thought of one more step without rest! Not without a sleep untroubled by dreams . . .
When was the last time she’d slept? she wondered as she lay down upon the hard forest floor, adjusting her body around roots and rocks and fallen branches. Lying on the burned stones of Etalpalli, her head pressed to the chest of the cat-man poet, listening to the fading strains of his lullaby; she had slept then. It had not been a restful sleep, but she had, at least for those brief moments, felt safe.
Safety was far from her now, with the Black Dogs so close and the weight of her task crushing her heart.
She must go back. The old life beckoned with the insistence of death. Imraldera had not thought it possible that she could so swiftly be convinced to return to the Land. Though her life had been one of few joys or pleasures, it was the only life she knew. By returning, she tossed that life, so hardly won, into the jaws of Death. The Beast would be waiting for her. He might even now crouch at the cavern entrance where the river burst free. How long had it been since she fled? A few days, perhaps? A few hours? Would the Beast have already returned to the lowlands?
Would he have returned for Fairbird?
“Starflower.”
The girl startled at the voice speaking from the darkness. She sat up, twigs and leaves sticking to her matted hair, staring into the impenetrable Midnight. She waited, hoping the speaker would reveal himself. Nothing followed, however. Perhaps she had dreamed it in her loneliness.
She lay back down, shivering though it was not cold, and pillowed her head on her arm. Her eyes would not close but continued straining against the dark. And in her mind, she kept seeing a flash of teeth in the moonlight, and she heard a dark voice saying:
“You were always meant to be mine!”
This must be her fate. Even though her father had given his life to fight it, even though she had fled into the Void and discovered the terrible worlds beyond, still she was driven back. Even if Hri Sora had not made this dreadful bargain, she knew she would have returned eventually.
Because it was true: Fairbird was not safe. She never could be safe as long as the Beast lived. Therefore, as long as the Beast lived, Imraldera must continue fighting him. But how could she, silent and small, hope to combat a vicious and cunning monster many hundreds of years old?
“Starflower.”
Once more she sat up. Her heart jumped to her throat. Was it the cat-man? But he did not know her name, nor did his rival. No one out here in the world beyond the Circle of Faces knew who she was.
She waited. Again, nothing followed: no second cry, no sound in the underbrush, not even a warning growl from the lurking Black Dogs. It was either sit like a statue forever or lie down and try to rest. So she lay down again, this time firmly shutting her eyes.
Death. She was sent to lure Wolf Tongue to his death. To trap him, to deceive him, just as he had once trapped and deceived her.
Oh, Mother! she cried out in the echoing silence of her mind. What sort of monster have I become?
“Starflower.”
She was on her feet in an instant, spinning in place, her eyes peering desperately into the darkness. Her heart thudded in her throat, but for a moment her exhaustion was forgotten in tense preparation for yet another flight. The Black Dogs would pursue her, yes. But better that than to sit here and listen to ghostly voices!
“Starflower.”
Someone stood just behind her.
She drew a long breath. She felt the close proximity of the stranger, someone tall, someone strong, but she dared not turn to face him. Nor did she dare to flee. Raising trembling hands, she signed, “Who are you?”
“You know me, my child.”
Her heart surged at the words. She did! She did know! She knew that voice better than her own father’s. She had never heard it speak words like these, the words of a man. Always before it had rung from the heavens, whispered in the moonlight, sung in the silence of her mind. And she knew his name, a name she had long wondered at, a name she had seen her mother sign in prayer or praise.
“He Who Names Them!” she signed. “You are the one my mother knew, the one who gave the names to all living things!”
“You go into great peril, Starflower,” he said.
She longed to turn around, to see his face, but she did not dare. She bowed her head instead and signed: “I have lived my life in peril.”
“Live it now in triumph, my child.” How fluid was the sound of his voice. It wasn’t like a man’s voice, she realized, though at first she had mistaken it for such. Nor was it that of an animal. It was altogether unique. Speaking into her spirit, it reverberated there, and she knew she would never forget that sound. “You have followed my paths many times in fear. Follow me now in trust. Trust me, Starflower, and do as I tell you.”