Here he snarled, and his eyes opened wide. “I got attached. Me. Attached! Lumé, Eanrin, you should know better! Look what happened to others who’ve walked the Paths of the Lumil Eliasul. Look at Etanun: All those holy places burned! Look at Akilun: Killed at his brother’s hand! Renowned hero to despised villain within a generation. And where are you left at the end?”
He listened. He strained all his cat senses as though waiting for an answer to this question. But none came. With a sigh, he got to his feet. “He drives us until he’s through, then he abandons us. Such is his way. Well, he’s driven you, Eanrin, into this burned demesne, though it’s unlikely you’ll see him here. And thank the Lights for that!”
It flashed across his mind that it had been his own idea to come to Etalpalli; also, that he would never have passed through the gate had he not first met the mortal girl on the River. How could he ever have worked up the nerve to jump had he not been compelled for her sake? Cozamaloti would have remained as barred to him as were the doors of heaven.
He owed the girl much.
Silence surrounded him. With a shake and a flick of his tail, he turned back into a man, picked a direction, and started down the street. “If Imraldera wants to wander off and get herself killed,” he muttered, “so be it. It’s not my business. I’m a good fellow, and I will rescue my lady Gleamdren just as I intended. No more involving myself in strangers’ business. She can live her life, and I will live mine. Never again to—”
He turned a corner and stepped from daylight into darkness in a single stride. He drew a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. He knew what this darkness was. It was not like the palpable shadows hiding within the towers. This was Midnight.
His cat’s eyes blinked once and drew in what light they could. But he still heard before he saw the Black Dog. A low growl rattled the core of Eanrin’s bones.
If there was one thing he hated more than water, it was dogs.
He turned and ran. Enormous teeth snapped shut in the place his head had been an instant before. Baying, like a hundred voices all in one, filled his ears, and he fled down the streets of Etalpalli, racing with the daylight.
Midnight and the Dog followed two steps behind.
The child snored in Imraldera’s arms. How it could sleep in this heat, she could not begin to understand. Her arms, chest, and neck were sticky with sweat where the little one’s body pressed up against her. But she did not try to put it down. For one thing, she could not guess at the consequences.
For another, the creature was so affection starved, how could she bear to withhold what little she could offer? She felt the child eating it up, draining kindness from her in its need. And still she rocked it back and forth, clucking and pressing her cheek to the little one’s dirty black hair. The child stirred, and its moans were inarticulate but full of meaning. It nuzzled its head under her chin, pressing its cheek to her breast.
Oh, Fairbird . . .
Sweat and tears mingled on her cheeks, and her grip unconsciously tightened about the bony little body.
The child woke. Every muscle tensed, it stared up at her with its wolfish eyes. For half a moment, Imraldera was afraid. She saw the gleam of teeth and felt the strength in those scrawny limbs.
But the child merely leapt from her arms, spinning about on the red stones and shaking as though released from a cage. And when it turned to her again, it wore a great smile upon its face. The teeth gleamed. They were sharp. Yet the smile was real.
Prancing like a puppy, the little one darted up to her, grabbed her hand, dropped it, ran away again, only to spin about and return at a mad dash. It made little grunting sounds like laughter but still no articulate words.
Imraldera got unsteadily to her feet, swaying a little. Her dark skin was used to incredible summer heat, but this was unlike any she had known before. If she did not find water soon, she feared she would faint . . . and never wake again.
She had no sooner found her balance than the child rushed at her and flung its arms around her middle, clinging to her in a desperate hug. She almost fell but braced herself and hugged the little one back. It laughed. A strange sound coming from that animal face—harsh, almost a growl. But it was a laugh, and the child flashed her another smile. It bounded away from her, kicking up its heels and laughing and swinging its arms.
Imraldera steadied herself and gazed after the child. What could she do? The creature was obviously as ignorant as she herself was mute. Not stupid, exactly—she could see the sharp intelligence in those animal eyes. And there was language in the grunts and growls and even the body movements, a language Imraldera could almost interpret. But the child had no power of speech.
Imraldera raised her hands. Creatures of this new world could not possibly know the silent language of women. But desperation drove her to sign:
“I need water.”
The child tilted its head to one side, still smiling. Then haltingly, it signed back, “There is a well. Follow me.”
Imraldera stared. She must be dreaming, she thought. Hallucinating in her thirst and fatigue. Of all the impossible things she had seen and done, this was by far the most impossible.