He blamed himself, of course. He was Chalk’s only real friend, and he knew that the thing hunting them was out there, stealing kids from the camp. He knew that they were supposed to look after each other, and he had resolved to do his part. But somehow he hadn’t. Somehow, Chalk had slipped away when he wasn’t looking, had stepped just out of view when he wasn’t paying attention, and that was all it took. The other Ghosts had told him that Chalk would be back, that he had wandered off before—seemingly forgetting that Fixit was always the one who had wandered off, not Chalk. Or maybe hoping that he would forget the truth of things, and be encouraged.
Didn’t matter. They were gone, following Hawk to their new refuge, wherever that was. All of them save those who had remained behind to defend the bridge against the army coming up from the south. And himself, because he refused to leave his best friend. The others had wanted him to come, but he couldn’t. He had to stay. As long as there was hope for Chalk, he had to wait. Maybe they were right. Maybe Chalk had wandered off and would be back. Maybe he needed Fixit.
Maybe.
He hugged himself against a chill that ran through him at the thought of what he knew was true and couldn’t accept. He felt tears welling up, and he tightened his lips and eyes against them.
Then he heard footsteps behind him. Composing himself quickly, he turned. Logan Tom was there.
“We could use your help at the bridge, Fixit. They’re finishing the wiring, and you know as much about it as any of the adults. More, even, than me. Will you help?”
Fixit shook his head. “I have to . . .”
“You have to keep an eye out for Chalk,” Logan finished. “I know. But you can do it from there. It will help pass the time if you do something other than just stand around. And it will help us, as well.”
Fixit stared at the other, at his hard face, at the grip he kept on the black staff. Nothing ever bothered him. He was as steady as the rising and setting of the sun. He wished he could be like that.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll help.”
“Fixit,” Logan Tom called after him as he started to walk away. “Don’t give up hope. We still don’t know.”
Fixit nodded, his thoughts dark and angry. Maybe you don’t, he told the other silently, but I do.
He kept walking.
TWENTY-FIVE
S OMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, Catalya disappeared.
She had insisted on staying behind when the remainder of the camp departed with Hawk and Angel, arguing that she could do more good by staying than leaving. When pressed for an explanation, she had shrugged the matter away by telling Logan it was obvious if you thought it through. Hadn’t she saved him once already? What if he needed her to save him again? She was only half joking about this, and her determination to remain close to him was unshakable. What was really at work was her fear of losing him again, something she seemed terrified would happen. He had almost died once already and then disappeared for days afterward in search of the Elves and their talismans and been seriously threatened a second time. Apparently, she had decided that enough was enough; she would take her chances sticking close to him rather than seeking safety by leaving.
He had chosen not to press the matter. When Panther’s attempts at talking her out of it failed, including a futile effort at insisting that if she stayed, so would he, he saw the handwriting on the wall. Somethings you had to back away from. She was sufficiently grown that she could make her own choice in the matter. He did not feel that she really belonged back with him or that her staying made him any safer, but if she felt so then it was better to let her have her way.
That was what he had thought the previous day. Now he was sorry he had not insisted she go. Early that afternoon, when his attention was focused on other things, she had suggested almost casually that she should go out in search of Chalk and the other children. She had a better chance of finding them than anyone else, she insisted; she was more experienced in these sorts of things. He had no idea why she thought that this was so, but it didn’t matter because he wasn’t about to agree. He told her no, pointing out that the creature stalking the children of the camp was far too dangerous to take chances with.
“Why would a monster stalking human children want anything to do with me?” she asked at once. “I’m a bigger freak than it is.”
He stuck to his refusal, and when she shrugged and walked away without saying anything more, he thought that was the end of it. Obviously, he had been mistaken.
Sometimes he wondered what good he was doing. He was supposed to serve and protect those weaker and more vulnerable than himself. He was supposed to keep them safe. But when no one would listen to him, when they did whatever they chose despite his warnings—which was true of almost everyone, it sometimes seemed—what was he supposed to do? Even Simralin had refused to listen to him when he told her she should come with Kirisin and himself and flee the Cintra, that it was too dangerous to remain behind, that she would not be safe.