But this time there was no response. She waited, but there was nothing more. She circled the arch, as if by doing so she might find some sign of him. There was nothing to find. He was gone. Having said what he had come to say—those few small words she clung to like a lifeline—he had left her.
She was suddenly enraged. Was he watching everything? Did he see her from some distant vantage point that allowed him to measure what it was she was doing and how successful she was in doing it? She hated the idea. She had been given a quest and deprived of a part of her eyesight in order to fulfill it, and yet now it seemed she was not to be trusted in spite of her sacrifice.
For a few minutes, she was caught up in the white-hot heat of her anger, unable to see past a raft of imagined betrayals and deceptions. Then, finally, she calmed down enough to regain her perspective. A Faerie creature like the King of the Silver River would have sufficient magic to be able to track her movements; she was foolish to think anything else. If he saw something that troubled him, he would certainly consider speaking to her about it. Pan was missing and she was lost as to how to find him. So he was telling her what to do.
Sort of.
But not exactly.
After all, he hadn’t answered any of her questions directly. He could have told her something more specific about where Pan was. He had chosen not to do that, and she supposed he must have had a reason for making that choice. But he had also implied she was still under an obligation to protect Pan. Otherwise, why had he bothered to tell her Pan wasn’t coming back and she must go to him?
She was marching about, trying to think it through, when Xac Wen appeared on the run, shouting her name.
“Prue! Are you all right? I heard you scream!”
He had his long knife out, prepared to defend her against whatever danger threatened. A brave little boy, she thought. Now she really was ashamed.
She held out her hands to hold him back. “It isn’t anything. I just got frightened. I thought I saw something, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “Well, I just wanted to be sure you weren’t in any … I don’t know. What was it you thought you saw, anyway?”
“A ghost. A shade. Forget it. Any luck finding Pan?”
He shook his head. “Why don’t you go look for a while and I’ll stay here. Go that way.” He pointed. “I haven’t searched over there yet.”
Because she didn’t want to talk to him anymore about the scream and needed uninterrupted time by herself to think about the words of the King of the Silver River, she nodded her agreement and started off. She didn’t think she would accomplish anything by doing so, but she was anxious to be alone again.
She moved through the tombstones and sepulchers at a steady pace, casting about idly as she walked. The day was gray and overcast, the smell of rain in the air, sweet and slightly metallic. The dawn had left a layer of dew on the grasses and leaves, and moisture stained the stones of the graveyard in dark patches. She kicked at the earth in frustration, her thoughts scattered by Xac Wen’s abrupt appearance and an ensuing rush of doubts about what she should do or even if she were going to be given a chance to do it.Birdsong rippled through the stillness in small chirps and long cries, and she found herself staring through the shades of gray that colored her new world, trying to find the birds themselves while at the same time attempting not to think of how bleak everything looked. She blinked a few times, as if by doing so she might improve her ability to see colors. But nothing changed. She realized that her sight impairment was beginning to depress her in a way that was pervasive and crippling. She couldn’t quite escape the sense of loss that grew out of having everything she saw reduced to grays and blacks. She could remember other colors so clearly, could still picture them in her mind. But it wasn’t the same when she couldn’t actually see them. The loss diminished her world, and by doing so it diminished her, as well.
Tears filled her eyes. Suddenly she wanted to cry.
Then she saw the scarlet dove. It was soaring high above the oak trees that were clustered all through the cemetery, a splash of brilliant red against the moody gray backdrop of her vision, a thing so beautiful that she could no longer hold back her tears.
That something so wonderful could exist was a cause for celebration and the giving of thanks. She watched it swoop and dart, winging this way and that, riding on the back of the wind.
When it changed course abruptly and came flying directly toward her, she uttered an exclamation of delight and hugged herself. The dove flew at her with fierce determination, then banked away at the last minute and came to roost on a tree branch not thirty feet away.