“What,” Foxbrush whispered, “can be done? Can anything be done?”
“So I asked,” said she. “So I demanded! I journeyed far, I journeyed wide, I journeyed deep and deeper still. I passed through the Netherworld itself, across the Dark Water and on to the Realm Unseen where the Final Water flows into the Vast. I stood upon that shore, and I shouted beyond the Highlands, demanding justice! And if justice could not be had, then mercy, mercy, mercy.” Her hands clenched at the memory, as though even now she made her plea.
“The Lumil Eliasul came. The Prince of the Farthest Shore beyond the Final Water. He came to me and held me there, beside that darkened flow. And he told me of mercy, and he told me of justice. And he told me of the King of Here and There.”
“The what?” said Foxbrush. “You mean . . . you mean Shadow Hand of Here and There?”
She gave him a puzzled look then. “I don’t know this Shadow Hand,” she said. “I know only of the King of Here and There. And it is he, the Lumil Eliasul told me, who will enter the Mound and see my people put at last to rest.”
With this, she took Foxbrush’s hand and turned him away from the clutching Mound of Cren Cru. It had no eyes and it had no life, and yet Foxbrush could not escape the feeling that it watched them as they took a Faerie Path and returned the way they had come. Even when at last they stepped into the familiar orchard and he smelled the ripeness of figs around him, Foxbrush could not shake the feeling that Cren Cru watched and Cren Cru waited.
Lioness’s body lay where they had left it. Nidawi, seeing it, began to weep once more. She let go of Foxbrush’s hand and gathered up her dead friend, holding her tight. Then she turned and looked at Foxbrush over the white fur, her face framed by death and sorrow.
“I’ve killed my share of his warriors. As many of them as I could find. But he takes more. You cannot kill his warriors and hope to kill him too. You must enter the Mound itself.”
“What?” said Foxbrush, sudden realization hitting him like a club. “You mean . . . you mean me? Personally?”
“Yes,” said she. “I vowed that I should wed the King of Here and There for the service he would render me. And you are he, for you are king of this land where Cren Cru has once more latched hold.”
“No!” said Foxbrush, raising both his hands. “No, I’m not king of anywhere. They’ve not crowned me Eldest in my own time, and—”
“They will. And you will feel then the tie to your kingdom that binds you throughout all ages. You are King of Now and Then. You are King of Here and There. And you will destroy Cren Cru.”
She blinked and then she was gone, taking Lioness with her. Foxbrush stood in firefly light beneath the spreading fig trees. But he did not feel alone, despite the loneliness pressing in on all sides, hungry and tearing and lost. He backed away, disoriented, uncertain where to turn even to find his way back to the Eldest’s House.
A voice on the wind in the far, far distance called mournfully, Foxbrush? Where are you, Foxbrush?
He spun toward the sound. And found Daylily standing behind him.
9
THE MOMENT SUN EAGLE TOOK DAYLILY’S HAND and pulled her onto the Faerie Path, she felt the wolf attacking her from the inside. She could feel the physical rip of the great stakes to which the wolf was chained pulling up from the soil of her mind, twisting and tearing as they went. The chains themselves strained to the point of breaking. Then one of them broke.
Daylily screamed and with surprising strength pulled herself free of Sun Eagle’s hand and collapsed there in the Wood. The trees backed far away, afraid of her and of what the stone around her neck represented. But they cast their shadows long, and it was black as night, save for the gleam of the Bronze.
Sun Eagle stood over her. He said, “Get up.”
“I can’t,” she gasped, and her voice was that of the wolf. “I can’t get up! I’m still caught in these dragon-cursed chains!”
“Not you. Her!”
“No!” snarled the wolf through Daylily’s mouth. “You’ve done enough to her! It is my turn now!”
But Sun Eagle knelt and took hold of Daylily by the hair on top of her head. He yanked her face back and smacked her across the jaw, drawing blood where her teeth cut into her lip. Then he dropped her, stood, and stepped back.
Daylily slowly pushed herself upright and gazed at Sun Eagle through the tangles of her hair. “What are we?” she asked, and it was neither the wolf who spoke nor the voice of the master inside her. It was her own voice, soft and tremulous. “What have we become?”
“Strong,” said Sun Eagle. “We have become strong.”
“You killed . . . I . . . killed . . .” She ground her teeth, unable to breathe. Sun Eagle stepped to her side once more and put his hands around her, helping her to her feet. Her body shuddered through a breath, and she leaned heavily against him.