Once outside Kriz didn’t pause, striding away from the opening without a backward glance. A few times she faltered, succumbing to brief bouts of grief that saw her choking down sobs. Clay made no attempt to talk to her. The depth of sorrow on her face made him doubt she could hear him just now. She only seemed to regain full awareness when Loriabeth spotted an unusual feature in the landscape ahead.
“That smoke I see?” she said, pointing at a large opening marring the otherwise smooth surface of a cliff some ways off to the left. Clay surveyed it through the spy-glass on his carbine, finding it dark and weathered but with a hard-edged quality that made him doubt it was a natural feature. If anything in here could even be called natural, he thought, watching a thin but continuous stream of grey smoke rising from the opening.
“Could climb up and take a look,” he mused aloud, turning to Sigoral. “Feel up to it, Lieutenant?”
“No!” Kriz moved to Clay’s front, shaking her head. Her grief seemed to have evaporated for the moment and her voice was hard. “No climb!”
Clay’s gaze lingered on her emphatic frown for a second before tracking back to the opening. “Something bad in there?” he asked. “More long-dead folks turned to dust?”
She ignored the question, flicking her gaze about as if searching for something in the surrounding rocks. “We go,” she told Clay, moving off with a rapid stride. It seemed clear to Clay that this time she had no intention of waiting to see if they followed.
“We’d best move on,” he told the others with a final glance at the smoking hole in the cliff. “If something’s got her this spooked it’s probably not a good idea to linger.”
Kriz led them on through ever-steeper country for another hour before calling a halt atop a broad rocky shelf overlooking a shallow canyon. “Kinda lacking in cover for my liking,” Loriabeth said, casting her gaze at the gathering gloom above. “Nowhere to shelter if a Black comes calling, and this is their sorta country.”
Clay surveyed the surrounding landscape. The trees had all but vanished now, leaving them in a region of rock-covered hills he knew would soon become mountains. “Can’t see much of an alternative,” he said. “We’ll keep double watch just in case.”
Kriz had perched herself on the edge of the shelf, legs dangling as she gazed down at the canyon below. Clay and the others sat around and finished off some sea-biscuits whilst Kriz continued her silent vigil.
“Can’t be more than thirty miles off,” Loriabeth said, turning to regard the silver line of the shaft. “That’s a two-day march in country like this.”
“Then you’d best get some rest, cuz,” Clay told her, having opted to share the first watch with Kriz. Sigoral had already settled down for the night, using his jacket as a blanket and pack as a pillow, as was his custom. His eyes were closed and his face slack in slumber, though he still had a firm grip on his carbine.
“Pops off in seconds, every time,” Loriabeth said, covering herself with her duster. “Must be a sailor’s habit.” She paused a second before correcting herself. “Marine’s habit.”
“Must be.”
Clay waited until his cousin was safely asleep before moving to sit at Kriz’s side. The faux-night had come on fully now, casting a silver outline over her profile, which barely twitched as he joined her. It was evident her earlier grief had returned, at least partially.
“Sorry about your folks,” he said, failing to produce a response. “I’m guessing that was your folks back there, or at least people you were close to.”
Kriz’s slim shoulders moved in a listless shrug, giving no indication of understanding or interest in his sympathy.
“Seemed awful aggravated at your pa,” he forged on. “That I can understand. My pa was a worthless, headhunting shit-pile and I ain’t felt a moment’s sorrow over blowing his brains out, mostly anyways. That what you’re planning on when we find your father? Got an account to settle?”
Kriz turned to him, features bland and eyes dim, a soul sunk deep into sadness. “Can’t . . . talk,” she said, then added, “now.” With that she turned away and lowered her gaze to the canyon once again where the faint light danced on a stream winding its way through the rocks.
“Those markings back at the island,” Clay persisted, reaching out to take her hand when she didn’t respond. She tried to pull away but he held her in place. He used his finger to trace the two lines and the circle on the back of her hand then pointed at his own eye. “I’ve seen it before,” he told her. “In a place far to the north of here. Another hidden place. Did your people build that too?”
Kriz gave an annoyed grunt and succeeded in tugging her hand free. She got to her feet and stalked away, Clay following at a cautious distance lest he provoke her to violence. “You lost your people,” he said. “Your world too, I guess. But there’s another one, up there.” He moved into her eye-line, pointing to the black sky. “My world, and something’s fixing to tear it all to pieces. You understand?” He stepped closer, speaking in an urgent rasp. “We came here for a reason. You got answers and I need them.”
He reached for his wallet and extracted the Blue vial. At the sight of the product Kriz shook her head and stepped back from him, arms crossed in stern refusal. Clay bit down on a shout of frustration, fighting the urge to grab her and force the product down her throat, an act he suspected would see one of them nursing an injury or two.
“People are dying up there,” he said, letting the anger leech from his voice. “Thousands are dead already and there’ll be thousands more before this ends. And it’s my fault, ’cos I woke it up.” He blinked and felt tears trickle from the corners of his eyes. “Please,” he said, his voice a thin croak as he held the vial out to her. “Please.”
Kriz maintained the same posture for some time, arms tight about her chest, though he saw her gaze track the tears coursing down his face. “You . . . not . . . understand,” she said, Clay detecting a wince of apology as she tapped a finger to her head. “What I . . . show.”
“Think I’m too dumb to grasp it all, huh?” He grunted a laugh and wiped the tears away, still holding the vial out to her. “I’ll try to follow as far as my dimwit’s brain allows.”
Kriz closed her eyes for a second, taking a short breath as if summoning some reserve of strength, then reached to take the vial.
The scream split the air like an axe blade, rebounding from the surrounding rocks to produce a piercing echo that made it impossible to discern the source. Loriabeth and Sigoral came awake instantly, surging to their feet with weapons raised. An unspoken instinct drew the four of them together so that they stood back-to-back, eyes straining against the encroaching dark as the scream faded.
“Black,” Loriabeth breathed. “Leastways, I think so. Never heard one so loud, though.”
“No,” Clay said, a dreadful recognition churning his stomach. He found his hands trembling as he tried to keep his carbine steady. “That’s a White.”
CHAPTER 37
Lizanne