Shadowlands (45 page)

Wolf showed me how to put my foot in the stirrup, and boosted me up until I was sitting in the saddle. It was unexpectedly comfortable, but I was right, it looked like a long way to the ground. Something of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because Wolf patted my foot, glancing at me quickly before looking away. Even so, he seemed more relaxed than he had been since visiting me in my bedroom.

“You will not fall,” he said. “I have asked the Cloud Horse not to allow it.”

“That’s all it takes?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “It is part of their
dra’aj
,” he said, as if that explained everything. As I suppose it did.

There was only one road running past the hostel, a kind of wide grassy lane, and we took the direction away from the Quartz Ring. I could see the standing stones off in the distance, farther away than I remembered them.

“Have they moved?” I turned my head to watch them, then cursed as the world spun. I grabbed the pommel of the saddle [a black stone from the edge of some bottomless crevasse, I almost had the name, the something Abyss; the saddle had definitely been made] for security.

Wolf turned all the way around to look behind us. “The Rings always look like that from the outside. It would only take us a few minutes to Ride there, and, of course, no time at all to Move there.”

“And is it always the middle of the night inside a Ring?” I remembered the stars, and the bright sunshine when we stepped outside.

“Whenever I have been in one, yes.”

I nodded, trying to take stock. Apparent distances meant nothing. Apparent time of day likewise. Alejandro hadn’t told me much about the Lands, I realized. When he’d first rescued me, my own world was new enough to capture all my interest. Of course, he’d never expected me to be here, and I already knew how people tended not to explain things they took for granted, not even realizing that they’d be strange for a visitor. I’d have to pick up what I could on my own. Luckily, that was easy for me.

“So where to now?” I asked.

Wolf stopped dead in the grassy road. “To the Moor of Ravens, of course. Is this not the way?”

I was glad that my horse had stopped by himself. I stared at Wolf, my eyebrows as high as they could go. “You think
I
know the way?”

“But it was you who set the trail.” Wolf wasn’t angry—yet, but I could tell from the sudden hardness in his voice that he wasn’t far away from it.

I held up a hand, palm toward him. “Wait just a second. I know that the Moor of Ravens and the Sea of,
Ma’arban,
was it? I know that these places have something to do with the Horn, or at least with Ice Tor, but that’s all I know. I mean, I couldn’t even swear to it that they’re
places
. The names could be metaphors.”

“Oh, Chimera, give me patience.” Wolf covered his eyes with his palms. I sat quietly, with my teeth clenched, until he could compose himself. I had an inkling of what he was feeling. Here I thought he knew the way, and he thought I did.

“I’ll need to touch you again,” I reminded him. “See if there’s any more information, any details you don’t know you have.” I rested my hand on the pommel again [Eyebright had made the saddle, from the horse’s own hair, and had chosen the pommel stone with his cooperation; the horse’s name was an unpronounceable sound I could hear clearly in my head], secretly thankful that there were no reins for me to worry about.

“I know the horse’s name,” I said. Wolf didn’t respond, but at least he was now looking at me. “I can’t say it, but I can hear it in my head, when I touch this.” I indicated the pommel. “I can tell you about the Rider who made it, his name was Eyebright. He brought the stone from someplace where there was an abyss.”

“The
Shaghana’ak
Abyss, I know of it.”

“Right. Well, that’s not the only thing you know. You know the way to Ice Tor, you just don’t know you know it.”

I really shouldn’t have been surprised when he shook his head at me. “And this means?”

“Give me your hand,” I said.

H
ANDS ON HIPS, Wolf looked along the empty shelves set up against the stone walls of the tower, and frowned.

“What is it?” Valory leaned against the frame of the open doorway, breathing shallowly through her mouth, with her palm against her stomach.

“You are supposed to be resting,” Wolf said. They had ridden perhaps half a day since she had touched him and learned what direction to take. Valory had become so sleepy after taking more of her medicine that he’d decided to stop when they sighted this traveler’s tower. Her condition had worried him, for all that she’d waved off his concern. He’d gone so far, once he had her settled in a bed, as to look at the package of Gravol medicine, as if it might tell him something. He could recognize some of the letters as things he’d seen before, and that some of the other symbols were numbers, but he had not been able to make out what information was being given.

“You look worried,” she said to him now.

She looked ill, her coloring wan, her eyes like great pools of molten gold, underscored by dark circles. Something told him it would be a mistake to mention this to her. He waved at the shelves instead.

“The weapons are gone,” he said.

Valory came farther into the room and leaned on the corner of a shelf. She made a beckoning motion with the hand that wasn’t on her stomach and Wolf realized she meant him to say more.

“The food containers in the great room are empty as well,” he said. “Everything, baskets, flasks, pots, whatever. In a traveler’s tower they should all be full. And here,” he waved at the shelves again. “There should be swords, daggers, bows, armor, even axes.”

Lips pressed together, Valory took a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly. “Okay. So what does that
mean
?”

“It means that we are lucky I took supplies from the hostel. It means it is not as safe here as I had hoped.” He turned toward the door, offering Valory his
gra’if
-covered wrist as support. “These are places of refuge. They should always have supplies, food, weapons. Whatever is taken, something should come to replace it.”

“Like the clothes in the cupboard?”

“Exactly. Food in the baskets, wine and other beverages in the flasks. That is the purpose of these towers, to provide for any traveler who might pass. Someone has deliberately tampered with the magic here, so that the tower cannot supply anyone else.”

“The Hunt?”

Wolf hesitated, pausing between one step and the next. “No. The Hunt cannot affect this kind of magic. But the followers of the Basilisk Prince can.”

“So they’ve been here? Taken the food and the weapons for their own use?”

“And made sure no others can feed or arm themselves.”

“So do we care? You’re already armed, and you’ve got
gra’if
.”

“But you have nothing. Not so much as a mail shirt to stop an arrow.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew downward in a vee. “Well, we’ll have to hope it doesn’t come to that.” She drew him back to the room in which he had left her. “I found something, I didn’t know if it was important.”

“You were supposed to be resting,” he repeated, as he followed her.

“I was looking for a window,” she explained. “And I found this. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You arose from your sickbed, when it is of the utmost importance that you rest and regain your strength, in order to show me something beautiful?”

Illness had made her so pale that the flush which spread over her face at his words stood out like a stain. Instead of answering, she turned away and lifted her hand, reaching out to touch the wall. Wolf’s eyes followed the movement, and what he had been about to say next faded from his lips.

The walls were covered with lines of onyx and darkmetal, some of them as fine as hairs, some as thick as heavy ropes, with here and there a touch of what looked like
gra’if
. Some great use of
dra’aj
had blasted this pattern into the walls.

For a moment Wolf could not think why he was so frightened, and then he knew. He MOVED and Valory—her hand still reaching out—was in his arms, and they were outside of the room. He held her steady as she retched, until she waved him off.

“It is a Signed room,” he said, when she was able to straighten. “I could not take the risk of what might happen if you touched the wall.”

Her breathing steadied, and she turned, moving as if balancing her head with great care. Her pallor had increased, leaving green shadows on her cheeks. “What
is
it? Couldn’t you have warned me?”

“I did not expect it.” He offered his wrist again to steady her. Or to steady himself; he could not be sure. It felt as though his bowels had turned to ice. “There are Songs about Signed rooms, and even buildings. They are Signed against Movement.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows. Wolf squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He tapped his forehead with his free hand. “When Signed, these rooms fall from the mind of everyone except the one who Signed them, and others can Move neither in nor out. They are used to enclose Riders as the only prison that would work against their Riding.”

“
That’s
a prison room?” One hand gripping his
gra’if
armband, the other braced against the wall, Valory leaned to peer into the Signed room.

“It is likely, though not all of them are. There was a Song that tells of a pair of Riders who entered a Signed room after their wedding, to spend a portion of time completely alone. The Song tells that the Rider who had Signed the room for them was killed in a sudden accident,
leaving the lovers trapped forever. The location of the room is long forgotten, but perhaps the lovers love there still.” Wolf heard a certain familiar lilt to his voice, and cleared his throat. Valory’s caramel eyes shone as if with tears.

“We must leave here, and leave now,” he said. “When I think of what might have happened as we slept…”

Valory steadied herself, moving a finger to brush against his bare skin. She swallowed, blinking. It was not possible for her to turn any whiter, but she did release his wrist. “Really?
That
could have happened to us?”

Wolf wondered what touching him had shown her. “Before the turning of the Cycle, I would have said there were very few Riders who had
dra’aj
enough to Sign a room. There may be many more now.”

“And not just the good guys.”

“As you say.”

I turned as slowly as I could, trying to walk without moving my head more than necessary; I felt like one of those bobblehead dolls you see in souvenir shops. I’d been so looking forward to getting whatever rest I could, but I certainly wasn’t going to argue, not after what I’d seen when I touched him. It was like the song of Ice Tor, except that I got pretty much the whole thing at once, probably because Wolf actually remembered it himself. The tune, the lyrics, and the whole of the sadness and the horror of those two poor people.

I hadn’t finished turning toward the door when a sudden blast threw me backward, and I went sliding into the dark corner where the tower’s stone staircase led upward. I gasped, dizzy and retching, and clung to the edge of the first stair, just level with my head. There was the loudest rushing sound, like a thousand subway trains in a thousand subway tunnels. The light suddenly brightened, and I realized that Wolf had drawn his
gra’if
sword. The roar of the wind increased, and I was pushed painfully against the stone until I thought the arm under me would break.

The door of the Signed room slammed shut, the light disappeared, and the air pressure increased as a sound I couldn’t hear lanced through my head.

Then suddenly everything was quiet, except for a far-off whistling
noise, like air through a narrow opening. I swallowed, again and again, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and my retching to stop. The whistling quieted.

“Softly, softly, little one. Thou’rt safe now.” The voice was breathy, and in the back of it I could hear wind blowing through trees.

I managed to open my eyes. In the dim light that came in through the smashed door I thought I could see a woman. She shifted, my eyes readjusted, and I cut off a whimper as it tried to force its way through my teeth. There was a bruising force on my shoulder blades and I realized I was trying to push myself backward through the wall. I didn’t stop.

It was a woman, if women came around two stories tall, and so perfectly formed that she seemed almost delicate. Her skin was multicolored, like a blanket of leaves in the fall, all golds and reds and browns and yellows and rusts. Her eyes were a piercing blue, and her hair, thick and twiggy, grew straight back from her head as though she were facing into a stiff breeze.

She squatted down on her heels and reached out her hand toward me.

“Please don’t touch me.” I’m sorry to say my voice was mostly squeak.

“They’ve hurt thee, then, haven’t they? Well, not to worry, my little one. They’ve hurt me and all, so thou’st nothing to worry thee. I’ve got thee, and thou’rt safe now, safe as houses.” And then she laughed, and the building shook with the wind that roared through it. “Safer than this house, at any rate. I’d knock it down, but for the mouse I’ve got shut in the box.”