The Gap, barely wide enough for the road, was almost a day’s wagon trip from Catland itself and two or three hours from Arakny’s camp, which meant Sybbis’s group should soon be approaching.
Northeast of the junction were two rounded and heavily forested hills separated by an almost cylindrical stone formation. The hills were densely covered with a dark juniper forest and watered by subterranean springs that had formed a pool near the road. Among polite Artemisians, the hill was called the Devil’s Whatsit; among the more vulgar it had a dozen jocular titles, all of which were amply substantiated by any topographical map. The formation was in all particulars shaped and furred like a gigantic whatsit.
Precious Wind had entered the Whatsit’s location into ul xaolat on her way from Artemisia and had chosen it as the place from which she could get a closer look at Sybbis’s large and stinking companion without being observed. Her jump had brought her to a hidden spot at the tip of the finger, and from there she made a quick line-of-sight jump across the Gap onto the rock formation that extended eastward into the low forest covering the hills on either side. Though the east end of it disappeared into forest, this western end was bare stone, too exposed for her purpose, so she sight-jumped farther back to a higher point where she could see the passing wagons without being seen. From this lookout she used the waiting time to chart the surrounding area with ul xaolat’s map functions—something she’d been doing regularly during her journey. Many areas of this continent had not been surveyed in recent centuries, and as the lands of the earth were gradually being covered with water, at some point in succeeding centuries it would no doubt be useful to know the configuration of the sea bottom. All travelers with the necessary equipment were urged to record the topography of any area they happened to travel through.
She heard the ganger wagons before she saw them approaching. Almost immediately upon hearing the crunch and jingle of the wagons, she heard other sounds from the forests on both hills, one at either side of her ledge: branches breaking, heavy crunching of lower growths. She stiffened. Something very big was moving from behind her toward the road. She glanced around quickly, almost in panic. Though much of the forest was low, there were occasional oaks and a few invading groves of tall pines, a nearby one of which had a stout branch protruding three-quarters of the way up. There was no time to consider whether it would work or not; she simply concentrated on the angle made by branch and trunk and made a line-of-sight jump, throwing her arms around the trunk of the tree to keep her from falling thirty or forty feet to the ground below. Her feet were not secure; the branch was not flat. Slowly, carefully, she found a branch to grip on either side and was able to put her back to the trunk of the tree and lean against it. The wind was in her face. Both leafed and needled branches surrounded her, half from the pine she was in, the rest from an intrusively friendly oak. On either side of her, still invisible, the very loud noises were approaching.
She whispered to ul xaolat. It obeyed her command to level the branch she was standing on—without cutting her feet—and to cut a sight channel through the foliage, like the one she had cut from atop the mountain road. This one ended at the fork in the road below. Trees nearby trembled and creaked, their branches whipping as though in a high wind. Vast shadows obscured the speckled sunlight, then moved past with a grinding sound as if . . . trodden by monstrous feet. She found herself holding her breath. Sound and motion passed near her, below her, and went on toward the road. A tiny breeze lifted from the soil beneath the trees and rose to where Precious Wind clung. She gagged, spit, spit again as those who had come out of the forest went down the hill. She’d smelled them. Now she could see them!
She clung to her tree like a tick to a dog, forcing herself to breathe slowly, to make no sound. The stench made her saliva run thickly; she leaned forward and held her mouth open so it could drip onto the soil. Still gagging, she saw the drivers of the wagons at the end of her sight tunnel. Since leaving the area near the Artemisian camp, all the gangers had donned masks that covered their noses. The creatures from the forest loomed above the wagons, twelve feet tall, their stench now visible as an ocherous haze that roiled around them as they joined their fellows to make a double file on each side of Sybbis’s wagon, two files of six, a dozen on the left, a dozen on the right. The whole caravan marched away to the northwest. Precious Wind waited until she could no longer see them, not even the tops of their heads. It took that long for her to be able to breathe normally, think normally, act . . . relatively normally.
She had no wish to go down to the soil where those creatures had walked. She entered the series that had brought her from the camp and returned there directly from the tree, successive locations blurring around her. Once there, she took the time to wash out her mouth, several times, then went looking for Arakny. She found her with Xulai and Kim, at the wagon, and told her that all the guards left behind by Sybbis had been taken elsewhere.
Arakny was accustomed to leadership, as was Precious Wind. There was a moderate though polite tension between the two of them, which Precious Wind tried both to grant and accept gracefully. She was the stranger, and several things she had done recently were enough to upset the Artemisian territorial sense. She was not surprised to be greeted with slight approbation.
“The poor guards you’ve abandoned out there may starve,” said Arakny.
Precious Wind shook her head very slightly, replying mildly, “Every one of them is carrying enough food for several days. Before I left them, I told each one they would find settlements inevitably if they followed the streams I showed them. I told them if they did not act belligerent, likely they would be accepted. They need not starve.” She paused, grim-faced. “Arakny, Xulai . . . there was . . . how can I say it? When I moved them, they were not angry. They were not upset. At the time I thought there was something odd about their appreciative acceptance of their situation. Their gratitude.”
“Gratitude?”
Precious Wind’s legs were trembling. She sat down abruptly, holding out her trembling hand.
“Presh! What is it?” cried Xulai.
“I see the kettle steaming. Tea. First. Please.”
Tea was forthcoming. Precious Wind took the cup to the edge of the trees, rinsed her mouth with it, spat, did it again. Taste came back gradually. She sipped. The other two were regarding her with pale, strained faces. She breathed deeply, drank, waited until her head had stopped pounding.
“Arakny, I decided to watch Sybbis’s group on its way back to her encampment or village or whatever we call it. There’s a hill at the fork in the road . . .”
“I know the place. We call it the Devil’s Whatsit. I’m told there used to be a pair of devil cats up there.”
“It’s still an insightful name!” Precious Wind gasped. She took a deep breath and went on: “There was a wind from the west at the time. I went up onto the stone promontory to watch the wagons go by, but as they approached, I heard something moving in the woods east of me. I spotted what looked like a good perch in a tree and hopped up to it, ending on a branch quite a good distance from the ground. What I’d heard was a massive, heavy sound, so I . . . I stayed very quiet and remained where I was, luckily high enough to be unnoticed. Did I mention there was a light wind from the west?” She paused, willing her voice to stop trembling before she went on. “We all thought Sybbis had one . . . very large attendant, counselor, whatever. There were two dozen more of them. The others were hidden on that hill, in the woods, and they lined up on each side of her wagon and marched off toward Catland. All the people in the wagons were wearing masks. The stench and the taste were unbelievable.”
Arakny paled. Kim clenched his hands and drew a deep breath. Xulai stared. “More of them? In the name of everything holy, Precious Wind. More of them?”
“Many, many more.” Precious Wind rose and went into the trees to rinse out her mouth once more. She glared at her misbehaving hands, ma
king them stop shaking. It took a moment before she could say the rest. “It certainly explained why the guards she left here were glad to be removed from the area. Well removed. I’m fairly sure some of the stinking creatures are female. Sybbis seems to have a breeding population.”
IN THE GLADE FAR UP the slope of the mountains, Needly and Willum were resting. During the morning they had taken turns massaging Sun-wings’ right rear leg. When the pain showed no signs of diminishing, Needly had treated the leg with the healing medicine and also with another one of Grandma’s potions, only a tiny bit, a few places on the leg touched with a moistened twig. Less than a drop overall. Needly cautioned Willum not to touch the twig, and she laid it carefully on a flat stone, covering it with another. “Grandma told me it was stone juice,” she whispered. “It’s in her notebook, and I saw her make it.”
“What’s it do?”
“Preserves. If there’s someone badly wounded, you know, and you have to get help for them, and you don’t think they’ll last until you can get there, you put a drop of that on them, on their tongue, if you can, or over their heart. And it stops them, preserves them, holds them unharmed until you can do for them. So, I figured, the teensiest bit on that leg, maybe it’ll keep her from hurting it worse if she has to move.”
“How do you bring them out of it?”
“The antidote is in Grandma’s notebook, and I have a little bit of that. Or Grandma said it wears off. I should’ve asked her more about it . . .” She turned aside, hiding her face. “I thought I had more time with her . . .”
“You think Abasio will come?”
“I know he will.”
“I wish he’d hurry,” Willum muttered. “Be nice if he could get here before that giant gets back.” They were both in agreement. Yung For’ster was growing increasingly impatient.
They had no luck with their wishes; the hunter returned soon thereafter, in no very good mood. He stood not far from them, bow in his hand, staring at Sun-wings. “She ready fer me t’skin ’er?”
“No,” said Needly. “Not yet. Just a day or two, now that we have her properly tended to.”
“Got to thinkin’,” said the man, strangely. Even the word “thinkin’ ” came slowly to his mouth, as though someone or something else had put it there from a considerable distance. “Got to thinkin’ better practice the skinnin’.”
Needly stood up from her place by the fire. “When she is ready, we will guide you. No practice is necessary; you already have the skill.”
Willum, moved by a strange urgency, went to Sun-wings’ side. Obviously frightened, Dawn-song lay trembling against her mother’s body as she had done almost constantly since their arrival.
“Nah. Gonna practice onna li’l one.” He moved strangely, tottering. Needly was completely familiar with that movement. How many times had she seen Gralf move like that. Or Slap or Grudge. The giant was drunk! Where had he found drink? When men were like that, one could not talk them out of things. They did not listen. Or understand.
“It’s better not to practice when you’ve been drinking,” she said very calmly. “You could ruin both hides, lose all that gold . . .”
“Nah. Li’l one’s no good anyhow.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mumbling, “Ahgar said nobody wans li’l ones. Practice on her. Gotta killer firs’, though, so she don’ bite . . .”
He raised the bow to his shoulder.
Willum saw where it was pointed. Without thinking, he leapt.
Needly saw all four of them: the giant, Willum, Dawn-song, Sun-wings. She threw up her hands, words ready in her mouth . . .
Too late: the giant loosed the bow. The arrow flew. Willum had thrown himself in front of the little Griffin, and the arrow pinned him there.
That was what Bear and Coyote and Abasio first saw as they topped the rise: the boy shot through, pinned, eyes wide, Needly running toward him, the giant’s face grinning as he turned, reaching for another arrow . . .
Bear did not hesitate. Downhill he could move very fast, and before the monster could raise the bow, Bear was behind him, powerful front legs reaching around the hunter, great, raking claws—sharpened each time he tore a great stump apart, each time he raked roots from the earth—digging deeply into the hunter’s fleshy neck. His hind feet raised, climbed the creature before him as though he were a tree. Bear’s great jaws gaped at the creature’s neck, and his canine teeth, long as Abasio’s fingers, buried themselves deep into either side of the hunter’s neck, ripping it loose from the skull, rocking first to one side, then the other, tearing the flesh, ripping the throat. Blood jetted into the air like a fountain and a stench rose around them like smoke . . .
And there everyone froze, unable to move or think or do anything at all during that long, long moment in which the light left Willum’s eyes . . .
XULAI HAD BEEN SITTING ON the wagon step, peeling the last of the potatoes they had brought from Gravysuck. She shot upright, crying out, a long, piercing scream. Precious Wind heard her and came running. Xulai was standing erect, head back, back curved as though some intimate agony had struck her and she had tried to move away from the pain.
“Xulai? Are you hurt?”
“The children,” she moaned. “The children, Precious Wind. The children. Oh, no, no, no . . .”
“Xulai!” Her name was shouted. She came to herself.
Precious Wind said, “Who do you hear in your mind?”
“Abasio. Abasio.”
“Is he there, with them?”
“He must be. I saw it. Yes. It was Abasio seeing it . . .”
“Then he will return at once. He will need help. Let’s get up to the site he will return to.”
Arakny was summoned, the herbalist healer with them was summoned, a number of the men followed them, and they climbed to the site Abasio had recorded before he left them, just a few days before.
Abasio had not waited an instant. By the time the contingent from the Artemisian camp reached the clearing, Sun-wings and Dawn-song were there; so was Bear, slavering, coughing, covered in stinking substances, red and ocher, his eyes wild with fury; Coyote, nose twitching, lips snarling; the horses, shivering all over, Abasio with his arms across the horses’ backs. And Needly, busy at Dawn-song’s side, stanching the blood that ran from a wound. And at Sun-wings’ side, quite still, Willum lay, still and white as death, the arrow through him, hard as stone.
A TEMPORARY SPACE WAS MADE ready in the Artemisian camp, and the Griffins were moved into it along with Willum and Needly. The healers from Artemisia were summoned. All said that Dawn-song was not seriously hurt. Needly submitted to them samples of the potion she had already put upon Sun-wings’ torn wing, on Dawn-song’s wound, as well as the other potion she had administered to Willum and put on Sun-Wings’ leg. She explained what her grandmother had said about the stone medicine, explained that she herself had observed it being made and that the instructions were in her grandmother’s notebook. She found the notebook, held it open while the Artemisians copied the information about stone medicine and the antidote. She retrieved the book and shook her head when they suggested they take it with them.
“Copy anything you can use, but the book is all I have left of her. I’d rather keep it with me.” She went on to explain that she’d put the stone medicine on Sun-wings’s leg, to prevent any permanent damage from happening while they were getting away from the hunter, and on Willum as quickly as she could reach him.
Everyone with some experience of herbal remedies or healing went to examine Sun-wings’s leg. It was not as warm as the rest of her. She could not move it, but it caused her no pain. It did not smell of rot. It was as though she had acquired a stone leg that blood no longer bothered to go into or out of. As for Willum, Willum was stone.
“And how long will this preserve the person?” one of the healers asked.
“If it’s a whole body, long enough for that body to fix itself before the heart starts beating again. I know Sun-wings’s heart hasn’t stopped. I put only a few drops on her leg, just enough to hold her leg as it was. Grandma once told me about a man who had a spear through him. They used stone medicine, then they took him somewhere and removed the spear, and after quite a long while his body healed inside and his heart started beating again.”
“You’re speaking of surgery. We have no surgeons. The Edges have surgeons, but they don’t let outsiders in. Tingawa, of course, has surgeons.”
“No,” said Needly, out of a terrible calm she had found inside herself and that she did not dare depart from. “They didn’t cut, they just pulled out the spear. The man lay there for a long time, perhaps a year, and then he woke up and the hole through him was healed. The stone holds the person safe while the body fixes itself. It’s like it stops time. Or slows it way, way down. Like a stone experiences time. Different for a stone than for a tree, or for you or me. That’s why it takes so long to heal itself.”
They examined Sun-wings’s wounded wing, finding it to be healing with extraordinary rapidity. Needly explained the ingredients that went into the healing lotion. “Ah,” said an Artemisian herbalist to another. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of that,” moving from one little discussion circle to another.