Graceling

  "You can't block out all sound, and he'll only talk louder. He'll yell and you'll hear him—your hearing is too good—and his words are no less dangerous if they're muffled. Even the words of his soldiers are dangerous. Katsa, you'll end up confused again and we'll have to run—"

  "I won't let him do that to me again, Po—"

  "Katsa." There was a tired certainty in his voice, and she didn't want to hear what he was going to say. "It only took him a few words," he said, "and he had you. A few words erased everything you'd seen. He wants you, Katsa, he wants your Grace. And I can't protect you."

  She hated the truth of his words, for he was right. Leck could do what he wanted with her. He could make a monster of her, if that was his wish. "Where is he now?"

  "I don't know; not nearby. But he's probably in the forest, looking for us or for Bitterblue."

  "Will it be difficult to avoid him?"

  "I don't think so. My Grace will tell me if he's near, and we can run and hide."

  A sick feeling stopped her breath. What if he tried to turn her against Po?

  She took her dagger from her belt and held it out to him. He looked back at her with quiet eyes, understanding. "It won't come to that," he said.

  "Good," she said. "Take it anyway."

  He set his mouth but didn't argue. He took the dagger and slid it into his own belt. She pulled the knife from her boot and passed it to him. She handed him the bow and helped him fasten the quiver of arrows onto his back.

  "There's not much we can do about my hands and feet," she said, "but at least I'm unarmed. You'd stand a chance against me, Po, if you had a blade in each hand and I had none."

  "It won't come to that."

  No, it probably wouldn't. But if it did, there was no harm in being prepared. She watched his face, his eyes, which dimly glowed. His tired eyes, his dear eyes. He'd be better able to defend himself if her hands were bound. She wondered, should they bind her hands?

  "And now you've crossed into the realm of the absurd," he said.

  She grinned. "We should try it, though, in our fights."

  A smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. "I could agree to that, sometime, when all of this is behind us."

  "Now," she said, "let's find your cousin."

  Chapter Twenty-four

  IT WAS NOT easy for her to walk helplessly through the forest, Po deciding where to go and knowing when and where to hide, freezing in his tracks at the sense of things she couldn't see or hear. His Grace was invaluable, she knew that. But Katsa had never felt so much like a child.

  "She became hopeful when she saw me," Po said, speaking quickly as they rushed through the trees. "Ashen did. At the sight of me her heart filled with hope, for Bitterblue."

  This hope was what directed their steps now. Ashen had hoped so hard for Po to find Bitterblue that she'd left him with a sense of a place she believed Bitterblue to be, a particular spot both she and the child knew from the rides they took together. It was south of the mountain-pass road, in a hollow with a stream.

  "I know a bit of how it looks," Po said. "But I don't know exactly where it is, and I don't know if she would've stayed there once she realized the entire army was searching for her."

  "At least we know where to start," Katsa said. "She can't have gone too far."

  They raced through the forest. The snow had stopped, and water dripped from pine needles and rushed through the streams. They passed patches of mud trampled with the feet of the soldiers who sought them.

  "If she's left great footprints like these, they'll have found her by now," Katsa said.

  "Let's hope she inherited some of her father's cunning."

  More than once a soldier came uncomfortably near, and Po altered their path in order to skirt around him. One time while avoiding one soldier they nearly ran into another. They scrambled up a tree, and Po readied an arrow, but the fellow never took his eyes from the ground. "Princess Bitterblue," the man called. "Come now, Princess. Your father is very worried for you."

  The soldier wandered away, but it was a number of minutes before Katsa was able to climb down. She'd heard the man's words, even with her hands over her ears. She'd fought against them, but still they'd clouded her mind. She sat in the tree, shuddering, while Po grasped her chin, looked into her eyes, and talked her through her confusion.

  "All right," she said finally. "My mind is clear."

  They clambered down. They moved quickly and left as little trace as possible of their own passage.

  NEAR THE ENTRANCE to the forest, things became tricky. The soldiers were everywhere, gathered in groups, moving in every direction. She and Po ran for short bursts when Po decided it was safe, and then hid.

  Once, Po grabbed her arm and jerked her backward, and they raced back the way they'd come. They found a great mossy rock and hunched behind it, Po's hands clapped over her ears, his eyes glowing with a fierce concentration. Wedged between the rock and Po, his heart beating fast against her body, she knew this time they hid from more than mere soldiers. They waited, it seemed interminably. Then Po took her wrist and motioned for her to follow. They crept away by a different route, one that widened the distance between them and the Monsean king.

  WHEN THEY were as close to the entrance to the forest as Po deemed safe, they turned south, as they hoped Bitterblue had done. When a stream bubbled across their path Po stopped. He crouched down and clutched his head. Katsa stood beside him and watched and listened, waiting for him to sense something from the forest or from the memory of Ashen's hope.

  "There's nothing," he said finally. "I can't tell if this is the right stream."

  Katsa crouched beside him. "If the soldiers haven't found her yet," she said, "then she left no obvious trace, even in all this snow and mud. She must have had the presence of mind to walk through a stream, Po. Every stream in this forest flows from mountain to valley. She would've known to go west, away from the valleys. Is there any harm in following this stream west? If we don't stumble upon her, we can continue south and search the next stream."

  "This seems a bit hopeless," Po said, but he stood, turned with her, and followed the water west. When Katsa found a tangle of long, dark hair snagged on a branch that snapped against her stomach, she called Po's name in his mind. She held the tangle of hair up for him to see. She tucked it into her sleeve and enjoyed the slightly more hopeful expression on his face.

  When the stream curved sharply and entered a little hollow of grasses and ferns, Po stopped and held up his hand. "I recognize this place. This is it."

  "Is she here?"

  He stood for a moment. "No. But let's continue up the stream. Quickly. I fear there may be soldiers on our tail."

  Only minutes later he turned to her, relief in the lines of his tired face. "I feel her now." He stepped out of the stream and Katsa followed. He wove his way through the trees until he came to a fallen tree trunk stretched across the forest floor. He measured the trunk with his eyes. He walked to one end, crouched down, and looked inside.

  "Bitterblue," he said into the trunk. "I'm your cousin Po, the son of Ror. We've come to protect you."

  There was no response. Po spoke quietly, and gently. "We're not going to hurt you, cousin. We're here to help you. Are you hungry? We have food."

  Still there was no response from the fallen tree. Po stood and turned to Katsa. He spoke in a low voice. "She's afraid of me. You must try."

  Katsa snorted. "You think she'll be less afraid of me?"

  "She's afraid of me because I'm a man. Take care. She has a knife, and she's willing to use it."

  "Good for her." Katsa knelt before the hollow end of the trunk and looked inside. She could just make out the girl, huddled tight, her breath short, panicked. Her hands clutching a knife.

  "Princess Bitterblue," she said. "I'm the Lady Katsa, from the Middluns. I've come with Po to help you. You must trust us, Bitterblue. We're both Graced fighters. We can keep you safe."

  "Tell her we know about Leck's Grace," P
o whispered.

  "We know your father is after you," Katsa said into the darkness. "We know he's Graced. We can keep you safe, Bitterblue."

  Katsa waited for some sign from the girl, but there was nothing. She looked up at Po and shrugged her shoulders. "Do you think we could break the tree apart?" she asked. But then from inside the trunk came a small, shaky voice.

  "Where is my mother?"

  Katsa's eyes snapped up to Po's. They searched each other's faces, uncertain; and then Po sighed, and nodded. Katsa turned back to the trunk. "Your mother is dead, Bitterblue."

  She waited for sobbing, screams. But instead there was a pause, and then the voice came again. Even smaller now.

  "The king killed her?"

  "Yes," Katsa said.

  There was another silence inside the tree. Katsa waited. "Soldiers are coming," Po muttered above her. "They're minutes away."

  She didn't want to fight these soldiers who carried Leck's poison in their mouths; and they might not have to, if they could only get this child to come out.

  "I can see that knife, Princess Bitterblue," she said. "Do you know how to use it? Even a small girl can do a lot of damage with a knife. I could teach you."

  Po crouched down and touched her shoulder. "Thank you, Katsa," he breathed, and then he was up again, stalking a few paces into the trees, looking around and listening for anything his Grace could tell him. And she understood why he thanked her, for the child was crawling her way out of the trunk. Her face appeared from the dimness, then her hands and shoulders. Her eyes gray and her hair dark, like her mother's. Her eyes big, her face wet with tears, and her teeth chattering. Her fingers gripped tightly around a knife that was longer than her forearm.

  She spilled out of the tree trunk and Katsa caught her and felt her cheeks and forehead. The child was shaking with cold. Her skirts were wet and clung to her legs; her boots were soaked through. She wore no coat or muffler, no gloves.

  "Great hills, you're frozen stiff," Katsa said. She yanked off her own coat and pulled it down over the child's head. She tried to pull Bitterblue's arms through the sleeves, but the girl wouldn't loosen her grip on the knife. "Let it go for a minute, child. Just a second. Hurry, there are soldiers coming." She pried the knife from the girl's fingers and fastened the coat into place. She handed the knife back. "Can you walk, Bitterblue?" The girl didn't answer, but swayed, her eyes unfocused.

  "We can carry her," Po said, suddenly at Katsa's side. "We must go."

  "Wait," Katsa said. "She's too cold."

  "Now. This instant, Katsa."

  "Give me your coat."

  Po tore off his bags, his quiver and bow. He tore off his coat and threw it to Katsa. She tugged the coat over Bitterblue's head, wrestled with the fingers around the knife again. She pulled the hood over the girl's ears and fastened it tight. Bitterblue looked like a potato sack, a small, shivering potato sack with empty eyes and a knife. Po tipped the girl over his shoulder and they gathered their things. "All right," Katsa said. "Let's go."

  They ran south, stepping on pine needles and rock whenever they could, leaving as little sign of their passage as possible. But the ground was too wet, and the soldiers were quick on their mounts. Their trail was too easy to follow, and before long Katsa heard branches breaking and the thud of horses' hooves.

  Po? How many of them?

  "Fifteen," he said, "at least."

  She breathed through her panic. What if their words confuse me?

  His voice was low. "I wish I could fight them alone, Katsa, and out of your hearing. But it would mean us separating, and right now there are soldiers on every side of us. I won't risk your being found when I'm not there."

  Katsa snorted. Nor will I allow you to fight fifteen men alone.

  "We must kill as many of them as possible," Po said, "before they're close enough for conversation. And hope that once they're under attack they're not very talkative. Let's find a place to hide the girl. If they don't see her they're less likely to speak of her."

  They tucked the child behind rocks and weeds, inside a niche at the base of a tree. "Don't make a sound, Princess," Katsa said. "And lend me your knife. I'll kill one of your father's men with it." She took the knife from the girl's uncomprehending fingers.

  Po, Katsa thought, her mind racing. Give me the knives and the daggers. I'll kill on first sight.

  Po pulled two daggers from his belt and a knife from each boot and tossed them to her, one by one. She collected the blades together; he readied the bow and cocked an arrow. They crouched behind a rock and waited, but there wasn't long to wait. The men came through the trees, moving quickly on their horses, their eyes skimming the ground for tracks. Katsa counted seventeen men. I'll go right, she thought grimly to Po. You go left. And with that she stood and hurled a knife, and another and another; Po's arrow flew, and he reached for another. Katsa's knives and daggers were embedded in the chests of five men, and Po had killed two, before the soldiers even comprehended the ambush.

  The bodies of the dead slumped from their horses to the ground, and the bodies of the living jumped after them, pulling swords from sheaths, yelling, screaming unintelligibly, a mindful one or two drawing arrows. Katsa ran toward the men; Po continued shooting. The first came at her with wild eyes and a screeching mouth, swinging his sword so erratically that it was no trouble for Katsa to dodge the blade, kick another rushing man in the head, pull the first man's dagger from his belt, and stab them both in the neck. She kept the dagger, grabbed a sword, and came out swinging. She knocked another man's sword from his hands and ran hers through his stomach. She whirled on two men who came from behind and killed them both with her dagger while she fought off a third with her sword. She hurled the dagger into the chest of a soldier on a horse who aimed an arrow at Po.

  And suddenly only one man was left, his breath ragged and his eyes wide with fear. That man backed away and began to run. In a flash Katsa pulled a knife from another man's chest and ran after him; but then she heard the smooth release of an arrow, and the man cried out and fell, and lay still.

  Katsa looked down at her bloodstained tunic and trousers. She wiped her face, and blood came off onto her sleeve. All around her lay murdered men, men who hadn't known any better, whose minds were no weaker than her own. Katsa was sick and discouraged, and furious with the king who'd made this bloodbath necessary.

  "Let's make sure they're dead," she said, "and get them on the horses. We must send them back, to put Leck off our trail."

  They were dead, every one of them. Katsa pulled arrows and blades from chests and backs and tried not to look at their faces. She cleaned the knives and daggers and handed them back to Po. She carried Bitterblue's knife back to her and found the girl standing, arms crossed against the cold, eyes alert now, lucid. Katsa glanced down at her bloody clothing. She found herself hoping the child hadn't witnessed the massacre of men.

  "I feel warmer," Bitterblue said.

  "Good. How much of that fight did you see?"

  "They didn't have much of a chance, did they?" It was her only answer. "Where are we going now?"

  "I'm not sure. We need to find a safe place to hide, where we can eat and sleep. We need to talk about what happens next."

  "You'll have to kill the king," she said, "if you ever want him to stop chasing us."

  Katsa looked at this child, who barely came up to her chest. Po's sleeves hanging almost to the girl's knees; her eyes and her nose big under her hood, too big for her little face. Her voice a squeak. But a calmness in her manner of speaking, a certainty as she recommended her father's murder.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THEY KEPT two horses for themselves. Bitterblue rode with Katsa. They wound their way back to the stream to clean themselves of the blood of the soldiers. Then they turned west. They walked the horses through the stream, moving toward the mountains, until the land around them grew rocky enough to hide hoofprints. There, they struck out south along the base of the mountains and began their se
arch for a suitable place to hide for the night. A place they could defend; a place far enough from Leck for safety, but not so far that they couldn't reach Leck, to kill him.

  For of course, Bitterblue was right. Leck had to die. Katsa knew it, but she didn't like to think of it. For she was a killer, and the murder should be hers; but it was plain that Po would have to be the one to do it. Po kill a king guarded by an army of soldiers. By himself, and without her help.

  You mustn't go near his castle, she thought to Po as they rode. You'd never be able to get close enough to him. You're far too conspicuous. They would ambush you.

  The horses picked their way through the rocks. Po didn't acknowledge her thoughts, didn't even look at her, but she knew he'd heard.

  You'd do best to sneak up on him in the forest while he's searching for the child, and shoot him. From as far away as possible.

  Po rode before them, his back straight. His arms steady, despite his tiredness and the cold and his lack of a coat.

  And then run away as fast as you can.

  He slowed then and came beside them. He looked into her face, and something strong in his silver and gold eyes comforted and reassured her. Po was neither weak nor defenseless. He had his Grace and his strength. He reached for her hand. When she gave it to him, he kissed it. He rode ahead, and they continued on.

  Bitterblue sat quietly before her. She had stiffened when Po came near; but if she thought their silent exchange odd, she said nothing.

  THEY CAME to a place where the land dropped away to the left and formed a deep gully with a lake that shone far below them. To the right the path rose to a cliff that overhung the lake.

  "If we cross over to the far side of that cliff and hide there," Katsa said, "anyone coming after us will either have to cross the cliff as we did or climb up from the gully. They'll be easily seen."

  "I had the same thought," Po said. "Let's see what's there."

  And so they climbed. The cliff path sloped rather unnervingly toward the drop, but it was a wide path, and the horses clung to its top edge. Pebbles slid from under their hooves and rolled down the slope, clattering over the edge and plummeting down into the lake, but the travelers were safe.