The valley became a gorge, the wind buffeting at her with icy fists, trying to hurl her from the narrow path, down into the shadowed chasm on her right. On her left, the rock rose almost sheer. Moonlight glowed on racing clouds overhead, but did not penetrate this sinister cleft in the hills. She had only the spectral gleam of the Way itself to guide her.
And then a final bend brought her to what had to be her destination. A single shaft of moonlight fell on white masonry ahead, closing off the ravine. Ragged and undoubtedly ancient, a single arch spanned both the Way and the chasm, the stonework springing out from the steep rock on either side. Once the arch had supported a gatehouse, for she could see remains of windows in the ruins above, and trees growing there. Water roared in the unseen depths, sending up a faint odor of spray. Old—and evil. It was gloating at her in the moonlight.
“No!” she cried aloud. “I am not going in there!”
She turned and fled, floundering down the path on hurting feet, repeatedly stumbling against the rock in her efforts not to tumble over the precipice on her left. The wind blustered at her, pushing and tugging without pattern or reason. She rounded a corner, and saw a bridge ahead, and the same gateway beyond. She staggered to a halt, whimpering. Both Ways led to the same end.
Suddenly her perception changed and in place of a moonlit ruin she saw an idiot, leering face—the irregular, tree—covered top as hair, empty windows staring at her like eyes, and the arch itself as a gaping mouth, with the silvery Way lolling out one side like a tongue. Whatever it was, she was convinced that it was evil.
Her limbs began shaking harder than she could ever remember. Frightened of falling from the ledge, she leaned back against the cliff.
“No!” she screamed into the wind. “I will come no farther! I will stay here!” She heard only the roar of the falls below and the whisper of branches above.
Stay there and freeze? If necessary, yes! What other tricks could the Way use? She glanced nervously behind her—suppose a bear appeared on the path, to drive her toward that gloating aperture? When she looked back to the bridge and the gateway beyond, she fancied they had already crept closer. Could that demonic mouth draw in the Way like a tongue, with her on it?
Any real fright would bring sorcerers to her aid, Jain had promised. She had never felt so fearful in her life, and yet no one had come. Perhaps the sorcerers were all abed and asleep. The final words of the catechism: Who never sleeps?
The Keeper.
This was the Keeper’s doing.
“No!” she cried again. “If you try any more tricks, I shall leap from the path!”
She hoped she was bluffing.
She cowered down small, hugging the cloak tight around herself, keeping her gaze firmly on that leering archway lest it creep closer while she was not watching. She would stay there and freeze! Except that the moon was setting and when dark came the gate would draw in its tongue with her on it like a crumb. In her fear, she recalled the humble prayers of her childhood, the pleas every pixie was taught: Keeper keep me in the right, Keeper keep me through the night . . .
Something moved in the corner of her eye. She looked around sharply. A patch of moonlight and shadow? She peered harder, striving to make out the dark shape in the darker. It wore a cloak that hung, motionless to the ground, as if the wind did not know it was there. It seemed to peer at her, but the face was hidden in the utter blackness of its hood.
Thaile sprang to her feet. The apparition drifted closer like smoke. It was taller than she was.
“Child?” The rustly whisper was dry as wind on dead grass. ”What are you doing here?”
“Nothing, er—my lady.” She thought it was female. Her Feeling could detect no one there, though. Her teeth chattered frantically and her whole inside had turned to ice. What had she summoned? The Keeper Herself ? Or a wraith?
“Thaile?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ah!” The apparition sounded surprised. “Why did you come here?”
“I didn’t want to! The Way brought me! I was trying to go home.”
Thaile heard a faint sniff, as if of surprise.
“But why here? Had you been shown this place?”
“No, ma’am.”
“ ‘Tis strange.” The cowl moved as if the apparition shook its head, but still the wind did not ruffle it. “The time is not right. The Defile is dangerous enough when the moon is full, especially to those whose Faculty is strong. At the quarter it would . . . Who told you of it?”
“N-n-no one, ma’am.”
“Strange indeed. But we must save you from freezing, mustn’t we? Or you will never meet your destiny. The mistress of novices will be most upset to hear that one of her charges has been wandering the night.” A hint of a chuckle seemed to confirm that the invisible presence inside the cloak was at least partly human. “To which bed shall I send you?”
Thaile shouted “Leeb’s!” before she had time to think.
The apparition did not reply for a dozen heartbeats. Then she sighed, and the dead-leaves voice became fainter than ever. “Child, child! How did you . . . ? Oh, I see. Incredible strength! I could not have, at your age . . . But you must bear the sorrow. I would not let them use a greater oblivion on you, and it would have done no good anyway. If I apply all the power your mind could endure, I fear you will still shake it off in time. Best to suffer the loss now, while you are young. Close your eyes, child, and I—”
“Where is Leeb? Who is Leeb?”
The cowled dark surged closer and Thaile shrank back hard against the rock. The voice came more quietly yet, crackling like thin ice on a winter puddle. ”He is a young man, of course. You fell in love, Thaile, tragic error! For you, there can be no love, not ever. It would destroy you, and it would destroy him. Will you believe that?”
“No I won’t!”
“It is true, nonetheless. In time you will understand. Romp in men’s beds if you want. If a man attracts you, enjoy him, as you did that boy tonight—you will not lose your heart to him. But do not love. Never love. Do you want Mist’s comfort again now?”
“No!”
“Then close your eyes and I will return you to the Thaile Place.”
Come by moonlight:
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight,
Though hell should bar the way!
— Alfred Noyes, The Highwayman
EIGHT
A new face
1
The sun had not yet arrived in Krasnegar, and when it did, it would not linger long.
Nevertheless, in a cozy little kitchen in a modest dwelling near the docks, Captain Efflio had just completed breakfast. His landlady, Mistress Sparro, was plying him with innumerable “last” cups of tea, plus even more numerous questions about the queen’s council and the business of today’s meeting. Efflio declined the tea, being already awash in it. He was answering the queries as well as he could without betraying confidences, and he knew she would just invent the rest anyway. Having a member of the queen’s council as lodger had given Mistress Sparro an enormous boost in status on the gossip circuit. She would be off to visit with her friends as soon as he was out the door.
Half a year had passed since he had settled in Krasnegar. His first choice of lodgings had not been a success, but he had since found a worthy anchorage with Mistress Sparro. She was a widow in her forties, a typical imp, dark and dumpy, although she had two huge jotunnish daughters, both married. Such mismatches were not uncommon in Krasnegar. Her cooking was excellent. There was nothing significantly wrong with her figure. She had already dropped hints that a proposal to make their cohabitation permanent and intimate would not be declined. He was thinking about that quite seriously.
If Efflio had regrets about Sea Beauty, it was only that he had not sold the old hulk years earlier. Life on the beach had turned out to be much more tolerable than he had expected. Krasnegar was a quiet and friendly haven, and secure. After a lifetime at sea, he did not find it small. He had made friends, found interests, and was loaning out his surplus savings at very attractiv rates. Any time he needed a little excitement, he could always drop in on one of the jotunn saloons and watch the fights. True the climate was unspeakable, but a sailor found nothing untoward at wearing fur boots while eating breakfast, as now. He had learned to do without the sun, and already it had started it return, anyway.