She did not like the feeling. She was not anxious to be changed
into someone other than who she was.
She pondered her discomfort all that day and had not come
close to resolving it on her return to the camp. The signal fire
was a guiding beacon, and she followed its glow to where Garth
waited. He was anxious for her-she could see it in his eyes.
But he said nothing, passing her food and drink and sitting back
quietly to watch her eat. She told him she had not found any
trace of other Shadowen. She did not tell him that she was
beginning to have second thoughts about this whole business.
She had asked herself once before, once right at the beginning
when she had decided she would try to learn something about
who she was, What would happen if she did not like what she
discovered? She had dismissed the possibility. She was worried
now that she had made a very big mistake.
The second night passed without incident. They kept the
signal fire burning steadily, feeding it new wood as the old was
consumed, patiently waiting. Another day began and ended, and
still no one appeared. They searched the skies and the land from
horizon to horizon, but there was no sign of anyone. By night-
fall, both were edgy. Garth, his superficial wounds already
healed and the deeper ones beginning to close, prowled the
campsite like a caged animal, repeating meaningless tasks to keep
from having to sit. Wren sat to keep from prowling. They slept
as often as they could, resting themselves because they needed
to and because it was something to do. Wren found herself
doubting the Addershag, questioning the old woman’s words.
How long had the Addershag been a captive of those men,
chained and imprisoned in that cellar? Perhaps her memory had
failed her in some way. Perhaps she had become confused. But
she had not sounded feeble or confused. She had sounded dan-
gerous. And what about the Shadowen that had tracked them
the length and breadth of the Westland? All those weeks it had
kept hidden, following at a distance. It had shown itself only
after the signal fire had been lit. Then it had come forth to
destroy them. Wasn’t it reasonable to assume that its appearance
had been brought about by what it was seeing them do, that it
believed the signal fire posed some sort of threat and so must
be stopped? Why else would it have chosen that moment to
strike?
So don’t give up, Wren kept telling herself, the words a litany
of hope to keep her confidence from failing completely. Don’t
give up.
The third night dragged away, minutes into hours. They
changed the watch frequently because by now neither could
sleep for more than a short time without waking. More often
than not they kept watch together-uneasy, anxious, worried.
They fed deadwood into the flames and watched the fire dance
against the night. They stared out over the black void above
the Blue Divide. They sifted through the night sounds and their
scattered thoughts.
Nothing happened. No one came.
It was nearing morning when Wren dozed off in spite of
herself, some time during the final hour of her watch. She was
still sitting up, her legs crossed, her arms about her knees, and
her head dipped forward. It seemed only moments had passed
when she jerked awake again. She glanced about warily. Garth
was asleep a few feet away, wrapped in his great cloak. The fire
continued to burn fiercely. The land was cloaked in a frost-
tipped blanket of shadows and half-light, the sunrise no more
than a faint silver lightening at the rim of the mountains east. A
scattering of stars still brightened the sky west, although the
moon had long since disappeared. Wren yawned and stood up.
Clouds were moving in from out on the ocean, low-hanging,
dark .
She started. She was seeing something else, she realized,
something blacker and swifter, moving out of the darkness for
the bluffs, streaking directly for her. She blinked to make cer-
tain, then stepped back hurriedly and reached down for Garth.