They sat together without speaking for a long time, looking out over the valley below, listening to the silence.
“We can camp here,” Bek said finally.
“We have to keep moving,” Truls said, his voice raspy and weak. It didn’t even sound like Truls. “We need to get higher up on the slopes while there’s still light.”
The cowl lifted, shadowed emptiness facing the boy like a hole dropping away into the earth. “Do you know where we are?”
Bek nodded. “In the land of the shape-shifters.”
A cough racked the other’s body, and he doubled over momentarily before straightening again. “We have to get deep enough in that they’ll have no choice, that they’ll have to come to us.”
“You’ve decided to ask for their help?”
He didn’t answer. Another spasm shook his body.
“Truls, what’s wrong?” Bek asked, leaning close.
“Get away from me!” the shape-shifter snapped angrily.
Bek moved back. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, there was no response. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right. The caull did something to me, but I don’t know what. I didn’t think those cuts and bites were much, but everything feels like it’s breaking down.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Wouldn’t it be a joke on me if I died because of your sister? Protecting her when I don’t even like her? The Druid would love that, if he were here!”
He laughed again, the sound weak and broken. Then he struggled back to his feet, picked up Grianne, and set off once more.
They walked on for another hour, the afternoon passing slowly into twilight, the air cooling swiftly to a chill that nipped at Bek’s face. Shadows lengthened on the mountainside, dark fingers stretching, and the moon appeared in the sky, rising out of the hazy distance, half-formed and on the wane. Bek looked back the way they had come to see if anyone was following, an impossible attempt in this light, and quickly gave it up. He glanced at their surroundings, searching for the watchers, but the effort yielded nothing. He listened to the silence and was not reassured.
They reached a shelf of ground that angled back into a deep stand of conifers, and Truls collapsed again. This time he went down without warning, dropping Grianne in a heap, rolling away from her onto his back where he lay gasping for air. Bek rushed over at once, kneeling beside him, but the shape-shifter pushed him away.
“Leave me alone!” he snapped. “See to your sister!”
Grianne lay sprawled to one side, eyes open and unseeing, body limp. She appeared unhurt as Bek helped her back to a sitting position, straightening her clothing and brushing leaves and twigs from her hair before returning to Truls.
“I’m done,” the shape-shifter rasped. “Finished. Build a fire back in the trees to warm yourself. Wait for them to come.”
A fire might attract the attention of those who hunted them, but Bek knew that whatever happened now was in the hands of the shape-shifters. No harm would come to them if the spirit creatures didn’t wish it—not in their habitat and not from caulls or Mwellrets or anything else. Truls Rohk knew this, as well. He was counting on it.
Bek set about gathering wood to build a fire. It wasn’t until he’d set the wood in place that he realized he didn’t have any tinder. When he went back to see if Truls had any, the shape-shifter was unconscious. Bek took Grianne to where he had stacked the wood, then returned for Truls, but found him too heavy to move. All those broken and missing body parts, and he still weighed so much. Bek left him and sat with Grianne by the useless wood. He thought about using the wishsong to trigger a fire, but he didn’t know how to do that. He sat staring into the night, feeling helpless and alone.
Where were the shape-shifters?
Night descended, and darkness closed about. The stars appeared overhead and the silence deepened. Soon it was so cold that Bek was shivering. He pulled Grianne close to him, trying to keep them both warm, wondering if they might freeze to death before morning. They were high up on the mountainside, it was too cold already and it was going to get much colder.