Lalo squinted into the rain. Wedemir must be mistaken -any Downwinder not
already drowned like a rat in his hole must have sought higher ground by now.
But there was certainly something moving there….
Something stirred in him like a flicker of flame. He moved toward the bridgehead
and the movement warmed him so that he could go faster. Wedemir started to
protest, then splashed after him.
“It’s a person-a woman-” panted Wedemir.
Lalo nodded and began to run. He heard the groan of tortured wood clearly now.
The bridge shuddered and the woman staggered, then plodded forward again, using
the broom she carried as a staff. Her soaked gown clung to limbs with the
massive strength of an archaic goddess; one could almost imagine that it was not
the assault of the waters that made the bridge tremble, but her stride.
Outer and inner sight were abruptly the same, and Lalo forgot his exhaustion. He
sped forward, outstripping his son, knowing beyond impossibility who this woman
had to be.
And then his feet thudded on the wood of the bridge; his hand closed on hers and
new strength flowed through both of them. Sobbing for breath, Gilla stumbled the
last few steps after him to the shore, and Wedemir pulled both of them up the
bank.
And as if the will that had held it steady had been suddenly distracted, the
wind disintegrated into a thousand whirling eddies. The river, no longer
thwarted, raced through its narrow channel bare inches below the roadbed of the
bridge and across Sanctuary’s harbor in a great surge that lifted anchored