'Mr. Woods brought the news. Terrible thing. Tragedy.' The Prince shook his head. 'We were just heading into Temperance to let your family know he's dead.'
'No, sir, that's not it.' Caleb laughed aloud. 'Captain Strake. He's come back to us. He's alive!'
Chapter Forty-Four
Otherwhen
The Winding Path
O ne step onto the winding path and the world changed. The wind's whisper became the unceasing crash of breaking glass. With every footfall the powdery snow hissed and popped as if it were burning coals. The sky, where it peeked through between trees, became a luminous grey the likes of which Owen had only seen once before, on the voyage to Mystria. Sailors had pointed at the horizon, paled, and prayed.
Left arm tucked tightly against the hole in his side, he draped his right arm over Quarante-neuf's left shoulder. The pasmorte supported him with an arm across his back. Owen remembered to close his left eye. 'Only use your right eye.'
The pasmorte' s voice came listlessly. 'It doesn't matter. Their magick does not affect me.'
Behind him came shouting and two more shots. One hit Quarante-neuf in the lower back. He grunted. He twisted, putting his body between the Tharyngian soldiers and Owen. Owen peeked past and continued sidling along the winding path.
The Tharyngians spread out, their faces serious. An officer snapped orders. The two men who had shot reloaded their muskets with quick and efficient motions. But as they came to reinsert their ramrods beneath their barrels they slowed. Their intensity slackened, their ferocity melted into wonder. Their hands opened and guns fell forgotten.
Owen dared not open his left eye for fear of being seduced by whatever the Ryngians saw. Small creatures with spindly limbs, woven from branches and decorated with moss and mushrooms, played coy games of hide and seek. They peered from behind trees, the light melody of giggles playing through the air. Men laughed and darted forward, stumbling. They emerged from the snow, faces covered, laughing all the more in that tone men reserve for acknowledging their foolishness before women they desire.
Military discipline vanished. The officer bowed, sweeping off his hat, then straightening. He offered a gloved hand to a gnarled dryad. He took the creature into his arms as he might a Duchess at some grand Feris gala. They began to dance-he, surprisingly well for wearing snowshoes. His men scattered, chasing other phantom lovers further into the woods.
'We have to get away from them.' Owen turned back south, then stopped.
Another of the creatures had emerged. Whereas the others had been made of sticks, this one had stout saplings for limbs and the bole of a tree for a body. Where branches might have topped it, lightning-blasted wooden spikes formed a crown. The creature sat there, knees drawn up, arms wide, eyeless and yet clearly watching them.
Words formed in low murmurs, seeming to vibrate up through the ground. 'You know the dangers, yet you come. You do not seem stupid.'
Owen removed his arm from Quarante-neuf's shoulder and stood as straight as he could. 'There are things outside the path which are worse than whatever fate awaits me here.'
'The abomination.'
The creature referred to du Malphias' fortress, and a moment's thought revealed why. The walls were formed of this thing's bones, and its creation ate into his domain. The pasmortes, mindlessly pursuing directives, might well have carved into places men would have avoided by instinct alone.
'The abomination's creator is my sworn enemy.' Owen chose his words carefully, not sure how Quarante-neuf would react. He wondered if du Malphias' magick could hold sway on the winding path, but Quarante-neuf's continued existence and the hints of pain in Owen's legs gave him a very clear answer. Or did it? He felt more the gunshot wound and the piercing of the nails than the shooting pains his steps had produced before.
'You came to my realm. What is it you wanted from me?'
'We came wanting nothing.'
Bass notes thrummed through Owen. Laughter?
'Men always want something.'
'I just want to go home.'
'Of course you do.' The creature climbed to one knee, towering over them. 'You brought my children playthings.'
Owen looked back, but aside from the dancing officer, he could see none of the other soldiers. Laughter echoed from the hillsides, and Owen braced himself for screams of terror.
'What will happen to them?'
'Do you care?'
'They are men like myself, I must care.'
More deep laughter thrummed through Owen. 'You say that because you think you must. You think yourself superior because you have risen above the other animals. Even though these men wished to kill you, you think you must care because you share a kinship. But, in truth, you do not care. You fear you will die as they will. Admit it.'
Owen nodded. 'And I pity them.'
'You tell yourself it is pity, manling, but you disguise the true reason. Guilt. And this is what sets you apart from the animals, this feeling of guilt. Your most useless emotion, sour and bitter, yet one you are trained to accept as inescapable.'
Owen did feel guilty. Whatever pain and terror the Tharyngians would know was the result of his leading them onto the winding path. But he had not forced them to follow. They were rational individuals who had made a decision to follow. They were fully responsible for their own actions, and the consequences fell fully on their heads.
The creature leaned forward. 'You are a bright one, aren't you? You have figured it out.'
Owen shook his head. 'Guilt is not useless. Without it, we would do horrible things again and again. We would be lawless.'
'You would be wild, as you once were, free to own the world. Free to be our favored pets again, instead of a pest which must be exterminated.'
'I don't understand.'
'No, you refuse to let yourself understand.' The creature sat back. 'You believe you know the way of things, the way things were intended. In your creation stories, man knows the forest-the garden- existed before he did. He places himself above it, to hide his fear of it.
'No matter. You wish to know what will become of them.' The arms swung wide. 'They will know the greatest pleasures, and then the greatest fears. They will be alone, and terrified, and after we have drained them of all emotion, they will die. Their flesh and blood will nourish our bodies as their emotions feed our souls.'
Owen watched the Tharyngian officer and read the pure delight on his face. He turned away again. 'It won't be fast, will it?'
'Excruciatingly slow.'
'And us?'
The giant creature stood. 'I find myself in your debt. Not sufficiently that I can release you, but if you would perform for me a service…'
'What? Lure more in?'
'You will do that, and more.' The creature swept a branched hand down, clearing away snow and a layer of wet leaves. He revealed an oval sheet of ice. 'I require a drop of your blood, and for you to peer into this frozen glass.'
Owen nodded.
The creature extended a branch and probed his wound in a manner not wholly gentle. Owen winced. The
