assure you, they would find me! God bless.” He turned and minced away, his habit swirling around his ankles.
The other two stood and watched their brother go.
“Well, it was a good idea,” Anton said grumpily. “At least he came to his senses eventually. At the beginning I really thought he was going to rat on you. You had better disappear. Cross the border as soon as you can and sign on with the best mercenary troop you can find.”
In other words, run away. It was obvious that he desperately wanted and needed Wulf’s help, but he wasn’t going to come right out and ask for it again, not so soon after hearing what happened to apprehended Speakers. The next step would normally be to shame him into volunteering by hinting at cowardice. That had worked when they were children and Anton still hadn’t quite adjusted to the fact that his little brother had grown up and could see through his ploys. In fact, Wulf had seen through them years ago and had always been too proud or unsure of himself to refuse the challenges.
“You’re giving up?” he said innocently. Provoking Anton to pomposity was still one of his favorite pastimes.
“Of course not. I’ll have to ride north by conventional methods. I’ll almost certainly arrive too late and find Cardice in the hands of the Wends. Whether I do or don’t, you really can’t help me without using your, um, special abilities. I don’t expect you to expose yourself to the ghastly tortures Marek described, or the penalties the Church would impose on you. You’d better leave the country fast.”
“Wait,” Wulf said, stopping. He knelt beside the tree and clasped his hands. “Most holy Saints Helena and Victorinus, I, Wulfgang Magnus of Dobkov, a sinner, beseech your aid, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
For a moment nothing happened, and he wondered whether Anton had stayed to listen or fled in terror. Then, through closed eyelids, he saw the Light. The Light always came just before the Voices, as if Heaven had opened a window, but apparently only Wulf ever saw it. It was of no color that he ever met anywhere else, and it seemed to embrace him in a luminous mist, cutting him off from the rest of the world. It helped him sense, in a no doubt blasphemous way, why painters depicted saints with haloes. Usually there was a scent of apple blossom, but not this time.
Victorinus:- The path you tread now leads into darkness. As always, he sounded as if he were somewhere to Wulf’s right.
“I have just been warned that you are the devil.”
Helena:- Why summon us if you believe so, than rather being silent? Were we or were we not, wherefore would we not deny?
“I do not believe very much of what my brother told me, my lady.”
Victorinus again:- Believe some of it, for bit and bridle, rein and hobble await you here.
“Was it true what my brother hinted, that we don’t need the horses?”
— It is true.
“Then please will you guide Anton and myself to Cardice?”
Victorinus:- Will you accept the pain?
“You mean pain that may kill me, as Marek said? Worse than anything human torturers can inflict?” Headache, then belly cramps. What worse horror lay in store?
— Who seeks the prize must choose the price.
The danger of a few hours or even days of agony was less terrifying than that of being turned into another Marek for the rest of his life. Wulf drew a deep breath. “How long will it take to get to Cardice?”
— Time dwells not on the road you take, for it knows no sun or moon.
“Then I will pay the price.”
Helena:- You we shall guide. Your brother you must lead.
The Light faded and was gone.
He muttered his thanks before opening his eyes to look up at Anton, who was staring down at him with mingled horror and hope.
“You heard that,” Wulf said as cheerfully as he could manage. “No, you didn’t… We mustn’t go to the stables. We can leave the swords and the horses.”
Anton backed off a pace. “You mean Marek betrayed you after all?”
“They guessed… or could tell. We’re a marked family, remember. Perhaps I was stupid to keep my face covered, perhaps it made them suspicious. It felt right, though.” He scrambled to his feet.
“You’re going through with this even after what Marek said?”
Wulf chuckled, although it wasn’t easy. “You always told me that no Magnus ever refused a dare. I’ve just been dared by two saints.”
To his surprise, Anton argued. He must be starting to grow a conscience. “That was childhood games. No one counts odds in battle, but burning out your tongue, locking you up in a place like this… That’s different.”
Wulf felt an unexpected surge of anger. If he must choose between lifelong captivity and extreme torment, then the sooner he got the torment over with, the better. “It is not different! Damn your eyes, Brother! You think courage is confined to soldiers? A thousand times you dared me and I never refused. Twice I broke a leg, thanks to you. At least once I got a concussion. Cuts and bruises galore. I seem to recall Father beating the lights out of you a few times for taunting me. I never refused, never! I was true to the family motto. It doesn’t just apply to armored trolls. I’m a Magnus as much as you are. Now let me take your hand-unless you’re scared, I mean.”
Anton faked a punch at his nose. “Well done! I knew I could count on you.”
“So you didn’t believe what you were saying?”
“I wanted you to be certain.”
“Even remembering what Marek said about anything the Voices do for me turning to evil eventually?”
Anton grinned down at him. “Who’s daring who now?”
“Give me your hand, then.”
“I think I left the itinerary in my saddlebag!”
“I don’t think I need an itinerary. I have to lead you and I don’t know what may happen if we get separated. I don’t know how long it will take. It may seem like hours or only minutes. If I start squealing or groaning, don’t pay any attention. Ready?”
“Thank you for this. I’ll never ask you again, I promise.”
Wulf hauled Anton into a run. Running in armor was part of their training, although running several hundred miles in it was not. They never reached the end of the herb garden. In moments the air began to glisten with the sort of silvery fog seen on windless winter mornings. The trees faded to ghosts. The brothers ran through the wall, and then out into fields beyond. Soon there was no scenery, no sky, no sun; not even grayness. Nothing. Limbo, Marek had called it. Their armor had become weightless.
“How do you know which way is north, Wulf?” Anton asked in a thin, strained voice. His courage was being tested, too.
“I don’t. My Voices do.”
For a while they ran in silence, Anton trimming his stride to match Wulf’s. Then he stumbled, but caught his balance before he pulled them both down. “Sorry… Hard to run when you’re not running on anything.” His voice seemed to reverberate, as if he was speaking in a huge enclosed space, like a cathedral.
Wulf looked down and stumbled at once, because the ground he could feel under his feet wasn’t visible. Only Anton was truly solid. A ghostly house appeared ahead, then more houses, then wraiths of villagers parading to church. The brothers ran right through them, through their houses, and back into misty forest. Had any of the peasants noticed the specters of two transient visitors? Were they even now running to their priest in terror?
An orchard. Cattle. A town. Mostly forest and no road. The images were moving much faster now, flashing by at arrow speed. A river underfoot was gone before the thought could register. No one could ever travel this fast in reality. This was what a falcon must see as it swooped down on its prey. At this rate they would be in Cardice in no time, which was what St. Helena had promised. There was no sound except their hard breathing. Wulf’s heart was pounding, his mouth dry, yet he did not seem to be sweating at all.
He stumbled again at a sudden cramp in his right calf.
Anton grabbed Wulf’s wrist with his free hand. “What’s wrong? You’re limping.”
“Nothing. But you’d better keep holding on to me, in case I let go by mistake.” He released his own grip.
“Better you slow down.”
