speed of his heart, which if it had been a horse might have reached Boston by first star. Something inside him seemed molten, like blue-flamed glass being changed and reshaped by the power of a breath. It was both strengthening and weakening, thrilling and frightening— again that conjunction of God and Devil that seemed to be at the essence of all things.
It was a moment he would remember the test of his life.
Their lips remained sealed together, melded by bloodheat and heartbeat. Who drew away first was also unknown to Matthew, as time had slipped its boundaries like rain and river.
Matthew looked into Rachel's eyes. The need to speak was as strong as a force of nature. He knew what he would say. He opened his mouth. 'I—'
A winged insect suddenly landed on the shoulder of Rachel's wedding dress. His attention was drawn to it, and away from the moment. He saw it was a honeybee. The insect hummed its wings and took flight, and then Matthew was aware of several more of them circling round and round.
'I—' Matthew said again, and suddenly he was not sure at all what he was going to say. She waited for him to speak, but he was speechless.
He stared into her eyes once more. Was it the desire to love him he saw there, or the desire to thank him for the gift of her life? Did she even know which emotion reigned in her heart? Matthew didn't think so.
Even as they travelled together, they were moving in opposite directions. It was a bitter realization, but a true one. Rachel was bound for a place he could not live, and he must live in a place where she could not be bound.
He dropped his gaze from her. She, too, had realized that there could be no future for two such as them, and that Daniel was still as close to her as the dress she had worn on the day of their joining. She drew away from Matthew, and then noticed the circling insects.
'Honeybees.' Matthew scanned the clearing, his eyes searching. And there it was!
A stand of two dead oaks—probably lightning-struck, he thought—stood apart from the main line of forest, fifty yards from the lake's edge. Near the top of one of them was a large knothole. Around it the air was alive with a dark, shifting mass. Sunlight made a stream of liquid down the tree's trunk shine gold.
'Where there are honeybees, ' Matthew said, 'there is honey.' He took the bottle from the bag, emptied its water—since fresh water was an abundant resource at this distance from the seacoast and swamp—and stood up. 'I'll see if I can obtain us some.'
'I'll help.' She started to stand, but Matthew put his hand on her shoulder.
'Rest while you can, ' he advised. 'We're going to have to move on very soon.'
Rachel nodded and relaxed again. In truth, she would have to summon the energy for their continued journey, and a walk to a dead tree fifty yards there and back—even for the sweet delicacy of honey—strained her imagination.
Matthew, however, was intent on it, particularly after their kiss and the jarring return to reality that had followed. As Matthew started toward the tree, Rachel warned, 'Take care you're not stung! The honey wouldn't be worth it!'
'Agreed.' But he'd seen the spill of golden nectar down the trunk from what appeared a very copious comb, and he felt sure he might at least get a bottleful without incurring rage.
The bees had been highly productive. The honey had streamed down from forty feet above all the way to the ground, where a sticky puddle had accumulated. Matthew drew the knife from its sheath, uncorked the bottle, and held it into the flow, at the same time pushing the thick elixir—a natural medicine good for all ills, Dr. Shields would have said—in with his blade. A few bees hummed around, but they did not strike and seemed mostly curious. He could hear the steady, more ominous tone of the large dark mass of them as they went about their business tending the comb.
As he worked, Matthew's mind went to the magistrate. The letter would have been long read by now. Whether it had been digested or not was more difficult to say. Matthew listened to the singing of birds in the forest beyond, and wondered whether the magistrate might be able to hear such song at this very moment, or be able to see the sun on this cloudless day. What must Isaac be thinking? Matthew fervently hoped that he'd written the missive coherently—and eloquently—enough so that Isaac would know he was in his right mind, and adamant about Smythe being located. If that man would agree to talk, then much could be—
Matthew paused in his work, the bottle near halfway filled. Something had changed, he thought.
Something.
He listened. He could still hear the drone of the working bees. But... the birdsong. Where was the birdsong? Matthew looked toward the shadowed line of forest.
The birds had ceased their singing.
A movement to the left caught his eye. Three crows burst from the foliage, cawing loudly as they shot across the clearing.
Beside the lake, Rachel lay on her back, drowsing. The voices of the crows came to her, and she opened her eyes in time to watch the birds pass overhead.
Matthew stood motionless, staring at the impenetrable area from which the crows had come.
Another movement seized his attention. Far up in the sky, a single vulture was slowly wheeling around and around.
All the saliva had left his mouth and become cold sweat on his face. The sensation of danger stabbed him like a knife in the neck.
He felt certain something in the woods was watching him.
Moving with careful deliberation though his nerves shrieked to turn and run, Matthew pushed the cork back into the bottle. His right fist tightened around the knife's handle. He began to retreat from the honey-flowing tree, one step at the time, his eyes darting back and forth across the treacherous woods.
'Rachel?' he called. His voice cracked. He tried again. 'Rachel?!' This time he looked over his shoulder to see if she'd heard.
A heavy form suddenly exploded from its place of concealment at the forest's edge. Rachel was the first to see it, by only a second, and she let go a scream that savaged her throat.
Then Matthew faced it too. His feet seemed rooted to the earth, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a soundless cry of terror.
The monstrous bear that was racing toward him was an old warrior and fully gray. Patches of ashy malignant mange infected its shoulders and legs. Its jaws were stretched to receive human flesh, streams of drool flying back past its head. Matthew had just an instant to register that the bear's left eye socket was puckered and empty, and he knew.
He was about to be embraced by Jack One Eye.
Maude... at Shawcombe's tavern... Jack One Eye hain't jus' a burr. Ever'thin' dark 'bout this land... ever'thin' cruel, and wicked.
'Rachel!' he screamed, twisting toward her and running for his life. 'Get in the water!'
There was nothing she could do to help him except pray to God he made the lake. She ran toward the water and leaped into it, swimming in her bridal dress toward deep water.
Matthew dared not look behind. His legs were pumping furiously, his face distorted by fear, his heart on the verge of bursting. He heard the thunderous impact of paws behind him, gaining ground, and he knew with awful certainty that he would never reach the lake.
He clenched his teeth and threw himself to the left—the bear's blind side—at the same time letting out a shriek that he hoped might startle the beast enough to give him extra time. Jack One Eye hurtled past him, its rear claws digging up furrows of earth. A front claw swung and made the air between them shimmer.
Then Matthew was running for the lake again, dodging and swerving with every step. Again the earth trembled at his heels. The bear was bigger than the biggest horse he'd ever seen, and it could crush every bone in his body just with its forward progress alone.
Matthew leaped to the left in a maneuver that nearly snapped his knees. He almost lost his balance as the bear went past, its massive mange-riddled head thrusting in search of him. The jaws came together with a noise like a musket shot. He smelled the reeking bestial stink of the thing, and was close enough to see the broken shafts of four arrows in its side. Then he was running again, and he prayed that God grant him the speed of a crow.
Again Jack One Eye was almost upon him. Again Matthew lunged to the left—but this time he had misjudged
