“Laysia!”
Fear shot through the mist, and worry, and . . . trust. The image of the dream child came to her, the cloud of hair, and the dark-haired boy, and the smell of green. Kate was shaking her. Laysia found herself on the ground, trembling, the mist a cloud simmering in the dirt. But the touch of the child’s hand had called her back. She shook her head, trying to free it from the weight of the fog, and saw the old man stare at her with loathing.
Then another voice caught her attention. Nell, shouting.
“We’re wasting time! The Genius has Jean! Laysia, get up!”
Rage clotted the air and a cyclone whirled from Tur Kaysh, knocking Nell to the ground. Laysia tried to rise, to help her, but weakness had leadened her limbs, and she felt the terrible wind press her down. She couldn’t reach the child! The wind drove Nell down with its smothering force, and Laysia could do nothing but hear it, cringe at the screaming fury of the man and the riveting power of the wind, pounding, pounding.
And then the sound broke. The boy had bounded into the face of the wind and stood over his sister. His clothes billowed and he staggered, trying to keep his feet. The old man’s head came up. Confusion pricked the air, surprise.
The mist that still clung to Laysia echoed with outrage.
“Your first loyalty is to me!” Tur Kaysh shouted.
But the boy would not move.
Hurt, fury, guilt whirled between them, and then knife gnashed on stone again and the mist thickened and rose to engulf the boy. He hunched down, his hands flying to his ears. Vaguely, Laysia felt Kate clinging to her hand, but shadows marred her vision, and from her knees, she fell to the ground again, the mist grinding her into the dust. She saw Susan fall, and the boy tottered, head in hands.
Atarry cloud billowed in the hollow, more dense than any mist Jean had seen before. It shot through the lines of running men, swallowing them and spewing out slashers to stampede blindly among the opposing sides.
And still thick as pitch, it climbed toward the ridge.
“It’s coming for us!” Liyla breathed.
Jean saw it engulf the soldiers who were in its path. On the ridge, the troops paused, but the Genius only stood watching for a moment before returning to the corral, his dog at his heels.
“Send the men,” he said to the guards. “And the woman, too.”
The guards moved into the corral, lifting the deadly pendants from the captives’ necks and hustling them to their feet.
“Perhaps the girl, too?” the Genius mused to Spark. “It might be interesting to see.”
For the first time, Liyla’s father spoke. “Please!” he cried. “My girl’s a useful one; she’s shown you, hasn’t she? Don’t let it take her! Who will keep hold of the stranger?”
The Genius stopped and seemed to consider.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “But of course, if she remains, she’ll have to shoulder the burden the rest of you have dropped. As you say, who will keep our guest quiet if she doesn’t?”
He motioned to the pendants the soldiers had removed, hanging now on the fence.
“Put them on her,” he said. “Carefully.”
One by one, the soldier slipped the orbs over Liyla’s head as she sat wide-eyed. They plucked even more from the basket, until her chest bristled with pendants. Liyla looked as if she wanted to cry out, but only a squeak came.
Then, as if they were in on a joke together, the Genius grinned at Jean. “You think me mad, don’t you? Have those old men in the valley convinced you that I can be beaten by their tricks?”
She wanted to tell him that he would be, that his own soldiers were even now falling beneath the mist, but like Liyla’s, her throat had snapped shut; she had no voice.
He laughed outright this time. “No need to say it. I know what you’re thinking. Didn’t I say we know each other well? Yes, so you doubt me. But small children make poor strategists, even if they do have lovely faces.” He winked. “It’s true that my friends in the valley have become expert at turning out beasts, but beasts, too, have their use.” He patted his dog’s sleek head. “Watch, I’ll show you.”
Then he waved the guards on, and they herded the captives from the corral, pushing them to the ridge and onto the slope of the hollow. Liyla’s mother turned back, and Spark came running, driving her down toward the mist.
The darkness reached their feet first, then wound around their legs. The ruddy soldier screamed, and the fruit seller collapsed. They were changing, all of them. The skin rippled on their faces, and they bent and writhed, their screams changing to howls as Jean and Liyla watched.
“Da!” Liyla cried.
For a moment, her father’s rippling features turned her way, and his eyes seemed to focus. Then, behind him, the dog snapped, and he fell, overcome.
Darkness, the noise all gone, light snuffed out, and despair yawning for her, madness coming, bleak, empty.
In the end, it had defeated her, and Laysia felt the mist take the last of memory, the last of joy, the last of hope.
A breeze riffled the darkness. The breath of life. Green promise stirred her, and light returned. Laysia blinked at the clearing mist, and the world tilted and righted itself, and she could see, now, Nell, on her knees behind her brother, her hands cupped round a sapling. One slim maple leaf unfolded, and another. It was a frail thing, this small tree between the child’s hands. And yet it breathed life.
The boy had fallen to his knees, pressed his head to the ground, but now he looked up and around. Laysia rose to a crouch, and again she could feel Kate’s hand on her. Nell took hold of
