He was terrifying.
He stood a step ahead of the Master Watcher, a tall old man with rigid posture and a great mass of white hair swept back from his forehead. Something radiated from him now, but it was not love or joy or welcome.
It was power, and anger. His fierce, bright eyes were alive in a way she had not seen before, or expected, in an old man, to see. They burned with rage.
Nell looked from the Guide to the Master Watcher. Lan looked smaller, suddenly, standing almost stooped in the doorway. His face was drawn, half furious and half afraid. Seeing that fear in the Master Watcher’s face made Nell quake more than his anger would have. But she could not look at the Master Watcher long; the old man drew her so. His shoulders trembled with fury as he stared at her and then the lamp, his mouth twisted and his brows coming down over those frightening too-bright eyes.
“The exile sent you,” he growled. “As I suspected. Sent you.”
Nell took a step back, wiping her sweating hands on the sides of her dress. The music was all gone from his voice. It grated harsh in her ears.
“Who do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“No shame, even now? Sending children! Are we taken for fools, then?”
Nell didn’t know what he wanted from her. Couldn’t he see what she’d done? Where was his laughter? Where was his praise?
“No one sent me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The old man took a step into the room, and Nell fell back against the books. He approached the lamp, staring into its fire. “Rebel,” he growled. “What did the exile teach you?”
Nell looked at him, not understanding. The man seethed, and Nell flinched, trying to be ready for the blow.
Behind him, the Master Watcher whispered, “It’s only rumor, master. No one is certain the exile exists.”
At the sound of his voice, hesitant, placating, Nell looked his way. Could he help her? Would he?
She couldn’t tell. His face was strange — she saw fear there, but something else. Hope.
The Guide half turned, and the Master Watcher drew back as if slapped.
“Was it you alone? Or the others, too?” the old man demanded.
She shook her head, trying to think past the knocking of her own pulse in her ears.
“No one even knows I’m here! I came alone!”
At that, the hope disappeared from the Master Watcher’s face like a light extinguished. Now Nell could see nothing but fear. The Master Watcher inched closer to the old man.
“The girl said it was this one only. Not the others. No need to take the innocent.”
The Guide flinched. “If they are innocent.”
The younger man nodded. “The boy —”
“Never mind the boy! I know the boy!”
Nell looked from one to the other.
“I only came because I wanted to study, too,” she said. “That’s all. I wasn’t hurting anything. I can do things! I’ll show you!”
A fresh wave of anger rippled across the old man’s face, and even the Master Watcher glared at her.
“Ingrate!” the old man spat. “Did we welcome you here so you could spy on us? So you could sully this place with your shameful, grasping boldness? Here? Here in the very heart of the sanctuary?”
He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes. He turned to the Master Watcher, but when he spoke, it was as if no one else existed. “There’s no need for anger,” he said. And this time, his voice was cool. “Calm in all things. The punishment is clear.”
Nell grew suddenly cold. Punishment?
The Master Watcher said nothing. Lips tight, he watched the old man.
“Child,” the old man said, and his voice was gentle now, as seductive as when she’d first seen him in the round room. She felt the stir of that voice inside her and leaned forward. But the old man continued, “As Guide and Protector of this sanctuary, I pronounce the punishment upon you.”
He looked at her out of his creased face, then raised a finger and pointed at her. She cringed.
“Exile,” he said. “For now and always. Exile.”
They gave her no time to tell the others. When the old man made his pronouncement, the Master Watcher came for her, taking her by the arm and whisking her from the room. He dragged her out to stand beneath the rainbow of light in the center hall, while the old man stepped past them, disappearing briefly through the door where the strange cold had chilled and tugged at Nell. Now an icy blast barreled from it. Nell’s legs nearly buckled and she trembled. The old man emerged, a grim smile on his face, and shut the door.
The Master Watcher dragged her from the domed building and the garden as a finger of cold — terrible, bone-freezing cold — followed her into the summer air.
She was too cold, too cold and confused and terrified even to struggle, too stunned to gather her thoughts enough to try to resist. And then they were beyond the walls of the first band, and he was dragging her up the hill, toward the invisible line. The old man walked behind them, the old man and the knife of ice that even now was whittling through Nell’s skin, carving its way into her bones so that her teeth chattered and her hands shook uncontrollably.
For the first time, Nell could understand why Susan cringed at the mention of the mist, why the deep furrows had formed beneath her eyes, why she could no longer read or sleep. Through the terror and the cold, she could feel something more — a weight against her back, as if the power she’d felt drawing her to the old man and now pushing her away was gaining size and voice as it thrust her toward the mist. And she could hear now what Susan heard, hear the buzzing and the whispers. She
