Thewson shook his head in frustration, came up behind her and took hold of her as though she were an old fragile doll. He lifted her gently, sat her down, stroked her arm. ‘Now, grandmother, now. This Jaer is a strange one, surely. Wa’osu the strange one you seek, wa’osu not that one. Do not be evil at us for not knowing what thing you look for. Now, tell us quietly, for there is something far in the trees which listens.’
Terascouros took a deep breath, shuddering, the cords of her neck and shoulders twisting, jaw clenched. Then she collapsed, fell into herself all at once. ‘Oh, how can I tell you? We in the Sisterhood are taught that in the time of the River of Hanar, the way will be found by Ahl di lasurra sai – the “one who finds the direction.” Centuries now of darkness with the darkness spreading. Towers of Separation built everywhere. Every street full of black robes, walls ever higher, groups ever smaller, languages changing, growing smaller, more secret so that fewer can speak together. Less laughter, less joy. Hatred growing, and malice, and pain. Our prophecy says that the Ahl di will be not male nor female only, will come from the west, in the time of Hanar, which is now. Oh, it must be now or the world will die of this blackness….’
‘But you don’t mean me,’ pleaded Jaer. ‘I know all about the Towers and the rest of it. Nathan and Ephraim said it was terrible, but they couldn’t do anything about it. I can’t. No one can.’
The old woman was crying, tears running down her cheeks to gleam like crystal in the firelight. ‘Someone must.’
Thewson’s head came up sharply, as did Leona’s. The dogs growled deep in their throats. Far off, very distance but clear, was the sound of one harsh voice calling to another. Thewson grabbed up his spear and scattered the fire with his feet. ‘Quickly,’ he whispered. ‘Be still.’
He picked Terascouros up under one arm, took an armload of their blankets and vanished like a shadow into the forest. Leona gathered things up and was gone, beckoning them to hide quickly. Medlo and Jasmine fled away, trailing their packs, leaving one or two things that Jaer caught up with her.
‘I’m always running away,’ Jaer thought. ‘Always. I don’t know why they hunt me, but I run. Like an animal afraid of hunters. Like a mouse afraid of the owl. Does the mouse ever think to reason with the owl, say “Why me?” or “Explain this strange appetite you have for mouse?” Do I dare face these faceless creatures coming this way? After me? Why me? Why? I do not know why, and yet I believe it, and I am frightened. My heart is beating like a drum.’ She struggled into a thick copse of young trees, huddled under the blanket and prayed to be invisible. She could hear movement away to her left, a twanging string. Medlo had caught his jangle on something. She wanted to laugh hysterically, but only buried her face in her arms and tried not to breathe loudly.
Out in the clearing the scattered coals opened slow, fiery eyes against the darkness, then lidded them into black once more. The sounds came closer. There was a cautious prowling, a shadowy skulking, a muttered curse as someone laid naked skin upon a live coal. The night stretched over all like thick draperies, softening sound.
After what seemed a long time, Jaer stood up and moved out of the copse, leaning wearily against one of the trees while the leaves shivered around her. The hand that fell on her shoulder came out of shadow. For a moment she did not even realize it was there. When she knew it, finally, for what it was, she screamed.
From the trees the others heard it. Leona and Thewson, as though they had been one person, lunged out of hiding at a full run, thrashing through the underbush toward the echoes of that scream. Medlo struggled out of his hiding place and blundered after them, but the darkness hid the way they had gone, opened alleyways of shadow down which he ran, this way and that. Terascouros simply pressed her face into the mold of the forest floor and wept.
They met finally in the clearing, to find it empty. Those who had taken Jaer had gone as silently as an owl’s flight is made out of darkness into darkness. They could find nothing. There was no sound but an endless soft cursing as Thewson queried his gods without waiting for their answers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE GRYPHON
Year 1168-Winter
When it was light enough to see, they searched the clearing and into the depths of the forest. Thewson found the place where horses had been tied, some dozen of them, and he followed the tracks away to the east, returning to say that Jaer had been taken toward Murgin, whether alive or dead he did not know.
Terascouros had scrabbled a few sticks together into a pallid fire, and they sat about it staring, as though they might find in the flames a vision of whet should be done next, with the old woman muttering, ‘My fault, and thine, and mine again. You, Medlo, for seeing in Jaer a shadow of someone you loved, and you, Jasmine, for seeing your child, and you, Leona, for seeing someone else again, and Thewson, for seeing a mystery he searched for, and I, for seeing another mystery, and all of us for not thinking of her, Jaer, him. Oh, I tell you, we have done evilly this night….’
Leona said coldly, ‘Dommai, werai, mimai,
