“In all, or each?” it asked in a great, windy whisper. “In all or each?”
“In all, Great One.”
“Will you take one for your supper?” it asked me gently.
Murzy’s hand tightened on mine. Oh, Murzy. “I will, perhaps, if there are plenty, if you will allow, sometime, though not now.”
“And if there were not plenty?”
“I would not, Chimmerdong,” I cried. “I would not. None of us would.”
And Eutras was gone and all the others, and there was only the mighty Flitchhawk there before us. “Well, Jinian,” it said. “Well, Star-eye.”
“Well, Flitchhawk,” I said, trying to get enough spit in my mouth to make a sound. “We meet again.”
“What is your wish, Star-eye? Shall we punish these shadows for you? These Oracles?”
Oh, tricky Flitchhawk. I heard Peter moving behind me, held up a hand quickly to keep him from speaking, to keep any of them from speaking.
“The star-eye knows you may not, great Favian. For they have not bao of their own, and punishment would be vicious. We do not punish what cannot learn.”
“Shall I kill them for you then, Star-eye?”
“The star-eye knows you may not, Flitchhawk. For the shadows are of the bao of Lom, and the Oracles are of the bao of the Eesties.”
“Then what may I do for you, Star-eye?”
“Drive them away for a time, Flitchhawk. If you will. We need time.” Wings then. A thunder of wings, beating down, raising a cloud of choking dust and a heart of storm.
As usual, we all ended up flattened. Whenever the Flitchhawk flew, everything around it ended up flattened. There was wind, a monstrous, howling wind that moved out from us and away. I saw it thrust the shadows before it like a mighty broom, saw the banks of darkness fade into distance. Most of the Oracle’s followers, as well, tumbled away. Behind them the Oracle stood, untouched, ribbons slapping wildly on the gale. Alone, it could not really harm us all.
It became very quiet. I heard the Oracle calling, almost laughing at me.
“Oh, very good, very good. Didn’t we say she is the heroine type? One time, Jinian Footseer. Two times, Jinian Dervish Daughter. Three times, Jinian Star-eve. And the third shall be the last! The old gods will not come to your aid again.”
I sagged, feeling Peter’s arms around me. Murzy and the others were whispering among themselves.
“They’ll be back?” Murzy said. It was only half a question. “Oh, yes,” I sobbed. “They’ll be back.”
15
THE DAGGER OF DAGGERHAWK
We went down into the windswept morning to find the city swarming with workers. There were sevens scattered among the Gamesmen; there were Gamesmen I had not seen before. Even as we watched, a new troop of them came down the hill into the city, the very last, so they said, from the caverns. So, stones screamed their way into walls; high above the street a crew was lifting rafters into place. For a moment, just a fraction of a breath, I could believe the city was as it had appeared in memory.
“An Elator came to tell me what happened,” said Dodir. “You’ve driven them away, is that it?”
“Temporarily,” I said. “Until tonight, perhaps. Not for long.”
We went on toward the Tower. I noticed the lamp was burning more brightly than it had before. Himaggery was there, sitting by Mavin, stroking her arm. Any honest feeling, it seemed, made it glow the brighter. Though Peter and I had started it glowing, it went on gathering light from everywhere it could. That is the way of the light, to gather, as it is the way of shadow.
Himaggery rose when we came in. “So, we have yet a little time?” He didn’t sound hopeful, but he wasn’t depressed about it, either. A kind of fatalistic cheer, that was it. A sense that pervaded the city and all of us who were in it.
“We have yet a little time,” I said. Privately I believed it was our last day to live, but I didn’t say so. It might just have been weariness. There had been little-enough sleep for any of us lately, and there was no point in dispiriting the others.
We went through the broken walls to the foundry. The foundryman was moving around the mold, looking at it doubtfully. “I thought perhaps it would have cooled,” he said. “An ordinary bell that size would have cooled by now. It’s still hot. Too hot to take out of the mold. I don’t understand it.”
I shared a glance with Murzy. The Bell had melted into it my star-eye and all our pool fragments dipped in the milky stuff with which crystals came. I mentioned this to the metalworker, seeing his face crease with concentration as Peter’s often did.
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. The quantity was very small, but strange alloys can be made with very small quantities of additives. . . .”
I put out a hand toward the mold. It was too hot to touch. Far too hot to break open yet. “Perhaps by night,” I said, not believing it. “Undoubtedly by the time the Oracle returns.”
Peter and I went into the woods together. There was a glade above the camp that was untouched by the sickness of the world, a place where flowers bloomed and trees were still green. We went to have the privacy to say and do what all lovers say and do. I learned again what it is like to be loved by a Shifter. He learned again, so he said, that he loved me. I had had all the best of it and told him so. We argued about that. The day wore on. We ate meat and bread and drank wine. We laughed, even, at some silliness or other. Sun sparkled through the leaves, dappling our bare skins with coins of gold, and we spent them prodigiously on our pleasure. And night came, as we had known it would.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Where are you going, Jinian love?”
“Up there.” I
