Xulai could not see Woldsgard across the valley below, but she knew where it was in relationship to the pinnacle, outlined as a greater darkness against a graying sky.
“Red rocket,” she said softly. “It’s moving.”
“Ah,” said Abasio, looking ahead of him. The wagon on the upper road was not yet making the turn. The team began the downward turn and he heard the squeal of wagon brakes as the steeper slope of the turn took hold. The cliff face hadn’t enough room on it for a wide, gentle turn. The switchbacks were tight, not too bad going up, but they were difficult coming down. Particularly for a loaded wagon, which the one approaching happened to be. The brakes screamed; the horses moved against one another, bracing themselves against the load. Abasio held his breath. The wagon straightened out, the slope became gentler, the squealing eased, stuttered, faded. The wagon was now moving past the village, and it was rapidly growing darker.
“Red rocket,” Xulai called. “Three of them, widely spaced, then a blue.”
“My guess is that means it’s really moving toward the way-halt, not up the road.”
“Is that what it’s supposed to mean?”
“We didn’t cover all eventualities,” grated Abasio. “But that’s what I’d mean if I were in charge of the rockets.” He edged the horses to the inside, against the wall, to miss the huge pile of wood up ahead that was blocking the outside half of the road. Some wagons had gone past it; others had slowed down well before they reached it.
The far wagons were converging. There wasn’t room for them to pass one another. A loud argument broke out up in front of them.
“C’mon, love,” he said. “Out of here.”
He lifted her from the wagon, hustled her to the wall, and put her hands on the net she found there. “Foot up,” he said, putting it there. While the noise ahead of them escalated, he came behind her, up and up and up, and over, among a dozen pairs of hands that promptly began drawing the net up from behind them. Someone took Xulai’s arm and moved her into the village quickly. Abasio was beside her. The other drivers were climbing over the wall around them. They ran along a level path, into an opening, through a gate that shut and was barred behind them, up a flight of stairs, and another, into a room to their right. Then they were alone, facing a window that looked down on the road below them. All the wagons were tight against the cliff, leaving the outside part of the road bare.
Far across the valley a green rocket sparkled in the sky, then half a dozen more.
“That would mean it’s right on top of us,” said Abasio.
The hullabaloo below had stopped. There was no sound. Uphill, at the way-halt, something exploded; a comet flamed down the hill and landed on the huge pile of wood that had blocked half the road. Some wagons were well past it, others hadn’t come that far. The fire had the roadway all to itself as it burst into leaping flame.
“There were two small cannons hidden in the wagon we sent earlier,” Abasio whispered. “There were also two men who knew how to use them. They were all set up under the overturned wagon, hidden behind hay, but aimed, loaded, ready. All they had to do was fire them. The villagers had that huge pile of wood ready . . .”
The wood burned brilliantly. The roadway lit up as though by daylight. Standing in the firelight were two, no, three figures: downhill, Precious Wind surrounded by her wolves; nearer the fire the Old Dark Man, a hideous, skeleton-like figure, half-flesh, half-metal, looming against the firelight, and across from him . . .
“Shh,” said Abasio, putting his hand across her mouth. “Don’t.
“But it’s my father,” she whisper-screamed into the palm of his hand. “It’s Father.”
He put his mouth to her ear. “He came with the other wagon, the one that came several days ago. He wanted to. No. He demanded to.”
“Jacob,” Justinian called. “Jacob, do you hear me?” He was dressed in a white garment. He carried something.
Abasio whispered. “He’s carrying the maintenance tube the Tingawans took from the Old Dark House.”
“What is that he’s wearing?”
“The book the emissary brought says it’s called a lab coat,” he answered. “There were pictures in the book of the people who made the slaughterers wearing them.”
“If it doesn’t work . . .”
“If this doesn’t work, it’ll be up to the wolves . . .” And after the wolves, us.
Justinian’s voice. “Jacob, you remember me. It’s Doctor Hammond. Remember?”
The Old Dark Man said, “Doctor?”
“You must be terribly hungry, Jacob.”
The thing gasped, opened its mouth. “Hungry! Must finish imperative procedure so can be fed.”
“You can be fed first, Jacob. We decided. You’ve been so effective, you can be fed first.”
“No . . . No cocoon.”
“That’s all right. We’re building a new cocoon. In the meantime, I’ve brought food. See here. Sit down here beside me. Open the portal. Let’s give you some food.”
Xulai saw the bench beside the road, just within the edge of the firelight. Justinian sat down on the bench that someone had put at the side of the road, inside the circle of firelight, not so close it would burn. Who had measured?
“Here, Jacob. Sit beside me.”
Abasio whispered, “The wagons that were coming down the hill were full of archers with fire arrows. They’ve all sneaked out by now. They’re on the other side of the fire from the Old Dark Man. If they have to shoot, the arrows will light as they come through the fire. They’ll be burning when they hit . . .”
“Father will be hit . . .”
“He’s wearing protection. He’ll fall flat on the road if anything goes bad.”
The man in the white coat said mildly, “Sit down, Jacob. Rest.”
The thing staggered. Stumbled. Turned as though undecided.
“You’ll have to hurry,” said Justinian. “So we can finish on time. You’re so
