I turned my back and climbed into the salamander sledge, my eyes blinded by tears. The gnomes struck up a dirge. I was scarcely aware of crossing the Deadwash, or of bidding Grigori a hasty farewell before the sledges sped back, racing the dawn’s first rays. My mind was full of Gogu: abandoned, bereft, shivering with cold and fright—or, worse still, lying dead somewhere—
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because I had allowed myself to lose sight of common sense. I’d never felt so miserable or so guilty in my life.
Tati stood on the shore with Sorrow. He was leaving his departure until perilously late.
“You’d better go,” she said, apparently trying to be strong.
An instant later she flung herself into his arms. He held her, his head bowed against her shoulder, his lips on the white neck exposed by her upswept hair. Then he detached himself, backing toward the sledge with his hand still in hers. They held on as he got in; they held on while the swan sledge began easing away from the bank, with Tati balanced precariously on the ice and Sorrow leaning out at a perilous angle. Then, all at once, the sledge sped off into the morning mist and the clasping hands were torn from each other.
We made our way through the Gallery of Beasts, whose occupants were no more than vague bundles up in the corners.
We climbed the long, long, winding stair.
“Hurry up, Jena!” called Paula. “Hurry up, Tati!”
I was last, walking behind Tati. I did not trust her to bring up the rear and not decide to bolt back down and go crashing away across the ice in search of her pale-faced sweetheart. Up, up, and up . . . I felt each step as a blow to the heart. At last we reached the portal. We stretched out our hands toward the stone wall—but I snatched mine away, without touching it. I had heard something. . . . I strained to catch it again. For a moment all was silence. Then it came once more, a little, weary thud from down the stairs.
“Something’s coming up,” Stela whispered, turning as white as linen.
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“Gogu?” My voice was reed-thin and quavering, an old woman’s. A moment later he came into sight, three steps down.
He was shaking with exhaustion, a rime of frost over his whole body. A big heaving sob burst out of me. I gathered him up and held him to my breast. He was so cold; his skin felt all hard and crackly, as if his damp body had begun to freeze solid. His eyes were half closed.
“Put out your hand, Jena!” snapped Iulia. “It must be nearly sunrise—quick! We might get trapped in between worlds!”
I hardly heard her. A flood of tears was running down my cheeks. I hugged my frog close, trying to warm him against my body.
“Come on, Jena.” Tati had moved up next to me. Her eyes met mine, and some kind of forgiveness passed between us. We each set a hand against the wall. Our sisters placed their fingers beside ours. The portal opened and we went home to Piscul Dracului.
No water bowl this morning. I lay in bed with Gogu on my chest. I had rolled him in a woolen scarf after warming it on the little stove. Monumental shivers still passed through him. Beside us, Tati lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you were trying to rescue me. I promise I’ll never leave you again.”
Gogu made no response, but the shivering began to die down and his eyes took on a brighter look.
“Anyway,” I whispered, “how did you get across the 129
Deadwash? You’re too scared to go anywhere near it by yourself. Did someone bring you?”
“Never mind,” I said. “You’re safe and we’re together again.
I don’t want to think about anything else right now.” I couldn’t stop crying. Maybe I was making up for all the times I had stayed calm and sorted out other people’s problems. How could I have been so foolish? I had let Tadeusz lull me into forgetting what was right. I’d made it all too easy for him. I must never, ever do that again. His words were still in my mind: the startling revelation that Dark of the Moon allowed a passage to the Other Kingdom; the news of another portal; the tantalizing reference to a way of looking into the future. . . . What if I could see Cezar’s future, and somehow use that knowledge to stop him from going through with his threats? What if I could see what would become of Tati and Sorrow? And what would I see for myself, or for Father? I tried to stop thinking about it, but the images filled my mind—images of what might be revealed to me if I only had the courage to look.
After a while I felt Gogu wriggle out of the scarf and hop up to the pillow. He snuggled close to my cheek.
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Chapter Six
A heavy blanket of snow lay over the hillside, making the paths treacherous. The forest had a special beauty in winter: frozen waterfalls like delicate shawls; foliage shrouded in a glittering, rimy coating; blue-white snowdrifts revealing, here and there, a rich litter of darkened leaves in a thousand damp colors of brown and gray. The forlorn, peeping cry of a bird . . . neat imprints in the white, the tracks of a hungry wolf or wildcat. The bears would be sleeping, curled deep in their hollows. My breath made a big cloud as we went, Gogu’s a smaller one.
I’d found it hard to sleep and had headed out early for a walk. I hoped that exercise would clear my mind, which felt as if a dense fog had descended over it. It was all very well for me to lecture Tati about becoming involved with Sorrow. What I had done was almost worse: I had let one of the Night People lead me off the path and whisper his dangerous lies in my ears—and I had felt, just for a moment, the delicious, forbidden 131
sensation of considering what he had offered. In the cold light of the winter morning, I could not believe I had allowed it to happen.
