as to be able to run over the water like a skittering insect.
He paused only five feet from us. I lifted the lantern a bit, bent forward and peered at him curiously. Monika knelt beside me, putting one knee on the lip of the rocky pool. Malkin had a thin face with sharp features; the nose was like a blade and the chin tapered to a point. Across his face stretched an overly large mouth, which flashed us with a leering, humorless grin. Monika and I examined his clothing in wonder. His pointed boots and his russet- brown coat seemed to be made of a light leather. All the clothing seemed sewn with impossibly fine workmanship, each stitch smaller than any human tailor could produce. The elf leered at us and rested his overlarge hands on his bent knees. He stood in the pool, but was clearly perched upon a stone or something just below the water.
He gazed back at us with as much curiosity as we had about him. “Strong is your will and your luck to resist this time of upheaval! But don’t trust to luck forever, younglings.”
“How can you stand on the water?” asked Monika.
Malkin clucked his tongue at her. “Such a crude attempt! One would normally secure the third cake before stealing another.”
Monika blinked at him. I snorted in amusement, but between her English skills and his odd approach to speech she didn’t comprehend him.
“You asked about the Hag,” said Malkin, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He watched us, and I thought he displayed almost as much curiosity as we had for him. “For that is what she was. The creature that you met on the lakeshore. She resides in the lake now, and she is the thing that summons others into her new home, which your people have all but forgotten already. She summons and guides a new people in the name of the hoofed ones.”
Monika and I opened our mouths simultaneously, bubbling with more questions.
Malkin stilled our further questions with a wave of his tiny hands. He peered up at us with eyes like black beads.
“You don’t have to answer more questions,” I said. “But maybe we could call you a friend?”
Malkin’s face grew sad then, and I saw hair-thin lines there in his face that revealed his fantastic age. I wondered how long he had truly been in this cave, or perhaps others like it. He shook his head slowly.
“Ever it is so with your folk,” he sighed. “Ever would you mistake the slightest aid for friendship. True friendship is something which must be earned and which is never given. So big your kind grows, yet still you bear the minds of children.”
He turned directly to Monika and almost whispered to her, bending forward as you might when speaking to a child. “Your question will be answered, but perhaps not in a manner to your liking. Gaze at my feet, child.”
He made a little shuffling motion with his feet. Something dark swirled there, over his wet boots. I realized he was standing on something that moved and rolled a bit in the water and I lifted up the lantern and craned out to see what it was.
Monika realized what we were looking at first. She gasped and pulled back in horror. I squinted, and then I saw it. The dark substance moving over Malkin’s feet was someone’s hair, and the stone he was standing upon was a face-a head, to be more exact. I thought I recognized the head of Mrs. Krenzer. After we’d slain the three spiders her daughters had turned into I’d wondered what had become of her. The whole cave seemed to brighten up then, and I watched the elf raise his arms up slowly over his head, chasing the gloom somehow from the cave, or perhaps from our eyes.
The black pool was black no longer, and in it must have lolled a dozen human heads. Dead eyes like boiled eggs sat in fish-nibbled skulls. Dark hair wafted over slack jaws and silver or gold hoops glinted in the pale rubbery ears of some of the women.
I stared in disbelief at Malkin for a moment. He wore a very strange, intense expression. Not triumph, exactly, but something like it. I had the feeling he was as curious about us as we were about him. He wanted to see and feel what we did, to live through our shock and grief by observing our reactions.
“I would grieve with thee, but grief is not in my mix. It would not work, just as spreading sugar upon a stone would not make it taste sweet.”
I drew my saber and slashed at him in one smooth motion. He seemed only mildly surprised and bounded away to splash down upon another head. As I stumbled into the pool after him, I found it was less than a foot deep. I slashed and cut the air where he had just been. He leapt about like a maddened frog and long before I could catch up he had bounded to the spot where we had first entered the cavern.
“My trophies are not of those I’ve slain myself, but merely collected. Elfkin are neither your friends nor you foes, children. But beware the Hag.”
Monika squeezed off a shot at him, missing by a foot or two. The booming report was deafening in the enclosed space. He waggled a finger at her, then leapt up the chimney we’d come down in a single great bound. He was gone.
I looked at the heads in the black pool. I wondered how they had gotten here, and how we had avoided their fate. Perhaps it was as the Doctor said: perhaps we were the last and the strongest, most resistant ones. I thought of gathering the heads and taking them back up for a proper burial and a service. Instead, I mumbled a few words over the dead, and prayed they would not be forgotten, even though I knew they would be.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Monika in a husky voice.
We worked our way deeper into the cave and an odd feeling came over me. It was as if something pressed against my face and hands, and entire body. I leaned into it, like a stiff wind. But there was no wind, there was nothing you could
“I feel something, Gannon,” said Monika behind me. She was frightened.
The tunnel narrowed as it went upward. Soon we were reduced to crawling. Side passages went off in every direction, but I kept heading in the direction of a faint puff of fresh air I could feel. It was cold moist air, and I could tell it was from the surface.
Malkin’s voice came to us again, from behind us somewhere in the dark. There was no way to tell where he was, he could have been in any of these side passages.
“You have not melted. You are very young and very strong,” he said.
I crawled forward, reaching back my hand and half-dragging Monika after me. The barrier I felt but could not see slipped away and I managed another ten feet of progress before I felt it again, stronger this time. It was as if a huge plastic ball of water rolled up against me, crushing me softly down.
I pressed against it. Monika was a dead weight behind me, but I clung to her hand. I kept moving forward, one inch at a time. I knew now what we faced. This must be the shiftline. This was what it felt like to cross one.
“You intrigue me,” came Malkin’s voice again. “I shall let you pass.”
Suddenly the barrier was gone. I fell forward and my chin dug into loose debris at the bottom of the tunnel.
Monika cried quietly, but she needed no further urging. Grim-faced and barely speaking, we found our way to the far end of the cavern. Sometime later, tired and panting, we wriggled our way out into the fresh breeze again, like two fugitives from the grave.
Twenty-Five
We made it to the surface and beat the gray dust out of our hair. The sky had turned cloudy and the morning sunshine was gone. There should have been plenty of hours before sunset still, I was sure of it. We’d only been down in that cave for maybe two hours, probably less. But still, my feeling from the skies around us was that it was nearing dusk.
“I didn’t like it,” said Monika suddenly.
I looked at her, “What?”
“I didn’t like the cave. You asked me before.”
