call themselves.’
Jed tightened his girth. ‘They have other names too. Like the Great Horde or the Arm of the Eternal.’ The horse lifted one ear, as if listening to his rider. ‘Think themselves mighty important with such names.’ He spat. ‘Matters little what they call themselves. More needful is to know what their actions will be.’
‘They kill, is what they do,’ said Will.
‘Aye, they’re good at that. You’ll be mighty lucky to spot their scouts, Lady. They’re expert at hiding. But for their signals, Will’s right. Watch for smoke or flames or flags.’
‘All three?’
‘On the plains they use flags or flames. But in woodland they use smoke.’
N’tombe nodded and closed her eyes, shutting herself away.
Jed turned to me. ‘You coming, Lady?’
‘Sorry.’ Listening to them I’d forgotten that I, too, needed to get on my horse.
Jed and Will exchanged a look, but I pretended not to notice.
We camped that night in a brush of thorn, The low hanging branches created a natural hut. Good for keeping away wolves, said Jed, and for hiding us from men. Will suggested drawing lots for the watch, but I offered to go first. Dreading the night and the dreaming, I preferred to remain awake.
Built into a hollow of the land, the fire smoked a little. I tossed twigs and leaves onto the dying coals to watch them spark until Jed barked a sleepy order to leave the fire be. Sitting upwind on the hill above our wild hut, I watched the stars come out.
What does one do on night vigil? There was nothing to see, just the shapes of the horses resting on the grass, the dulling embers and the stars. N’tombe loved the stars. She would often tread the battlements to watch them, saying that in her home world they were not as bright. How much more she would love them here, without the sentry’s torches flaring and dazzling her. But she lay silent, entombed in gold, breathing gently. I could see her chest rising and falling as the golden energy of the wilds ebbed and fell about her like a slow-moving tide.
What was this golden light? At first, I had thought it a dream, something glimpsed between sleep and waking, until Rinpoche had shown me more. This energy was N’tombe’s air, her natural element. She still needed to eat, though; the golden light might give her spirit sustenance, but it wasn’t enough for her body. So Rosa had reminded her, teasing her gently.
Rosa. My aunt, the Guardian. Where was she? I tried to reach towards her. But I felt and heard nothing, just the sighing of the breeze and the lonely cry of a crow. Was she well? And my parents, my brothers? Did they even notice that the world about them had changed? I rubbed my face. These were not tears on my cheeks; no, it was only the chill of the evening that made my eyes water.
I tucked cold hands beneath my cloak. The stones about my wrist were a heavy weight. Five glass beads given to me less than a week ago, their power displayed at the Crossing, when their light had shone a beam into the clouds, separating land from sea and my homeland from this world. Now they were quiet grey shapes. Nothing remarkable. They had changed in form as Rosa had taken them from her necklace. When resting against her skin they had been precious stones: sapphires, emeralds, diamonds. Did they mind becoming glass?
I missed the castle. It had winding stairs, walls of honey-colored stone and secret tunnels that stretched from the cellars into the heart of the mountain. The kitchens, hard against the south wall, had been full of noise and bustle and the smell of baking bread. I wanted the activity of the place; the sense that there was always something about to happen.
Was Rosa well? The great ruby that hung at the base of the necklace was working upon her, wounding the flesh above her heart. Soon, too soon, she would be a bead upon the necklace, and I? Would I be in that tower, wearing the same necklace? I clenched my hands upon the beads. I do not want this thing.