“There's food here,” I announced.
“I'm not hungry,” the Prince replied. Voice and eyes were distant.
“Eat it anyway, while there's food to eat.” My words came out as a callous command.
Whether it was my Skillhold upon him, or his own common sense, I couldn't tell. But after I had taken my share of the food from the seaweed packet, he came cautiously around the fire to claim his share. In some ways, he reminded me of Nighteyes when he had first come to me. The cub had been wary and defiant, yet pragmatic enough to realize he had to depend on me to provide for him. Perhaps the Prince knew that without me, he had no hopes of returning easily to Buck.
Or perhaps my Skillcommand had burned so deep that even a suggestion from me must be obeyed.
The silence lasted as long as the food did, and a bit longer. I broke it. “I looked at the stars last night.”
The Prince nodded. After a time, “We're a long way from home,” he admitted grudgingly.
“We may face a long journey home with few resources. Do you know how to live off the land at all?”
Again, a silence followed my words. He did not want to speak to me, but I had knowledge he desperately needed. His question came grudgingly.
“What about the way we came here? Can't we go back that way?” A frown divided his brows as he asked, “How did you learn to do that magic? Is it the Skill?”
I broke a little piece of the truth off and gave it to him. “King Verity taught me to Skill. A long time ago.” Before he could ask another question, I announced, “I'm going to walk down the beach and climb up those cliffs. It could be there's a town nearby.” If I had to leave the boy here alone, I'd do my best to leave him in a safe place. And if the Skillpillar did not emerge from the water, then I'd best prepare for along walk home. My will was iron in that regard. I'd returnto Buck if I had to crawl there. And once there, I'd huntdown every one of those Piebalds and kill them slowly. Thepromise gave purpose to my motions. I began to pull on mysocks and boots. The feathers still lay on the sand. A flick ofmy fingers slid them up my sleeve. I'd secure them betterlater. I did not wish to discuss them with the Prince. Dutifulmade no reply to my words, but when I stood up and walkedaway from the fire, he followed me. I stopped at the freshwater stream, to wash my hands and face and to drink, aswell. The Prince watched me, and when I was finished, hewalked upstream to drink himself. While he was occupied, astrip from my shirt secured the feathers to my forearm. Bythe time he looked up from washing the blood from his face, my sleeve once more concealed them. Together we walkedon. The silence felt like a heavy thing we carried betweenus. I could feel him mulling over what I had told him aboutthe woman. I wanted to lecture him, to batter him withwords until he understood exactly what the woman wastrying to do. I wanted to ask if she was still in his mindwith him. Instead I bit my tongue and held back my words.
He wasn't stupid, I told myself. I'd told him the truth. NowI had to let him work out what it meant to him. We keptwalking.
To my relief, we found no more feathers on the sand. We found little of anything useful, though the beach seemed to have more than its share of flotsam. There were bits of rotting rope, and wormbored lengths of ship timbers. The remains of a deadeye lay not far from a thole. As we walked, the black cliff gradually loomed larger, until it towered above us and promised a good vantage of the land around it. As we drew closer, I saw that its face was pocked with holes. In a sand cliff, I would have thought them swallows' nests, but not in black stone. The holes seemed too regular and too evenly spaced to be the work of natural forces. The sun striking them seemed to wake glints in some of them. Curiosity beckoned me.
The reality was stranger than anything I could have imagined. When we reached the foot of the cliff, the holes were revealed as alcoves, of graduated sizes. Not all, but many of them held an object. Wordless with wonder, the Prince and I strolled along looking at the lowest levels of alcoves. The variety of objects put me in mind of some mad king's treasure hoard. One held a jeweled goblet, the next a porcelain cup of amazing delicacy. In a large alcove .was something that looked like a wooden helmet for a horse, save that a horse's eyes are set on the sides of its head, not the front. A net of gold chain studded with tiny blue gems had been draped over a stone about the size of a woman's head. A tiny box of gleaming wood with images of flowers on it, a lamp carved from some lustrous green stone, a sheet of metal with odd characters graven into it, a delicate stone flower in a vase treasure after treasure after treasure was displayed there.