“I thought I could run no farther. I had forgotten how heavy skirts can be, let alone a fur-lined cloak. And these boots!” He thrust one foot out before us. The toe was as pointed as a sword. “Not for running,” he said decisively. “But just as I slowed and told Spark that we could probably walk for a time, I heard running feet behind us. It was strange. The ghost-festivity was all around us, yet somehow I heard the sound of running footsteps. I felt I had no speed left in me and I shouted at Spark to flee but she would not leave me. Then I heard that sound just as I felt the arrow tug through the shoulder of my cloak. And I found that I could not only run but drag Spark along with me.”
“He was red,” Spark said suddenly. Her voice had gone shaky, a contrast with her earlier pleasure in telling the tale. “I looked back. I didn’t want to go into the pillar; I was terrified. I looked back to see if he might have mercy if I stayed. But he was like a creature from a nightmare. Tall and narrow and as scarlet as his dragon. And his eyes! When I saw him halt and set another arrow to his bow, I did not hold back. I may have pushed Amber into the pillar.”
“And here we are,” the Fool finished. He looked round at us, smiling blindly.
“Indeed. Here we are,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kelsingra
Wide gape the gates of yellowed bone. A tongue of plank is our path between the teeth as we walk toward the gullet. Here I will be devoured. This is a true thing, near unavoidable on any path. I must enter those jaws.
—Dream Journal of Bee Farseer
We all slept in the Elderling tent that night, packed as neatly as saltfish in a box. I slept along one wall, the Fool against my back. Even against the fine fabric, I slept much more warmly than I had in our small tent. In the early hours of dawn Per came in from his watch. “The porridge is nearly cooked,” he told me softly as I woke. “I put a bit of honey in it.”
I sat up, trying not to wake the others this early. Both the Fool and Spark, I thought, should take all the sleep they could. Then my Wit sent a sudden shuddering through me. A predator, one bigger than me, moved outside the tent, exploring our camp. In the next moment Motley began a raucous cawing. I heard the clatter of an overturned pot.
I shifted as quietly as I could and reached across the Fool to seize Lant’s shoulder. “Sssh,” I warned him as he woke. “Something’s outside. Follow me, sword drawn.”
The others woke as we extricated ourselves but sensed our caution. Spark’s eyes looked as big as saucers as I stepped over her, sword bared, and ducked to exit the tent. Lant came behind me, as barefoot as I was, naked steel in his hand. As soon as I saw our intruder, I reached back to grab his wrist. “Don’t look directly at him,” I warned. To the others inside, I said in a carrying whisper. “Bear. Come out. Don’t dress, just get clear of the tent. You don’t want to be caught inside it. Do not run, but be ready to scatter if I shout.”
The bear was a big fellow, and the silvery hair on his shoulders and a graying muzzle showed that he was both old and wise. No bear gets that old without the wisdom that survival demands, but neither does a creature in the wild live to that age without infirmities. The breadth of his shoulders showed me what a powerful creature he once had been, but he was gaunt now. He was on all fours, sniffing through Lant’s pack, which had been left by last night’s campfire. His interest was plain: food.
As the others emerged he became aware of us and made a leisurely decision to display his size for us. He lifted himself onto his hind legs and stood looking down at us with his glittering black eyes. He was a big one. Very big. His mouth was ajar, taking in our scent and incidentally displaying sizable teeth. I could smell his hot breath on the cold winter air, and in it the carrion stink of infection.
“Spread out, but walk slowly,” I suggested to the others in a low voice as they came fumbling out of the tent. “Move apart from one another. If he charges, we scatter. Don’t bunch up where he can get all of us.”
I could hear Spark’s panting breath. They emerged last, with the Fool caped in one of his skirts. Spark had the sense to keep hold of the Fool’s sleeve as she began to tug him sideways away from the group. The bear’s glittering gaze followed them.
Food, I reminded him. Smell it. Apples. Maybe bacon or fish? Perhaps a pot of honey. I could only suggest. The Wit-magic allows me to reach toward an animal but it does not assure that the animal will accept my thoughts. It certainly gives me no power to command a wild creature. And sometimes it is a mistake to try to touch minds.