Chapters 12 and 13

(In which we learn of Pockets and of Grim's trip to find Priest, and oh, hey, there's a freakin' minotaur, too)

Twelfth

Elizabeth's pants were damp from the dew, and her back felt as if someone had tied it into knots. But she had to admit, after the labors of the day before, she should have felt worse. She flexed her limbs experimentally: her legs moved without complaint, and even her palm felt a bit better. She was, however, starving.

The blood-red sun was just visible over the hills in the distance, painting the clouds on the opposite horizon a rosy pink-orange. The air felt thick and primed for rain, though the sky directly overhead remained clear. Perhaps not the greatest day to start a journey, she thought, unless the rain held off. Not unless they were going by car, or whatever Edge’s equivalent was...a carriage? Or would the rain help them, masking their tracks somehow?

The glade struck her as almost preternaturally still; the air moving through the branches and the unkempt blades of grass was the only noise to compete with her breathing. Then she realized what was missing: birds. Every morning of her life, even living in the city, she had heard the soundtrack of their chittering and warbling. But here, in this orchard...nothing. Not the twit of a sparrow or the raspy laughter of a crow.

Elizabeth got to her feet and walked around the statue, searching for the break in the trees where she had entered the clearing, and finding none. That was odd. It had been dark, to be sure, but she definitely remembered the path opening directly into the glade. She glared suspiciously at the ring of dark conifers; had they moved? Well, stranger things had happened. If they tried to block her way out, though, she might need to test the sharpness of her hand against their branches.

Her attention was drawn to the ground near the statue’s pedestal. The grass where she had been sitting was brown and dried, a dead patch contrasting sharply with the vibrant green of the remainder of the clearing. She would have thought it coincidence, except that the shape was so clearly limited to where she had slept, with even a sharp indentation marking the space between her trunk and where her hand would have rested.  She checked herself over, examining the backsides of her clothes. They were peppered with burrs and stray pieces of grass, but nothing more unusual than this.

Kneeling, she ran her hands over the ground. The soil beneath the yellowed grass was dry and soft, like flour, and the stalks pulled free easily. She lifted a few for closer inspection. By comparison, the live shoots nearby were flat and striated, pliable to being bent; these had turned a dull vanilla color, and they cracked when she applied force. Was she somehow toxic to this world in medium-to-large doses? Was she doing damage without even realizing it?

As she stood back up, she saw something she hadn't before: a second indentation in the grass beside her outline. The plants here were not deadened or broken, just barely bent in such a way to suggest a second creature had bedded next to her. But she saw no prints in the dew, no trail to suggest a creature walking to or from the clearing while she slept.

She scrutinized the black lion. Now that she was standing, she could see one major difference from last night to this morning: the altar, which had been empty, was filled with a sickly-sheened red fluid. Flies were converging on its lip, encrusting the stone in silent patches, crawling over one another in their haste to get to the offering.

Elizabeth felt the blood rush to her head, and started to back out of the clearing. She should have stayed next to the barn, even with Margaret's spooky empty-eyed gaze. Not out here, next to this thing that, at least in stories, had tried to trick and trap her and her brother.

Her gaze remained shackled to the statue until the sharp needles of the border trees poked at her back. Only then did she turn, maneuvering the tree limbs so she could pass with minimal scratching. This was not where she had entered, but she had to get out right now, to get out of view of that statue and that horrible sticky liquid.

The cleared path from the night before was nowhere to be seen, but the topmost portion of the tower stretched above the canopies, and soon she journeyed toward it, maintaining her gaze as her mind spun with questions about what had happened while she had slept. This time, no doppelgangers mimicked her steps, and the eerie silence she had noticed on waking persisted. No birdsong, no insect buzz, no hum of far-off traffic or machinery.

Grim stood outside the barn, leaning on his walking stick. The sack she had filled sat on the ground behind him. He was alone, without Priest or even Margaret at a window to witness Elizabeth’s return. Grim took a tentative step towards her.

The Shade did appear improved, better than she had seen since their passage into Edge, but he was still far weaker than he had been when they first met. His clothes hung off of him in odd places, giving him the impression of a weathered scarecrow. His hair appeared thinner, shot through with more gray. He looked a decade older than when they left Central.

Grim had continued to shuffle toward her, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder for support. His eyes met hers, and his expression shifted from calm to concerned. "Elizabeth...you did not sleep out in the orchard? Did something happen last night? Did Priest--?"

"I'm not sure." She looked back, making sure nothing had followed her out of the orchard. "There was a statue, a lion..." She trailed off.

Grim's lips compressed. "You should not have been allowed back there. Even in these late days, the Lion is no friend to Eliza. This is his garden, and even his echoes have long memories. Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We have many miles to put between this place and ourselves. And now, one more reason to do so swiftly." He paused, catching his breath. "We should head for the nearest town. What do you think we should do after that?"

The question caught her off guard. "What--?"

"My task was to find something to help defeat The Pretender. I found you, though it remains to be seen if you will achieve that end. I will not force you to any direction." He repositioned the walking stick, moving both hands to encircle it like an upside-down baseball bat. "I see three choices for you. One, we find Silas, and you attempt to perform the task set for you by Priest."

"Um...Are the other choices any easier?"

He shook his head. "Two, you make a life for yourself in Edge." She started to protest; he cut her off with a look. "It is not a bad place. Others have come here from Central, either by accident or by choice, and have lived happy lives. I myself have met their kind. This world is no better or worse than the one you have come from."

She thought of her mother and father, of her friends and her home. "That sounds to me like giving up."

     "It depends on what you truly want, Elizabeth. Prudence is too often confused for cowardice. There is much wisdom in knowing which is which."

"Third option?"

He grimaced. "You have already spoken of it. Finding another gatekeeper, or a wild gate." She did not respond, waiting for him to explain himself. "A gate that has occurred naturally, without a keeper. They--" Grim took a deep breath. "There is much to explain, and there will be time enough for such explanations on the road. I promise I will tell you all you need to know, but for now--," His eyes shifted from side to side in a tick-tock pattern that would have been comical, had his face not looked so grave. "I fear we should be moving away from this place."

"Is this about Priest removing his protection?" The Shade looked startled. "When he kicked me out. He said he would remove protection from you."

Grim's jaw chewed into a feeble grin. "The gatekeeper thinks himself more powerful than he is." She looked unconvinced. "But I do not know these lands well, nor the local towns. I would prefer we had lodgings set well before nightfall."

She cocked one eyebrow. "I would think you Shades would be most comfortable in the darkness."

"At full strength, I would be. But I can barely slip in this state, and could not bring you with me." He nodded towards the sack of provisions that remained near the barn. "I fear I will be unable to carry--"

"Don't worry about it, Grim." She retrieved it, and he motioned for her to open it. She drew the mouth of the sack open, seeing all that she had placed in it the evening before...plus red fabric of some sort. She removed and unrolled it, revealing two long gloves.

"I do not know if Silas is aware that you made the passage through. If the news has reached him, he may have sent scouts to retrieve you. If he knows of Priest, he will surely focus on this area. It is best your more...conspicuous attributes remain hidden."

She felt her stomach flip. It hadn't occurred to her that Silas might be actively hunting her. Although Grim had outlined options for her, the decision might not be hers to make. If Silas saw her as a threat, she might have no choice but to defend herself.

She dulled the blades of her hand as she pulled the glove on, making sure the points of her fingers did not cut through the fabric. Once on, the gloves proved a good fit, if a bit fancy for the rest of her outfit. Made of a soft yet sturdy material, the small patches of discoloration and tiny moth holes told her they had clearly seen better days. But her metallic hand was completely hidden, and if that was the only way Silas or his spies could recognize her, she would be happy to wear them for as long as it took.

Grim nodded with satisfaction. They walked around the barn, facing the newly risen sun. Without a glance back, they started down the long road that led away from the orchard.

*****

Grim’s promise of explanations while traveling proved to be optimistic, as the effort of walking consumed the total of his energies. She tried to bait him with a few yes or no questions, but fell silent when she saw how much even a single word taxed him.

Still, for someone who looked so ill, Grim’s stamina was impressive. They walked at what Elizabeth estimated as perhaps three or four miles each hour. Keeping this pace they were able to continue until mid-morning without stopping for rest.

Through rolling hills furred with unkempt grasses the road wandered, widening as they walked until it became large enough for two carts to pass one another without touching. They encountered no other travelers, either on foot or horseback. From time to time, Grim would point and utter short explanations, names of flora and fauna, Elizabeth supposed, though sometimes they seemed to be short, incomprehensible sentences: "Spear bush." "Followroot." "Luke-and-Addy Flower."

This last was a knee-high weed that grew along the side of the road, resembling a blood-red Queen Anne's lace. Elizabeth wondered if its roots smelled of carrots, the way the wildflower of her own world did. She remembered running to the backdoor with an armful of them to show her parents the collection she had made from the field, and she was suddenly awash with homesickness. She wondered if her father was out for his daily walk.

She was about to ask Grim about the plant when she realized he had stopped walking, and was glancing rapidly from side to side. Had he heard something? Seen something? She scanned the plain--

Wait. Plain? When had they entered a plain?

The hills had disappeared. She was sure she had just been walking downhill, but the way ahead and behind them was so flat that she could see for miles. The vegetation had changed as well; no more Luke-and-Addy, just carpets of grey-green moss speckled by small white blossoms as far as the eye could see. The road was now little more than a footpath.

And it had grown cold, cold enough that the air held the metallic taste of snow. There was no sun visible at all, and the sky lacked the shading to suggest the peaks and valleys of cloud-cover. It was as though instead of an atmosphere, a vast ceiling had been suspended over the plain.

Grim turned back and forth, one hand held out as though testing the air. "I did not expect that. In the middle of the road. This should not be."

Elizabeth looked at him quizzically. "What happened? Did you do this? Did you slip us without meaning to?"

"Not in the middle of the day, not without physical contact. I did not do this." Grim made a face as if he had eaten something sour.  "We must have stumbled into a pocket."  

"I didn't stumble into anything. I just looked up and we were here."

He exhaled, like an adult patiently tolerating the questions of a child. "It is often difficult to see the entrance, especially when distracted." Grim knelt, running his hand over the moss, testing its buoyancy. "This pocket does not have the feel of the Lion's lands to me. But that does not mean it is not bewitching us somehow." He cocked his head to the side. His ear twitched almost imperceptibly. "I am most concerned with that noise. Do you hear it?"

She did, but it would be more accurate to say that she felt it. It was a high noise, a thready resonance that was tinny on her teeth. "Yes...I don't remember hearing that when we were still on the other road." She stretched her hands into the air, testing for palpable vibrations. "You didn't come through this plain when you first tracked Priest down?"

"When I last traveled this road, it was years ago. At that time, it went through those same hills for many miles, then ended in a town...", his eyes ticked upwards, trying to latch on to a detail of memory, "...called, I believe, Foursmith. These plains were not here."

"Um. Does that concern you? Did we get lost somehow?"

"I am concerned that we can no longer see the road we were on...the appearance of a new geography could mean a shift within the landscape. It is troublesome but not unusual for parts of Edge to shear off and re-attach. But losing our path altogether? This could mean we slipped into a pocket. That could be..."

"Dangerous?" she supplied.

"Worrisome. An unexpected delay." He exhaled. "And, yes, dangerous. If we cannot find our way out. If the pocket is a hungry one. Our food will not last forever."

"Wait." He had lost her. "Aren't we still in Edge? Why can't we just...I don't know...just keep walking until we find something that looks more normal?"

"That might be the worst thing we could do. There are few distinguishing features in this land, and the door should be nearby. If we start wandering, we are almost sure to lose it." He stood and turned back the way they had come, lifting his walking stick and pointing it up the path, poking at the air periodically.

"For many years, Edge’s geography has been...changing. The bonds between lands are broken and reformed so that a road that once led to a neighboring town now ends in a dead-end at a mountain range, or to a foreign land once many leagues away. But this fracturing is believed to also be causing the creation of smaller lands...these are pockets."

He looked at her and stopped when he saw the persistent confusion on her face. "Think of Edge as a broad sheet of fabric. The shifting of lands is as though someone cut patches from it and then sewed them back on in different places." Elizabeth nodded, urging him to continue. "But there are also pockets formed by this sewing, blind sacks of fabric that a traveler can wander into. These usually have only one opening, and are self-contained worlds with their own creatures, and air, and topography. And their own rules."

"Rules?"

"The air might be different. Or the gravity. Time is different, so you may lose months while only hours pass in Edge, or you may experience only minutes while days pass outside. Your sense of taste or touch or hearing may be altered. I have not noticed any oddities in my senses, other than that bothersome noise. Have you?"

She thought about it; there was an odd taste in her mouth, reminding her of blood sucked from an errant paper cut. But nothing else she could detect. "Are there many of these pockets?"

"More than before, and in unpredictable places. Keeping on the roads used to be a sure way to avoid them. I fear the land is becoming more porous in its later days.

"But pockets have always existed, as far as I can tell you. In times past, the most powerful of magickers could control and move them. The larger city-states, according to tales, even held games of a sort called Pocketses, a sort of race-and-strategy game in a field populated with pockets of different types. Competitors had to make it from one side to the other, and they would try to trap or ambush each other within pockets."

"Didn't that take a long time? If it's difficult to escape some of them?"

"Not as long as you would think. These were not wild pockets but well-maintained and controlled ones. And, although time can last forever within a pocket, usually very little time passes outside of one. The games would last for a day or two, not for weeks or months. Well, for the observers, they would last a day. From the competitors’ perspective, it could mean days or weeks of competition. It was as much a test of endurance as of strategy.

"But the wild pockets are appearing more and more frequently. Some have a theory that as the lands shift and change, bits are sheared off with each movement, leaving these pockets as independent remnants."

"So, when you described some of these pockets as 'hungry'...?"

He paused, flashing a look that she found difficult to interpret. "I spoke metaphorically. It is a term left over from Pocketses. If a pocket was particularly difficult to escape, it was described as a 'hungry' pocket. I must admit, it does sound ominous."

She wasn't sure if she believed this last explanation; something in his eyes revealed more fear than would be justified by something being ‘particularly difficult to escape.’ She wondered if there were pockets that were aggressive, that sought travelers out and swallowed them, never to be seen in Edge again. “So, you’re not worried that Priest might be behind this?”

Grim sighed. “Priest is a gatekeeper. He has nothing to do with pockets.” Elizabeth held her tongue. Grim’s tone suggested she was foolish for even suggesting such a thing, though in honesty, what Priest did with doors to Central did not seem all that different from what would have had to happen to put them in their current situation.

While they spoke, Grim had continued to poke his walking stick into the air ahead of them. The whining noise was growing louder, and his poking became slightly more frantic. He did not appear panicked, but his breathing sped up at a rate she suspected was not exertion alone.

"Should I be doing what you're doing? That...poking?"

"Yes...try a bit farther down the path. Go slowly. Try to approximate the speed we were walking on the road. Some doors will not allow passage if you are moving too quickly. Hold your hand out and see if parts of it disappear. You may also see a kind of a--", he wiggled the fingers on his free hand, "--waving in the air."

She plodded down the path a few yards ahead of Grim and mimicked his probing motions, but her fingers remained intact. She clucked her tongue; the rusty taste was growing stronger, as though she were chewing on metal.

Grim cried out; she turned to see that the tip of the stick had disappeared. "Ah! This way. Come back to me."

She moved to stand behind him. He reached back and grabbed her tunic, hauling her forward. She felt a lurch distinctly different from that of her momentum, as though her body was suddenly subject to an entirely new form of gravity. And then she was back on the original road, Grim beside her. The air returned to a more hospitable temperature, and the vibration in her bones resolved. 

Grim took his walking stick and began to dig its point into the road, dragging it across the dirt where they had emerged, making small gullies that were the beginnings of a symbol. Elizabeth examined the air above his efforts; if she squinted and focused, she could just make out a shimmering suspended above the road, subtle enough to mistake for a swarm of no-see-ums or a trick of light. There was little chance a traveler would detect it, unless they were moving very slowly.

When the mark was finished, it covered an area three feet square beneath the wavering patch. "This will serve as a warning. But we should place more notices further up and down this road, for those who are traveling swiftly enough that they might miss this one. It does not do for such a thing to be on the public path. No good will come of this." He sighed, surveying the landscape. "The locals may have to move the road."

He showed her how to make the symbol, cross-hatching that looked vaguely Asian, and sent her back the way they had come to make several similar signs in the dirt, spread out over a length of one hundred yards. She walked to the top of the closest rise, bent, and started to move her sharp fingers through the dirt.

She heard the hoof beats before she saw the traveler and looked up to see a horse-drawn cart mounting the crest of the next hill, coming toward them from the direction of Priest's barn. She recognized the horse and then the driver, the boy-man that Priest had called Yohn. A tarp covered the bed of the cart, tied tightly and drawn over its load to form a miniature landscape of peaks and valleys. Elizabeth pulled her glove back on, concealing her hand and forearm before he drew close enough to notice.

Yohn pulled alongside her, noting from his carriage seat the markings she carved. "Found the pocket, did you?" His words had a squashy quality about them, and Elizabeth remembered what Priest had said about his drunkenness. It was a bit early in the day for that. Or was it? It had been just past mid-morning when they entered the pocket, but the day now felt like it was past noon. Hadn't Grim said time moved quicker in the pockets? Wouldn't that make it--

"I asked you a question, girl. Comm'n courtesy demands you answer." He cocked one eyebrow at her. "Unless'n you want ta hoof it the rest of the way to Foursmith. Gareth paid me t'bless you with a ride, but unless you're polite, I canna see the point."

She might be able to make it to the town on foot by the time night descended, but Grim's chances were less promising. "We did. I was just setting a warning sign."

"No need for that. I'm the only one fool enough to come down this road, and Cratty and I know well enough to avoid it." The horse nickered in response to its name. Yohn held his hand out to Elizabeth, and she offered her right one, even though the left was closer. The fabric of the gloves would not stand up to the scrutiny of touch.

Elizabeth was hauled to the seat beside him. From this close, she had no question about the state of his sobriety; she could practically see the alcohol sweating out of his skin. He did not appear to be much older than she was, as his cheeks were downy with the soft beard of a young man. But the whites of his eyes branched with bright red arteries, and his lips crusted with healing sores.

He led his horse around the site Grim had marked, spitting a gummy clot of mucous at it with impressive accuracy. Elizabeth watched it wink out of sight.

"Your friend doesn't look s'good," he slurred as they approached Grim. She agreed, though she found it hard to judge which one of the two men looked worse. Grim had fallen to one knee, his head hung low, one hand on the ground and the other on the stick for support. She saw him try to stand, stymied by the weakness of his legs, and ease himself back to kneeling again.

Yohn directed the horse to a stop next to the Shade. "Are ye goin' to live or die today, Shade? Best make up your mind, for I dinna want any dark ghosts in my cart."

Grim considered. "Today? Live." He took a deep breath, pulled on the stick, and shifted to a crouching position. "Your cart will remain unsullied." He turned toward Elizabeth. "Did you show him the door?"

"Oh, I knew 'twas there," Yohn answered. “'Sbeen there for 'tleast three seasons. Almost got Cratty stuck fore in and hinders out one day, I did."

Grim glowered. "Then why did you not mark it?"

Yohn shrugged. "Gareth told me not to. Only him down this road, so I figured he'd be the one t'get t'say."

"It is not for him to decide. It has already been decided." Grim looked as though he would strike this boy, weakness or no. "It is the law of the road."

Yohn tilted his head, smirking. "Oh, and are ye a Peacekeeper, now? The first Shade t'be made member of the Black Comp'ny?" He chuckled. "Laws of The Pretender don't mean that much here in the Lion's land."

"Take care not to say that too loudly." Grim pointed into the branches of a scrubby jack pine. Perched on the topmost bough was a raven, its head cocked, a slimy ribbon of flesh dangling from its beak. "Silas has eyes everywhere."

"The Pretender's reach's further 'an his grasp." But the laughter and bravado had fled from Yohn's voice. "This is the Lion's land."

"Your Lion no longer walks these lands. If Silas's attention has not recently--," Grim paused to accent the next word, "--blessed your fair land, it is fortune and nothing more.  We are no friends to the Pretender, but that does not mean your words are wise. You will live longer if you do not mock such power to strangers."

The raven pushed off the branch and gave a powerful flap to thrust into the air, tossing the gibbet and swallowing it whole as it passed overhead. Elizabeth shuddered.

"The law of the road is for the safety of all travelers, even fools. I have marked the door as it should be marked. Do not allow the signs to be removed."

Yohn again spat on the ground, ending this part of the conversation. "Well, do you want a ride into town or not?"

Grim nodded. Elizabeth made room for him on the seat, keeping herself between the two men. She would have liked to get out of range of Yohn's sour smell but thought keeping a barrier between them might go a long way towards preventing blows.

It occurred to her that they had not seen Yohn traveling toward Priest's home, and that they had not likely been within the pocket for long enough for him to travel all the way there, load his cart and return, when it had taken them hours on foot. "Sir," she started, "did you stay at Gareth's long? Were you there when we left?"

"Nah, I wouldna stay there for all the gold in the royal vault. Don' even get near'n the place, if I can help it. He told me 'bout a week ago to keep a watch out for you on the road." His face screwed up, taxed by thought. "Were you in the pocket that whole time?"

Elizabeth let the silence swallow his question. They rode on, the stillness broken only by Cratty's nickering and Yohn's chewing as he worked down a rope-like band of jerky he kept wound around one arm, its other end disappearing down his shirtsleeve. The rounded hills gradually gave way to a flatter land, and the road drew alongside a broad river, where fishermen waded and cast nets on the opposite side. Shirtless, they wore broad hats that kept the sun from their faces, but the skin of the chests and backs was tanned. She lifted a hand in greeting, but none responded.

The cart rounded a bend in the river, and settlements came into view, wood-slatted shacks no larger than closets. The first of these were solitary and ramshackle in quality. Father down the road, the shacks began to occur in pairs, then in larger groups, some close enough together to be conjoined. Some of these had fishing nets and baskets piled up outside their doors; others had garden plots in varying states of harvest. No doors stood open, though, and Elizabeth saw no one in their yards.

Grim bade Yohn to stop the cart. "It would be best if we entered this town alone. As I recall, their love for Shades is not great. I would not want any trouble to befall you."

"Aye, if you want." Yohn wiped his mouth with the back of one dirty sleeve. He pulled up Cratty's reins on a stretch of road out of sight of any houses. "It's not too far from here, just keep on this road and you'll get there."

"Is there an Inn in Foursmith still?"

"Aye, though p'rhaps not as nice as the young lady would be used to. The Bitter Seed has a few wayfarer's rooms up above. It's right near the town center, broad sign with crossed wheat stalks drawn on’t."

Elizabeth stepped down, drawing her back over her chest. Grim stumbled to the ground and then looked up gracefully. "Thank you for the ride, sir."

"No trouble." Yohn paused to spit onto the road.  "Best for the rest of your journey. Lion's luck be with you."

"May no tricks escape your eye." It sounded as though Grim was finishing a standard saying, with no meaning behind his words.

Elizabeth murmured her thanks as well. She wished they had something to tip him with, but they needed their provisions. It occurred to her that she had no money with which to pay for rooms at an inn. She didn't even know if they used money in Edge.

Yohn gave a sharp "Yah!", and his horse resumed plodding along the road, kicking up small clouds of dirt as her hooves struck the ground. They had traveled with him for perhaps an hour, and covered at least twice the ground they would have on foot.

As they rounded the next bend, a sign came into view, with characters both in spiral-writing and English, the recognizable words faded beneath the newer indecipherable ones. It read, as Grim had remembered, "Foursmith" with "The Lion's towne of" written above in smaller letters. A crude glyph of a lion's head in profile was sketched off to the side of the words, its mouth open and teeth bared in more of a yawn than a snarl.

Grim stopped just before the sign. "We must be far from the capitol indeed if the locals have felt safe to place the Lion's sigil on their sign. In years past, the Black Guard would take much offense to such a brazen mention of one of the triumvirate. The town elders would have been hauled away and never heard from again." He leaned his chin against his walking stick, tapping it thoughtfully. "It has been years since I have been here, but my last experience was...not friendly. Even if there are rooms in the Bitter Seed, we may not be welcome. Have you decided what you want to do?" 

She had not given it much thought, but still she knew what she would prefer. "How difficult is it to find a wild gate?"

Thirteenth

Elizabeth’s heart lightened as the town of Foursmith came into view. After the relative desolation of the road and the pocket, the quaint orderliness of the buildings was comforting, even if the town was surprisingly depopulated.

 They stood before one of the town's main thoroughfares, a broad boulevard ascending to a plaza with a statue of some sort at its center. All of the buildings of the town were of similar design: none taller than two stories, their first floors comprised of cemented-together stones, the second floors of wooden slats. The windows were all mullioned, with double-arched shapes that made Elizabeth think of tales of the Arabian Nights.

Each edifice stood immediately next to its neighbors, shouldered together without alleys, making them look as though they were leaning expectantly over the street, eavesdroppers on travelers’ conversations. Their painted rock walls ranged in color from dark to pastel without any discernible pattern or relation to its neighbors. The resulting mish-mash was simultaneously haphazard and festive, a crazy-quilt ribbon extending up the hill.

Some of the buildings had signs that extended out over the streets, swinging advertisements with pictures of what their proprietors sold: boots, breads, cheeses, weapons, tools, and some with abstract symbols Elizabeth couldn't readily interpret. Lawyers, accountants, insurance, medical?

Their approach was unchallenged, no guards or chamber of commerce or even any other travelers. As they passed between the buildings, Elizabeth had the disconcerting sensation of being swallowed, the upper floors folding over her. Maybe it was the quietude; aside from their own footfalls, only faint noises indicated the presence of other living creatures.

The caw of a raven bounced off of the buildings. Grim slowed his pace when he heard the bird's aching cry, pointing out a flock that perched on buildings deeper into the town. "More ravens. Not just one. I would feel better if it were rock-doves or sparrows or garbage-whites." He looked to make sure she still wore her gloves. "They are the most intelligent of birds; Shades used to use them as messengers, before Silas converted them for his own use. Not all are under his command, but still, it is not wise for us to get close enough to be observed." He squinted toward the town square. "There." He pointed to a spot half the distance to the statue. "The inn."

Above the doorway hung a sign hanging on chains from a bleached branch; just as Yohn had said, the placard had an X-shape that could have been crossed stalks of wheat. Elizabeth released a sigh of relief; they would be able to approach it without getting near to the flock of ravens.

The door to the Bitter Seed was propped open. As they entered, Elizabeth was relieved to see a live person seated behind the bar. The figure was sitting propped up, head thrown back and mouth wide open, snoring loudly. The inside of the tavern was dark, though the shapes of unlit candelabras and sconces were visible through the gloom. 

Grim reached his stick across the bar to poke the keeper’s sternum. The person woke with alarming speed, cutting off his sleepy rumblings with a snort and, faster than her eye could follow, had a hand gripping the wood and thrusting it back at Grim. The Shade stumbled, and Elizabeth watched his shadow slide out of existence, reappearing a few feet down the bar.

"What can I get you?" The voice was low and gravelly, not much different from its snores.

Grim had faded into the darkness. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "We are looking for lodging. Are there rooms available?"

The scratch of a match head being struck, the smell of sulfur and then a glow of light from atop the bar. As Elizabeth's eyes adjusted, she saw something malproportioned about the bartender's face, his nose and mouth projecting from a broad head...

Holy crap. A minotaur.

"A few, for those who've got the kingdom's coin." More candles were lit, a line stretching the length of the room, revealing the hulking figure and shining off the glass mugs and bottles behind the bar. His chest was broad and covered in dense brown hair. "With the harvest festival over in Devil's Crown, most of our crowd's left town for the week. 'Course, the girls who keep the rooms've gone as well, so they might not be as clean as they would be, but they're still the best you'll see in this town. Are you heading through to the Crown?"

"No, just traveling through." She wasn't sure if the minotaur had detected Grim. She thought back over her own words...crap. She had said 'we.' Maybe the bartender hadn't picked up on it. "How much for a room?"

"Eightcoin per night. Per person, not per room. But, given the state of the town, I'll deal you for six. How many nights?"

"Um...just one."

"Most business I've had all day, this." He shook his shaggy head as he drew a draught from a tap behind the bar, raising it to his lips and draining it in one smooth motion. "Get ya a drink?"

"No, no, thank you." Grim still hadn't made his presence known. Elizabeth was not clear what to do about the cost of the room...should she offer to barter something from their sack? Did it matter what kind of coin? She stalled for time. "How far away is this festival?"

"It's in the broad field, between here and the Crown. It would be a few hours on foot. No horses, right? Didn't hear any when you came in." Didn't hear much of anything, she thought, You were asleep. "If you head north of town to the Grand Road, you can just follow the carts, should still be some stragglers headin' in. Might be able to catch a ride to and from and make it back tonight, if you're lookin' for somethin' to do. Tonight's got a troupe puttin' on shows."

A sound shot from one of the back corners of the room; Grim must have knocked something over. The minotaur leaned forward, scanning the room until his eyes fell upon him. "Who's back there? Is that fella with you, miss?"

She nodded. "That's my...", she struggled to find the right word, "...traveling companion."

Grim stepped closer to the bar but made no words of greeting or introduction. The minotaur snorted, and his eyes narrowed. "Say, you ain't a Shade, are you?" He drew out the word 'shade' longer than necessary, lingering hatred gurgling through its vowel.

Lie, Grim, lie, she prayed.

Grim came closer, becoming marginally more visible within the candle's weak light. "I am."

The minotaur ground his teeth as he scrutinized Grim. "'Cause there was this Shade that came through Foursmith a few years back."

"Really." It was not a question.

"Yep. Caused a slew of problems. Coupla dead bodies."

"Do tell." Elizabeth couldn't believe Grim. This minotaur was massive, clearly had something against Shades, and yet Grim was baiting him.

"Oh, yeah. Coupla our best customers. Friends of friends. Upstanding citizens."

"Did they catch him?"

The minotaur lifted a hinged part of the bar and stepped through it. He ignored Elizabeth, drawing closer to Grim. His hand was at his belt where a broad-headed hammer rested. The single lit candle did little to dispel the darkness of the barroom, so she hoped Grim could slip if he had to, weak as he was.

"Nahp. Never did. Constable's had a reward out, though. Was one of his nephews that caught that fella's blade, so he's had a bit of a hair up his nethers about it." He cracked his knuckles, ominously. "And now we've got a few more bodies found in the fields, just t'other day, travelers in for the festival. And now you show up."

"Now I show up."

"Funny, you bein' a Shade and all, but I ain't a bit scared of you. Aren't you supposed to go all spooksy on me?"

Grim' face was impassive. "It does not work on animals."

The minotaur showed his wide square teeth, exhaling audibly through his nostrils. His hand gripped the handle of the hammer tightly. "Is that so?"

"Especially not hay-chewing, cow-hugging animals. It is one of our biggest blind spots."

The hammer swung faster than Elizabeth could follow. She cringed, an image of Grim's skull caving beneath the blow rising unbidden in her mind. But before the strike could land, Grim was across the room. The metal slammed off-kilter against the corner of a table. She was shocked to see a hint of a smile playing across Grim’s face. Was this a game to him?

The minotaur whirled, searching the room for Grim. His eyes slid off of Elizabeth as he let loose a cartoonish cry of rage. His bellow was cut short by the sudden presence of a knife at the hollow of his throat, its blade twisted and malicious against the minotaur’s wiry neck hairs. Grim had slipped again, this time emerging to stand atop a table behind the creature.

Grim's voice was an abrasive whisper, more malevolent than she had ever heard him. "Move or speak and your blood will darken your fur, animal." He grabbed one of the curved horns erupting from the minotaur's forehead, pulling the head back, thrusting the muzzle upwards. "I remember you, ruminant. And your threats do not frighten me. You are not nearly so dangerous alone."

The blade moved infinitesimally closer to the flesh, and a small trickle of blood swelled at its edge. "You laughed while your hooves cut my skin, when I lay on the cobbles. You filthy half-breed. I remember your lies to the constable about your own role in your friend’s deaths. It was my knife, but it was your hand that held it. You coward.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't end your miserable, soulless life right this moment."

Confusion and panic swarmed in the minotaur's eyes, froth bubbling on his nostrils and muzzle. "Wasn't...me," he wheezed.

Grim didn't speak, and his motion was so swift that at first she thought some sort of shadow was cast over the minotaur's throat. But then Grim released his grip, and the blood erupted down the creature's neck to his chest. The minotaur clutched at the wound, trying to staunch the exsanguination. Strangled cries escaped him as he stumbled around the barroom, knocking over tables and chairs as he tried to find his attacker.

The minotaur’s eyes landed on Elizabeth, who stood paralyzed by the scene in front of her, stunned by how fast this had turned from an amiable exchange to a deadly one. One hand remained hopelessly trying to slow the blood loss, black ichor escaping between his thick fingers; the other found his hammer.

She backed away from him until a wall stopped her. Her eyes searched frantically for Grim, but he was nowhere to be seen. As the minotaur came closer, she yanked the glove from her left hand in desperation. The blades of her fingers gleamed in the candlelight. The sound of their rubbing against each other was like scraping on ice.

The minotaur gasped and raised his hammer; his speed barely diminished by his injury, he sent a blow aimed at the side of her head. Elizabeth threw herself toward the ground, hoping he would be unable to adjust the trajectory of his weapon. She slipped and landed on her bottom, then rolled out of the way just in time to dodge a second strike that landed with a crunch on the wooden floor, upending splinters with the impact.

His arm was slow to rise, the hammer caught on something within the floorboards. She shot her left hand out to attack the wrist that held the weapon. Her sharp fingers felt the skin and sinew part beneath its edges, felt the flesh melt at her touch as though made of warm butter. A high thrum of vibration sang up her forearm, immediately muffled as the creature's bulk hit her from above.

Then they were rolling, their bodies striking legs of chairs and tables, sending the furniture skittering across the floor. The minotaur’s blood splattered onto her face like hot rain. He wrapped her in his thick arms, squeezing with inhuman strength, constricting her torso until she feared her ribs would crack from the pressure. Her forearms could achieve a small amount of movement, and she beat at his abdomen with her hands, the right simply drumming against the muscle, but her left one scratching and poking furiously until it was slick with fluids, sending more of the strange but not unpleasant twinges up her forearm. Then she felt his abdomen give way and open up, felt something horrible and writhing emerge. She stabbed at this, too.

And then, finally, mercifully, his grasp relaxed, and his breathing slowed and stopped. She felt the full weight of him settle upon her, and she slid from under his bulk. In her panic, she had not been aware of his smell; now it filled her exhausted breaths, zoo-like and sour and growing more fetid by the second. Blood and unmentionable detritus flowed from beneath his abdomen, lapping at her sneakers.

 Elizabeth jumped away and started running through the room, glancing off of tables until she located the door. Outside, it had started to grow dark, early autumn's rapid nightfall catching her unawares. She took a deep breath, meaning to cleanse the smell of death from her nostrils. But it caught as it reached her throat, and she began to heave. Falling to her knees, she vomited onto the cobbles. She could see blood and bits of flesh caught in her hair; her tunic was soaked and darkened. She could feel the stickiness of it, the saturated fabric adhering to the skin beneath.

A pair of unfamiliar shoes entered her peripheral vision. A gruff voice spoke. "Are you okay, miss? Do you need help getting home?"

"She's fine." She hadn't heard the approach of the stranger or of Grim. She did not look up.

"She doesn't look fine."

"She is. Just a bit too much to drink. Harvest wine for harvest time."

"I don't--Is that blood?"

"No. Just red wine. She is with me. I will make sure she gets to her room."

A pause. "I'm going inside to talk with the owner."

A longer pause. "Be my guest."

The feet disappeared. She rolled over onto her back, out of the range of the vomit, and pulled her shirt away from her skin. She felt the uneven lumps of her bag beneath her, amazed that such a slapdash thing had survived the scuffle. The sky above was cloudy, and it seemed to spin as she filled her lungs with great gulps of the cold evening air. The apex of each breath caused small spikes of pain throughout her ribs, but nothing she wouldn't survive. She hoped she hadn't cracked any of them. She hoped she hadn't broken anything that couldn't be mended.

*****

After a time, Grim came outside. He was alone.

"Elizabeth, we need to get you cleaned up. Someone else might happen by."

"What happened to that man?"

Grim's hands were in her armpits, helping her rise. He did not answer. Louder and more panicked, she repeated, "I asked what happened to that man." Her alarm bounced back at her from the surrounding buildings.

"We can not discuss this here. We need to get you inside." He looked side to side; the street remained deserted.

He placed his hand on her shoulder. She shook out of his grip. "Don't touch me!" she hissed. "You killed that thing."

His eyes met hers. "We killed that thing. And if you hadn't come outside, the second...bit of unpleasantness would not have had to happen. We need to get out of sight before any other unfortunate acts become necessary."

She allowed herself to be led back into the barroom. Grim had drawn the curtains across the tavern's front windows; the single candle remained the only source of light. She could see the minotaur's body prostrate on the ground. Piled on top of it was another figure, also face down. She was thankful for that; seeing his face would have been more than she could bear. A waterfall of blood, already coagulating, trickled in rivulets onto the body below.

Grim had found a bucket of water and a cloth that was almost clean. He wet the rag and began working the bits out of her hair and scalp, pausing to cleanse the cloth after every few passes. The water rapidly grew red, then dark. He gently pinched her fingers between the folds, washing them as you would a true knife.

When he was done, he removed her backpack, reaching within and removing her spare clothes. He piled the jeans and sweatshirt on a table near to her. "There is a washroom in the back. For your privacy." He pointed into the dark recesses of the room. "But first, I will need your help moving the bodies. There is a trapdoor behind the bar. We can hide them in the basement. They will be found before long, but it should buy us some time."

"Well, why don't you just slip them out of here?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Because they are too heavy. I cannot carry them alone, either here or into the dark."

"I don't know. You seemed to lift me just fine, outside. You're not breathing too hard right now, either."

He sighed. "Elizabeth, any moment now a patron might walk through that door. I do not think you are appreciating the immediacy of our situation. If you do not help me, then I must find something to dismember those bodies into small enough pieces that I can carry them. This will not only take more time, but--"

"Fine," she interrupted. The image of Grim hacking two bodies into parcels was making her stomach turn. She honestly just wanted him to stop talking.

There was a trapdoor in the floor behind the bar, and they dragged the two corpses down into it, locking the padlock shut and disposing of the key. While she changed into her old clothes, Grim covered the blood on the floor with sawdust he had found in a barrel next to the bar. When she emerged, he handed her a shoulder bag, better constructed than the one she had taken from Priest, which he had filled with their provisions. She balled up the clothes Priest had given her and stuffed them in the bottom; she had rinsed them out as best she could, but they would need a more thorough cleansing before they were wearable. They walked out of the barroom.

A young couple walked by as they stepped onto the street. "Is The Seed open?" the man asked, "It looks pretty dark in there."

Elizabeth answered before Grim could. "Closed for the festival. We've taken rooms upstairs, so they gave us a key. But the bar's locked up tight."

The couple conferred in low whispers. Elizabeth's heart pounded. Was that a believable lie? Would there be two more bodies on her conscience? Dear God, where would this end? How much space was there in that basement?

"What about The Whistling Crow, across town? D'you think they'd be open?"

Elizabeth shrugged, trying not to let relief show on her face. The couple turned and walked up the wide boulevard. She waited until they had traversed a suitable distance, and then turned to Grim, hissing, "Let's get walking. You have some serious explaining to do."

They walked in silence, up the avenue. Elizabeth kept him in her peripheral vision and waited for him to start speaking. Something had changed between them. He knew she could kill if she had to, and she knew that he was more than willing to if the situation arose. The Shade had spoken several times of the choice that she had to make, but for the first time she wondered if he would truly let her make it, when the time came. If he was so keen to kill someone who did nothing more than inconvenience them, would he allow her to go back home? Could she trust him to help her, or would he simply go through the motions until her resolve wore down and she agreed to help him to kill Silas?

She turned to him expectantly, but his gaze was locked firmly on the ground ahead of them. His breathing was heavy. "You can stop pretending you're weak. I know you've been doing it, to avoid talking to me." Now he looked at her, one eyebrow raised. He started to speak, but she cut him off. "I don't care why you've been doing it. You're going to have to start letting me in on your plans, Grim, or else I'll go my own way. You can't be the only person in Edge who knows how to find a wild gate. It might take me longer without you, but I'll find one. I'm not going to stay with someone who's hiding things from me."

He took a deep breath. "What is it you want to know?"

"Well, just for starters, why did you kill that minotaur? Even before that, why were you baiting him? Why didn't you just lie and say it wasn't you? Or just knock him unconscious?"

"My actions were rash. But once he recognized me, there was little choice. And he did remember me. He would have turned me in to the authorities, reward or no reward. I had hoped the intervening years would protect me from being identified, or that the constable would have realized that it was not my attacks that were the killing blows on those victims."

"Why would he kill his own friends?"

"I am not sure. Maybe there were debts involved. Or personal grudges. The minotaur saw a chance and took it. I am sure he was lauded as a hero for his supposed role against such a fearsome creature as a lone Shade.

"I woke up with two dead bodies lying next to me and the minotaur running off. I assume he thought me dead, or at least weakened enough to stay where I was until he could return with the constables. Minotaur are not the smartest of the half-breeds."

He subconsciously rubbed at his shoulder. "I hid as best I could, slipping from shadow to shadow until I could get out of town. Luckily, I stumbled on the correct direction, and made it to Priest's home. He dressed my wounds and did not turn me in to the constable." Grim paused. "That's twice he has helped me to recuperate."

"Yeah, he's a real saint."

Grim's face was conflicted. "Do not judge him too harshly, Elizabeth. His life is not an easy one. Death may scare all of us, but the idea of life without it is more frightening than you can fathom. He could have extracted his revenge on you, had he wanted to, for Eliza's role in his sentence...I was certainly too weak to stop him. But he stayed his hand, from wisdom or kindness or some other reason."

She harrumphed noncommittally. Failing to attack a stranger was not a virtue; that was baseline as far as she was concerned.

"Don't try to change the subject, Grim. What about the other man? His only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why didn't you just knock him out?"

"Knocking someone unconscious is not as simple as you might think, and we did not have the time for a prolonged scuffle. Especially if it brought more of the curious into the bar." He stopped walking, and she turned to face him. "Elizabeth, what do you think will happen if the constable catches us?"

"I imagine you'll be imprisoned."

"Not just imprisoned. Killed, most likely. Hanged when the sun is the highest in the sky. Now, what do you think would happen to you, even had we not killed those two?"

She was puzzled. "I haven't done anything. Why would they imprison me?"

His lips tightened. "Once they see that your hand is not just a stage prop or a cleverly painted ruse, they will hold you until they could contact the Black Guard. If Silas suspects you have returned to Edge, then the Guard will be watching for you, and you would either be brought before Silas or killed on the spot."

She had thought herself traveling incognito, safe in anonymity. "But why would they kill me?"

"Because of the prophecy." He gazed at the dark sky. "We need to get out of this town. The minotaur was helpful in one respect. If there is a festival in Devil's Crown, then there will be heavy traffic on the Grand Road, and we should be able to blend in. Maybe even find a cart willing to let us ride."

They walked north, through the town center. Here and there, they did see other people, and lights had begun to appear in some of the windows of the upper floors. Grim had drawn his hood over his head for added concealment, and Elizabeth, though dressed in her sweatshirt and jeans, did not seem to warrant second looks. She tugged at her gloves frequently, nervously confirming that they remained in place.

The statues loomed over them as they stepped into the plaza at the intersection of the two wide boulevards. Elizabeth saw a representation of the Lion, rearing up as if in mid-pounce. Arranged in a circle, all facing outwardly, were a large raptor with wings outstretched, a furious-looking stallion, and a man, who appeared small by comparison next to the immense animals. The man stood upright, one arm outstretched as though giving a benediction to an absent crowd. This statue was turned away from them, its back to that of the lion, so she could not see its face. Still, Elizabeth knew who it was.

She stepped around the base of the pedestal, to get her first look at the adult Silas.