The Measure of the Magic (41 page)

They did what they could, but much of the time they were below the horizon and could not see clearly where they were going until they scaled the next rise and could measure the direction to their destination anew. It was slow, monotonous work, and they found their strength rapidly draining away. The day was overcast once again, and the clouds had trapped a layer of heat and dust beneath their covering, making the boy and the girl thirstier still.

Soon both were sweating as they plodded along with unmistakable looks of resignation and despair on their faces.

Several hours later, when they finally stopped to rest, it seemed they were no closer than before.

“I don’t know if we can do this,” Phryne groaned, lowering her head between her knees and running her fingers through her tangled hair. “I’m so tired.”

Pan knew that she was just voicing the same frustration he was feeling, so he didn’t reply. They sat where they were, not speaking, waiting for their strength to return.

Then Pan looked up suddenly. “Do you hear something?”

Phryne didn’t even bother to look up, let alone answer. She just shook her head.

But Pan got to his feet at once. “Shouting, screams—somewhere over there.” He pointed north, beyond Declan Reach. “There’s a battle being fought.”

Phryne rose quickly then, looking where he was pointing. “I don’t see anything.”

“I don’t, either,” he said. “But I can hear it clearly enough. Do you?”

“I do now. Who do you think it is?”

He looked over at her. “Find out. Use the Elfstones.”

She didn’t even bother to argue. She produced the Stones and held them out before her in the direction of the fighting. She kept her eyes open this time, watching and waiting, her concentration complete.

The Elfstone magic flared to life, exploded out of her hand, and shot away into the distance. Over miles of hills and gullies, over barren ground and jagged rock, out across the broad expanse of grasslands beyond, the magic traveled, opening a window into everything that lay between them and its final destination.

Then the battle was right in front of them, and they could see the armies clashing at the head of a pass that was undoubtedly Aphalion. Elves and Drouj were locked in a terrible struggle, and bodies already lay scattered across a landscape where blood ran in bright crimson streams.

The magic flared once more and died, leaving Panterra and Phryne openmouthed with horror.

“I have to go there!” she said at once, turning toward him, despair and shock twisting her features. “I have to help them!”

She was already moving away in a swift walk as she dropped the Elfstones in their pouch. “Hurry, Pan!”

He rushed to catch up, taking a quick look about as he did so, an automatic response to a sudden decision that took them ahead so recklessly. It was a pivotal moment. As he scanned earth and sky in all directions, sharp-eyed and suspicious, he saw the black dot. It was so far away that for a moment he almost missed it. But within seconds it had grown much larger against the blue of the sky. It was moving toward them, and it was coming quickly.

“Phryne!” he called out in warning.

She swung back, slowing but not stopping, confusion replacing determination on her face. “What is it? Pan, why are you …”

Then she saw it. It was much closer now, close enough that it was taking shape, the particulars of its fierce features revealed. Phryne stood where she was, whether in shock or awe, Pan couldn’t tell. He thought to run to her, to pull her back, to try to find a place for them to hide. But there was no point. They were standing in open country devoid of hiding places. They were exposed on the crest of a hill, visible for miles to anything with good eyes, and Pan was certain beyond any doubt that the eyesight of the creature coming toward them was excellent.

“Pan!”

He heard her call out his name in something of a gasp, but he could not tell if it was a summons or an exclamation of some emotion he could not fathom.

Then, its great wings spread, its long neck angled forward, and its huge clawed feet outstretched, the dragon reached them and began to descend.

“
I
DON’T THINK THEY’RE RETURNING THIS WAY,” XAC
Wen said.

Prue, sitting off to one side, her back resting against the stones of the Belloruusian Arch, did not reply. She was ragged and dirty, her clothes stained and rumpled, her face smudged with dust and streaked with tears of rage and frustration. It was nearing dawn, and she had been sitting there all night with the boy, waiting for Pan to reappear.

“I mean, this is exactly what happened to Phryne,” the boy continued, repeating an observation he had already made a dozen times before. “She walked beneath the arch, disappeared, and didn’t come out again. I waited then just like I’m waiting now, and it was a waste of time.”

“Don’t talk anymore,” she told him.

But he did, of course. If there was one thing Xac Wen was good at, she had discovered over the past fifteen or so hours, it was talking. He talked incessantly, anxious to share his thoughts—all of his thoughts—making
no distinction between those that had purpose and those that did not and doing nothing to keep the number of repetitions to anything remotely resembling a reasonable count.

“I’m not saying anything bad has happened to them—that they’re dead or anything. I’m not saying that. I just think they might have found another way out, that’s all. I’m just saying I think we have to consider the possibility.”

She didn’t care what he thought they should do, and she didn’t want to hear his views on the subject of Pan’s well-being. Mostly, she just wanted him to go away. She was a solitary person by habit and occupation, and the only company she had ever really enjoyed was Panterra’s. What little respite she’d gotten from Xac Wen’s incessant chatter came when she sent him away to find food and drink, back when yesterday was ending and night was coming on. Eating and drinking were necessary if she was to maintain her energy, and the boy had agreed to scrounge up a meal for them both.

Most of that precious energy, so far, had been used up listening to Xac Wen talk and working hard not to think about how much she would like to cut out his vocal cords.

But attacking the boy wouldn’t help the situation, and she wasn’t entirely sorry he was there. Notwithstanding his inability to keep silent for more than a few minutes at a time, he provided her with much-needed companionship, a chance to sleep, and a fresh set of eyes to make sure the wrong people didn’t discover them. She had no idea who else she could trust, but she guessed not much of anyone besides the boy.

Really, there was no help for it. It was settled, as far as she was concerned, that she was not leaving the Ashenell without Pan. She had been told that she would be able to protect him, to help keep him safe from the things he couldn’t keep safe from by himself—from the demon certainly, but probably more than that. She knew she hadn’t done much to help him so far, but that didn’t change her belief in what the King of the Silver River had told her. Even with Pan missing and perhaps lost, she would not give up. Sooner or later, he would resurface. When that happened, she would be there waiting and afterward would stick to him like a second skin.

Even so, she continued to remain uncomfortable with the fact that
she had no idea at all how she was going to do that. Thinking of it made her feel helpless. Especially right now. She didn’t know where Pan had gone or what to do to find him. She didn’t know if she could protect him from the demon hunting them. She didn’t even know what she should do about Xac Wen, although with her patience almost exhausted, she knew she was going to have to do something soon.

“Maybe we ought to take a walk through the Ashenell and see if there isn’t another place in the tombs where Pan might have come out,” Xac said, breaking into her musings. “He might even be looking for us right now.”

She didn’t think so, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. Sending the boy out to search for Pan would at least keep him from sitting around and driving her crazy with his babbling. “That’s a good idea. Why don’t you make a careful search of the burial grounds while I stay here and keep watch.”

Xac headed out with a wave and a smile, and it almost made her feel bad about what she was doing. Almost, but not quite enough to call him back. Who knew? Maybe he
would
find something. Maybe Pan had come out somewhere else besides the way he had gone in. They couldn’t be sure if no one looked, after all.

She watched him until he was out of sight, wondering briefly if he would be all right and almost immediately deciding that if anyone could be safe in the Ashenell it would be Xac Wen, and she resumed her position in front of the arch. No one had gone past them the entire time they were there, from yesterday afternoon until now. As far as she was able to tell, no one had even come into the Ashenell. She felt like she was the last person alive in the city. The sounds beyond the cemetery boundaries were muffled and indistinct; mostly there was only the silence and the rustle of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds.

She felt newly discouraged. She wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer. It didn’t matter what she hoped might happen if she stayed where she was, the end result was the same. She wasn’t doing anything and she knew she needed to, even if she didn’t know what it was. She just couldn’t continue to sit here like this.

She allowed herself a few minutes to pout and grumble in a whisper
that didn’t reach beyond her own ears. She was entitled. Pan should have taken her with him. He shouldn’t have gone under that arch alone, leaving her behind. He knew how vulnerable he was if she wasn’t with him. She had made it clear enough.

Unless he hadn’t believed her. Unless he thought the King of the Silver River had lied to her or tricked her and she was being used in some secret way she didn’t understand. The thought paralyzed her momentarily. Then she gave a mental shake of her head. She didn’t believe this; of course she didn’t. The problem was that no matter what she believed, Pan might believe the exact opposite. It was difficult to accept that he wouldn’t tell her so, but no one was acting or thinking in the usual ways since the protective wall had failed and the Drouj had appeared.

“Just look at me,” she whispered.

Have faith in yourself
.

The voice was in her head, but all around her, too. She cast about in surprise, but not in fear. She recognized the voice.

Panterra Qu cannot come to you. You must go to him
.

“But where am I supposed to go?” she demanded, coming to her feet, continuing to look for him in vain. The King of the Silver River was there, but invisible to her. “Tell me what to do!”

She sounded more desperate than she wanted to, but she couldn’t help herself.

Go where you are led, Prue Liss. Do what your heart tells you
.

“Who is going to lead me? Where will I be taken? What do you mean, ‘Do what my heart tells me?’ My heart isn’t telling me anything!”

The words exploded out of her as she wheeled this way and that, searching for the source of the voice.

“Tell me what to do!” she repeated, her voice becoming a scream.

But this time there was no response. She waited, but there was nothing more. She circled the arch, as if by doing so she might find some sign of him. There was nothing to find. He was gone. Having said what he had come to say—those few small words she clung to like a lifeline—he had left her.

She was suddenly enraged. Was he watching everything? Did he see her from some distant vantage point that allowed him to measure
what it was she was doing and how successful she was in doing it? She hated the idea. She had been given a quest and deprived of a part of her eyesight in order to fulfill it, and yet now it seemed she was not to be trusted in spite of her sacrifice.

For a few minutes, she was caught up in the white-hot heat of her anger, unable to see past a raft of imagined betrayals and deceptions. Then, finally, she calmed down enough to regain her perspective. A Faerie creature like the King of the Silver River would have sufficient magic to be able to track her movements; she was foolish to think anything else. If he saw something that troubled him, he would certainly consider speaking to her about it. Pan was missing and she was lost as to how to find him. So he was telling her what to do.

Sort of.

But not exactly.

After all, he hadn’t answered any of her questions directly. He could have told her something more specific about where Pan was. He had chosen not to do that, and she supposed he must have had a reason for making that choice. But he had also implied she was still under an obligation to protect Pan. Otherwise, why had he bothered to tell her Pan wasn’t coming back and she must go to him?

She was marching about, trying to think it through, when Xac Wen appeared on the run, shouting her name.

“Prue! Are you all right? I heard you scream!”

He had his long knife out, prepared to defend her against whatever danger threatened. A brave little boy, she thought. Now she really was ashamed.