The Mirror of Fate (12 page)

Ector drew an anxious breath. “Perhaps,” he asked hopefully, “we could travel together for a little while?”

I shook my head. “Our work is too dangerous. If you stay with us, it could be your ruin.”

“And besides,” added Hallia with an edge, “we’d need to know more about you. Much more.”

Sensing her distrust, I felt a pang in my chest. Yet as much as I was drawn to the boy, I knew she was right. What really did I know about him? Except that he had jumped me from a branch? Resignedly, I extended my hand toward him. “Good luck to you, Ector.”

He nodded morosely. Slowly, he lifted his hand and clasped my own. Despite his smaller size, he squeezed firmly, trying not to let his fear show through. In a determined tone, he said, “All right then. I’ve lasted a few days alone in this place already, and I can last a few more.”

Though I could tell he felt less brave than he sounded, I said nothing. He turned and strode off, his torn robes swishing against the grasses, heading in the opposite direction from the rise that had caught my interest.

“Careful,” I called after him. “Night will be falling soon.”

Without turning around, he waved a hand.

“He’s one courageous lad,” I muttered, watching him trudge away.

“One devious lad, if you ask me.” Hallia’s eyes followed the shadowy figure as he disappeared into the mist. “I think we’re well rid of him.”

“Secretive, yes,” I replied. “But devious? I’m not so sure. It’s true, he could be someone who can’t be trusted. Or he could be . . .”

“What?”

“Someone who just loves his master deeply. So deeply he’d do anything for him—even if it means wandering in this bog all alone.”

“
Hmmff
,” she sniffed. “Deer who can’t share their true motives can’t run together.”

By now no sign of the boy remained. I peered after him, but saw only veils of mist, ever swirling. Then, gradually, I noticed a change. Not in the marshlands, which remained as still and silent as before, but in the mist itself. While I watched, its once-fluid movements grew steadily more brittle. The clouds seemed to tense, their stillness of motion joining with the stillness of sound in the marsh.

The next instant, a harsh, buzzing noise erupted. As the silence broke, the vapors started to swirl again. Hallia and I shrank back toward the tilting tree. The noise seemed to come from everywhere at once, from the vapors as much as the land itself. Slowly, it grew more intense, more jarring—and more loud. And with it, though I could have been mistaken, came the vaguest scent of something sweet. As sweet as rose blossoms.

Suddenly, out of the darkening clouds burst a swarm of enormous beetles, each of them as big as my own head. I had barely enough time to whip out my staff before they descended. Jagged, transparent wings sliced at the air, while sharp claws raked at our exposed skin. The beetles attacked from every angle, buzzing so loud that I could hardly hear my own thoughts.

Swatting wildly with my staff, I managed to smash one as it dived at my face. Its purple armor, glinting darkly, flew apart as the beetle plunged into the muck. Hardly had I raised the staff again, though, when three more of them were buzzing me, clawing at my hands and eyes.

Hallia shrieked, falling backward against the tree. A pair of beetles darted around her flailing arms, seeking an opening to her face. I turned away from my own attackers and swung with the staff. I felt a thud—and one of the beetles spun into the marsh. But there was no chance for elation. In just a fraction of a second, the other beetle would break through. And I had no time for another swing!

The beetle dived at Hallia. Its wings struck her forearm, cutting her skin. Blood spurted. She jerked her arm back, leaving half of her face exposed. Veering sharply, the beetle flew straight at her eyes.

Suddenly I heard a high, whizzing sound. Then a splat—and the beetle exploded in the air only a hair’s breadth from Hallia’s face. Purple fragments of shell drifted down into the marsh grass. I whirled about to see Ector, his eyes alight, holding a rough-hewn slingshot.

“Watch out!” he cried.

A beetle’s sharp claws scraped my ear. I shouted and swung my hand. The blow connected, knocking the creature away—right onto my chest. Buzzing wrathfully, the beetle arched its back, revealing a mammoth, barbed stinger. The size of my fist, it lifted, ready to strike.

At the same moment, several other beetles swarmed at me. Pushing close, jabbing at my face. In desperation, I called to the deepest part of myself: the place most calm, even under such an assault; the place most primal, and mysterious, and close to the elements.
Air around us!
I cried, summoning all my will.
Throw them. Hurl them away. Far away from here!

A sudden gust whipped the air. Buzzing frantically, the beetles fought against the whirling wind. Their wings screamed, their claws sliced, but to no avail. The wind was far too strong, tearing them away from our huddled bodies.

The beetle on my chest, clutching at my tunic, resisted a sliver of a second longer than the rest. And in that instant, it plunged its stinger down toward my ribs. I winced, expecting to feel it pierce my skin, but to my shock—and relief—the stinger halted, just above my tunic. From its barbed tip flowed a thin, gold line, as wispy as the thread of a spider. The thread expanded, flashing in the air as it coiled itself into a loop. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the loop melted into the folds of my tunic. I felt nothing. It happened so quickly, I was not really certain what I had seen.

Howling angrily, the wind tore the beetle from my flapping tunic. Swirling air bore the attacker, together with the rest of the swarm, in a frenzied mass over the marsh. Flying upside down, wings splayed, or jumbled on top of each other, the beetles vanished into the fog. Their buzzing soon faded away completely.

I felt suddenly weak. My legs buckled, and I dropped into a shallow pool of water. Marsh grass jabbed at my face, but I lacked the strength to brush it away. It was all I could do to remain sitting up.

Hallia rushed to my side. She lay her hand over my brow. “Are you hurt?”

“Not. . . seriously. I—I just feel. . . weak.”

“You must have thrown all your strength into making that wind.” Her voice, while gentle, seemed anxious as well. “You should rest awhile.”

“That was quite a trick.” Ector plodded over, kicking a half-submerged branch out of his way. “I’m not sure even my master, who makes his own magic sometimes, could have done that.”

Hallia kept her gaze on me, but spoke to the boy. “And your slingshot—that, too, was quite a trick.” She looked his way just long enough for her eyes to say thanks. “You didn’t have to come back.”

Replacing the weapon inside his torn robes, he shrugged modestly. “I always enjoy a little practice with this thing.”

Weakly, I smiled at him.

Hallia stroked my brow. “I am worried, young hawk. You feel. . . wrong somehow.”

“I’m fine. Just drained.” Feeling a slight prick in my ribs, I remembered the beetle’s strange behavior. “Nothing worse happened than one of those beetles . . .”

“Stung you?”

“N-no. Not exactly.” I pulled open my tunic. There, on my ribs, lay the loop of golden thread. Stretched flat, it was about as large as my hand. It quivered slightly on my skin, as if it were alive. Something struck me as odd: I hadn’t noticed any hole where it had passed through my tunic.

Hallia gasped. The color drained from her cheeks. Tensely, she reached her hand toward the loop. Her long fingers knitted the air as they approached. Just as she was about to grasp it, the golden filament stirred, twisted, and wriggled downward. It buried itself in my skin, leaving no mark.

A jolt of pain shot through me. I cried out and clutched my rib cage. Hallia’s fingers scraped at my skin. All too late. The loop had vanished, working its way deeper into my chest.

14:
T
HE
B
LOODNOOSE

The loop sank further into me. I could feel it melting into my skin, slipping between my ribs. And I felt certain—though I had no notion how—that it was heading for my heart.

With all my concentration, I tried to muster the power to stop it. Yet, as drained as I was, I couldn’t find the strength. Whatever magic I sensed instantly slipped away from me, faster than the very winds I had conjured. I couldn’t stop the loop’s progress. Nor even, I feared, slow it down. All the while, I could feel it working its way deeper and deeper into me.

I gazed at Hallia, her frightened eyes the mirror of my own. “What is it?”

“I think . . . it’s what my father called a bloodnoose.”

Ector, bending over my chest, caught his breath. He ran a hand through his mud-clotted curls, frowning deeply.

Bloodnoose.
The very sound of the word made me shudder. I reached over to the leather pouch on my hip and tapped it. “Will any of my . . . healing herbs . . . help?”

Hallia’s head lowered. “No. The bloodnoose, once inside you, moves rapidly. There’s no way to stop it.” She took an uneven breath and looked at me. “When it finally reaches your inner chest, it wraps itself around your heart. Then it squeezes tightly, until—”

“My heart . . . splits in two?”

She nodded, her eyes brimming. “I don’t want to tell you what my father said about the victim’s agony. Just that . . . oh, young hawk! That dying is the better part of it.”

The curling vapors of the swamp thickened. The dead tree, leaning so close to our heads, seemed to withdraw farther and farther into the mist. Night, I knew, would come soon.

Gently, Ector touched my ribs. “You are very brave. It must feel terrible.” He started to say something else, but cut himself off. “I just wish I could do something.”

“Your slingshot,” I said feebly, “can’t do much for me now.”

Again he started to speak, struggled with his words, then abandoned them. All the while, his hand remained on my ribs, anxiously stroking the skin. At length, his agonized expression faded, giving way to one of resolve. “Wait,” he said, fumbling in his robe. “This might help.”

He produced a small vial, burgundy in color. Pulling out the cork, he carried it closer. A pungent, slightly burned aroma filled the air. Hallia, looking alarmed, reached out her arm to block him. For a breathless moment, she held him in her gaze.

“It’s an elixir,” he explained. “Something my master gave me, in case I got hurt on this, ah, errand. He told me to use it only in gravest peril—and warned that it can’t outright heal a bad wound. But it could win some time. Enough time, perhaps, to find a proper cure.”

Hallia ground her teeth. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then he’ll be no worse off.”

Another spasm of pain struck me. Groaning, I clawed at my chest.

“Please,” Ector urged me. “Drink some. It might help.”

I peered at his earnest face. Even in the deepening darkness, his eyes glowed with youthful passion. “No, no. I can’t let you do that. What if you should need it later . . . for yourself?”

He answered firmly, “I think it should be used when it’s most needed.”

At last, Hallia lowered her arm. The boy knelt in the shallow pool, bringing the vial to my lips. This time, I didn’t protest. Very slowly, he poured the burgundy liquid into me. It tasted like charcoal from an old fire. But I kept swallowing, even as I grimaced. In a few seconds the vial was completely empty.

Even as Ector withdrew, a subtle thrill, like taking a first breath of crisp morning air, coursed through my chest. Upward and outward it spread, filling my middle with new, pulsing warmth. The feeling spread rapidly through my whole body. I felt lighter—and sturdier. Fresh rivers of blood raced through my limbs. My fists clenched, feeling their former strength return.

Hallia smiled, wiping her eyes. She threw her arms around my head and held me, squeezing tight. In time, she released her embrace and turned to Ector. “We are grateful,” was all she could manage to say.

“Very grateful,” I added.

The boy grinned shyly. “Just say it’s an apology for what I did to you before.”

I reached for my staff, half buried in muck. With a sharp tug, I pulled it free, though its top now bore a thick earthworm. Shaking the passenger loose, I grasped the gnarled top and clambered to my feet. I faced Ector. “Apology accepted.”

“How long,” asked Hallia, “will your elixir last?”

His expression clouded. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling it’s not very long.”

Taking my hand, Hallia probed me with her gaze. “This is your chance, young hawk, to save yourself. Come. Leave your sword for later. With any luck, we can find our way out of this marsh before the chance has flown.”

I looked down at my empty scabbard. Even in the dim light, the purple gemstones glittered. It was the scabbard of a magical sword, the sword of a wizar
d—and a king.
A king whose reign shall thrive in the heart long after it has withered on the land.

“No,” I said, my hand tightening around hers. “I can’t do that. Especially not now. Hallia, there’s something wicked, utterly wicked, happening in this marsh. Unlike anything that’s been going on before. And my sword is only part of it. I know that now, as surely as I know your face. What it really is, I can’t quite name, but I have the strange feeling that it’s something I’ve met somewhere before.”

She pulled her hand away. “You can’t do much good if you’re not alive! If we can just get to Cairpré—or your mother, the healer—they might still be able to save you. Then you can come back here if you choose.”

“It may be too late by then.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Whose expectations are you trying to meet, young hawk?”

I sucked in my breath. “My own.”

She frowned at me, her eyes full of doubt.

Leaning on my staff, I scanned the steaming decay surrounding us. And I noticed, for the first time, that the sounds of the swamp had started to return. Over there, a strange bleating. And there, a deep-throated burbling. A series of low, moaning howls echoed across the marshlands. Soon, I knew, they would be joined by other sounds. And by other things.