The Feverbird's Claw by Jane Kurtz

Author:Jane Kurtz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

SHHH-SHHH-SHH. SHE MADE HERSELF TURTLE-SMALL under her blanket. Her legs quivered as if they belonged to some frightened animal and not to her. Calm. Manage your fear.

But she was absolutely sure she did hear soft footsteps. She threw back the blanket and jumped up. Better to face it standing up.

She stared into the darkness, waiting. Her arms tingled. Nothing. Nothing but the creaking of night insects. Then the thing was rushing out from the ghostly trees. It had hands, hands that reached for her.

She and the thing struggled, bending, turning, gripping, and grabbing at each other until Moralin got the hold she had used on the woman by the fire and flipped her enemy onto the ground. The cloud moved from the face of the moon as the thing groaned.

It was a girl whose eyes glittered and whose painted face she knew. Figt reached up and yanked Moralin’s wrist. “This Delagua girl must come back with me.”

Fire-fierce rage roared in Moralin’s ears, but the other girl gave a hard tug, and she lost her footing. First she was on her knees, then spitting out dirt, then struggling to get free from the beast of a girl who was biting and scratching and trying to pin her to the ground.

All the hard work in the Arkera village had made Moralin stronger, but Figt surely had a knife. She tried not to imagine the stab, the pain sliding into her. Then Figt grabbed a handful of hair, and Moralin screeched and scratched.

They fell apart, panting. Moralin staggered upright, glaring down. Figt’s face twisted, and Moralin whirled to look behind her. But only the beastie appeared, loping through the leaves.

Moralin clamped her hands to her hips so Figt couldn’t see them shaking. “You can’t make me go back.” She used the insulting lower form. Was it true? Figt could kill her with the knife. But could even a warrior girl drag a dead body over the lake of stones and up a cliff?

Perhaps Figt was thinking the same thing. She said nothing, only crawled to a nearby tree. The beastie trotted over and curled on her feet. Figt seemed to fall asleep instantly, sitting up. Moralin took a step toward her, reaching out gingerly. Could she find the knife? She pulled back. Figt would no doubt wake at the slightest touch. The girl’s closed fists rested on her knees, fingers curled as though she were begging.

The next morning Moralin ate yellow berries she had stored in her pouch, considering what to do next. Figt crouched nearby and watched. The beastie seemed to be laughing, its panting tongue hanging from its mouth.

Figt was the first to break the silence. “Saw thee when the village was in flames. Saw what was in thy heart.” She glanced at Moralin with scorn. “Thy tracks were easy to follow.”

“Thee walked on the …?” Moralin made the shape of a bridge with her hands.

“I have no fear of it,” Figt said stiffly.

Moralin looked at her curiously. Why not? And what now? If she tried to leave this place, Figt’s knife could be out blink-quick.

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