The Mirror of Fate by T. A. Barron

Author:T. A. Barron [Barron, T. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780399234552
Amazon: 0399234551
Publisher: Philomel
Published: 1999-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

16: QUELJIES

I leaned my head against the tree trunk, still hearing the rhythmic swell of waves upon a faraway shore. In time, I turned to Hallia. “That was wonderful.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” She slid deeper into her hollow among the roots. “It was one of my father’s favorites. He felt a special closeness to mist, so very hard to control or contain.”

“Or even,” I added, “to define. My own mother used to say that mist was neither quite water nor quite air, but something in between.”

As Hallia nodded, the phrase echoed in my mind. Something in between. My mother had used those same words, as well, to describe Fincayra itself—on that day long ago in our meager thatched-roof hut. And what else had she called it? A place of many wonders; neither wholly of Earth nor wholly of Heaven, but a bridge connecting both.

Glancing down at my empty scabbard, and at the spot where the bloodnoose had plunged into my chest, I sighed. She should also have called this island a place of many perils. And choices—many of them clear one moment, then gone the next, like a reflection in a pond that is suddenly disturbed.

In the darkness, I leaned toward Ector. “Did you enjoy the story, young friend?”

His only answer was a series of slow, rhythmic breaths.

“No doubt he did,” said Hallia dryly, “as long as he was awake.” She yawned. “In fact, a little sleep isn’t a bad idea. Maybe you and I should do the same.”

“Yes,” I agreed, listening for a moment to the distant screeching sounds of the marsh beyond the sheltering trees. “But one of us should stay awake. I’ll take the first watch.”

“Are you sure?” She yawned again. “I could do it if you’d rather rest.”

“No, you sleep first.” I drew my knees up to my chest. “I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

She shifted herself, laying her head against a burly root. Minutes later, her own breathing was as slow and regular as Ector’s. I straightened my back against the trunk. To keep myself alert, I trained my second sight on a succession of objects—a jagged thorn here, a cluster of leaves there. When my attention fell to one of the small knotholes that lined the thickest branches, I started.

For the knothole, I was certain, had blinked.

I stiffened, staring at the spot. Again the knothole blinked—but no, not quite. It was more like a movement inside the dark spot, a shadow within a shadow. As I watched, hardly daring to move, a vague, shimmering light kindled inside the hole. It glowed subtly—the same dull orange as a fire coal on the verge of dying out. The light pulsed and wavered. I shivered with the feeling that this luminous eye was studying me.

“Ssssso,” hissed a thin, airy voice. “He thought he’d be sssssafe in here.”

Just as I seized the handle of my staff, another light winked from a different branch. “Say-hay-hafe?” it asked. “Who-oo-oo could be say-hay-hafe in su-hu-huch a swa-haw-hawmp?”

“No one, eh-heh, but us,” chortled a third voice.

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