In the Ruins (Crown of Stars 6)

“Who are they?” she demanded, indicating the two young warriors with her glance. One wore a falcon mask and the other that of a buzzard, smooth and rufous and alert. She was shaking too hard to move. She felt sick to her stomach. “Must get up…. if Cat Mask …”

“These are not Cat Mask’s warriors. They will not harm you.”

Trust him, or do not trust him. “Why would you betray me?” she asked softly.

His smile had a bitter tinge, but he was not offended. “Why, indeed?”

She slumped forward, too weary to fight, and fell at once into a dreamless sleep.

2

SHE dreamed.

She walks through grass so tall she cannot see beyond it. The whisper of another creature’s passage touches her ears, and she halts.

Grass bends, golden tops bowing and vanishing. Something big approaches.

She turns as the Horse shaman pushes through and pulls up short, seeing her. “Liathano! I have been looking for you!”

Other voices flood over them, and the grass and the centaur ripple like water stirred by a gusting wind.

“This one, again! If Cat Mask finds her, he’ll kill her while she sleeps.”

“Then we must be sure that Cat Mask does not find her. Will you tell him?”

“I will not!”

“You spoke against her before, White Feather.”

“So I did. But now we are fallen safely back to Earth. It may be she had a hand in our homecoming, as she promised us. If that is the case, she does not deserve death. Although I think it best if one possessing such power does not bide long in our land.”

Liath groaned and shook herself awake, startled to find a short mantle draped over her body. It covered her from shoulder to mid-thigh, and was woven out of a coarse brown thread. She sat up carefully, wrapping the cape around herself. She was sore everywhere. Her skin was rashy, and here and there marked with the imprint of a rock. Her neck ached, and she had a headache. Eldest Uncle offered her a pouch of water to drink. Sipping slowly, she surveyed her surroundings. There was noticeably more green than there had been when she’d fallen asleep. The trees seemed fuller, the ground moister. Even the distant meadow, seen across the flowing river, boasted a score of budding flowers, fresh growth that had sprouted while she slept. The light had changed; it was as dim as the gloom that presages a thunderstorm.

White Feather regarded her pensively, perhaps with distrust. Farther away, Falcon Mask and Buzzard Mask crouched on their haunches, watching her and then the river.

“How long did I sleep? Will it soon be nightfall?”

“Nightfall, indeed,” agreed Eldest Uncle. “Nightfall of a new day. You slept through yesterday afternoon, an entire night, and most of this day.”

She whistled, feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “I’m still tired! Hungry and thirsty, too.”

“Hunger is a pain we all share,” said White Feather tartly. “But before I left the council hall, I heard a half dozen reports that the old fields are already sending up shoots. If we can survive the winter with what stores remain to us, we may hope for a plentiful harvest. Still. I would not see you fall into Cat Mask’s hands because of weakness.”

She offered Liath a square of dried berries and grains, and although it was tough to chew, it was edible and filling. Liath took her time as she ate, knowing how little food the Ashioi had. At least there was no shortage of water. The vegetation seemed to be growing unnaturally quickly, fertilized by the fading influence of the aether, as though all this potential had lain dormant for years, awaiting the flood. She nibbled. She knew she ought to save half for later, but she was so hungry she finished it all.

Like White Feather, Eldest Uncle looked away while she ate, to give her privacy or to restrain his own feelings of hunger.

o;Ai, God!” She sat down beside him. Grass tickled her rump. Water dripped. “That felt good! I’m so tired.”

She yawned, cradling her head on her bent knees, arms wrapped tight around her legs. The world slipped so easily away. She slid into a doze.

Started awake, hearing voices.

Eldest Uncle stood farther up the path, under the shade of trees, speaking with two masked warriors, one male and one female. She grabbed her bow, and recalled belatedly that she no longer had any arrows. That she needed no weapons. She was a weapon.

Memory struck, because she was vulnerable. She was only half awake, unable to fend off the visions. The soldiers burned like torches. They screamed and screamed as their flesh melted off them …

“Liath!”