“Again, the circle is complete,” said the old man. His gaze on the two was fond, but stern and serious. The people gathered around, watching in solemn silence.
Haplo found that he was enjoying himself. Most of the time, particularly the last few weeks, he’d felt hollow, empty, alone. Now he was warm, with a sense of being filled. The cold wind didn’t howl through him so dismally anymore. He found himself smiling, smiling at everything, everyone.
“I pledge to protect and defend you.” The couple was repeating the vows, one immediately after the other in an echoing circle. “My life for your life. My death for your life. My life for your death. My death for your death.” The vows spoken, the couple fell silent. The headman nodded, satisfied with the sincerity of the commitment. Taking the hands he held in his, he placed the two hands together.
“The circle is complete,” he said, and stepped back into the circle, leaving the couple to form their own circle inside the larger community. The two smiled at each other. The outer circle gave a cheer and broke apart, separating to prepare for the feast.
Haplo decided he could ask the question now. He sought out the headman, standing near the roaring blaze.
“I’m looking for someone, a woman,” said Haplo, and described her. “Stands so tall, chestnut hair. She’s a runner. Has she been here.” The headman thought back. “Yes, she was here. Not more than a week ago.” Haplo grinned. He had not meant to follow her, not intentionally. But it seemed that they were keeping to the same trail. “How is she? Did she look well?”
The headman gave Haplo a keen, searching gaze. “Yes, she looked well. But I didn’t see that much of her. You might ask Antius, over there. He spent the night with her.”
The warmth vanished. The air was chill, the wind cut through him. Haplo turned, saw the well-formed young man with whom he had held hands walking across the compound.
“She left in the morning. I can show you the direction she traveled.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, though,” Haplo added, to ease the coldness of his reply. He looked around, saw the young girl. She was staring at Haplo, and blushed up to the roots of her hair when her gaze was returned. Haplo returned to the headman’s hut, began gathering up his meager belongings; runners traveled light. The headman followed, stared at him in astonishment.
“Your hospitality has saved my life,” the Patryn gave the ritual farewell.
“Before I leave, I will tell you what I know. Reports say to take the west trail to the fifty-first Gate. Rumor has it that the powerful One, who first solved the secret of the Labyrinth, has returned with his magic to clear certain parts and make them safe … at least temporarily. I can’t say if this is true or not, since I have come from the south.”
“You’re leaving? But it is perilous to travel the Labyrinth after dark!”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Haplo. He put his hands together, pressed them against his forehead, made the ritual gesture of farewell. The headman returned it, and Haplo left the hut. He paused a moment in the doorway. The bonfire’s glow lit all around it, but it made the darkness beyond that much darker by contrast. Haplo took a step toward that darkness when he felt a hand upon his arm.
“The Labyrinth kills what it can—if not our bodies, then our spirit,” said the headman. “Grieve for your loss, my son, and never forget who is responsible. The ones who imprisoned us, the ones who are undoubtedly watching our struggle with pleasure.”
It’s the Sartan… . They put us in this hell. They’re the ones responsible for this evil.
The woman looked at him, her brown eyes flecked with gold. I wonder. Maybe it’s the evil inside us.
Haplo walked away from the squatter’s camp, continued his solitary run. No, he didn’t miss the woman. Didn’t miss her at all… .
In the Labyrinth, a certain type of tree, known as the waranth, bears a particularly luscious and nourishing fruit. Those who pick the fruit, however, run the risk of being stabbed by the poisoned thorns surrounding it. Attacking the flesh left necessarily unprotected by the runes, the thorns burrow deep, seeking blood. If allowed to get into the blood stream, the poison can kill. Therefore, although the thorns are barbed and rip flesh coming out, they must be extracted immediately—at the cost of considerable pain. Haplo had thought he’d extracted the thorn. He was surprised to find it still hurt him, its poison was still in his system.
“I don’t think you’d want my people’s ceremony.” His voice grated, the furrowed brows shadowed his eyes. “Would you like to hear our vows? ‘My life for your life. My death for your life. My life for your death. My death for your death.’ Do you really want to take those?”
Rega paled. “What—what does it mean? I don’t understand.”
“ ‘My life for your life.’ That means that while we live, we share the joy of living with each other. ‘My death for your life.’ I would be willing to lay down my life to save yours. ‘My life for your death.’ I will spend my life avenging your death, if I can’t prevent it. ‘My death for your death.’ A part of me will die, when you do.”
“It’s not … very romantic,” Paithan admitted.
“Neither’s the place I come from.”
“I guess I’d like to think about it,” said Rega, not looking at the elf.
“Yes, I suppose we better,” Paithan added, more soberly. The two left the bridge, this time they weren’t holding hands. Zifnab, looking after them fondly, dabbed at his eyes with the end of his beard.
“Love makes the world go round!” he said happily.
“Not this world,” replied Haplo with a quiet smile. “Does it, old man?”
33
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snorted Zifnab and started to walk off the bridge.
“Yes, you do.” Haplo’s hand closed over the wizard’s thin, brittle arm. “You see, I know where we’re going and I’ve got a pretty clear idea of what we’re going to find when we get there. And you, old man, are in for a hell of a lot of trouble.”
A fiery eye peered suddenly in the window, glaring ominously. “What have you done now?” demanded the dragon.
“Nothing. Everything’s under control!” Zifnab protested.
“Under appears to be the operative word! I just want you to know, I’m getting extremely hungry.” The dragon’s eye closed and vanished. Haplo felt the ship shudder, the dragon’s coils dosing around it ominously.
Zifnab crumpled, the thin frame caved in on itself. He gave the dragon a nervous glance. “Did you notice—he didn’t say, ‘sir.’ A bad sign. A very bad sign.”
Haplo grunted. All he needed was an enraged dragon. Furious shouting had erupted from down below, followed by a crash, a thud, and a scream. “My guess is that they’ve announced the wedding plans.”
“Oh, dear.” Removing his hat, Zifnab began to twist it between trembling fingers and shot Haplo a pleading glance. “What am I going to do?”
“Maybe I can help you. Tell me who you are, what you are. Tell me about the ‘stars.’ Tell me about the Sartan.”
Zifnab mulled it over, then his eyes narrowed. He lifted a bony finger, jabbed it in Haplo’s chest.
“Mine to know. Yours to find out. So there!” Chin jutting, he smiled benignly at the Patryn and gave a brief, sharp chuckle. Jamming his maltreated hat back on his head, the old man patted Haplo solicitously on the arm and tottered off the bridge.
Haplo stood staring, wondering why he hadn’t ripped off the old man’s head—hat and all. Scowling, the Patryn rubbed the place on his chest where the wizard’s finger had rested, trying to rid himself of the touch.
“Just wait, old man, until we reach the star.”