Glenn’s breath left her in a rush. Before her was not the
devastation promised by a hundred school lessons and satellite photos; instead there was a long grassy clearing and, at the end of it, the towering outer wall of a small village. The wall seemed to be made of stout logs stacked one on top of the other to a height of twenty feet or more. Every turning of the wall featured what looked to Glenn like watchtowers. Each one carried burning torches that cast a flickering light, which spilled down the face of the wall and onto the grassland before it.
No, Glenn told herself, wrestling the shock into submission. This makes sense. A few survivors struggling to get by near the border. I should have expected …
Aamon stopped a few steps ahead of her. He was standing just outside the reach of the lights, looking up at the wall.
“If this is it, then let’s go,” Glenn said, striding past him.
She gasped as one of Aamon’s giant hands fell on her shoulder.
The needlelike tips of his claws pressed into her skin. The barest pressure would drive them through.
“I need you to take him,” Aamon said. “It would be better.”
Glenn didn’t look back. The sight of Aamon still unnerved her. It was as if his body was a cypher Glenn’s mind was scrambling to decode and getting nowhere. She forced herself to push it aside. The only thing that mattered now was Kevin. She nodded stiffly and Aamon rolled Kevin into her waiting arms. He was still unconscious and seemed to weigh little more than a puff of air. Only a hint of a pulse fluttered at his throat.
“Do what I tell you and say nothing,” Aamon instructed. “Do you understand? Outsiders are not welcome here.”
Glenn drew Kevin close but before they had taken more than a few steps a bell began to toll deep within the compound. In between the tones, Glenn could hear people moving inside. Shadows leapt into the guardhouses with a clank of metal.
“No farther,” a voice boomed, followed by what sounded like ropes being stretched taut in each watchtower. Small metallic points glinted in the firelight.
Bows and arrows, Glenn thought, with an almost giddy edge.
They’re pointing bows and arrows at us.
“I said no farther, stranger, or we’ll drop you where you stand.”
Aamon didn’t check his stride. Every step brought him closer to the ring of firelight around the village. There was a leather creak as bowstrings were pulled farther back. Aamon was less than a yard from the halo of light now and wasn’t slowing.
“Archers!” the man called out, readying them.
“Stop!” Glenn shouted.
But Aamon didn’t stop, not until he was standing fully in the light. Everything went still. Aamon’s bluish-gray fur shone in the fires’
glow. His clawed hands were clasped behind his back, and his head was slightly down as if he was waiting patiently for a visit from the welcoming committee.
There was activity behind the walls, jostling bodies and panicked voices followed by what sounded like a lock being thrown and a long creak as the front gate swung open. An old man came hurrying out of the village gate. Every step seemed a prelude to his tripping over the fluttering ends of his dark robes and sprawling out into the grass.
When he reached them the man crumpled to his knees before
Aamon. His bald head, fringed in white, fell and his open palms spread out on the ground next to him.
“Aamon Marta,” the man stuttered. “Please forgive us. It’s been so long. I am Decker Calloway. We thought you had gone. We … we all are pleased at your return. We’ll send an emissary to the Magistra right away. I — ”
“No,” Aamon snapped. “Stand up.” Calloway trembled but didn’t rise. “I said stand up!”
Aamon’s voice was a clap of thunder. Calloway flinched, then did as he was told, his body shaking, his eyes on the ground.
“I have an injured human,” Aamon said. “He needs attention.”
Calloway glanced nervously at Glenn and Kevin. His eyes moved over Kevin’s green hair and leather jacket. Glenn stepped back, drawing Kevin closer to her.
“They are returning spies,” Aamon said quietly. “Sent across the border by the Magistra. Is Calle Frit still doctor here?”
“Pardon me, sir, but no. His son is, though he is out with the regent at the moment.”
“Who is the current regent?”
“Sir, it is Garen Tom.”
A sound rose in Aamon’s throat like an idling engine. Calloway tensed as he clearly fought the urge to flee.
“Is he near?” Aamon asked.
“No, sir. He is out near White Oak, hunting a Farrickite traitor.
We could send word — ”
“No. Prepare his quarters for us and bring me the doctor’s spare instruments. We also require food and drink.”
“Of course, sir.” Calloway leapt to his feet and backed away from Aamon, head down, not turning his back until he was some distance away.
Glenn followed Aamon through the gates, studying the wall as they drew closer. In the spill of the firelight, she saw that the spaces between the logs were filled with a mix of mud and hay. High up in the towers, the eyes of the guards, framed in tarnished armor, watched them pass.
Glenn stepped through the gateway and onto a dirt road that led through the center of town. As soon as she did she clutched Kevin tight and had to stifle a gasp.
The road was lined on both sides by ranks of kneeling villagers.
They were all dressed in little more than rags and, like Calloway, they had their heads down, exposing the back of their necks. Their hands lay at their sides, palms up. Each one of them was as motionless as stone.
They looked like prisoners silently awaiting execution.
Aamon stood just ahead of her, staring at the ground as if he expected the stretch of dirt between the villagers to burn his feet.
“We have to go,” Glenn urged, once she found her voice.
“Kevin.”
Aamon grunted then forced himself past the gauntlet of villagers.
Glenn followed, trying not to be overwhelmed by the eerie silence of the place. Behind the kneeling villagers were lines of windowless shacks set in even rows. High up and centered on each closed door was a line of black that floated in the breeze. As Glenn passed close to one, she saw that they were feathers, glossy black with silver tips that shone in the firelight. They made something deep inside Glenn shudder.
When they were all inside the house, Aamon slammed the door.
“Put him there,” he ordered, indicating a low pallet covered in blankets that sat underneath a street-facing window. Glenn dropped down to one knee and rolled Kevin out of her arms and onto it. Kevin groaned but remained unconscious. “Get Frit’s instruments.”
Calloway scurried away as Glenn wiped the sweat from Kevin’s face with her sleeve. She lifted his blood-soaked shirt. Now that they were out of the darkness Glenn could see it was shockingly red, thickening to black at the center. Aamon had packed it with some kind of greenish paste. Glenn’s hands ached for her tablet. With it, she would have access to entire medical databases. Without it, she was helpless.
She looked over her shoulder at the stone hearth where a fire crackled, orange and yellow. Aamon was crouched in front of it, warming his hands. He reminded Glenn of gargoyles she had seen perched on ancient buildings, twisted demonic things. For the first time, Glenn noticed the long gray tail that fell behind him and swished restlessly back and forth. Aamon turned from the fire as if he knew Glenn was watching him. His green eyes flashed.
“What is this place?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“I have Dr. Frit’s instruments, sir.”
Calloway stood at the edge of the room, a small wooden box in his hands. Aamon snatched it away and crossed the room in a single stride. Glenn scrambled aside as he stooped down at the end of the pallet.
“Go out into the village,” Aamon commanded Calloway. “Find