“You don’t like it?” Harper asked him. “Don’t like it?”
Harper had cared for the dead rider; Harper had felt pain and guilt then that Harper felt now, and it was all one thing with Stuart, < Stuart with a knife, Stuart inviting attack, a different Stuart than he knew, angry and deadly serious.> And <the woods and the rogue and the hillside above Shamesey—> Everything was muddled up together in Harper’s mind, and <rider and horse going off a road> and <blood on the rocks > and <body in the woods > were all together with <rogue-feeling.>
Danny couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. <Quiet water!> was all he could fight with. And it was a fight: Harper was angry and Danny used what streetwise and campwise skills he had, twisted at Harper’s grip, insisted on his own thoughts—but Harper twisted back with a stronger grip and imaged gruesome detail of the battered, dead face.
“My brother,” Harper said. <Dead face. Gunshot between the eyes.> “My brother. You think you’re going to go up there on the mountain, facing that thing, and be a hero, kid? You think it’s all that easy? You think you’ll sleep easy after that?”
He began to be afraid, afraid Harper was crazy, afraid that Harper was going to spook Cloud into an attack and they’d shoot: he kept sending <no> to Cloud as hard as he could, aware of Cloud’s anger, Cloud’s revulsion and the spillage of thoughts of violence all around him.
“I’ve seen it,” Harper said, up in his face. “It wants you, that’s what it does, it wants you so bad, and it’ll get right up to you and you’ll let it, you can’t help it. It wants you, and you can’t hear anything else. And that’s when you’ve got to hold firm, that’s when you’ve got to want to kill it, you got to want to kill it before it kills your horse and it kills you, you hear me, kid? You shoot it fast, because you want it so bad it’ll haunt you, it’ll be back in your brain every time you put your head down to sleep, it’ll be there behind your eyelids every time it’s quiet. It’ll be there. It’s always there. I’ve seen it. I’ve shot it. I shoot it every time it comes back to me, because I won’t let it near me, you hear me?” <Man shot between the eyes> was the image. <Rogue-sending> was the feeling.
“Yessir,” he breathed, “yessir,” because it was the only way he knew to get loose. He felt sick at his stomach. He wanted <free of Harper.>
Harper shoved him away so hard he struggled to keep his balance on the wet leaves, and that set him free of the images, just <wet leaves, here, dark, rain> and <Cloud> the instant before he staggered into Cloud’s shoulder.
Cloud was shivering, twitches of Cloud’s skin up his leg and onto his shoulder, muscles jumping, but something else was going on, too, association with the horses around him, a sense of <us> that Cloud hadn’t had on the road with these horses, instinct, whatever it was… it was suddenly <us> against scattering-feeling >—
But in the instant of his panic, Cloud traded it for <us-Danny-Cloud,> the way it always was, the way Danny expected it to be, wanted it to be, insisted, dammit, Cloud listen to him. Cloud wasn’t theirs.
He was shivering. The ambient was still rattling and shaking to the feelings Harper had let loose. He had no doubt that Harper had dealt with a rogue before, and Harper still had dreams about it. Harper had scared the whole camp. The Hallanslakers were afraid. They were bigger than Harper, stronger than Harper, but neither one of them was smarter, neither of them was more in possession of the ambient. Only these two had come of those who had stood with Harper in the meeting, but these two did what Harper wanted and resonated to Harper’s hate and fear.
Noisy, Harper was that. Harper was always There, when you were near him. And nobody could argue with him. Harper knew what he knew and you weren’t going to change it.
He hadn’t liked them in the meeting. He truly didn’t like them now. He traced a finger over the softness of Cloud’s nose, told himself he should think about <quiet water> and notice the firelight on the puddles and the firelight on the beads of water falling from the evergreens and not think about any damn thing else—but he didn’t know who it could fool. He couldn’t be invisible and he couldn’t persuade them he liked them at all.
And as for why they hadn’t shot him, or beaten him—they wanted the same thing Jonas had wanted: they wanted him to find Stuart for them. They probably had the idea he was stupid enough to go on giving them what he knew, the way he already had. Jonas said that being noisy like that wasn’t unusual in kids who hadn’t gotten a hold on their sendings, or learned to be polite—and Cloud being young, too, it made it worse.
So the Hallanslakers counted on him being a stupid kid who’d think about what he tried not to think about, and give away everything he knew if they just kept him rattled with their lies—
Only—they didn’t think they were lying. They believed what they thought about the world and about Stuart, which meant they were the stupid ones; they only thought they had the straight of things.
And having no other defense, he decided to think so as often as possible.
Chapter XIV
THE FIRE IN THE HEARTH HAD BURNED DOWN AGAIN. TARA GOT UP and put another log on, but the chill was more than in the air of this night. Vadim and Chad hadn’t come back.
So what could they do but wait and go on waiting, she and her partners? The shelter ambient was full of floor-pacing and frustration—they couldn’t go kiting off after Vadim and Chad, because they couldn’t leave the village undefended, especially since they had reason to fear there was something out there dangerous enough to put two riders in trouble.
They could only cling to what Vadim had said about maybe staying out if they found something—they told each other that, as hope of things going right grew thinner and thinner.
By now they were on the third big log of the night; and while they agreed that Vadim and Chad wouldn’t have any trouble camping out on a clear night, no one could sleep, no one was quite on her best logic, and no one was talking with any clarity. Anxieties were too high. Words were too unreliable. They kept the horses away in the den, out of range of the shelter—they hadn’t precisely consulted about that decision, but Tara had wanted the horses there, and Luisa and Mina, whose thoughts already were too dark and too disturbed to make supper sit well, agreed.
“If there’s any chance the girl’s alive,” Luisa murmured now, breaking a long, long silence, “if she’d gotten somewhere she could hole up and stay there… and if they found it, they could have tucked in there, waited for a shot at it…”
“A kid’s not going to resist,” Mina said. “A kid’s not going to hold out, whatever it is out there. That kid couldn’t fend off a newborn willy-wisp, let alone—”
Mina’s voice trailed off. They weren’t thinking that thought with any clarity. Weren’t using that word.
Luisa said: “If she just wedged herself into the rocks and stayed there, I mean, kids panic, that’s all, they’ll freeze up, go still when they’re scared. A horse can’t get through that. The kid could actually be safer than—”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Tara said.
“The boys aren’t fools,” Mina said. “The likelihood is, they tracked fast and found something nasty and they’re going to hunker down the night—they’re not going to come running back here for us to hold their hands. I mean—what could they do? We have to have at least two of us here all the time. How else can we sort it out?”