His face twisted in a look of disgust. “Don’t show kindness to me, not now. If I had kept you from doing your work, he would be–you would have been right to kill me.”
She winced. “I wouldn’t have done that.”
He gazed at her with dark eyes. “Yes, you would have.” He quickened his pace, moving ahead of her, and Grace could only stare after him.
He’s right, Grace. You would have done it. Given a choice between Travis and Hadrian, you would have chosen Travis.
Until that moment, something had been growing inside Grace when she was with Hadrian, something strange and beautiful, like a flower whose nature she couldn’t know until it unfurled. But now she realized it had been cut: a bud nipped from the stem before it could bloom.
They passed over the ridge and came to a halt at the edge of the expanse of slipsand–to the place where Travis had died. Sinfathisar held its position, hovering in midair.
“Guide us,” Travis said. “ Aro.”
And the Stone floated out over the slipsand.
“This way,” Travis said, and stepped forward. The others came after him, following in his footsteps. They moved in single file, for there was no telling how narrow were the strips of solid ground between the patches of slipsand. Nor was there any way to discern with the eye where one ended and the other began.
The moon rose higher into the sky. Its brilliance made the jagged rift in the southern heavens all the darker. The rift seemed to grow even as Grace watched, blotting out more stars. She felt sick, and did her best to keep her eyes on the ground.
Their progress was slow, and many times the Stone of Twilight halted, suspended in place, until Travis spoke the rune of guiding and the Stone floated forward once more. As the moon passed its zenith, Grace and Larad began to stumble with weariness, and at one point Grace’s foot strayed from the path.
Her foot sank, and instantly she felt the pull of the slipsand. However, Avhir was behind her, and was able to grab her shoulders, plucking her up and placing her back on the safe path.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said, touching his cheek.
He gave her a stern look. “I am not your friend, Sai’ana Grace. Do not care for me, as I cannot care for you.”
“Why?” she said, too stunned to say anything else.
“Because to do his task, a T’golmust have a heart of stone. To care for another is to open oneself to weakness.”
He stalked away, and Grace gazed after him.
“You’re wrong,” she said quietly. It was caring for another, opening oneself to that pain, that vulnerability, that made one truly strong. Strength was knowing you could be wounded, that you could lose. Her gaze drifted to a figure in a black robe, walking ahead. A sigh escaped her lips, and she continued on, careful to keep to the path Travis made.
At last the moon sank toward the horizon. Farr shuffled his feet, as if unable to pick them up, and even the T’golmoved with heavy steps. They had gone only a half mile southwards, but they had walked many more miles as they wound their way through the patches of slipsand. Of them all, only Travis still seemed fresh. He kept murmuring the rune of guiding, and he would wait for the others to catch up if he got too far ahead. Finally, as the eastern horizon lightened from jasper to rose quartz, Travis halted. He held out his hand, and Sinfathisar settled against his palm.
“What’s wrong?” Grace said, too weary to feel panic. “Are we lost?”
Travis shook his head. “We’re here.”
Vani and Avhir probed carefully; the ground was stable. Travis held out the Stone, and Larad took it, nestling it back in the iron box with the other Imsari.
“Your power is greater than ever, Master Wilder,” Larad said, raising a fractured eyebrow. “I could never have done what you did–commanding the power of a Great Stone for so long.”
Vani’s eyes were locked on Travis, and so were Farr’s. Had they seen what Grace had, the way he had shone in the night? Long ago, in the city of Morindu, the god‑king Orъ was chained by his own people because of his terrible power. What would happen if Travis kept growing stronger?
Only he can’t, Grace. Not if magic keeps weakening.
Or could he? What if Travis was like the Great Stones? What if whatever was affecting magic had no effect on him?
They ate a little as the horizon grew brighter and drank the rest of their water. It would do more good to carry it in their bodies, Avhir said, rather than in a skin. However, moments after drinking her share, Grace was thirsty again, her throat dry.
She noticed Travis standing a short distance off. Again he had drunk a little water but had taken no food. She moved to him, and he smiled as she approached.
“I was going to ask how you are,” she said. “Only you look wonderful. Better than I’ve ever seen you.”
He drew in a breath. “I feel good, Grace. I don’t know why. I should be tired, and hungry, and thirsty, but I’m not.”
Grace managed a grim smile. “I wish I could say the same.”
They were silent for a moment, gazing toward the east, then he looked at her. “I saw things, Grace. Down there, when I died.”
She nodded. “That’s common. People who’ve been revived often report seeing various phenomena–light, a tunnel, the images of loved ones. As far as we can tell, it’s simply the brain trying to make sense of what’s happening to it as it’s deprived of oxygen.”
“I suppose you’re right. Only I didn’t see those things. I saw the two twins, the ones from the story Hadrian told us. One was shining, as if he was outlined in stars, and the other was dark– so dark I could only see him like a silhouette against the night. They were struggling, destroying each other.”
Grace looked up at the sky. It was too light now to see it, but the rift was still there, still growing. “The end is close, isn’t it, Travis? But even an end would be something. This will be even worse. It will be like when one of the T’goldies. It will be as if none of this–Earth, Eldh, and everything on them– ever were, or ever could have been.”
Travis opened his mouth, but before he could speak a shout rose from the others. Grace and Travis ran toward the rest of the group.
“There,” Farr said, pointing. “Look.”
The sun had just crested the horizon, and to the south something glinted with a spark of red fire. Grace shaded her eyes. Then she saw it, jutting up from the horizon like a splinter of black ice: a stone spire.
“The sorcerer was right,” Farr said.
Vani let out a hiss. “Mahonadra’s Blood. Look!”
It took Grace a moment to see them, then her heart lurched. A dozen specks moved across the desert, black against the gold sand, heading toward the spire. It was hard to be certain of distances here, but she guessed the specks were less than a mile away.
“The Scirathi,” Farr said. “They must have been forced to travel around the slipsand. They are not far ahead of us.”
“And we’re not letting them get any farther,” Travis said.
He started into a run, but Vani was already moving, racing across the sand, along with Avhir.
“Come on!” Farr said, pushing Grace and Larad, and together they broke into a run.
36.
The sand pulled at Travis’s feet like invisible hands. He lowered his head and pumped his arms, forcing himself to run faster. The sorcerers were just ahead. And so was Nim.
The sun parted from the horizon, lofting into the sky, and the coolness of night evaporated. Waves of heat rippled up from the desert floor. A sweat sprang out on Travis’s skin and the air parched his lungs. They were deep in the Morgolthi now, in the heart of the Hungering Land. Without water or shelter, exposed to the full anger of the sun, they could not hope to survive for more than a few minutes.