After a hesitation, Spyder nodded. "The ring is forged from minerals distilled from the sea, but it must also be tempered in fire." He hesitated again. "In the fire of a burning boy with sorcerous blood in his veins." He paused to listen again for the swimming sound that had followed them across the river. He could no longer hear it. "That sacrifice performed under a certain rare lunar eclipse on the ground where the globes were destroyed will complete their ritual."
"I'm a fool for misjudging you," Ronal said, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his friend. "It's not this bunch of mumblers and cauldron-stirrers that have you tied in knots. It's the boy, isn't it? They've got him already, and you know him."
"I don't know him, but his name is Lisoh," Spyder said. "He's fifteen summers old, and he's Aaliyah's brother. He was on a spirit-quest, something his people call Vahana meh aaha diano. It's a kind of initiation into adulthood. But he wandered much too far, and when he didn't return, Aaliyah went looking for him. I found her on the Nis border where I originally tried to stop this coven-and failed."
And you will fail again, Regan Vigeles called Spyder, just as you did then.
Ronal stopped rowing and looked nervously toward the shore. "That wasn't me," he whispered.
The jungle cat's cry sounded again, a shrill, high-pitched roar that chilled the blood.
From the east a sudden wind rose. It shook the leaves and the moss-dripping branches, shivered the reeds, and rippled across the water. The rowboat pitched and rocked. Spyder gripped both sides of the small craft and fought to keep it from overturning while Ronal struggled to do the same with the oars. "We're gonna flip!" Ronal shouted.
But just as suddenly as the wind arose it ceased, and the river became calm once again. Spyder crouched in the bow. "You're not in Nis now, Rime! Your powers are weak here!"
Laughter soared on the night, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and when it faded, the throb of coven drums replaced it, an ominous pulsing beat that came from deep within the Swamp of Night Secrets.
Ronal leaned on the oars, his powerful muscles visibly knotted, his face pale. "There once was a woman from Nis," he muttered, pausing to chew his lip, "who went into the forest to piss. Her soft little splash turned a boulder to ash, and lizards crawled out of her…"
The wind ripped through the swamp and over the river again, and Rime's voice took form on it. Nasty little man, I heard that! The rowboat rocked and bounced precariously on huge moonlit swells. Yet, the river seemed darker, the night less bright.
Spyder twisted around in the boat and shot a glance skyward. "The moon!" he shouted. "It's begun!"
The smallest sliver of the left side of the moon was gone. A faint arc of redness, like a trickle of blood, marked the slowly advancing edge of the black, light-devouring shadow that would soon consume its radiance entirely. Somewhere in the swamp, the coven drums beat louder even as the wind stilled once more.
The jungle cat roared again.
"Head for that sound!" Spyder ordered.
"I'd rather head for the Unicorn," Ronal shot back, "and for a couple of beers-I'd even buy!" But he angled the boat out of the main stream and into the reeds. "But no, before we ever find the witches we're going to wind up cat food."
A swarm of gnats, unseeable in the darkness, immediately surrounded them. Spyder pulled up his hood and covered his mouth and nose with one hand. Ronal, working the oars, cursed and sputtered, defenseless under the sudden onslaught. Then they were through whatever nest or insect home their passage had disturbed.
Spyder turned one shoulder toward his old friend. "Did you say gnat food?"
"No jokes from the bow," Ronal grumbled. "You're only allowed to brood and look ominous under your big black cloak."
"Be glad they were gnats," Spyder answered, "and not bees."
Rime's laughter touched their minds again, not borne on a wind this time, but on a malevolent buzzing.
Ronal ceased rowing and looked up in horrible expectation. "I think I mis-remembered the limerick!" he hissed. "They weren't lizards that crawled out of her orifice. They were…! Oh no!" Leaving the oars to rattle in their oarlocks, he flung himself over the side.
The bees came like a black wave over the tops of the reeds and through the tall river grasses. Clutching both sides of the rowboat to steady it, Spyder crouched down. He was not only cloaked and hooded, but also gloved. Still, he felt the weight of the creatures striking at his back, at his arms, trying to sting him. In only moments, hood or no hood, they would find his face and eyes.
"Get out of the boat!" he heard Ronal yell. "We can get under it!"
But there was no need for that. The buzzing diminished. Bees dropped out of the air into the boat, or into the water with little plops. Spyder shook one gloved hand, then straightened, shedding bees from his back and shoulders like droplets of water. Ronal's head broke the surface about three feet from the side of the boat. He shrieked and pushed wildly at the water with his hands, parting the bobbing curtain of insect corpses around him.
Then the panic left his face and a look of puzzlement replaced it. He swam to the boat, caught it with both hands, and peeked over the side at the unnatural cargo they'd taken on. "What the…?" He brushed a dead bee off the oarlock.
"The cold," Spyder said, balancing the boat while Ronal clambered back in. "Bees go dormant in the cold."
Ronal settled back between the oars, clutching himself and shivering. "It's been a warm winter…" He stopped as his teeth began to clack and chatter. "Until now." He hugged himself even harder and rubbed his bare arms.
It was Spyder's turn to laugh. "Is that the best you can manage, Rime?" he shouted. "Nis's Grand Witch reduced to conjuring annoyances?"
"I'm not just wet," Ronal complained with a disbelieving voice, "I'm freezing! How…?" He stared at Spyder, then at the bees on the floor of the boat. With a vengeful determination, he began squashing them with his boots.
"You don't seem to be able to finish your sentences, my friend."
Spyder observed as he unfastened his cloak and tossed it to Ronal. "Row, and you'll quickly warm up."
They didn't row much farther. Abruptly the bottom of the boat dragged, and the bow bumped up on land.
It couldn't be called dry land. They slogged through ankle-deep mud for the first fifty paces and forded a stream that cut suddenly across their path. Patches of dense foliage also impeded them, and strange groves of trees with willowy, whip-like branches and complicated, interlocking root structures sometimes blocked their way.
There was no sign of the Vasalan vessel. Spyder began to fear that the drums were a trick, a distraction intended to lure him in the wrong direction. He glanced repeatedly over his shoulder. Sometimes the thick trees hid the moon from him. But sometimes he could catch a glimpse of it-what remained of it.
"It-it-shouldn't be so c-c-cold!" Ronal muttered as he walked. His breath came out in a feathery stream. Spyder's cloak was much too long for him, so he wore the hood up and the rest of it clutched around his upper body.
Spyder didn't answer. He moved through the undergrowth with the speed and sureness of desperation. The drums were louder than ever in his ears-or were they just in his mind, an auditory hallucination sent by Rime to confound him? He pressed his palms to his ears. If the sound were real, wouldn't he be able to shut it out? He no longer glanced at the sky; he could feel the darkening moon on his neck. Far ahead he thought he spied a glow that might have been a fire.
He had no choice but to trust his natural senses as he plunged forward.
Rime's voice touched his mind again. You cannot hope to succeed, Regan Vigeles. You didn't even get close to me in your first pathetic attempt.
"You killed one of my agents on your border," he answered without slowing his pace. "For that alone I would hunt you to the ends of the world."