It was probably just a hunting party after wild goats, but the sweat broke out on her palms. Kreon starved his dogs to keep them savage, and they attacked anything in their path. Had they caught her scent? Or had their masters found Hylas’ signs? After all, if she could find them, so could they.
Ilarkos had believed Hekabi when she’d said that Pirra must go and gather herbs. He’d even given her a waterskin and a bag of olives, with his mark on a scrap of clay, to get her past the guards at the Neck. She’d kept her promise to the grass snakes and released them, and soon afterward, in a little wayside shrine, she’d found Hylas’ first sign. Among the shriveled garlands and lumpy clay bulls, he’d scratched it on a pebble: a blob with a pointy nose and spikes. Hedgehog.
Its nose had been pointing west, so she’d headed that way. Sure enough, she’d found another hedgehog daubed in mud near a spring spouting weirdly hot water, then another scratched on a red boulder at the foot of the Mountain. Three more in the broom thicket had led her here, to this eerie black obsidian ridge.
The Sun beat down on her, and a hot wind whipped grit in her eyes as she squinted at the plain. If there were hunters down there, they didn’t seem to be coming her way.
Back on the ridge, she searched for another sign from Hylas. Nothing. Now what?
She drank a mouthful of warm goaty-tasting water and ate a couple of olives. She’d been walking since dawn, and it was past noon now. She was tired, sunburned, and footsore. With a flicker of alarm, she realized that she might be on her own out here for days; and in the stronghold, they’d taken her knife.
Quickly, she grabbed a lump of obsidian, found a stick under the pear tree, and tied the stone to the stick with a strip from her tunic, to make a club. When she swung it, it made a satisfying whoosh. To thank the tree for the stick, she poured a few drops of water on its roots, and it rustled its leaves approvingly.
Close by, a bird lit onto a boulder and uttered a piercing cry. Pirra went still. The bird was a falcon. She watched it preen its wings, then lift into the sky. It circled, looking down at her, then flew off with another shivering cry.
Some part of her flew with it. She thought of the falcon she’d once seen hurtling out of the Sun, and touched the pouch at her breast that held the feather and the lion claw.
Once, Hylas had said, You’re brave and you don’t give up. Come on, Pirra. He’s got to be somewhere.
Reasoning that he wouldn’t have climbed any farther up the Mountain, she decided he must have gone either west toward that forested spur, or south to the coast. He was good at catching fish, so she guessed he’d headed south.
She found a trail leading downhill through the thicket. A startled bleat told her it was a goat trail. Fine. Goats would know a way down.
Apparently not. The trail turned dangerously steep and ended at the edge of a cliff. The Sea churned sickeningly far below.
From here, Pirra saw that the forested spur in the distance ran down to a white beach. She’d been wrong. Hylas must have gone west. That falcon had been trying to tell her: It too had flown west.
As she scrambled uphill, she realized that she was on a different trail, because this one veered down again and ended in the strangest cave she’d ever seen. Its walls were chalky white, banded with violent orange, and deep within bubbled a pool of warm, thin, stinking green mud.
The sulfurous smell caught at her throat. Uneasily aware of the Goddess in the Mountain, she stayed just long enough to make sure there were no hedgehogs scratched on the rocks.
This time, there was no mistaking the baying of dogs.
Gripping her club, Pirra raced uphill. Through a gap in the broom, she spotted the pear tree, and made for that.
Having regained the obsidian ridge, she crept toward the boulders at the edge.
There. Far below, and horribly close to the red rock where she’d found Hylas’ sign, were three Crow warriors and several vicious dogs. The men wore black leather tunics and ankle-high boots; each had a quiver on his back and a dagger at his hip, with a bow as tall as himself slung over his shoulder. The dogs were milling about with their noses to the ground.
Pirra had scratched Hylas’ sign off that boulder; but what if they came after her? Somehow, she doubted that Ilarkos’ mark would guarantee her safety—especially if the dogs got her first.
Suddenly they burst into a frenzy of barks, then hurtled north, with the men running after them: away from her. Pirra glimpsed their quarry bounding through the scrub. A deer. She willed them to keep going.
But now to her horror, two dogs were racing back.
She forgot to breathe.
Once again they were circling the red boulder, sniffing eagerly. One lifted its head and uttered a blood-chilling howl. Then both started up the slope.
They had caught her scent.
21
Hylas saw the Crows far below him on the plain. He saw two dogs racing up the slope. He saw a figure on the ridge. No no no. It was Pirra.
Scooping Havoc into his arms, he scrambled downhill. Havoc sensed it wasn’t a game and didn’t struggle, but she was frightened, and dug in her claws.
By the time he reached the ridge, Pirra was gone; she must have taken cover in the thicket. He shoved Havoc in the highest fork of the pear tree, where she clung on shakily.
“Stay,” he panted. “Don’t climb down, they’ll tear you to pieces!” Briefly, he wondered if he should tie her in place; but she might fall out and throttle herself, and there wasn’t time.
Casting off all his gear but his weapons, he searched the approach to the thicket for Pirra’s tracks. Found them—but she’d headed south. What was she thinking? That would take her to the edge of the cliffs.
The broom was too tall to see over, and he dared not shout in case he drew the Crows. He heard another frenzy of barks, much closer than before. He tried not to picture what they’d do to Pirra if they caught her.
Spiky branches blocked his way, but it would be no barrier to the dogs. No matter how fast he ran, they were going to reach her first.
Pirra’s heart thudded in her throat as she crashed through the thicket. She could hear the dogs baying, but she couldn’t tell where they were.
Suddenly the baying stopped. The silence was horrible.
They were following her scent.
Her scent.
That gave her an idea. She scrambled downhill, praying she would find the cave.
Spiny branches snagged her waterskin and the bag of olives, so she threw them off, keeping only her club. She dared not glance back, or stop to listen. The dogs could be anywhere.
At last through the branches, she glimpsed white rock. Skittering down, she crawled into the cave. Deep inside, the mudpool waited like something alive. Maybe it was alive, maybe some monster lurked beneath that murky green. But it was her only chance.
The mud was warm and sucked hungrily at her legs. She went under, slime filling eyes and ears and nose. Her foot struck rock and she boosted herself out, spitting mud and clawing it from her face. The stink was so bad she could hardly breathe: If this didn’t throw them off the scent, nothing would.
Snatching her club and spattering mud, she fled, trying not to retrace her steps. But if there’d been too many goat trails before, now there were none. She had to force her way through, and the broom fought back.
Suddenly she heard panting behind her and the clatter of claws. Panic seized her. The trick hadn’t worked.
Her muddy sandals kept slipping, but there was no time to tear them off. Her breath sawed in her chest. She was spent, she couldn’t go on.
She came upon a shallow gully choked with junipers, and climbed into it. Better to hide down here and fight with the earth at her back, than be caught on the run.
More clattering claws.
She braced herself. She heard panting breath, then a huge shaggy hound leaped the gull
y—and raced on.
Pirra dared not breathe. Had it worked?
And where was the other dog?
One moment, Hylas was crashing through the thicket. The next, the dog was slamming into his chest.
His axe went flying, but somehow he kept his footing and pushed the beast off. It was at him again in a heartbeat, sinking its teeth into his calf. With a cry he reached for his knife. It wasn’t in his belt. He grabbed a rock and lashed out, catching the dog a glancing blow on the shoulder, which it ignored. He made to strike again, and it leaped at his throat. He seized its neck as its weight sent him crashing to the ground.
Gripping its scruff with both hands, he fought to keep its jaws from his face. It snapped air a finger’s breadth from his nose, spattering him with spit. Its meaty breath heated his cheek and its growls shuddered through him. He met its small yellow eyes and saw nothing but blood-hunger. His arms began to shake. He couldn’t hold it off much longer.
He did the unthinkable: He shoved his fist into its jaws.
The dog was too startled to bite. With his free hand, Hylas found a rock and slammed it into its skull. The dog slumped on top of him and lay still.
Gasping for breath, Hylas yanked out his arm. It was covered in spit, but only scraped. The bite in his calf was worse, although it hadn’t yet started to hurt. He was shaking all over.
Retrieving his axe, he lurched to his feet. The thicket was silent. Where was the other dog? Where was Pirra? As he stumbled through the broom, he imagined her standing at bay, with the great beast advancing upon her.
He was about to risk shouting to her when he lost his footing and fell.
A growl, horribly close. He scrabbled for his axe, couldn’t find it. A red blur came hurtling toward him.
At the same moment, a snatcher sprang from nowhere, swinging a club, and the dog lay dead.
Hylas sat up and stared.
The snatcher was dripping green slime. “Are you all right?” panted Pirra.
22
“I thought you were a snatcher,” gasped Hylas.
“What is a snatcher?” said Pirra.
“You’re all covered in mud!”
“Where’s the other dog?”
“I killed it.” Dusting himself off, he got to his feet. Despite a few scratches and a bleeding calf, he looked unbelievably better than when she’d last seen him. He wasn’t so thin, and instead of rags, he wore a rough hide kilt and a neatly plaited belt. Most striking of all, he was clean. His hair was no longer matted with filth, but shiny and the color of ripe barley. Suddenly, Pirra wished she wasn’t caked in muck.
“Thanks for what you did,” he said, stooping for his axe.
She pressed her lips together and tried to smile.
“I can’t believe you found me,” he said. “How’d you get out of the stronghold?”
“That was Hekabi. I—I found your signs.”
“Why are you covered in mud?”
“Um—to throw them off the scent.”
“That was clever.”
She didn’t reply. The dead dog lay between them. One of its claws was broken, which made it seem oddly vulnerable. Pirra loved dogs. She’d always wanted one. And now she’d done this.
I killed it, she thought. Her knees buckled and she sat down. Hylas said something, but she didn’t hear. She was trying not to throw up.
“I said, do you have any gear?”
“Um . . . A waterskin and a bag of olives. Back there.”
“I’ll find them. You—”
“I killed it,” she blurted out. “I never killed anything.”
His jaw dropped. “What, never?”
They stared at each other, and the gap between them yawned. Hylas had hunted all his life: He had to, or he’d have starved. In the House of the Goddess, Pirra had simply clapped her hands, and slaves had brought whatever she wanted.
Hylas touched her shoulder. “It was either the dog or me,” he said gently. “Besides, it’s better off now. Maybe next time it’ll come back as a sheephound, and have a good life in the mountains.”
She gave a shaky smile.
“I’ll show you what to do for its spirit,” he said. Kneeling, he sprinkled dust on the dog’s muzzle and put his hand on its flank. “No more hunger,” he told it, “no more beatings. Be at peace.” Then to Pirra, “Stay here, I’m going up to the ridge.”
“Why?”
“The Crows, Pirra, we’ve got to be sure they’ve really gone; and I’ve got to fetch . . . Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she lied.
As soon as he was out of sight, she threw up. Then she buried the sick, so that he wouldn’t see.
A while later, Hylas returned with their gear. “They’ve gone,” he panted. “They caught a deer, I saw them carrying it back to the Neck. They must’ve decided the dogs would find their own way.”
“What’s that?” cried Pirra, scrambling backward.
A weird yellow cat was peering at her from behind his legs.
Hylas grinned. “Her name’s Havoc. She’s a lion cub. Watch your gear, or she’ll eat it. What’ve you got there, Havoc?”
The lion cub was scrabbling at the spot where Pirra had buried her sick. Pirra shooed her away, and the cub darted behind Hylas.
“She’s just a bit wary,” said Hylas, scratching the cub’s ears. “She’ll get used to you.”
“I thought she was a cat,” said Pirra.
“What’s a cat?”
She stared at him. “Don’t you have cats in Lykonia?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Well they’re like—very small lions.”
He burst out laughing. “You’re making that up!”
She grinned. “No I’m not!” Suddenly, she felt better.
“Come on,” said Hylas, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet. “Camp’s not far, and there’s a nice warm spring. You can get yourself cleaned up.”
Everything had happened extremely fast. The lion cub had been terrified that the dogs would kill the boy, and deeply impressed when he had killed them. But then he’d found the stinky human female, and now they were back at the den, and he’d gone off to hunt, leaving them together.
The lion cub sensed that the boy liked the female a lot, although he didn’t want to show it; but the cub wasn’t sure. Warily, she hid in the long grass and watched the female peeling off her stinky overpelt and climbing into the hot wet. She was in there for ages, making happy, spluttery little whimpers and sliding right under.
When she climbed out, her hide wasn’t lion-colored, like the boy’s, but pale—and she had a long black mane. The cub was astonished. Did human females have manes?
Now the female was slipping on her overpelt, which she’d also washed clean. She trailed the cub’s ball of sticks temptingly past her hiding place. The cub couldn’t resist. She pounced and swatted the ball, and in its amazing way it fled faster than she could run, even though it had no legs. The female caught it cleverly in her forepaws and tossed it high, and the cub leaped for it again.
They played this till the cub was tired. Then she rolled onto her back, and the female scratched her behind her foreleg exactly where she liked best.
“I think Havoc’s getting used to me,” said Pirra with her mouth full of deer meat.
“Told you she would,” mumbled Hylas.
Havoc sat between them, glancing hopefully from Pirra to her wicker ball, and back. Pirra threw the ball to Hylas, who caught it one-handed and tossed it back to her over the lion cub’s head. After a couple of turns, they let Havoc catch it, and she lay grasping it jealously between her forepaws. Pirra smiled and scratched the cub’s flank with her toes.
Hylas could tell that she was feeling better. She looked better too. She’d scrubbed off the mud and finger-combed her crinkly black hair, and th
e scar on her cheek was a smooth, pale crescent. Hylas thought it suited her—there was something of the Moon about Pirra—but when she caught him staring, she flushed and turned her head so that it didn’t show.
He still couldn’t believe that she’d managed to find him. On the way to camp, he’d told her about the snatchers and the cave-in, and she’d told him about the wisewoman curing Kreon, and that Zan, Bat, and Spit had gotten out alive. He sensed there was more, but he didn’t ask. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy being with her and Havoc, away from the Crows.
He didn’t want to think about anything else.
Dusk came on. Hylas cut more ferns and put them under the overhang for Pirra, then some for himself, beneath a bush a little way off. Pirra sat near the spring, feeding shreds of deer meat to Havoc.
“Hylas,” she said in an altered voice. “I need to tell you something.”
He put down the ferns in his arms. He knew from her tone that it wasn’t good. “Can’t it wait till morning?” he said.
“I don’t think so.” She hesitated. “The Crows. They know you’re alive.”
Hylas didn’t reply.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Havoc padded over to him and rubbed her greasy muzzle against his knee. “How do they know?” he said quietly.
“Hekabi fell into a trance. She said: ‘The Outsider lives.’ Kreon heard.”
Dread was a stone in his belly. “But they don’t know I’m here, on Thalakrea.”
“No.”
“And they don’t know what I look like.”
“Some of them might—and certainly Telamon does.”
Telamon. The name rose between them like a ghost.
“Telamon,” said Hylas, “is far away in Lykonia.”
“Yes, but—”
He jumped to his feet, startling Havoc. “That clump of fireweed over there. Can you pick some? I need to see to this dog bite, and those scratches on your legs could do with a salve.”
The Burning Shadow Page 11
