Sal’s father nodded understanding. “You make it sound easy.”
“I only hope it will be.” The old man studied Sal and his father for a brief moment, then turned to Shilly. “You can go now, if you wish. I don’t want you caught up in this against your will.”
Shilly looked flabbergasted. “But I don’t want to go,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“What’s the worst that could happen? If I get dragged off to the Haunted City, at least I’ll have company.”
“Perhaps no worse than that,” said Lodo. “I can guarantee nothing, I’m afraid.”
She pulled a face. “Well, whatever. I’ll take my chances. There won’t be much left for me here if I don’t.”
Sal could tell that she was putting a brave face on her fear, but he admired her for it all the same. He put his hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to squeeze it tightly.
“Thank you,” said Sal’s father. “Sal and I owe you both an enormous debt.”
“No,” said Lodo firmly. “This is a gift, and I offer it freely. You owe me nothing.” His gray eyes pierced Sal in the gloom. “You too, Sal. Remember that.”
The sound of the crowd had ebbed. They eased out of the doorway, Shilly first, into the lane. Lodo led them away from the weathervane, which pointed due west and seemed to be turning slowly in defiance of the wind. Lodo kept an eye on it, and Sal guessed that it pointed not to the Haunted City but to the Alcaide, the elected head of the Strand. Wherever he was, the vane would reveal him.
It was only useful, however, if it was visible. The moment it was out of sight, Lodo stopped looking for it.
There were still people moving about in the darkness. Every now and then, another globe would blow, prompting a new wave of shouting and running. The group of fugitives moved as quickly as they could among the shadows, stopping whenever they caught a glimpse of blue or black robes among the villagers. Every shout made Sal jump. He felt that his guilt must be visible for all to see, like a bright sign painted on his back: Here!
They moved through the inner streets without impedance, and as they reached the edge of the town, the number of people around them thinned even further. It was beginning to feel almost too easy, when, without warning, the probing eye burned into Sal like a brand, and he knew that he had been found.
“I felt that,” said Lodo. “Is it...?”
“Yes.” Sal could barely talk through teeth clenched in pain. “It’s her.”
“Sooner than I thought. We must move quickly then.” They abandoned stealth and broke into a trot. Almost immediately, someone shouted for them to stop. They ran faster, following Lodo through a series of narrow lanes and over fences. They lost their pursuers briefly in a rundown grain store, and gained a few seconds to recoup.
Lodo pulled Sal’s father closer. “The buggy will run--Josip saw to that before it was taken--and it’s fully fuelled. Keep that as a last resort.”
“Where is it?”
“That I don’t know. I’m sorry.” The old man shrugged. “But someone must. It’d be hard to keep a secret like that in a small town. It may be stored in a barn belonging to someone friendly to the Sky Wardens. Sproule, for instance, although that might be too obvious.”
A clattering of feet near the entrance to the grain store sent them moving again. The relentless pressure of the eye was changing, now that it had found Sal. It battered his mind like the waves on a shore, each wave threatening to overwhelm his will. At the same time it brought pursuers closer to him. He felt as though he was at the center of a giant cyclone, tugged by powerful forces in a thousand directions at once.
More shouts. More people had seen them. This time Sal saw blue robes among their pursuers. The Sky Wardens were moving in as they did in his worst dreams: powerful, unflagging, all-seeing. He ran away from them as fast as he could, but was conscious of Lodo lagging behind. The old man wasn’t used to such vigorous physical activity.
“We won’t make it!” Sal cried.
“You--go on--ahead,” Lodo gasped. “I’ll draw them--away.”
“No!” Sal’s father shook his head as he ran. “We stand together.”
“And fall--together!”
“If that’s what must happen. We have to try, at least. Maybe we can hold them back long enough to make it to this workshop of yours.”
“Sal’s talent.” Lodo stopped talking to direct them down a street leading to the dunes. They were about halfway. “You could use--Sal’s talent.”
“Never. The last time I used the Change, I lost Seirian. I swore never to use it again.”
“Vows were--made to be--broken.” Lodo glanced at Sal. “Will you--give your--father--permission?”
Sal didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“So, Dafis?” Lodo panted, made almost speechless by exhaustion. “Yes--or no?”
The end of the street turned into a track that wound between the dunes down to the beach. Sal strained to maintain his pace in the soft sand. Behind him, the imprints of their footsteps marked their escape route as clearly as flaming torches. They wouldn’t last long if they continued this way.
“Yes,” said Sal’s father.
“Turn here, then,” Lodo said, indicating another track leading inland through the dunes on their right. Sal and Shilly helped him stumble forward, onto the second track. “Down there.” Lodo pointed off the track, into a valley between dunes. “Shelter.”
They did as he told them and a found a small, out of the way space. Lodo collapsed onto the sand, his chest heaving, and waved Sal’s father closer to him.
“Illusions,” he said. “Make them think--we’re going the wrong way.”
Sal’s father nodded. “I haven’t done this for a long time.”
“That you do it right now--is all I care about.” The old man wiped his forehead. “Give me a minute to recover.”
Sal went to his father’s side and put his hand on his shoulder. They exchanged a brief look, then Sal felt the familiar hot-cold sensation creeping up his spine.
His father drew a shape in the air with his tattooed left hand. Sal couldn’t tell what it was, but he felt its effect on the world around him. It was different from what Lodo had taught him: no more subtle or less powerful, just different. He guessed it was the way Sky Wardens worked.
“I’ve hidden the turn-off,” his father whispered, “and added one further on. It will confuse them, if nothing else. When you’re ready--”
“We move now.” Lodo leaned on Shilly’s shoulder to get back onto his feet. He led them out of the sheltered nook and through the dune valleys. Voices grew nearer, then faded away. It was impossible to tell exactly how close pursuit was getting. It was also impossible to travel in a straight line, prevented as they were from mounting the top of a dune. With every step, their already-sore muscles ached more.
A chorus of shouts rose behind them. Lodo turned at one point and threw a handful of sand over their footprints. The sand sparkled briefly like stars, and the footprints were gone.
“Too late,” said Sal’s father. “How far to go?”
“Not far.” Lodo stopped and scratched lines in the sand. “A new trail will distract them, at least. This way.”
A wind sprang up, making progress even more difficult. Clouds gathered above, covering the stars like ink spreading through a pool of water. With them, Sal’s unease grew. He still felt the eye bearing down on him. It wasn’t confused by the illusions. It knew exactly where he was, and would never let him go.
They reached the end of a valley, and Lodo drew them up short.
“They’re ahead,” he whispered.
“And behind,” said Sal’s father.
“What are we going to do?” Shilly’s face was pale in the fading starlight.
“The only thing we can do, I guess.” Lodo took a deep breath, and pointed up to the to
p of the dune beside them. “Sal, you go first. They won’t harm you, if they see you at all.”
Sal didn’t like his chances, but knew they didn’t have another option. It was either go over and hope the growing darkness would cover them, or stay where they were and be caught like bandicoots in a trap.
He slithered up the side of the dune onto the top and collapsed there, exhausted. Nothing happened. He waited there, trying to keep a low profile against the sky as his father followed, then Shilly. Lodo was making his way up when the sky exploded.
It was as though someone had turned the sun on in the middle of the night--but it wasn’t the sun. It was a single bolt of lightning arcing down from the sky. It lasted only an instant, and brought with it a deafening clap of thunder, but it left behind dozens of fizzing, bright spheres that floated in a string between sky and land like pearls in an enormous necklace.
Sal had heard of ball lightning before, but had never seen it. The light the balls cast was pinkish and not as bright as daylight--but sufficient to do the Sky Wardens’ work.
The three of them standing on the top of the dune were illuminated perfectly, as were their pursuers. Sal saw two groups of them in deep black below them, not far from where they had climbed. More were scattered across the dunes. Atop a crest four or five dunes away stood two familiar figures, one large and the other small, both dressed in white. Sal shuddered at the sight of them. The light was like a bed sheet pulled back to reveal a nest of spiders.
Sayed! The voice reached into Sal’s mind like an octopus’s tentacle. Stop running, Sayed. Your place is with us, now.
“No!” he screamed, but the wind whipped his words away. He felt his father stand close to him, felt his hand grip his shoulders, followed by the pleasurable sting of the Change thrilling through him.
A gust of wind struck the Alcaide and the Syndic in return, making them stagger to keep their balance. But the Syndic’s voice was as strong as ever.
There’s no use fighting, Sayed. You cannot escape your destiny.
He felt the eye flexing its power again. Somehow his father resisted it. “I said no!”
Join us, Sayed! You cannot run from us forever.
Leave my son alone. Sal’s father’s voice joined the mental exchange--strong, confident and full of determination.
A wave of anger raged against Sal and his father. Why should we listen to you--a thief and a liar?
The only liars here are you. Sal’s father resisted the assault, but Sal could see what an effort it took--and could feel the toll it was taking on him, too. He felt as though his head was going to cave in, such was the demand his father was making on his talent.
Unexpectedly, the Syndic laughed. Do you really believe that? Are you so misguided?
Her laughter did more damage than any of her mental attacks. What do you mean?
You know very well what I mean. Her tone was vicious. Sayed is not yours. He is Highson’s, and he belongs to us.
That’s not true.
It is, and you know it!
But it makes no difference.
It makes every difference! He is ours, Dafis, not yours. Give him to us!
No!
Sal felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. Not yours? He looked up at his father--at the man he had never questioned was his father--and felt his resolve falter for a second. He is Highson’s. Everything he had held true in his life was being undermined. He had nothing else but his father to hold on to, and if that was swept away from him, he would be lost.
He is ours.
But he also knew that he didn’t belong to anyone, least of all the Syndic. Telling the truth or not, she had no right to undermine his relationship with his father. The man beside him, whose arm he was still holding, was the man he would love as a father, no matter whose son he might actually be. Her attempts to break that love, to break them apart, were worse than wrong: they were cruel, perhaps even evil.
Sal felt a new form of anger flow through him, then: pure and, in his mind, totally justified. And with it came a hatred that seemed to come from somewhere outside him, as though he was no longer quite himself.
“Leave us alone!” he cried, instinctively striking out at the Syndic with everything he could muster. He felt the Change pouring out from within him in a raw, ill-defined way, burning the air and turning the sand to glass where it struck. Its intensity took the Alcaide and the Syndic by surprise, blowing them off their feet. Wardens, Alders and ordinary villagers alike shielded their eyes and dropped face-down onto the dunes. There was a sound like the world tearing in two, as though it were a page in a giant book. It left no echoes, simply ceasing as soon as Sal was spent, and letting the howling of the wind back in.
Sal felt as though he had been bled dry, and almost fell. He was aware of a terrible consternation around him, but couldn’t concentrate. His vision was blurry. He saw red in the blur, a long way off, and felt his father’s alarm. In a second or two he had recovered enough to see what was going on, but he couldn’t believe it at first.
The top of the dune where the Alcaide and the Syndic had stood was now nothing but a smoking crater. The Alcaide had fallen not far away, and was bleeding from a wound that spread from his chin to the top of his head. He was kneeling on the sand, still conscious, blood pouring in a torrent down his white costume. The Syndic lay nearby, and Sal couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.
Then the wind sprang up in a vortex around them. Sal had just enough time to be afraid when the Alcaide raised his voice in an answering torrent of rage and sent a reply toward him that knocked him flat and stopped his father’s heart instantly.
Sal landed halfway down the side of the dune. He felt his father dying above him, out of reach--felt his father’s mind reach out for him in defiance of the pain and the loss.
Seirian …
“Dad! No!”
He tried to move, but could barely raise his head. Shilly was beside him, calling his name, but all he could feel were his father’s fading thoughts as they sank down into darkness, into the Void Beneath--and disappeared forever.
“No! Lodo, help him!” He heard the despair in his voice but could do nothing to stop it.
The old man appeared on the top of the dune, and his voice spoke into their minds.
You have to run, he said. They thought your father threw that bolt. That’s why they killed him. If they find out it was you, they’ll kill you as well.
Sal struggled to his feet. The night was full of shouting and the ghastly glare of the ball lightning. “But--”
Don’t argue! Lodo’s voice was terrifyingly urgent. Shilly, take him away from here! Go with him! I’ll hold them off long enough for both of you to get clear.
“I can’t leave you,” Shilly protested.
You can and will. You can’t help me, anyway. Go now, while you still have the chance!
Shilly moaned and pushed Sal down the dune, away from the old man straightening up above them, his arms opening up as though to embrace the sky. Sal forced himself to follow her, even as he felt a white heat flickering across the dunes, sparking through sand grains and setting the spiky bushes alight. He could hardly see where he was going, and for a moment headed directly for the smoking crater that was all that remained of where the Alcaide and the Syndic had been standing when he lashed out at them. But Shilly’s hand firmly tugged him away. Her cheeks were wet with tears that looked like jewels in the ghostly river of light rising in the valleys.
No one stopped them. People were too busy running away from the new phenomenon. Ball lightning and fiery sand were too much for them--and when the earth started trembling, even Sal was afraid.
“Where are we going?” he shouted over the rising rumble from beneath his feet.
“I don’t know!” Shilly shouted back. She was weeping so much Sal was amazed she could see at all. “I don’t know.”
“This way!” A voice called them from a gap in the dunes. “Follow me!”
Sal glimpsed Tom’s distinctive silhouette darting away, and followed without thinking. It was his turn to tug Shilly along, stumbling occasionally as the Earth kicked, but always getting back up to follow the small boy as he ran inland.
Behind them, the sky was aflame and the Earth seemed to rise up in defiance. The ground was littered with the bodies of dead seagulls. A tremendous battle of wills between the Alcaide and Lodo was taking place via the elements, and Sal couldn’t tell who was winning. He was afraid to look. He concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other as fast as he could, until he and Shilly finally came abreast of the boy they were following.
“I dreamed this,” Tom gasped. “I dreamed the fire in the sand. I dreamed it!”
Sal didn’t stop to ask what it meant. He just ran, wherever they were going, and tried not to think of his father.
They came at last to a farmhouse. It was dark and empty. Tom didn’t take them to the front door, but led them around the back. There, a barn stood near a chicken coop. The birds were awake and making a fuss. Through the barn door, Sal saw light glinting off the front of the buggy.
“Tait told me about this,” Tom said, slowing to a walk and leading them forward. “I’m sorry he gave you away. I’ll never talk to him again.”
Sal didn’t know what to say in return. His mind felt trapped. His father’s death had stopped the world for him, and everything that had happened afterward seemed as in a dream. They could take the buggy and run--they might even make it to freedom, if Lodo kept the Sky Wardens at bay long enough--but that would make the dream a reality. There would be no escaping it, then.
“Well, I’m sorry, too,” said a voice from the darkness inside the barn. Sal felt cold as Kemp stepped out into the light, as pale as a ghost in the darkness. “If you think you’re going anywhere in this, you’d better think again.”
The Stone Mage & the Sea (Books of the Change Book 1) Page 30
