He didn’t twitch. But it was not for him that I said my farewell, but for myself. I knew that. And the pulling string of magic tugged me again and I was off, down a long stretch of moonlit road, past Dead Town, and Amzil’s old house swayed to one side from last year’s snowload, and on until I saw the lights and smelled the smoke of Gettys. Again I slowed my pace. It was hard to do. The failing magic pulled at me like a hook in my chest.
My body was using up the last of its resources. I needed to get there while it still lived, but even more, I needed to see the faces of those I loved. I found their house and I danced up to their door. Silent as a wraith, I flowed through plank walls and into a room where Spink and Epiny shared a bed, their child nestled between them. Epiny looked almost corpselike, her face waxy with dark circles under her eyes. Spink’s hair looked dried and brittle, like a starved dog’s fur. Even the baby looked thin; her little cheeks were flat rather than fat. “Don’t give up,” I begged them. “Help is coming. Sergeant Duril is on his way here.” I dragged my fading fingertips across their sleeping faces, softening the lines there, but I lacked the strength to break into Epiny’s dreams.
The pull of the fading magic was pain now. Somewhere, my abused heart was flopping unevenly in my chest. Still, I stayed for a last indulgence. I dared myself to find the woman who once had saved me. My lips brushed Amzil’s bony cheek; she slept huddled with her children in the same bed, and all their faces were as thin as when first I had met them. “Farewell,” I breathed at her, softer than a whisper. “Know you were loved.” I tried to believe I had not failed them as I was swept away from them yet again.
Then, in the blink of an eye, I was back in the wreckage of my body. It was full dark, but a blazing fire lit the night. I still danced, but no sane person would have known it for a dance. I stood upright, my hands shaking loosely at the end of my arms. I could no longer feel those hands or the purpling fingers that hung from them. I leaned forward, unable to straighten myself. Below, I could see the shuffling of my feet. They were bare and bloody where they were not blackened. A thought came to me. My overburdened and abused heart could no longer pump my blood to my extremities. Experimentally, I tried to lift one foot. I could do it, if I lifted from the hip. I managed a lurching step forward. Then another. And another. I could only step with my left foot. The right I had to drag behind me.
“What is he doing?” someone cried out. The voice had the sound of a shout but the shape of a whisper to me.
“Let him go.” Kinrove’s voice I recognized. “Follow him, but do not interfere. It is his time and he knows it.”
I wanted to tell him I knew nothing. But there was no strength for that. The only thing I must give strength to now, I knew, was to this shuffling, dragging walk. Something pulled at me, something stronger than the magic of Kinrove’s dance. Something that was mine. After what seemed a very long time, I reached the edge of the circle of firelight. “Follow him!” Kinrove commanded again. Someone came to stand at my side with a torch. I was grateful. The person was small and weeping. Someone else came to join him. Olikea and Likari. They stood at my side and held the torches that lit my way. My vision was fading, but I followed some other sight. I could not see far enough ahead to know for sure where I was going, but I was certain I was supposed to go there. A step and a drag, a step and a drag. I followed a path for a long way, but when it no longer went in the direction I must go, I left it. A step and a drag, a step and a drag.
As the last hours of the night dissipated, my shuffle grew slower, my step ever smaller, and the drag of my other foot ever heavier. The ground began to rise. At some point, I went to my knees and then my hands and knees. I crawled on. More than once, I heard them call for fresh torches, and torches were brought, for them to kindle from the stubs, but they never left my side. Their weeping died away to hoarse breathing. By the time I was dragging myself on my belly, they were silent. “The torch is nearly gone,” I heard Likari say and, “No matter,” Olikea replied. “The sun is rising. And he cannot see anymore anyway.”
She was right.
I knew the place by the smell, and the angle of the dawn’s light, and the familiarity of the terrain. I felt Lisana watching me as I drew nearer. I had no strength to speak to her, but she called to me. “I cannot help you with this, Nevare. This you finish on your own. And it must be finished.”
I crawled past her broken stump. It was hard. Her fallen branches littered the ground all along her old trunk. I did not think I could drag my bulk past their tangle, but I did. And then I had to drag my body up, up to where the small tree sprouted at the end of the fallen trunk.
