Between (35 page)

She woke to the sound of boots echoing in the corridor. Time, then. She fumbled for the bracelets and slipped them onto her wrists, where they dangled loosely. Her body went weak at the touch of the silver.

When the door opened, it revealed a withered crone standing in front of three guards. Off to the side and a few safe paces back, a young girl waited, something white and diaphanous draped across her outstretched arms.

Two guards took up positions on either side of the open door; the other entered the cell, followed by the old woman. Her face was sun weathered, creased into lines so sharp they looked like they could cut.

“I’m guessing it must be almost dawn,” Vivian croaked. She swallowed, trying to moisten a throat parched with thirst.

The crone grinned, revealing a mouthful of brown and broken teeth. She gestured for Vivian to get up.

No reason not to comply, except that her first effort failed, her legs giving away and dropping her into a heap. The guard seized her by the wrists and hauled her bodily onto her feet. She braced herself, her aching head making the room spin.

A gesture from the old woman, and the guard pulled a canteen from his belt and handed it to Vivian. Water. Warm and stale, but gloriously wet. She drank long and deep.

The dizziness receded and the pain eased to a tolerable throbbing.

Another gesture, and the guard stepped behind her. She flinched at the touch of his fingers as she realized he was unfastening the gown. But even when he bent to lift the skirt and pulled the gown up and over her head, she offered no resistance, only taking care that the loosened bracelets didn’t catch on the sleeves and slide off with the torn and
bloodstained garment. The guard’s eyes, even his hands, on her naked body were a small thing, meaningless in the face of what lay ahead.

But he didn’t touch her, only stepped back. A page appeared in the hallway with a basin of water, and the old woman’s gnarled hands bathed Vivian from head to toe and then raked a comb through the tangles in her hair.

Another gesture, this time to the maiden waiting in the corridor who entered the cell, carrying a white, trailing gown.

Every tapestry, every painting, in the castle depicted a maiden wearing a white gown such as this. And every maiden wearing a white gown stood face to face with a dragon. As Vivian donned the gown she felt the first cracks in her unnatural calm. Her insides trembled as though a small and private earthquake were taking place within her.

Clawed old hands smoothed the dress, fluffed her hair, turned her from side to side to see that all was in order. And then the old woman nodded once at her handiwork and, without ever speaking a word, turned and hobbled away down the corridor, leaning on the arm of the maiden.

This left Vivian alone with the guards.

They watched her closely but kept a respectful distance.

Again she heard footsteps, and a moment later the priest stood framed in the doorway, clad in his scarlet robes. The lantern light reflected in his eyes. He thumped his staff onto the stone with a sharp return like a gunshot. Vivian flinched in spite of her best intentions.

“Is the sacrifice ready?”

He was apparently speaking to her. She didn’t answer.

“Maiden, do you give yourself willingly as a sacrifice to the Dragon, that the people of this land may walk in safety, that the doors may be safely closed between this world and the others that may do us harm?”

“Fuck you,” Vivian said.

The priest’s narrow face paled. A faint sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. “I ask you again—do you give yourself willingly as a sacrifice?”

“No. And whatever sort of twisted game this is, I’m not playing. Do you hear me? I am not a volunteer.”

“But it’s traditional—”

“Oh come on. Are you going to call off the sacrifice because I haven’t said the right words? What do you suppose
she
will do to you then?”

“This is a rite. A holy ceremony, conducted for the good of the people…”

He faltered under her steady gaze, shuffling his feet a little in the silence that followed. “Bring her,” he said. Without further debate, he spun on his heel and led the way down a long, dark passage. Level, not sloping either up or down.

Vivian followed, pacing between the guards. Still they did not touch her. Behind them followed a procession that had arrived with the priest—maidens in white, long hair loose on their shoulders, all bearing candles.

The maidens began a slow, heavy chant. Vivian found herself thinking that a dragon chant should be sharp and so clear it can cut. It should soar high and dip low in the spirit of freedom, not bondage in the darkness. A reluctant empathy for the old dragon stirred in her, pity for the change wrought by the long years in the dark. She, too, had been twisted by Jehenna’s meddling.

It wasn’t a long walk, not long enough given what waited at the end. A door opened, framing a rectangle of bright daylight. Thunderous noise swept into the passageway through the open door—voices shouting, hands clapping, feet stomping. It sounded for all the world like the crowd at a football game.

C
onsciousness was a fragile thing, frayed around the edges, constantly trying to slip away. The weight of the bear pressed down on him, making it impossible to draw a full breath. Air hunger was a pressing need, a black panic edged with crimson. Zee forced himself to take shallow breaths, to stay calm, to think, despite the pulse of pain over his cheek and jaw. Somewhere inside he was laughing at the bitter irony of this death, picturing in his mind’s eye the newspaper headline:
Fugitive Felon Dies, Crushed by Dead Bear.

Sheer force of will kept him conscious, pushed the panic away. He discovered that it was possible to move, one infinitesimal bit at a time. Foot, leg, finger, wrist. Shift, wriggle, turn, bend. Shallow breaths, each one smelling of blood and fur and the rank, wild scent of the bear. Hopeless, maybe, but as long as he could manage to breathe he would continue to fight.

At last he felt a shift, got an arm and a leg free, and slithered out into a night just edging into dawn. Air was a miracle. He sucked it deep into his lungs. It smelled of frost and coming winter, clean and life-giving. For a space of time it was all he could do to lie flat on the sand and breathe.

His body was a welter of aching bruises, but careful
exploration revealed that everything was in working order. His shoulder was stiff but functional. No bones broken, no tendons damaged. He touched his fingers to his cheek, relieved to find that though the lacerations were deep, he still had a face, that the blood was beginning to clot. He’d pictured the whole cheek torn away down to the exposed bone. It would scar, but it would heal.

Cold, though; he needed to move. At length he mustered the strength to stagger to his feet. He found the sword, fallen clear of the bear’s carcass, and cleaned it as best he could in the sand. Holding it unsheathed and ready, he took a cautious step toward the place where the bear had appeared out of thin air.

Jehenna was responsible for this. He had been trying to get to Vivian. Now he understood that there was only one way to find her.

As he approached the stone he heard a buzzing, faint at first and then louder. A softening of everything in his line of vision. His heart beat faster. A thin place; a crossing. He had no idea of what lay on the other side.

Blood calls to blood,
she had said.
Just call my name if you want me.
“Jehenna,” he breathed like an invocation, took another step.

And stood in a dark cavern, lit by flickering torches. A massive column of red stone rose before him, thrusting up and away into the darkness. Compared to its raw power, the Finger was a child’s toy.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” a voice said behind him. “It rises through the roof and into a chamber above—through that again, until it reaches the open air. That’s where you’d find your Dreamshifter—if you could get to her.”

He swung around, ready to strike, but the sword stopped against his will, hanging in the air, immobile.

“You,” he said.

“You called me. I admire your perseverance, but you will not be able to save her.”

Vivian was still alive, then. Whatever the witch said, there must be a way. He looked around him, taking in the
high stone altar, the carved pillars, registering the reek of blood.

“Don’t be too sure,” he managed.

She laughed at that, fondly, as though he were an adorable child. “You would be just in the nick of time if you were not down here in the temple. She’s right above you, you know. Your Dreamshifter. And the dragon.”

“What dragon?”

“Oh, come now. It’s an old tale, that of the maiden and the dragon. Played out through so many worlds over so many years. You might as well put that sword away. You can’t kill me, and it would be a shame for you to hurt yourself.”

Before the sword was fully sheathed he was halfway to an open door, driving his weary body to reach it before, before—

“Stop right there, hero. You’re not going anywhere.”

An invisible barrier bounced him back. Again and again he threw himself against it while Jehenna’s laughter echoed around him. His brain kicked in at last and he stood, breathing hard, within arm’s reach of an open door that posed more of a barrier than prison bars. “Why?” he said. “What do you stand to gain?”

In answer to that, she only smiled. “You might as well sit down; you’ll be here for a while.”

“Please—you can do whatever you want with me. Just let her go.”

“I can do whatever I want with you, anyway. All I need do is speak, and you will dance for me, a puppet on a string. At the moment your vicarious suffering is sufficient. Let me tell you what is happening up there. Your beloved, dressed in a gown of white, is chained to the tip-top of this Blood Stone. The dragon isn’t in a hurry—it’s too well fed. It will toy with her at first, but soon, very soon, it will devour her. There may be leavings—a hand, a foot, a fragment of clothing. I’d love to have you watch, but it’s so much safer if you stay here.”

She walked over to him and ran her hand over his mangled face. He sucked in his breath at the pain but managed to hold his head steady, not to flinch away. “Oh, the scars.
Priceless. I must say I thought the bear would win when I sent it through—I underestimated your abilities. This has been an interesting visit, but I’m afraid I must leave you now.”

“Off to watch her die?”

“Oh, no. Fascinating as that would be, I have a more important thing to do.” She reached into a pocket and extended her hand toward him. On her open palm lay a black stone object, intricately carved.

“You see, I was able to find this without your help. The Old One thought he could outwit me. It took the girl and the flightless bird, both, to find the key. But it is mine now. And I have no more need of Dreamshifters or dragons, spells or potions or incantations.” She pressed her lips against the gleaming thing. “This will grant me life everlasting and unrivaled power.”

There was nothing he could do. All of George’s warnings in his head, his driving passion to save Vivian, to destroy the witch before she could make good on her plans—were as a child’s whim, and with as little power.

Jehenna smiled, slow and seductive, then leaned toward him and kissed him. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of her face, and when he opened them, she was gone.

His mind sprang free, his body once again his own to command. He leaped for the door, closed now. It had no lever, no handle. Pushing against it had no effect. He ran at it, struck with his injured shoulder, and landed in a heap on the floor, biting his lip until it bled to keep himself from whimpering with the shock of pain.

There must be another way out.

Searching the room, he found a metal grate, big enough to drive a semi through, but it was also locked. No other doors. He circled the chamber seeking an exit, unwilling to believe that he could not get to Vivian, could not stop the witch, after all he had done to get this far.

Steps led up onto a stone dais. He climbed them. Clotted blood in a basin, mixed with something black that had etched away stone where it splashed out onto the dais. Zee
shivered, a sense of something evil and dark coming over him, and he retreated, sick at heart, to sit down and press his back against the wall next to the door.