Seeker

Time was growing longer. Quin could hear her own breath in the darkness, each inhale and exhale stretching out until they took minutes, it seemed, to complete. Eternity was all around her, like the water of the river that flowed around the estate.

Words from her oath floated into her mind, disconnected … the hidden ways between, rising darkly to meet me …Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

She had lost the thread of the time chant. She knew the words. They were on the tip of her tongue. Just there, just there, had been there forever …

Her breath slowly, slowly filled her lungs. Why bother to breathe? she wondered. It was easier to pause between breaths and hover there, letting the blackness float you away.

I will die here! she thought suddenly. The realization was strong enough to speed her up again. Her breath went out more quickly, then in again.

Knowledge of self. The words of the chant came back to her. Knowledge of home.

She forced the words to come through her mouth, out loud.

“A clear picture of where I came from, where I will go, and the speed of things between will see me safely back.”

This was now. If there was no time in this no-place, still she had brought her own time with her. My mind will clear, she told herself. And it did. With a rush of gratitude, she understood that her work as a healer had kept her mental muscles sharp.

She could feel the athame and lightning rod in her hands. There was a faint glow from the athame, just enough light for her to see its shape.

She was saying the chant again: “Knowledge of self, knowledge of home, a clear picture of where I came from, where I will go …”

She knew where she must go. In the dim glow of the stone dagger, she turned the dials along its haft, feeling the shapes of the symbols with her fingers. These coordinates were the first her father had made her memorize, and they were burned into her mind below the level of consciousness.

“… and the speed of things between will see me safely back …”

She lifted the athame and swung it toward the lightning rod. Halfway there, it struck something else. Quin reached out in front of her, and her fingers came in contact with cloth. Wool, like they used to wear when she was a child, thick and itchy. She dug her fingers in, finding something softer underneath, maybe flesh.

She held the athame close, trying to see what she was touching in its vague light. By its size and position, she was fairly certain it was the figure of a human, as still as stone. She could not make out details, but with her hands she discovered a head and shoulders, belonging to someone much taller than she was. She felt further and grew uncertain. There were too many limbs, and they were in the wrong places …

How long had she been standing here with the figure? How many breaths had it been? Ten? A hundred? It was impossible to count, especially with her lungs moving so gradually.

“Knowledge of self.” The words came sluggishly, like bubbles through molasses. “Knowledge of home …”

She could not stay, or she would stay forever. She turned away from the silent figure, bringing the athame and lightning rod together. When the vibration enveloped her, she carved a new anomaly, drawing it as large as she could.

The tendrils of light and dark separated from each other, then became a solid border in front of her, creating a humming doorway. Its energy surged outward from the darkness, toward the world. There was a night sky beyond, and trees, a forest of trees.

“A clear picture of where I came from, where I will go …” she chanted.

She turned around and moved a few paces back, feeling her way behind the strange figure. Placing her hands against it, she thrust it forward with all her strength. It was heavy and awkward, but frozen so solid she could push it as you would a statue. She shoved repeatedly, sliding it along in fits and starts toward the hole between nothingness and the world. At last, with a final push, the frozen figure reached the lip of the doorway, whose pulsing edges helped carry it through. It tumbled downward onto the forest floor, and Quin jumped out after it.

Her feet touched ground, and she stood still a moment. She was in a clearing with thick woods on all sides. The east was growing lighter. It was almost dawn here. Her breath and heartbeat were speeding up, returning her to normal.

In the moonlight, she could see more clearly the figure she had brought with her from There. It was not one man but three, cloaked and hooded, their arms intertwined, one clutching the second’s arm, while the second grabbed the third’s shoulders. They lay there in the same positions in which they had stood, their legs pointing awkwardly away from the ground.

The first figure was an old man who was not familiar to her. The second she knew. Though she could not locate specific memories of him, his name came to her mind immediately: the Big Dread. This unlocked something else: a memory of the two Dreads, one of whom was much smaller. A girl, her mind told her. I do remember her.

The third man was Briac Kincaid.

Quin had brought her father back to the estate.