And if not, then the men would have horses. Fast horses.
Daigo let out a grunt of surprise, and she looked at him quickly, thinking one of the fiend dogs had grabbed him, but they were falling behind, as if they knew their boundary approached. Daigo’s ears twisted as he ran, his nose moving, too. His eyes went wide, and he started skidding to a halt just as two of the fiend dogs found one last burst of determination and barreled forward.
“Go!” Moria shouted.
Daigo looked from the creatures to the clearing ahead, but he didn’t move. Moria grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and heaved him forward, muttering, “Blast you” as he let out a yelp of surprise. Moria saw what was wrong. Tyrus stopped, his arms flying out to hold her back as he stood on the edge of the forest. No… on the edge of the world, which seemed to end here. Simply end. There was land, and then there was sky, dark, night sky as far as the eye could see.
Old stories told of breaks between this world and the next, where you could fall through, lost forever as a mortal in the second world.
Behind them, the fiend dogs had stopped, too, as if they also sensed what lay ahead and dared not approach. Tyrus was creeping toward the edge, and she wanted to snatch him back, but feared if she startled him, he’d lose his balance and topple over. He continued on, feeling his way, and she followed, doing the same, until he stood at the very edge, his arm out to block her again, and she looked down and saw…
Water. Endless black water. They’d run the wrong way and come out at the sea.
“We can…” Tyrus began, then trailed off, as if he wasn’t certain how to finish the thought.
“Could we climb down?” she said.
He leaned, and she struggled against the urge to pull him back.
“The cliff bank recedes from the edge,” he said. “We’ll have to walk along it.”
She glanced at the fiend dogs. They’d taken form now, that swirling, shadow-like canine form, and they’d started to pace, seeing their prey so close and trapped.
She nodded. “Quickly. While they’re still —”
One charged.
“Back!” she shouted, and it stumbled, then regained its balance, shaking itself, its head low as it growled.
A second started forward, cautious, but emboldened by its pack mate. When nothing happened to hold it, the beast kept coming. Then another stepped toward them.
“Can you swim?” Tyrus said.
“What?”
“We have to jump. There’s no other way.” He sheathed his sword. “Can you swim?”
She took a deep breath, pushed her dagger into her belt, grabbed his hand, said, “No,” and jumped.
FIFTY-ONE
As they hurtled through the darkness, Moria reflected that this was not much different from falling from the tree. Except for Daigo’s yowling. At least there were no branches to strike on the way down. Just —
They hit the water, and it was like plunging through ice. She’d done that once at a fishing hole, having underestimated the thickness of the ice. It was not an experience she’d ever wished to repeat. First there was the incredible cold that actually seemed to burn, searing the air from her lungs and threatening to stop her heart in her chest. Then, pain took over. Excruciating pain, which at least had the effect of slapping her out of her shock.
As the icy water enveloped her, her mind shed that last veil of shock and she thought, The sea. I’ve leaped into the sea. Also, I can’t swim. She recalled grabbing Tyrus’s hand, but the moment they’d hit the water, the force of the blow had knocked them apart.
She had to go up.
A wise idea, except as she flailed, she realized she had no idea which way that was. She’d been tumbling through the water and —
Whichever way you’re falling? That’s not up.
Which made perfect sense. As she turned her body, she could see the dim glow of moonlight overhead. So she started climbing – or what passed for climbing when one was submerged in water – pulling and kicking toward a surface that seemed to get no closer.
Because you’re kicking and pushing through water. All you’re doing is stopping yourself from falling farther.
She shushed that doubting voice, but the panic that came in its wake propelled her to fight harder. The water was so cold, so unbelievably cold, encasing her body like ice, heavy as lead, pulling her down. She’d been eating barely enough to stay alive, exercising barely enough to keep her muscles from atrophy. Then she’d run through the forest, climbed trees, raced from fiend dogs… She was exhausted, and she could not breathe. Most of all, she could not breathe.
So it’s too much. You’ll just give up. Sink to the bottom and die after escaping Alvar Kitsune and his fiend dogs. No one escapes fiend dogs, and you did.
But she hadn’t, had she? Perhaps it truly was fated. She’d seen them and now —
Didn’t I tell you not to leave, Keeper?
That voice sounded like Gavril’s, whispered as if he stood behind her, bending to her ear. Her imagination, not sorcery.
I warned you, Keeper. You won’t escape. You aren’t strong enough. You aren’t clever enough. You fancy yourself a warrior, but you’re a foolish little girl.
She pushed her hands over her head, propelling herself up.
You jumped into the sea, Keeper. Knowing you cannot swim.
Because I had no choice. You didn’t warn me of the fiend dogs.
I didn’t see the point. It wasn’t as if you were likely to escape anyway. And if you did? Well, you did not get far, did you?