“Evidently your daughter more than mine, Zuangua,” said Eldest Uncle with a wheezy laugh. “Quick to temper, slow to wisdom. Both impatient. So I named her, remembering you.”
Instead of answering, Zuangua rose and stared north, a gaze that swept the horizon. Now Liath saw the resemblance to his twin brother, to his niece, and to Sanglant. The lineaments of his face had the same curve and structure. She felt the warmth of a mild, woken desire, seeing him as an attractive man. Until he looked straight at her. His expression shifted, the tightening of lips, the merest wrinkling of the nose, but she felt his scorn, she knew that he recognized her interest and rejected it. Rejected her.
His sneer scalded. She wasn’t used to indifference from men. She hadn’t desired or sought their interest, truly, but she had become used to it. Even King Henry, the most powerful man she had ever met, had succumbed.
So I am repaid for my vanity, she thought, and was cheered enough to smile coldly back at him.
He turned away to address his brother. “We will return, all of us who were caught beyond the White Road when the spell was woven. We who were once shadows are made flesh again. We want revenge for what we suffered. We will return day by day, more coming each day until we are like the floodwaters rising. Once we are all come home, we will make an army and destroy humankind. Our old enemy.”
“We are stronger than I thought!” murmured his niece. “Already more have joined the march than survived in exile!”
“It is not the right path,” said Eldest Uncle.
“So you have always claimed, but see what they did to us.” Zuangua gestured toward the barren wilderness. “This is what humankind made—a wasteland. You are old. Our people are diminished. Kansi said so herself, and if these rags are the best you have to wear, then I see it is true. The humans are many, but they are weak and the cataclysm has hurt them.” He touched the stained cloth that bound his shoulder. “Their king gave this wound to me, but I killed him. He is dead and your grandson risen in his place.”
Risen in his place.
Liath took a step back. The others did not notice, too intent on Zuangua’s speech.
“He seeks an alliance. We did act in concert when his need was great, but now we must consider him a danger. We cannot trust humankind.”
“We trusted them in the old days.”
“A few. The others always fought us, and will do so again. They will never trust us.”
“They won’t,” said Kansi. “They hate us. They fear us.”
“Do you speak such words even of your son?” Eldest Uncle asked.
“His heart lies with his father. I do not know him.”
“None of us know him. Better to learn what we can, scout the ground, before we act precipitously.”
“Better to act before we are dead!” retorted Zuangua. “So your daughter has advised me.”
“So.” Eldest Uncle sighed and shut his eyes a moment. “The first arrow has pierced deepest. You will believe her, despite what anyone else has to say.”
Liath had backed up four steps by now, one slow sweep at a time so as not to attract attention.
“Look!” cried Falcon Mask from up on the wall. “Is that an eagle?”
On the White Road, a hundred warriors raised their bows and each nocked an arrow.
“Let her go.” Eldest Uncle caught Liath’s gaze and lifted his chin in a gesture uncannily like that of his daughter. The message was unspoken: Now!
She bolted. Kansi leaped after her and got hold of the mantle’s hem, but as Liath strained and Kansi tugged, Eldest Uncle shut his eyes and muttered words beneath his breath. The binding cord fell away and the mantle slipped off her shoulders into the Impatient One’s clutching grip. Kansi stumbled as the tension was released. Liath ran.
“She is most dangerous of all—” cried Kansi.
Other voices called after her.
“That scrawny, filthy creature is a danger to us?”
“Not only a sorcerer, but … walked the spheres—”
“Let her go, Zuangua! I ask this of you, by the bond we shared in our mother’s womb.”
She stumbled over the White Road and tripped and banged her shin as she slipped over bare ground covered with ash and loose stone. The ground seemed to undulate of its own accord under her feet. Sharp edges sliced through her soles. Where her blood spattered on rock, it hissed, and the surface skin of rock gave way, cracking and steaming, as she leaped for a flat boulder whose surface remained solid. She smelled the sting of sorcery, a spell trying to slow and trap her: Ashioi magic, that manipulated the heart of things.