South of Faenella, Eganene

Cracked by ice and the roots of persistent trees, the hard, black ground was still surer footing than the forest. It had to be the remains or imprint of a major highway. The macadam was ruined, but infinitely better than battling brush, debris and fallen trees. Jamie enjoyed the road until Agatha urged them from the open expanse. The path was dark and winding, hidden beneath a fitful canopy of skeletal oaks and maples.

“Can’t we stay on the road?” Jamie asked, looking solemnly back to where the winter light still shown through the hedges. The trees dwarfed them, the people insignificant under their massive branches.

Agatha shook her head, holding tight to her mare’s reins. Scottie mewed at her. She stopped to settle him more snugly inside the blanket on Sunshine’s back. “There’s a town not far from here.”

Ian sighed. Jamie had to agree. Neither of them wanted to chance running into Family. Still, it felt wrong to be going south. He wanted to complain, but they’d had that argument a dozen times.

Bekka’s grandmother looked too frail to fight. Her face was gaunt. He knew that the cold and physical exhaustion were eating away her small reserves of body fat. The dark bags under her eyes foretold dire consequences for her advanced age.

Sharing her story, reliving what happened to her family had taken something from her, lessened her in some way that Jamie couldn’t quantify. He wanted to know the rest of the tale, but trying to imagine her waiting in a smoke filled hallway, holding her grandchild while her own children were murdered, was too difficult, too surreal. Things like that didn’t happen, not to real people.

Sometimes, he thought about it while they were walking, but mostly, he focused on the woods around them, the path and tracks he saw in the snow. At first, Ian was able to identify any creature he found, explaining the Eganese name and the animal’s characteristics. It was interesting that some were the same and others sounded like another language. Soon, Jamie found prints that were new. The most disturbing were tracks of a large cat and the long claw marks torn into a tree.

The only time Agatha broke her silence was when she was teaching them to fight. Jamie loved the lessons, the feel of the sword in his hand and the fact that he was actually doing something. And it was good that Ian’s rage had an outlet.

Jamie was a natural introvert, and with Agatha moody and taciturn, the boy was left to his thoughts. Night was the hardest time, the light fading from the sky as the three travelers huddled around the fire engrossed in their own thoughts.

Ian spent those hours carving. Sometimes he told Jamie a story, something from the past to fill the void of the woods. For his part, Jamie enjoyed watching Ian work. He was mesmerized by the easy turn of the wrist that sliced away the strips of wood to reveal the likeness of an animal.

Yet, things were far from idyllic.

Ian was obsessed with his family’s murder, muttering to himself, unaware that he was speaking aloud. They slept close together. Jamie heard him moaning in his sleep or crying softly into his arm. More disturbing yet, the boy stalked through the woods, glaring at Agatha’s back as though she were the cause of his misery.

Bekka’s grandmother never said anything about it. Jamie tried to ignore the behavior, figuring that acting strange was probably normal for a kid who had experienced what Ian had.

Tonight, Ian broke a long, curved bough from a tree at camp. Dinner was long done. It didn’t take much time to eat their hard biscuits and salted meat. Agatha was huddled in a blanket, her back against a fallen tree and her eyes far away. Ian sat close to the light, busy carving with his hunting knife. The crackle of burning logs and the chittering of squirrels accompanied his work. Jamie knew the boy’s farther had crafted weapons in wood as well as steel. His guess was that Ian was making a bow.

The boy seemed intense, as if tonight’s work had more purpose than the smaller carvings. For hours he worked, first peeling away the bark to expose the green wood. Then, he thinned out the extremities layer after layer. When he was finished, he cut two notches in both ends for the string.

“What kind of feathers are best?” he asked Agatha, breaking the quiet with a raspy voice.

Startled, Bekka’s grandmother twisted to look.

“Oh, I…” she looked as if she’d been dreaming with her eyes open. Displaced, Scottie padded around her blanket, rearranging himself against her leg.

“Sorry,” she managed at last, putting an old hand against her cheek. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

“What kind of feathers are best for fletching? Do you know?”

“Any game bird,” Agatha replied. “The less song the better. Although if it’s a close shot, you don’t need any at all.”

“Will turkey work? I think I heard some yesterday.”

“Sure. You know how to fletch them?”

The boy nodded, staring out into the darkness. “Cut carefully and sand the edges before you apply the sap. I guess it’s too dark to look for a bird, now.”

In the morning, they were all surprised.

“By Tod,” Ian exclaimed, waking Agatha.

Scottie was slinking towards the fire, his movements slow and labored. The cat was big, but the bird he was dragging behind him had to equal his weight.

“He’s got a turkey!” Ian turned to Agatha, his expression a war of happiness and confusion. “Did you tell him to do that?”

The old woman pulled herself from her covers, her head a mad mess of white, “No. I…No.”

Jamie eyebrow’s rose, “Scottie killed a turkey for you?”

Ian reached out his hand, tentatively petting the cat’s orange back and taking his prize. “I’ve never see a cat do that before.”

Jamie agreed, “Me neither.”

“He isn’t going to be mad I took it?”

Agatha called the cat. He sauntered into her arms, purring loudly. “No, he’s proud of himself. It’s all yours.”

Ian’s eyes were on Agatha, the frown on his lips digging deep crevasses in the sides of his face. “You really didn’t tell him to do that?”

“I don’t speak cat,” Agatha assured him. “You’re the one who wanted the turkey, are you sure you didn’t say anything?”

Looking disturbed, Ian started plucking the bird, placing the feathers into two separate piles according to whether they were taken from the right wing or left. Then, he cut them vertically. After rubbing a small stick against a sappy pine, he used it to glue the feathers equally around the end of the shaft. Pulling string from his pack, he said, “All set. I’ll be back soon.”

Jamie built up the fire and set the turkey to cook. The bird was big and would require hours of spinning to make sure the meat didn’t burn. Agatha huddled beside him, but the silence was heavy. His thoughts skittered by restlessly in the tension. He hadn’t realized how much Ian’s presence had come to mean to him over the last few weeks, acting as a buffer for Jamie’s anxiety about his sister and his anger at Agatha.

When Jamie did turn to Bekka’s grandmother, he found her watching him, her eyes staring out from a face wreathed in wrinkles. Strings of greasy grey hair poked from her hood. Scottie lay curled in her arms. She regarded him sadly, “Yes, Jamie?”

He had wanted to confront her, but now it seemed like the tables were turned. Taking a breath, he said, “We shouldn’t be heading south.”

She nodded, solemnly, “We’ve been over this. We can’t go north. The Family are everywhere. They are looking for Bekka and Elisabeth. And even if we found them, what could we do? They’ll be armed with guns. They are trained professionals. Once we get down to Orlenia, I’ll find help for us.”

Jamie scratched at his face, irritated by his beard. He knew she was right. “But how long will it take?” he heard himself ask. “How are we going to be able to find them once we do get help?”

“I don’t know. It could be weeks yet. I’ve never walked the distance. As for Bekka and Elisabeth, they’re probably headed towards us. Your Hunter, Carl, said...”

“He said the Family was hunting,” Jamie interjected. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing! What if they were captured? You said these people are evil, Agatha. How can we chance leaving Elisabeth and Bekka out there by themselves?”

“I don’t have answers. You know I want Bekka back, just as much as you want to find your sister. But rushing to their aid, even if we can find them, will doom us all.”

“But what about your magic?” Jamie asked, his mind alive with possibilities. “If we found them, couldn’t we just Travel back to Earth?”

Agatha shook her head, “I’m too weak, Jamie. Too old.”

“But...”

Pulling the blankets more tightly about herself, she said, “I Traveled twice in a matter of hours. Bringing you back here and Healing you took a lot out of me. I need to rest and regain my strength. Without the Umbilicus, all the Power comes from me, from my body.”

“Without what?”

“That’s too hard to explain right now,” she said. “Suffice to say that I couldn’t help anyone right now and I can’t take us back. I need to rest before we Travel again or it’ll kill me. Or all of us, for that matter.”

“Agatha,” he asked, “can other people take us back to our world?” The fire sizzled with turkey fat, filling the morning with sparks and the smell of roasting meat.

“It’s possible.”

“What about Selina? Could she do it?”

Agatha pushed her hood off and wrestled her hair into a bun, her crescent earrings reflecting the fire. “No. There aren’t many of us with the Power to Travel. And I fear, even less than before. Selina told me what’s happened in Eganene since I left. There are only a few that can help us. She says they’re in Orlenia.”

“But…”

“We must go there and ask for help. I believe they’ll help us, I do, but if not, then I’ll rest and take us back.”

“All I hear are ‘ifs’.”

“That’s all I have.”

Ian returned with wet and matted hair, a grin on his face and red hands. Behind him, he dragged a young doe on a pole, her slit neck dripping its last onto the snow as her carcass steamed. Bracing the end of the pole in the Y of a nearby tree, he drew his dagger.

“You got one,” Jamie managed. Hunting had never been his thing. While he wasn’t scared of the animal, the amount of blood Ian had on him was disconcerting.

The boy’s brown eyes were glassy. “She walked out right in front of me. The bow shot true and I wounded her with the arrow. Had to chase her down to kill her.”

Jamie grimaced. He couldn’t imagine stalking the doe through the snow, following drops of blood on the ground.

“I thought she would be too fast,” the boy was saying. “And I had to run a few miles to catch her. She was down when I found her, though. I guess she’d lost a lot of blood.”

“Good thing you found her,” Jamie said. At least the animal died quickly.

Ian pointed to the fire, “That turkey has hours. Do you have deer steaks in Philly?” The boy cut three pieces of meat from the animal’s side and lay them on a rock beside the fire. Rubbing his hands and arms with snow, he cleaned himself.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The half-melted masses fell to the ground like chunks of cherry snow cones. “No,” Jamie swallowed.

“Maybe they’ll be like your cheese steaks.”

“Maybe,” he said as Agatha fired the pan.

Ian pointed at their bags, “Any more salt? They’re better with salt.”

Jamie’s stomach grumbled with anticipation. The deer on the pole might disgust him, but the idea of a steak seemed heavenly.

They lost the rest of the day to butchering the meat and scraping the hide. Jamie watched because he felt he had to, knowing there could come a time when he had to do it himself. It was grim business, but Ian explained what he was doing. There was a certain science to it that lent the grisly nature a workmen-like quality.

Unfortunately, the boy also explained how he cut open the deer from tail to neck, cracked the chest cavity, sliced the esophagus and stripped away the tissue that connected the guts to the spinal cavity. He was very specific in elaborating the need to remove the internal organs as one, lest the meat become corrupted. There was a lot of meat, more than they could carry, but another group of travelers passed their position and Agatha was able to trade half the meat for a good stack of coins. The food helped to reinvigorate them. While they still weren’t making the best time, they were moving as the weather held.

Jamie woke to a thick cloud of fog, the murky air making the world appear as if it were covered with a thick film. Sitting up, he checked to see if Agatha and Ian were still asleep. In the dim light, Ian’s face was peaceful in repose. He looked like what he was-- a child, his long, spindly legs and large ears evidence that he was not finished growing.

Pushing the wool blankets down, Jamie extricated himself from their pallet of pine boughs. He was getting used to them. The jagged sticks and pointy needles were better than the ground, creating a barrier of air that helped insulate his body from the frozen forest floor. He hardly noticed them anymore, not after days of hard travel.

Tucking the blankets back, he went to look after the horses. They were happy to see him and nickered softly as he pet their necks. Sorry he had no treat to offer them, he continued into the woods, walking beneath the weak sunlight that slithered through the skeletal limbs. He was careful where he placed his feet, knowing a sprained ankle would incapacitate him. The last thing he needed was another injury.

The meadow wasn’t large, but it was flat and nearly free of sinkholes. Jamie put his bundle beneath a large oak and stripped off his jacket. The wind was cold, but not so cold as it had been the day he met Ian. Doing some warm-ups, he worked blood into his extremities, enjoying the time alone with his thoughts. His stomach rumbled as he positioned himself in his first stance. It always seemed to be complaining, no matter how much he ate. His body was getting stronger, changing in response to his training.

Putting his left foot forward and bending his knee, he steadied himself. Flexing his other leg, he absorbed the weight of his body as he pushed downward like a spring. Gripping the sword tightly with two hands, right above left, he was careful not to let his knuckles turn white. When he bent his elbow, cold wind swept across his sword and blew the pale hair from his eyes.

Rocking his right foot heal to toe, the spring released. Coils of strength unbound. He shot forward, his left foot planting as his arms swung down across his body. His momentum would have carried him all the way around, but his right foot moved and took his weight. Jamie’s blade slashed up, his imaginary opponent cut groin to neck.

Then he slid his left foot forward and swept his sword back to his shoulder. Not pausing, he continued the motion, sweeping the sword over as he turned, stabbing into the man behind him. Jamie pivoted, his body turning as he wrenched the blade from the enemy of air. Closing his eyes, he slashed a horizontal line.

Wawa, wawa, wawa. The sound split his thoughts, the echoes pulsing through him so that he could feel his teeth vibrating. The noise was deep and slow, distorting sound like the pedals his friends used for guitar. Jamie froze, his eyes raking the wood line, confused by who or what had caused the noise.

Nothing. He was alone. “That was weird,” he told the empty meadow. This level of sleep deprivation was a new milestone.

He began again, the cold area receding as consciousness ebbed away and his mind was quiet. Repeating his steps, he worked until his shirt was soaked with sweat and his body steamed like the deer’s. Jamie did not feel the soreness in his muscles nor the ropes of veins that mingle with his bluish scars. Despite the fact that he had been at it for almost and hour, he pushed on. He always fought until they called him back, his battle unending, his frustration infinite.

He loved the blankness of the forms. In them, he did not miss his sister or Earth. The present was all there was, his blade an extension of his needs. It slashed the air, destroying enemies that he did not know, but which his imagination readily supplied.

“Jamie!”

It was Ian’s voice, the boy stepping from the woods. “Your enemies must have drowned in your sweat by now.”

Laughing, Jamie let his sword hang loosely from his right hand. “You’re up early. I thought you might sleep ‘til noon.”

The boy swaggered through the brush, his body tight and controlled.

“You want to spar?” Jamie asked him.

“You want to get beat?”

Jamie knew he wasn’t exaggerating. Agatha may have shown Jamie forms, but Ian’s knowledge of fighting was more practical. Agatha’s saber was a quick, lighter style-- find an opening, score a hit. Then, defend until the opening reappeared.

Ian, on the other hand, loved to press the fight. He gave Jamie no chance to rest, pursuing him relentlessly as he wore him down with feints and bone-jarring cuts. Notwithstanding his weight, Ian was strong for his age. Working the bellows for his father had hardened his muscles while taking nothing from his quickness. Every time they fought, it was an epic battle, one that would not end until Agatha called them back.

“Real steel?” Ian asked, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. There was a slight sheen on his face, as if he had slept too close to the fire.

“If you want to kill something this morning, it shouldn’t be me.” Clapping him on the shoulder, Jamie said, “I can see you’re in a mood. How about we go hunting? I’ll help flush a deer.”

“Who says I need help?”

Jamie dropped his sword to the ground, shrugging into his coat. “I thought you might like the company.”

“It’d be a shame if I missed,” Ian joked, his voice lowering in mock threat. “What with you running around the woods, I might think you were the deer.”

Jamie laughed and punched the younger boy on the shoulder. Putting his hands up in front of his face, he waited for Ian to hit back. The blow never came. Instead, the boy was a few feet away, hiding his eyes. “What gives, Ian?”

When he didn’t get an answer, Jamie wiped the sweat from his face and picked up his sword. “Hey man, what’s wrong?”

Closing the distance, he saw Ian’s jerkin was stained with dirt and blood. Jamie reached out tentatively to touch the boy’s shoulder. Ian’s sword point rested on the muddy ground at their feet, his shoulders rolled forward as if to make himself smaller.

“Ian, are you…”

The boy moved fast. Spinning to face him, Ian wrenched his sword from the ground, his face contorted in fury. Lips drawn back in a snarl and eyes narrowed to slits, Ian screamed as he attacked.

Jamie wasn’t ready, flat footed with his blade loose in his hand, there was no way could pull his sword up in time. Adrenaline spiked, a hot flash of fear telling his body to move, to run, to protect himself, but there was nothing he could do. He watched the blade come, his heart stuttering as metal cut towards him.

Wawa, wawa, wawa.

Suddenly, the world slowed again, the echoing noise grinding time to a halt. Ian’s sword slowed, the metal shimmering in the light as it stabbed up towards Jamie’s face. Pulling his own sword up, he readied himself for the impact.

But there! Ian’s sword wasn’t the only danger, the glimmer catching his eye as he prepared to take the blow. The boy’s knife was in his other hand, the tip aimed at Jamie’s stomach.

Without thinking, Jamie’s swept his sword arm across his body, jerking his head out of reach of Ian’s sword. Time restarted with a loud clang, the sound of metal on metal a relief. Jamie backed up hastily, his boots dancing in the mud as he fought to understand what was happening.

Ian hadn’t moved, his eyes tracking his movement.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jamie shouted, confusion and anger warring for control. Ian had just tried to stab him, to kill him for real.

“Wrong with me?” Ian hissed. “Look at you,” he spat. “Those blue scars are proof of your nature.”

Jamie’s felt blood rush to his fae. “What are you talking about? You know it was an accident…”

Ian slashed at the air between them, forcing Jamie back. “An accident? You’re a liar! There’s not another man alive who bears those marks. My grandmother told me about your kind! I know the stories. You might walk this world, filth, but not for much longer.”

Ian’s sword came up, the boy covering the few feet between them, his eyes wild. Jamie blocked sloppily and his elbow exploded with pain. Ian’s dagger had bit deep into the skin of his arm, the blade slicing though his flesh to expose the muscle beneath.

With no time to check the wound, Jamie did his best to fend off Ian’s attacks. The boy’s eyes were slits, his cheekbones glistening with sweat or tears. Ian’s sword was a streak of silver in the air. Jamie’s fatigued muscles worked, straining to deflect blows that fell like boulders. Finally, the staccato pace slowed, Ian dropping into a defensive posture, feet planted squarely with his sword at the ready.

“So! The poor devil has learned his trade.”

“You cut me!” was all Jamie could say.

Ian swung his sword lazily.

Jamie backed-up again. He knew he was almost out of room, the wall of trees that bordered the glade close behind him. “Damn it, Ian! What’s wrong with you? I’m your friend!”

“My friend?” the boy spit. “You brought those men to my home! You and your sorceress. You say she gave you those wounds, but you lie! What majic must you have to control her? The witch shrinks at your approach!”

“Ian, think about it…” Jamie said, sliding another foot to the right.

The boy’s blade followed him. “I’ve thought about it enough! It is all lies! I believed you at first. Now, I know better.”

“I don’t know what...” Jamie tried.

Ian slashed again, “You work for the Family! You evil piece of…”

“But Ian...”

“My parents died because of you! I’ll never see them again! Never see my brother. Strike me where I stand, send the lightning from the sky, otherwise I’m sending you back to the Nineteen Hells!”

Ian screamed, his face contorting with pain and rage, slashing at Jamie’s neck. The world had dissolved for him, his expression reduced to manic, uncontrollable anger. Ian must have snapped. Those nights he spent crying, the muttered curses and furious expressions. He had lost his mind.

Unbalanced, Jamie lurched away, struggling to keep his feet long enough to decide which way to fall. The boy drew back, fainting with his dagger. Jamie threw himself to the left, rolling to come up in a crouch.

Finding his feet, he watched Ian’s eyes. How could he rationalize with a crazy person?

“What did they promise you, Jamie?” the boy asked. “Money, gold? What? What did it cost you to bring them to my home? What will they give you when you deliver me to your masters?”

Jamie choked on his words. “I didn’t even know you before...That doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“But why would I come after you?” Jamie asked, desperation making his voice higher. “All I want to do is find Elisabeth and go home.”

“You want to go home? I don’t even have a home to go back to!”

Jamie shook his head, taking small steps backward. He was placing his feet carefully, trying to get his back to the meadow. “Ian, I swear on my soul, I didn’t do those things. It just doesn’t make sense. If I were helping them, why would I be here with you? Why not just kill you? I could have cut your throat any night. I wouldn’t do that, I’m your friend.”

Jamie’s arms felt like jelly, his body quivering with exhaustion and adrenaline. Ian was the better swordsman. If he couldn’t make him see reason, he was as good as dead. “Please,” he whispered, pleading. “I didn’t…”

“Your motives mean nothing to me.”

“What motives, Ian? What could I possibly have to gain? Those men back there let you go. They wanted you to hear your family die, not me. If someone had a purpose it was them. Why kill everyone but you? Why did you survive? Did you do something, Ian? Something to make you valuable? Did you betray your family?”

“What?” the boy sputtered. He had stopped stalking Jamie’s every step, his hand opening and closing on the pommel of his sword.

“Maybe you didn’t even know you were doing it,” Jamie continued, stepping away. “You could have said the wrong thing, told the wrong people something about your parents, said something the Family could use against them. It might have seemed innocent at the time, just talking to your friends. You don’t know who’s with the Family. You told me so yourself, all about how they buy allegiances.”

“I…”

Jamie interrupted again, this time taking steps towards the boy. “Ian. You might not have known what you were saying. All I’m saying is that it makes more sense than accusing me. All I’ve done is try to help you.”

For a split second, Jamie thought he saw sanity surface in Ian’s eyes. The boy let his right hand fall to his side, his sword swinging heavily. Jamie watched him breathe deeply, saw his dingy blue tunic sway about him. Then his dagger came up, its point feet from Jamie’s chest.

“No!” Ian yelled, his voice echoing through the forest. Birds screamed in response and the sound of wings filled the air. “No more, Jamie. It doesn’t matter. My family is dead because of you. I’ll not let their killer walk free. I will have vengeance.”

Jamie retreated, the meadow again to his back. It was a small comfort. The sword in hands felt like a lead weight, the blade wavering in the sunlight. His palms were slick with sweat. His left hand had all but lost feeling. Blood trickled from his wrist to pool between his fingers, the rivulets washing over his pale hand.

A scream burst from the boy’s mouth. Jamie felt an instant of hopelessness, knowing there was no way that he could deflect both the sword and dagger, and certainly not for long. Standing with his feet apart, his right in front of his left, he balanced his weight on the toes.

Ian closed the distance, bringing his sword back to his shoulder before he swung, his dagger pushing out at the same time, aiming for Jamie’s chest.

Again, the wawa assaulted his ears, echoing through his temples as the deep resonance filled him. Time slowed. Ian’s blade seemed to pause before him. The sword moved as though parting hardened jelly, as if the air had coalesced about it.

Jamie didn’t wait. Something, someone, was intervening on his behalf. Swinging his own sword, the deadly arc met no opposition. It cut through the air cleanly. Jamie was filled with awe.

If only it lasted…without warning, time resumed its pace. Jamie fell forward, his weight and strength behind his sword, horribly unbalanced. Unprepared for the impact, his sword and Ian’s crashed together. Jamie’s blade slid into Ian’s shoulder as the hilt was ripped from his hands. At the same time, Ian’s dagger rushed past, missing his eye by inches.

Jamie hit the ground hard, the taste of dirt and snow filling his mouth. Pain shot through him as his injured arm took his weight, lancing up his arm and into his chest. Without air, his lungs seized. He rolled to the right, using his good hand to push himself up.

Or he would have if Ian’s boot hadn’t slammed into his chest. Unarmed and defenseless, Jamie was on his back in the snow. Ian’s sword pressed into his neck. The boy no longer looked human. His dark hair was torn from his braid, the wisps sticking to his cheeks to feather a mask of rage. Beneath his torn tunic, blood welled, staining his shirt a dark red.

“Now,” Ian smiled, the joy counterpoint to the madness in his eyes.

Jamie wondered inanely if this was what the doe felt before she died.

Ian waved his dagger inches above Jamie’s nose. “I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me why. If you tell me truly, I’ll make your death quick.”

“Why what?”

Ian ground his teeth, flecks of spit dropping into Jamie’s eyes, “Why were you after my family?”

What was he supposed to say to that? Ian was insane. Armed and insane.

“Last chance!” the boy yelled, slamming the pommel of his sword into Jamie’s shoulder,

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“There is nothing to tell you. Ian, I…”

“Fine!” He pushed the tip of his sword against the hollow of Jamie’s neck. “It’s better this way. My parents will know they’ve been avenged.”

Ian knelt beside him, his dagger trailing lower, coming to rest just beneath Jamie’s navel. He held the dagger with his wounded arm, blood from his shoulder falling onto Jamie’s chest.

The sword at his neck kept him still, pinned to the ground like he was already dead. Ending his life would take seconds, just a shift in Ian’s weight, the sword punching through the soft meat of his neck to sever his spine. As the cold steel pressed against his stomach, Jamie closed his eyes, unable to watch.