A cabin, southeast of Faenella

Finally, the wind stopped howling through every crack and cranny in the wood planks, and Peter knew the storm was over. He was thrilled, for a variety of reasons. Elisabeth had hardly said a dozen words to him in the last week, which made the cabin feel small and claustrophobic. He couldn’t get out of her space, and she obviously wished he wasn’t around.

Almost as tedious was caring for the remaining hostages, a chore Peter thought, that was better suited for mothers and nurses. For days he had fed them, untied and retied their bonds so they could relieve themselves in the stinking pot he had left in the bedroom. Had he been alone, he would have just killed them, but since Elisabeth was his hovering, angry conscience, he let them live.

Using the fire poker as a lever to pull the boards off the door, he watched Elisabeth packing their backpacks. She was turned away from him, her shoulders hunched forward, the muscles in her back ridged. He wanted to say something, to chastise her for being immature and unreasonable about the situation, but he closed his mouth and redoubled his effort to pry open their escape route.

A few sharp cracks and he pulled half the door off the frame. He wasn’t worried about preserving the thing, then men had destroyed it when they kicked their way in.

“Anger management issues?” Elisabeth asked.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. She was the kid, here. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up over her comments. When he was sure he could answer her calmly, he said, “The door was nailed shut.”

She grunted and turned to look at the doorway.

Bright, white sunlight shown through the cracks to strike the floor. Dust and soot cascaded in the air, the particles dancing in the light as though they were as excited to leave the room.

Peter forced a few more of the boards off the frame until he revealed a wall of snow. Recognizing that it must have been thin if the sunlight was able to get through, he clawed at it with his hands. Elisabeth came and helped him, as eager to escape as he was. It didn’t take them long and when they were done, they scrambled out like school children released for recess.

“Thank god,” Elisabeth breathed, flinging her arms wide and spinning in a circle. “I thought we were never going to get out of there.”

Peter grinned. The girl looked ridiculous, her face a mask of dirt and soot. Burning the fire for that many days had probably colored him, as well. He took a handful of snow and scrubbed his face. The water ran off grey.

He caught Elisabeth watching him, and said, “Better an ice bath than nothing. You look as dirty as I do. It’s from the smoke.”

She didn’t respond, but cleaned herself.

It was glorious to be out, he thought. Above him the blue sky was cloudless, the empty expanse reflected on the puddles of melted snow. There were animal prints all over the clearing, and the creatures chittered and sung in the barren tree branches. Peter’s stomach grumbled. It would be good to have some fresh food tonight.

“I’m going to get the Dog,” he told Elisabeth.

She followed him back inside, pulling both packs onto her shoulders and lugging them outside.

Peter untied the man’s legs and herded him into the sunlight. He could feel Elisabeth’s eyes on his back, but he hadn’t drawn his guns.

“I’m not going to shoot him. I’ll leave him here and the couple can decide what to do with him.”

She relaxed a little, as if her spine was a spring carefully released.

“Cut the other two free,” he told her. “And let’s get out of here. I want to make good time.”

Elisabeth glared at him, but turned to do as he asked.

Women.

This whole thing was ridiculous. She was mad at him because she was mad at herself. All she needed to do was come to terms with what she had done and the reality of the situation. Which when he put it that way, might be asking a lot.

She was from Earth, after all. She was young. Young and talented, and worth the tantrum and the silent treatment. She had saved his life, and he had saved hers. She would get over her issues. She was stronger than she thought she was.

Remaining angry with him, when she was the one who shot the Dogs, was asinine. He hadn’t told her to shoot them. She had decided to do that on her own. It wasn’t his fault.

He laughed to himself. Actually, it was his fault. His spell had brought her over. But thankfully, Elisabeth was still in the dark about that part.

Peter had been careful talking to her. She seemed to be able to read him, to sniff out when he was skating the truth. It had taken a lot of effort to answer her questions correctly without giving anything important away, but he thought he had managed it. He had been honest when he told her that she had killed people and that she would probably kill more. And that majic was the only way home.

Of course, if Peter wanted, he could have Traveled her home that very moment, but that would only called the Family’s Dogs down on their heads. No, he needed to play a careful game. Once the girl trusted him, and once he figured out why he had drawn her over, he was going to use her to find the witch.

Either he had pulled the Radcliff girl across when he set Milly’s spell or she had gotten here on her own. Either way, he needed to be the one to find her. The Dog had admitted they were after her, and if the Family knew she was in Eganene, then the game was on.

Milly may have known the answer to his questions, but he couldn’t get to her, not while there was a man-hunt. But he still might have time. So far, the witch had avoided capture. She was young, probably near Elisabeth’s age. It felt strange to hope for her success, but he did. He wanted her to stay free long enough for him to find her.

So, it was Orlenia. The Family would never expect him to go home. Buddy would help and hide him, and provide the resources to figure out what Peter had done. Elisabeth and the Radcliff witch were connected, he just had to figure out how.

Peter looked back at her. She followed him through the forest, her white blond hair tossed about in the wind. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but before Elisabeth’s hissy-fit, it had been pleasant having her as a partner.

He eyed the forest around them, seeing nothing of note but the melting expanse of white and settled into the quiet walk. Elisabeth was pleasant in a lot of ways, but having her to watch his back was a unique experience. Not since Buddy had he had someone to survive with.

Peter knew where he was going, in a general sense, anyway. The cottage owners had said there was an Inn in Seana where they could pick up a caravan. Obviously, they couldn’t join it, but they could follow it south. If they ran into Family, the Dogs would concentrate their efforts on searching the wagons instead of the woods.

Considering that his experience with the southern route of the Black road was limited, this was the smartest course of action. He didn’t consider his lack of knowledge a failing, he generally just Traveled wherever he needed to go. The caravan would take the fastest, most direct route to Orlenia. Plus, groups of people would keep away the majority of forest predators. Safety in numbers; it was as true now as ever.

Peter wanted to talk to the girl about how they were going to proceed, but he swallowed his comments and adjusted his pack. She would speak to him when she was good and ready.

She broke her silence a few hours later, “How far?”

“I think we are close. The husband goes there for market.”

“Fine.”

He stopped, waiting for her to catch up, “Not that you’re saying much these days, but you need to understand that we can’t talk to the people in the caravan.”

“Because they might be Family?” she asked, kicking her boots against a tree to dislodge the snow.

“Family don’t usually travel in caravans, but there is no way to know if there are informants in the group. We need to stay low until we get to Orlenia. Until then, we are targets. The Family will put out notices, they will send men, Dogs, to kill us.”

“Yeah, like the other guys,” Elisabeth sighed. “I get it. No talking.”

That was all she said for hours. They walked along the road and kept eyes on the forest. Spring could be seen in the melted water that ran in small streams across the macadam, in the moss on exposed branches, and in the mud beneath the snow. Peter knew it was beautiful, the crystallized leaves, the powered mounds that might have been brush, rocks or stumps, but he didn’t want to see all that white. He was done with winter.

Perhaps he had grown soft on Earth. He missed his bed, the rich food and the warm heat. It was going to take them months of travel to get to Orlenia. And if what the Dog had said was true about the Facility and the women, then a lot had happened since he had last paid attention to politics.

It surprised and bothered him that Jokihm would make such a poor decision. Everything the man had done during the Assault and the Purge had been nothing short of genius. Peter didn’t know him personally, but he had once been at a meeting between Jokihm and Jones. The man had been intelligent and intense, the kind of person who would ensure that everything went as planned and nothing was forgotten.

This new course of action made Peter terribly uncomfortable. Using women and children for experiments? Selling people?

If the Family wanted to strengthen the Rebels position and the townspeople against them, then they found the perfect method. It had taken them long enough to train the populace into giving up the people with Power. Why would they stir up old memories, now?

Peter glared at the clouds, hoping that the town was close. It was almost dark, the sun setting west off the mountain range. He checked to see if Elisabeth was keeping up and was rewarded with a withering stare.

This was getting old. If she didn’t soften by tomorrow, he was going to have it out with her. She might have been a high school kid when he met her, but she was something more now. She ought to act like it.

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Before it was fully dark, Peter called camp at the top of a small hill. The snow there had melted and the ground was soft, but it would freeze solid at night. The lower valleys would collect the run-off and remain wet for weeks to come. Peter wondered if he couldn’t make them a hammock to keep them off the ground. There might be an opportunity at the camp to steal some rope.

The pines above them were old and full, and Peter collected the dried needles. Scooping them into piles, he spread them out where they were going to lay. Elisabeth knew exactly what to do and did it efficiently, without speaking. They were like an old married couple who knew each other, and the ins and outs of their marriage, better than they knew themselves.

“No fire?” she asked him.

“Can’t risk it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Figured.”

While he unrolled their mats and blankets from their packets, she fixed them a small meal. There hadn’t been much at the cottage when they left, but he had taken everything they could eat. The husband and wife would go to friends for succor. He and Elisabeth needed all the help they could get.

Dinner was strips of dried meat and rock-hard cheese, and Peter was glad to have it.

“Are you done being mad at me, yet?” he asked her. They were both cleaning their guns, the motion repetitive and soothing.

“I’m not mad at you.”

He looked at her in the falling darkness. The forest was quiet and he could hear nothing but their breathing. The animals must not be used to them yet, he thought. There should have been a host of sounds to lull them to sleep.

“You’re not talking to me.”

“I just don’t want to talk.” He didn’t think she was being sarcastic, but he couldn’t read her face to tell.

When she pushed her mat closer to his, he decided she was sincere. They would be much warmer together. He lay down beside her, holding her body against him as they tried to fall asleep without a fire. He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth and smelling her hair against his face.

It was past midnight when he felt the girl jerk awake. She scrambled out from beneath the covers and he followed, only then hearing the screams. The shrieks and cries exploded out across the mountain so that it seemed there were a hundred.

Peter scanned the tree line, searching for the source of the noise as he readied his guns. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elisabeth do the same.

They both looked up. Something was in the trees. He could hear the displaced snow dropping onto the forest floor, the creak and crack of broken branches. Almost directly above them came a sob and a crunch, bark and snow raining down to strike their heads as the creature landed on its powerful hind legs.

“What is it?” Elisabeth hissed. She had her back against his back. It felt right.

“Creeling, I think,” he whispered back. “It’s hard to see it, but there aren’t many things that big.”

“Creeling?”

He heard the question, but now wasn’t time to answer her. In the darkness above them someone screamed, a long wail that was ragged on the edges, shredded to almost nothing. Peter felt the sting of sadness. He might not know the poor soul up there, but no one should die in such a way.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“Stay quiet. Stay low,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her into a crouch. Thank the gods they hadn’t lit a fire.

He took a moment to listen carefully, his eyes scanning the black forest searching for danger. Creeling usually stayed to the treetops, but it was important to check. Dead men didn’t get any second chances.

It leapt, and they heard the beating of powerful wings, a shriek following the movement.

“I think we’re safe,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Take a deep breath,” he told her. “Tell me what you smell.”

The creatures were already moving off. He could hear their path through the forest, the crunching and snapping of branches that marked their progress. Another scream cut through the forest, this one further away and weaker. Peter felt Elisabeth inhale, her back pressing against his back .

She froze, and Peter turned to watch her. The sky was cloudless and her eyes glimmered in the moonlight. Tipping back her head, her mouth opened just a little. She opened her eyes, “It smells like iron, like blood.”

He nodded, “They were carrying their dinner.”

“What do they eat?” she asked, her voice was low and concerned.

He scanned the treetops, “Anything. Fresh meat. People and horses are their favorites. I don’t think Creeling are common in this area, but I don’t usually spend so much time in woods. Most of the stories I’ve heard have them on an island near Delphi.”

“Could be it was the helstrom,” he continued. “That might have pushed them out of their territory. If they are hungry, they’ll migrate. We’re probably close to the town.”

Elisabeth elbowed him in the side, “Look!”

Peter turned, recognizing the glow, “And there it is. Was. Hopefully, still is. That has to be Seana. They must have tried to use fire to fight the beasts.”

“Shooting them seems like a better option,” she said.

Peter couldn’t see her at all, now. The fire light had ruined his night vision. “Not everyone has as much firepower as we do,” he replied. “And hitting them in the treetops isn’t as easy as you think. Fire is generally the only weapon. That, or majic, but there isn’t a lot of that around these days.”

“Come on,” she growled. “Let’s not start that crap again.”

He ignored her comment. “The beasts are long gone and well fed.” He pointed at the fire a few miles away, “I'd like to scout that before morning.”

“Let’s go now.”

He shook his head in the darkness, “You go anywhere close to that right now and you’ll end up with an arrow in your gut. They just lost people. We need to keep our distance.”

“But…”

“No, buts. Grieving people make rash, unpredictable decisions. If they saw us, they would shoot.”

“If they saw us…”

He shook his head, “Don’t get cocky. The best dead men I know were cocky.”

She humphed and crossed her arm, “When we were in the woods, I was able to sneak up behind that guy. He had no idea I was there, until I…”

“Killed him,” Peter finished, touching her arm and returning to their make-shift beds. “I wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem like the right time,” he continued. “What happened that night? How did you get so close behind him.”

Elisabeth had followed him to their beds, but she hadn’t sat down. She stood looking into the black forest. Without the fire behind her he could see her face, see the way she clenched her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she explained, softly, contemplating the darkness. “He was going to kill us. When I realized there were three, I knew I had to do something.”

“But how did you get so close?”

She clicked on her safeties and laid her guns on her bed, “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it a lot. It…I…I’m not sure how I did it. It was like everything was slow, like I could see the way it was supposed to happen and I had all the time in the world to do it.”

“Like how you heard the Creeling first?” he asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You moved before I did.”

“I guess. I always had pretty good reflexes, even back on… on Earth.”

“Perhaps,” Peter commented. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but the girl was unnaturally quick. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she had majic.

She plopped back into her blankets, “This whole world is messed up. People trying to kill us, freaking giant monsters who eat people and horses-- why would anyone stay here?”

Peter had to give her that. He had thought about staying on Earth more than once. But Eganene was so much more interesting. He had a life here, a plan on how to breech the Family’s inner circle. One day he would be on the Board and be as powerful as he could dream. All he had to do was find the Radcliff witch.

And what would he have done on Earth, anyway? Get a job, become a real, businessman? The image of himself in a suit working nine to five was so amusing, he didn’t even hear the intruders approaching. He only knew they were there because he saw Elisabeth jump up with her guns and level them at the darkness.

“Come out or I’ll shoot!” she yelled.

Her voice was strong and full of conviction. Belatedly, he pulled his own weapons out and dropped the hammers. He saw nothing in the forest, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Again, Elisabeth had heard the warning sounds before he did.

“Do what she says,” he ordered.

He heard a squeak and a rustle and then there were a whole group of people emerging from the woods. Well, he couldn’t really call them people. They were Yila, the fur ladened, tail wagging, half breeds the witches had befriended years ago.

“What the hell?” he heard Elisabeth exhale, taking a step back

He could only imagine what she was seeing. Peter counted twelve of the creatures, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more. Yila were renown for their stealth and quiet. If it hadn’t been for Elisabeth’s superhuman hearing, the group would have snuck up on them for sure.

They were strange beasts, although usually peaceful. Relatively human sized they had bodies covered by a downy fur which insulated them in extreme weather. Peter couldn’t tell this group’s color in the darkness, but tribes generally held the same hue. The ones he had met were gold or light brown, with over-sized yellow eyes and vertical pupils. Some in the Family collected their pelts as prizes during the Purge, but Peter found that revolting.

The twelve huddled together, their tails swishing behind them in agitation. Elisabeth said nothing. Peter gave her a look, but she was staring open mouthed at the Yila and was in no position to conduct the interview.

Peter gestured with his guns, “Have a seat.”

The animals complied immediately, a low rumbling emanating from the group. The largest of the cats stepped forward. The creature walked on two paws, although Peter had seen them at a full run on all fours.

“We come in peace. We don’t mean you harm,” the Yila said. The way it pronounced the r sounded like a purr.

Peter regarded the creature, “Obviously. Otherwise, my partner, there, would have killed you already.”

Elisabeth grunted and came to stand beside him, her elbow brushing against his side. “What…”

“Yila,” Peter said, answering her question and trying to keep the revulsion from his voice.

She heard it anyway, and gave him a guarded look as she whispered, “Dangerous?”

“Perhaps,” he replied.

Peter gestured towards the group, “What do you want? Why are you sneaking around the woods?”

The Yila’s leader took a step closer, “I am Dwynella. The weapons are unnecessary. We mean you no harm.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, pointing one of his guns at the cat.

Her ears quivered in fear. “We were hiding from the Creeling. We heard you after the beasts moved away.”

“What do you want?”

“Perhaps to trade?” Dwynella said.

Peter stifled the laugh that threatened, “What could you trade that we would need?”

The cat’s ears twitched, “Information. Help.”

That was not the answer he expected. Yila were regularly hunted by the Family and had keen senses. She must believe he wasn’t one of them. And if that were true, then he was damn convincing.

“We will listen,” he told her.

“Without the guns?” the creature asked.

He was about to answer no, but Elisabeth was already holstering her weapons. The girl took a few steps towards Dwynella. Peter watched her expression change in rapid flashes of emotion-- fear, curiosity, delight, confusion. She was at war with herself, trying to understand what she was seeing.

“Elisabeth,” she said, putting her hand out to shake the creature’s hand.

Peter knocked her arm aside and glared at her, “Sit. Everybody.”

If the Yila really did have something useful for them, the last thing he needed was Elisabeth messing up the negotiations. The two humans and the Yila sat down with one another on the cold forest floor. Peter watched Dwynella curl her body like a cat and felt queasy.

“Begin,” he said, but the cat was staring at Elisabeth with an expression that approximated awe. Of course, Peter could have been wrong on that one, they were as hard as dogs to read.

Dwynella refocused on him, her cat’s eyes catching the moonlight. “The Inn was attacked by Creeling,” she began.

“We know that,” he snapped.

“Yes,” she almost meowed. “But you may think they are gone. That they will not return to kill more.”

He shrugged, “I can’t read their minds, can you?”

She tilted her head, “No, but we have seen this group of monsters before. They follow one of the wagons in the caravan. They will be back.”

“Why?” Elisabeth asked.

Dwynella cocked her head to the side, “We saw the beasts attack the wagon with chains a two weeks ago. And here they are again.”

“But how can you tell they are the same group?” Peter asked.

Dwynella wrinkled her cat’s nose, “They stink. We can tell which beast is which.”

Peter nodded, impressed despite himself. It was good information the Yila had given him. “What do you want?” he asked her.

She answered him with a question, “You travel south, the same way as the caravan?”

“Yes.”

“We, too, travel to Orlenia.”

This time, Peter did laugh.

Behind Dwynella the other cats shifted, looking like they wanted to run. “I speak the truth,” she said.

Peter laughed again, “Then you’re mad. They’ll kill you all.”

“Who?” Elisabeth asked. “Who will kill them?”

“Family,” Peter answered, giving her a sharp look. He wished she would just stay quiet.

Dwynella was watching him intently, and Peter struggled to not look away. “I asked you what you wanted.”

“We will travel with you,” the cat said. “Help you to find your path to Orlenia.”

“Why would you do that?” Peter asked. “What do you get out of the deal?”

Dwynella paused, seeming to consider his question. “We know these woods well,” she said gently. “We will escort you to Orlenia’s walls in safety. Once we have done this, we would like you to help us into the city.”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t know if that’s even possible. There are guards, patrols. They will find you and kill you.”

“We think you will find a way,” Dwynella said, looking at Elisabeth. “You and your companion seem more capable than the other humans we have met.”

He barked his laughter, “Compliments, Yila, will get you nothing.”

“But trade, will,” she replied, putting her hand out as Elisabeth had done.

Impulsively, he grabbed it. He could see the fear in her eyes. She had expected Elisabeth to be the one to seal the bargain.

What the hell, he thought. A bargain with a Yila? Why, not?