was no change in the monotony of wind and rain, or the bump and rattle of the wagon. She was gagged. For a time, the briar-thing had been wrapped around her body, sticking her with thorns. Later this was replaced with strong ropes around her wrists and ankles. She wrestled briefly with the ropes in an effort to free herself, but gave up. Her bonds were secure.

Her hands were pulled behind her back. Her neck and shoulders were a mass of cramps and spasms. Her hands went numb. The wooden floor was rough. The rocking motion of the wagon worked splinters under her exposed skin. The position of her hands made it impossible to rest on her stomach or back. The only comfort she could find was to lie on one side or the other.

Bars above and on the sides formed a cage. Into this, the wind drove the rain like a frosty whip. Her clothes were soaked. She shivered continuously.

The night was dark. She was vaguely aware of several wagons rolling ahead.

No one talked to her. The only sounds were the hissing wind, the drumming rain, the squish and suck of the horses’ hooves in the mud. The grating cry of the left rear wheel.

She was unfamiliar with this road, but by the silhouette of the mountains ahead, she knew she was moving north. She figured she was somewhere near the border. How would they get her across? Dash had placed extra guards there.

A short time later the wagons stopped. A tarp was thrown over her. She heard grunts, and animal bodies were packed around her. Pigs. One of them stood on her. At least the tarp protected her from the rain, and the pigs kept her warm.

The wagon heaved forward. A short time later she heard a call to stop, then muffled conversation. She tried to scream through the gag, to move, to bang against the bottom of the wagon, but the animals hemmed her in. Then they were rolling on, and her heart sank. The border guards probably couldn’t hear her above the wind and the grunting pigs. Now she was outside Aerdem. There were no towns or villages for miles. Just open country. She could be taken anywhere. The rain would turn the wagon tracks into mud. Who could follow that? And who was there to follow?

She’d never felt more alone. A strangling terror gripped her throat. Where was her family, and what had happened to them? Were they in the wagons ahead? Why had she been taken rather than killed? Perhaps she would be killed. Later.

This thought spurred her to focus on escape. She wormed her way through the pigs to the side of the wagon, and pushed free of the tarp. Rising to her knees, she backed against one of the bars, rubbing and worrying the rope, back and forth, trying to weaken and loosen it. She rubbed until she was exhausted and her wrists were raw and blistered.

The wagon was beginning to stink from the pigs, who relieved themselves where they stood.

Hours passed. She clung to the memory of her mother, the day she told the story of the Starbirds. How reassuring her mother was. How soft and gentle and warm. At last, the wagon became a cradle and her mother rocked her to sleep . . .

The dream changed. One of the Starbirds stood on the edge of a cliff. Chains encircled the bird’s body, imprisoning its wings. Jen approached to remove the shackles. But every time she reached out, the bird became frightened, thrashing its wings against the metal. Feathers flew off and littered the ground. Holes of bare skin appeared, sore and bloody.

Angry, Jen kicked up a cloud of dirt. “Why won’t you let me take off the chains?”

The dirt sprinkled onto the bird, covering it with a coat of dust. The chains melted away like water.

A cougar appeared ten feet away and began stalking the bird.

“Fly,” Jen called. “You can fly now.”

The bird stood frozen on the cliff edge.

“Fly,” Jen yelled. “Why can’t you fly? What’s wrong with you?”

The bird stood as still as if it had been stuffed and mounted. Only its eyes grew round and made little jerking motions.

“Fly! Why don’t you fly? He’ll tear you to shreds.”

The cougar crouched to leap. In desperation, Jen grabbed the bird and threw it over the cliff. The bird’s eyes fixed plaintively on Jen as it plunged down the abyss.

The snorts of the pigs shuffling out of the wagon jarred her awake. She felt thirsty and dazed. It had stopped raining, and she could see the stars. A sliver of moon illuminated a tree-shrouded meadow. Rough hands hauled her to her feet. Her captors wore black masks and carried halberds. They tied a long rope around her neck and cut the bonds around her ankles and wrists. The circulation had not returned. Her legs and feet were racked with pins and needles. She felt so stiff and wobbly she could barely walk. They pushed and kicked her toward a large rock, and allowed her a private moment to relieve herself.

She could try to slip the rope from her neck, but figures lurked in the shadows beyond. If she tried to escape, she’d run right into them.

When she came out from behind the rock she was led to a circle of guards. A solitary figure stood in the middle. He wore a white mask with a wide, empty grin. It was Tragedy-Comedy. He put one hand on her shoulder blade and forced her to him, smashing her cheek to his chest. He smelled like rotten cactus. Still wobbly on her feet, he held her up and danced her round and round the circle. He brought his lips to her ear and whispered, in a dry, crackling voice, “I told you we’d dance in the moonlight.”

Then she was back in the wagon and passed out. She woke with her hands and feet tied. She wondered if it had been a dream. But the Comedy mask lay nearby, leering up at her.

Then there was nothing for miles but the complaining wheel and the beat of the horses in the mud. In the distance she thought she heard someone playing a pipe. The notes bent strangely, like a crying baby, and hung high and mournful on the wind.

Next morning, the wagons rattled across a broad plain. Scattered mesquite, rocks and tumbleweed dotted a stark landscape. Jagged hills floated like a mirage against the horizon. Jen felt like she was floating too.

Her wagon rolled to a stop beside a dirty waterhole. She listened jealously as the horses drank. She hadn’t been given a drink and her throat felt like a scab.

A wagon stopped beside her. Her heart pounded as she saw a figure kneeling facedown inside a cage. The person’s clothing—black boots, riding pants, leather jerkin—were splattered with mud. Jen couldn’t see the face, but a spray of bright red curls spilled onto the floor.

The masked captors had moved off and were talking softly beside a supply wagon. Jen ventured a call to the victim across from her.

“Are you awake?” she asked, her voice a fragile croak. The head stirred, looked up.

“Vieveeka!”

“They got you too, Jen?”

Jen’s mind swirled in confusion. This was the last person she thought she’d see. She didn’t think Vieveeka was Naryfel, but she wasn’t a friend, either. Why would anyone kidnap her? She wasn’t connected with the royal family, and was only a visitor to Aerdem. Jen thought about her moonlight dance with Tragedy-Comedy. Maybe he was the danger, not Naryfel. Jen wished she could place that desiccated voice.

“Who are they?” Jen asked. “Why were we taken?”

“I don’t know. I was riding to Trilafor to get a doctor when they took me.”

“A doctor?”

Vieveeka looked down and stifled a sob. “It’s your father—”

“Father? What’s happened?”

“—and Dash. Strange creatures attacked them—”

“—are they alive? Please tell me they’re alive.”

“Shh. The guards.” Vieveeka nodded toward the supply wagon. “Yes. They’re alive. But creatures are wrapped around their necks. If they are not removed properly, Dash and your father will die. I was going for a surgeon I know. If anyone can save them, he can.”

Jen felt like someone had grabbed her heart and twisted it. “Why?” she asked, her voice tiny and plaintive. Any remaining strength drained out of her, and she sagged against the bars of her cage. “Why would anyone want to hurt someone so kind?” She was thinking of her father. “Or noble.” She was thinking of Dash.

“Jealousy. Spite. Revenge. There are a million reasons and life is cruel. But Jen. There’s more.”

“More?” Jen’s voice fell to a strangled whisper.

“It’s your mother.”

“Mother?!”

“Yes. She’s here.”

“Mother?! They’ve taken her too? Is she all right? Where? Where is she?”

“Shh. The guards. Yes. I think she’s all right. She’s in that cage beyond the supply wagon.”

Jen saw another cage largely hidden behind the supply wagon, but couldn’t see inside. She gripped her bars fiercely. “We’ve got to escape and free her.”

“We will. Tonight.”

“How?”

“I’ve managed to loosen the rope around my wrist. I think I can slip it off.”

“What about the lock on the cage?”

“I’ve got a hairpin in my boot. I think I can pick the lock. I’ll free you and we’ll go to your mother.”

Jen felt a pang of guilt. “I guess I had you all wrong.”

“A lot of people do.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

“I do make an impression,” Vieveeka replied with a laugh. “But save that until we’re out of here. I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Right. Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m all right. Just a little stiff. You?”

“I’m fine,” Jen lied. “What about Bit?”

Vieveeka looked surprised. “Bit?”

“Father and Dash were attacked. Mother and I were taken. Bit is part of the family. Is she all right?”

“As far as I know. I heard she also went in search of a doctor.”

Bit! Jen thought with a surge of hope. I knew you had it in you.

Now anything was possible.

Around midnight, the wagons stopped in a pine-covered valley. The sky was moonless. The air crisp. The horses were watered, and fed on shoulder-high grass that surrounded the campsite. One of the guards lit a fire, and the odor of sizzling bacon and smoke wafted passed Jen’s nose. She hadn’t eaten or drunk in over a day. Her lips felt like a cracked desert, but she didn’t care. They were going to free her mother. And Bit was going for another doctor. Since Vieveeka had been captured, Dash and Father would need another doctor.

Vieveeka’s wagon had been moved to the front of the line, and Jen hadn’t seen her the rest of the day. There had only been glimpses of the wagon holding Mother, with no clear view inside. Jen had spent the rest of the day trying to loosen the knot around her wrists, without success.

But she felt hopeful. There was a plan, and with Vieveeka there, she didn’t feel so alone.

An hour later, the camp was still. The fire had died down. The guards, wrapped in blankets, looked like potato sacks flung haphazardly across a nearby belt of grass. No watch was set. They appeared confident the prisoners could not escape.

Jen listened for a scrape, a creak, any noise that would reveal Vieveeka had opened her cage. The only sound was a slight breeze rustling the grass and trees, carrying the dark scent of pine.

Without warning, Vieveeka appeared at the side of the wagon. She placed a finger to her lips to stop the startled cry at the back of Jen’s throat. Vieveeka moved to the hatch at the back of the wagon. With a sly smile, she held up a pin and began picking the lock. A moment later Jen heard two soft clicks and the lock was removed. Her eyes darted anxiously to the guards. None moved. Then Vieveeka was beside Jen, untying her bonds. She was free!

She was so stiff she could only crawl to the hatch. Outside the wagon, she felt unsteady on her feet. Returning circulation brought pins and needles to her muscles, but these soon passed. Vieveeka glided silently ahead, red hair glimmering in the starlight.

Jen followed, eyeing the sleeping guards for movement. One snored and rolled over, but the others remained still. Jen caught up with Vieveeka on the other side of the supply wagon. A second wagon with a cage was parked a few feet away. A woman lay facedown inside. Her hands and feet were in metal shackles. Her hair was disheveled. She wore what might be a torn and soiled nightgown. Jen couldn’t tell if this was her mother, but her heart ached for the woman. She reminded Jen of the delicate petals of a rose, cruelly torn and crushed underfoot.

“Mother?” she whispered.

There was no response.

“Mother? Is that you?”

The woman didn’t stir.

“Unlock the hatch,” Jen said to Vieveeka. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”

“We won’t be able to carry her. Try and revive her with water.”

Jen nodded and grabbed a water skin off the side of the supply wagon. Meanwhile, Vieveeka worked at the cage lock.

“Mother?” Jen tried again. “I’ve got water.” She pushed the skin into the cage, unmindful of her own parched throat.

The woman stirred and looked up. A nasty sunburn peeled in patches across her forehead and cheeks. She tried to speak, but could only mouth the words. A single drop of blood sprang from a cracked lower lip and rolled down her chin. Jen stifled a cry. It was Mother!

“Sip a little water,” Jen whispered, trying to contain the anguish ripping her heart. “Then we’ll get you out of there.”

Mother shook her head and tried again to speak. She looked to Vieveeka.

“Look, Mom. It’s Vieveeka. She’s going to free you.”

“Run—” Mother managed to say, her voice cracking.

“Not without you.”

Mother shook her head, eyes wide. “She’s—”

“I know,” said Jen. “She’s on our side. Give her a moment. She’s picking the lock.” Jen called softly to Vieveeka. “What’s taking so long?”

Vieveeka moved away from the hatch and walked toward Jen.

“What’s wrong,” Jen asked. “Can’t you pick it?”

Vieveeka didn’t answer. She stepped beside Jen, a faint smile on her lips. She began to laugh. A low, mocking laugh . . .