CHAPTER TWENTY

The Gray Shadow

A moon-cycle passed, and Beauty spent the chilly days tending horses and keeping the cottage clean. She spoke little to anyone and felt painfully lonely. Champ, at least, was able to offer her some comfort, but she could not shake off a sense of dread that grew steadily darker within her. Her dreams were worsening each night and the forest felt as if it were creeping nearer. She caught herself staring at it sometimes and had to quickly look away.

One morning, Hally brought her a message as she worked with a wild dun mare in the valley. The mare was newly caught by Imwane rustlers and in the early stages of training. Beauty was trying to get her used to human company and she was sitting in front of her pen, cleaning tack and singing Hilland songs quietly. The mare’s dull golden sides had once heaved with terrified, hurried breaths, but listening to Beauty’s soft voice had helped her to gradually calm down. She no longer cantered in agitated circles or bucked to be let out. A few days from now, Beauty planned to try grooming her and depending on how the mare received that, she would know when she could begin breaking her.

“Beauty! Beauty! Yur won’t believe it!”

The mare’s head shot up and she flattened her ears, bucking and shying away to the other side of her pen.

Beauty grimaced.

“I’m sorry for that, but yur have to hear this,” puffed Hally, running to her side. He held out a piece of paper to her and she took it, pretending to read the writing.

“Ain’t yur rejoiced?”

“Yes . . .”

“I can’t barely believe that man gone and bought all the horses. I were hopeful for five or six, but all!”

Beauty gasped. “Owaine is on his way back?”

“Yes ’em, so he says there.”

She grinned. “Thank you for this information. I truly am overjoyed.”

Hally grinned back. “Sorry ’bout the mare, but yur see now why I rushed. I hope Owaine’s gone and sold them for a good price. Oh, it’s better than any one of us thought!”

Hally continued to babble, but something over his shoulder caught Beauty’s eye. There was movement in the depths of the dark forest that bled over this side of the valley, and suddenly a bird screeched. A white-feathered thing soared into the air, disappearing into the wet sky. The dun mare whinnied shrilly and Beauty shuddered.

“It be cold and getting colder,” said Hally.

“Yes, I have noticed.” Beauty looked at the blank sky behind him.

“I be seeing yur, Beauty.” Hally nodded a farewell before hurrying off to spread the news.

“Champ!”

The stallion trotted over to Beauty and she leaned against him, her heart beating quickly.

“Another moon-cycle and he will be back,” she said, staring at the forest.

She had dreamt of strange things every night since Owaine left and she longed for his safe return. She hoped that he returned before . . . before whatever was going to happen came to be.

The harsh Hilland winter arrived early and a moon-cycle after she had received the message about Owaine, Beauty was chopping wood when snowflakes began to fall. They fluttered from the gaping sky like pearly droplets, quickly layering on the ground. She watched them, her chest heavy with foreboding, as they came thicker and faster.

It had been bitterly cold lately, and the villagers had prayed at every ceremony in the temple that the snow would hold off. In this weather the hills would be treacherous and sleeping in little shelter would be almost impossible. Beauty hoped that Owaine had not set out from town yet and could wait out the snow there. She pleaded to the sky to wait until he returned, but inside, she knew winter was here to stay.

Throwing down her axe, she ran to the next valley. It was eerily deserted and she began herding the horses to a shelter. The rest of the men must have finished already and taken refuge for the night. The snow was increasing rapidly and already coating the ground in a film of white. There were clumps in Champ’s mane and tail, and she tried to put him away with the other horses but he would not let her.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Freeze then!”

But she knew he would not and he waited outside for her as he always did.

She moved around the cottage restlessly, picking up and replacing pots and pans and anything that came within her reach. Her eyes flicked constantly to the dark windows, which were gradually becoming white. Wind grated against the walls and whistled and roared outside. The fire was low in the grate and she should have been preparing dinner, but she did not feel hungry.

Taking a candle, she opened the door and peered out, seeing snow everywhere. The blustery gale dragged at her flame before blowing it out, and a biting chill tore through her furs and hit her to the bone. She squinted through the blizzard looking for Champ and saw him standing hunched under a tree down the hillside. He would be safe there, but she worried all the same. With great effort she closed the door once more and retreated into the cottage.

She felt feverish. Her forehead burned and her hands had turned glittering silver. She thought that she must be dreaming. Grabbing an extra blanket, she stumbled up the ladder to the attic and tumbled onto her bedroll. She pulled the covers over her, her head woozy, and she thought she saw her amulet swinging above her before she was pulled into a dark sleep.

She dreamt of the red rose once again and it called to her. The blood of death. The blood of battle. She remembered hearing something long ago about a war that lasted generations and painted Pervorocco scarlet red with bloodshed. The rose in her dream was suddenly crowded with gray shadows that were drawing near. They were upon it, chasing it. She woke to the roar of a beast. She was drenched in sweat and gasping. Above her, hanging from the rusty nail, the amulet was deadly still.

Throwing off her covers, she scrambled down the ladder and threw open the cottage door once more. The cold hit her with a rush and a vision came to her clearly. At the top of the hill, outside the temple of Imwane, stood a gray shadow. The State officials had found her, and they were led by Eli.