“That which you pursue the hardest, flees the fastest.”
“She might be in trouble.”
“She might not be.”
“Meaning she is, right?”
“Meaning she isn’t, wrong.”
Otter propped his hands on his hips and scowled down. “Do you want to come with me to find her?”
Green Spider leaped up, sending sand every which way. He placed a calm hand on Otter’s shoulder. “Go ahead, run down the beach and find her. You’ll sleep peacefully for the rest of your life, glad that you made her decision for her.”
The Contrary’s tone had gone gentle, as though speaking to a silly child, and Otter’s anger faded into a kind of throttled anxiety.
“What decision?”
Green Spider’s eyes had a curious gleam in the moonlight.
“Once I told you how to find yourself. Do you remember?”
“By losing myself,” Otter recalled. “Which doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“It makes all of the sense in the world.” Otter sighed in confusion. “Tell me what to do. Shall I walk down the beach to check on her, or not?”
Green Spider’s curious eyes were darting this way and that, like a butterfly in flight. “Oh, yes, go! Hurry! Charge away, ripping up the sand like a snorting buffalo in the passion of rut!
Bellow and rage, paw and trample! Lock horns with the rival foe and batter each other to bloody meat!”
Otter swallowed uneasily, turned, and walked back toward the fire. Each step drained a bit more of his soul into emptiness and defeat.
In the moonlight, the Contrary raised one leg like a resting heron, cocked his head, and stoically observed Otter’s retreat.
Star Shell and Tall Man had camped in the heart of the forest, the night as dark as Star Shell’s soul.
Nothing might have existed in the world except rain, the boles of trees, branches, vines, and dead saplings. Overhead, the misty precipitation fell from torn black clouds to collect on slick leaves. Droplets formed, tossed on the breeze from leaf to leaf as they worked through the interwoven branches and finally fell free to splat in heavy round drops on the blanket that shielded Star Shell’s small camp. They’d stretched the blanket between four trees and propped a stick under the middle to keep the sag from collecting water. A smoky fire—fed with wet wood— smoldered under one corner, protected from the rain but close enough to the edge that the smoke-didn’t collect. The blanket steamed in the faint flickers of firelight.
Star Shell rested against one of the tree trunks, her knees drawn up and her chin propped. Nothing was left of her life except her daughter. Everything else—dreams, hopes, and aspirations —had vanished like mist in sunlight, as though they’d never been. Defeat lay heavy on her soul.
The Magician sat across from her, staring at the smoky flames. Between them lay Silver Water’s bedding. The little girl’s shape was nothing more than a hump under the damp blankets.
Star Shell rubbed her face, hardly aware of the dirt she smeared in the process. Tendrils of unkempt hair hung at the edges of her vision. When she looked down, it was to see tattered clothing soiled with soot, mud, and grass stains. Black half-moons lay under her fingernails, and dirt was ground into the webbing on her hands. She could smell herself. The only cleansing she’d had time for was the rain’s.
She turned gritty eyes toward the Magician. “Why are you here? The Mask might have been manufactured by the High Heads, but that doesn’t explain your involvement. Power could just as easily have picked someone else. What did you do that you deserve this?”
She’d given up trying to figure out why she’d been chosen.
But the Magician, a sorcerer, should have been able to avoid the desperate heartbreak of this cold, miserable flight.
He looked at his small hand, as if studying the lines. “We each pay for our mistakes in the end.”
Star Shell tilted her head, wondering why she still cared.
“Mistakes? What mistakes? Someone you killed? You remain cleverly quiet about your past. It seems that the only time you talk about yourself is when you don’t have any other choice.”
The dwarf shrugged. “Do I hear you bursting to reveal your deepest secrets to me? Come, Star Shell, what’s the worst thing you ever did? Tell me your darkest regret. Of all the mistakes or misdeeds that you’ve committed, which would you change?”
I was beautiful once. “I wouldn’t have married my husband.”
Tall Man added a piece of wood to the fire. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Tell about the worst thing you ever did. An indiscretion? A theft? What malicious deed did you commit that you will regret forever?”