The Ridge(107)

When he broke the surface a wide, flat rock caught his body and held it, and for a moment there was nothing but the agony and the cold water and the night. Then there came a light, thin and blue and cold, and the world spread out from the light, and once more he could see.

Silas Vesey was coming for him.

He held the blue torch high, and though he waded through the water to reach Kimble, it did not appear to part for him or drag against him. He was of it, and it was of him, so no conflict existed. He just drifted on through the dark water until he was at Kimble’s side. He wore dark trousers and an ancient, faded work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in the flickering blue light of the torch his face was lit clearly. He had dark hair and a sharply cut, sweeping mustache, and his eyes were sunken but powerful, penetrating. The flesh of his face seemed to drink in the blue light and spread it through his skin like a cobalt sunburn.

He knelt in the water beside Kimble and rested the butt of his torch on the flat rock just inches beneath the surface, and then he gazed at Kimble and smiled. When he spoke, his voice was clear but hollow and with an odd hint of echo, like something rising up from the bottom of the deepest well.

“You’re badly hurt, sir,” he said. Not a sympathetic observation but a delighted one. He passed the torch over Kimble’s body, and Kimble turned his eyes down and saw his own ribs, blue-white and dripping blood, the ends sheared roughly, like something cut with a dull saw. He found he could not move his head or neck, only his eyes.

“Grievous,” the man said, this devil who had once called himself Vesey.

Kimble didn’t speak. He was looking past Vesey, to where a blue bonfire burned, and saw familiar faces all around. Empty faces, haunted eyes. They watched him with sorrowful resignation, and he saw Wyatt French and then Jacqueline.

He wanted to cry out for her, but she was staring right at him, and there was nothing in the gaze. Just an infinite emptiness.

Silas Vesey moved, blocking Kimble’s view, his shadow spreading over the rocks, blue light enshrouding him.

“You will soon perish,” Vesey said. “There’s no doubt. I’m familiar with the ills of men, sir, and your condition is not one that shall heal itself.”

Vesey rocked back on his heels, still smiling, his lips a deeper shade of blue than his face, his eyes coal black and starkly contrasting with the ethereal glow.

“Your afflictions can be healed, though you may not believe it at this moment. I am possessed of a certain level of help that may be offered, and I am prepared to offer it. Should you so desire. Help of such a nature does not come without cost. I’m bound by balance, you see. If you wish to be healed, you shall be bound by balance as well. My kind is unable to restore life. Only able to balance it. Are you in understanding of this situation?”

Kimble tried to move his hand, but his arm was not responsive. He was aware that the fluid leaking along the side of his face was too warm to be the river water. Blood, and the source seemed to be his ear.

“The choice is yours,” Silas Vesey said.

Kimble flicked his eyes from that terrible pale blue face to his own ribs, watched his blood drip from shards of bone to be swept away in black water.

“Your time is fading. I’ll have to hear an answer soon. I cannot extend your time without that answer.”

When Kimble parted his lips, he could hardly make a sound, but the whispered word seemed to be enough.

Yes.

Vesey came closer, sliding through the water without disrupting it by so much as a ripple.

“I understand you are accepting the offer as presented,” he said. “You wish to be healed, and you will be called upon to uphold your required portion of the bargain. This is correct?”

Yes.

Vesey’s smile widened, the deep blue lips curling up, black teeth beneath, and then he nodded, leaned forward, and lowered the torch toward Kimble’s face. Kimble watched the sapphire sparks descend and expected that excruciating pain would follow, but it did not.

Instead, blackness flapped toward him like a visible wind, and then all was gone.





47


THE LEOPARD WAS SITTING WITH his haunches on the ground and his forepaws inside the shelter, regarding Audrey through primal eyes.

“I’m just visiting, honey,” she whispered. “Don’t be mad. Please, do not be mad.”

There was a rustle in the straw, and his spotted face vanished from the moonlight but the yellow eyes advanced. He was coming toward her. Audrey let out a low, strangled sob.

He’s your favorite, she told herself, you touch him, you let him touch you, and if he ever wanted to hurt you he could have a million times by now.

But there’d been a fence between them. Always.