Crossing Over - Anna Kendall [99]
“Thank you. Rabbit would be good.”
She brought it from the cabin, and Jee came back with her. He squatted on his haunches and stared at me from wary eyes. The willow whistle hung on a strip of cloth around his neck. Some sort of paste covered the fungus on his foot—Maggie’s doing, perhaps.
Jee said, “Ye went into Soulvine, despite. And saw.”
“Get him away!” I screamed. “Get him away from me!”
“Jee, go into the house. Now!”
The child obeyed her, although sulkily. All at once I didn’t want Maggie talking to him again. I didn’t want her learning what Jee meant, didn’t want her knowing what had happened to Cecilia. Let her know only that Cecilia was dead. I couldn’t bear her knowing the rest.
“We’re going, Maggie. Now.”
“Going? Where?”
“Back to The Queendom. Or . . . or somewhere. Come.” I stood, unsteady but determined, and took her hand. She must not talk to Jee, not even a word. Suddenly that seemed the most important thing in the world. In this world.
Maggie said, “I must get my cloak and the water bag.”
“Leave it. The weather’s warming. You can share my cloak.”
Pleasure flushed her face pink, but Maggie was Maggie. “No, I should have mine. I’ll just be a moment.”
“No! I’ll get it!” I stalked off.
The hut was dim and reeking; too many unwashed bodies had dwelt here too long. The woman sat on a rough-hewn chair, her gown open to give a baby the breast. Two smaller children played in a corner with some sticks and pebbles. Jee sat moodily poking the fire; he did not look at me as I snatched Maggie’s cloak and our water bag from a hook on the wall. The cloak, too, smelled bad, and I doubted that she had been the one sleeping in it. No one spoke. I took the cloak back to Maggie, who stood uncertainly, flunter roots in her hand.
“Leave those,” I said. “I have some coins left.” And Maggie, too, must have the two silvers I had left her.
But it was not in Maggie’s nature to leave behind anything useful, and she tucked the flunter roots into her cloak. We started back toward the cabin, and then down the rough track that seemed to be the Unclaimed Land’s only road. Under the pine trees by the little waterfall, I halted.
“Roger—why, you’re trembling!” Maggie said.
Cecilia was here. I couldn’t sense her, but she was here, in the country of the Dead that lay invisible all around us. A deep shudder ran through me. This time, however, when I felt Maggie’s hand on me, I shook it off.
“I’m all right, Maggie. Just weak. We’ll go another few miles and make camp, off the trail. Can you sleep without a fire tonight?”
“Of course,” she said. “I have my cloak.”
Maggie was never one to let pass a chance to be right.
We walked until dusk, then found a hidden thicket to stay the night. There was nothing to eat; the flunter roots could not be boiled without a fire. Stomachs alive with hunger, we rolled early into our cloaks. When I heard Maggie breathe deep and even, I crept from our thicket and made my way back up the track to the pine grove by the waterfall. There was a waxing moon and the stars shone bright in a clear sky.
In the deep shadows under the pines, I cut my arm with my little knife, and crossed over.
Cecilia sat where I had left her, gazing serenely at the same half-withered flower, oblivious of the ground shaking under her,