1

Thaile was still tidying away the dirty dishes and the remains of supper when she Felt anxiety approaching. Mist’s distinctive emotions were familiar to her by now, and so was the sudden starting and ending of Feeling caused by the sorcery of the Way—had he been coming by any mundane road, she would have detected him hours ago. Peeking around a corner of a drape, she saw a lantern flicker in the trees.

Then came hesitation. He had followed her to make sure she was all right, that she had reached home safely. Now he could see the light in her window. She did not want to talk with Mist any more that night; she needed time to think before she talked with anyone. She marched across the room, letting her shadow traverse the curtain. She Felt his relief . . . regret . . . resignation. A few minutes’ indecision, and then he turned for home. His emotions were abruptly cut off by the Way. When she looked again, his light had gone. Poor Mist! He meant well, even if a hailstorm was more considerate.

But the day would not end. She washed the dishes; she washed herself. She turned out the lights, shed the last of her garments. She sank into that cloud-soft featherbed. And the day would not end.

Yesterday? She had no yesterday. She had no memory of her journey, or her arrival at the College. She could remember going to the Wide Place, to visit Sheep. She could not recall returning home. Had she just run away? By herself ? That seemed very unlikely.

Almost a year had been stolen from her life—of that she was certain. She was plumper than she remembered herself, and fat took time. Hair took time, too—she climbed out of bed, turned on the light, and inspected her neck in the mirror again. Maybe . . . she could not be sure. Everyone tended to grow a little paler in the rainy season and darker in the dry season. The neck evidence, she admitted, was weak. It might be only imagination, or the rainy season. She could hardly accost Sorcerer Jain, point at her neck, and demand an explanation.

She turned out the light and floated down into the bed again. It was much too soft, but she knew she would not sleep, even if she lay on the floor. She had never felt more awake in her life. Too soft . . . and empty.

Why did an empty bed feel so wrong when she had always had a bed to herself ? Ferns or feathers—a bed was a bed. She thought about praying, but almost all the prayers she had ever learned were addressed to the Keeper, and here she was in the Keeper’s lair. Even the Gods might not heed a prayer from within the College itself.

Almost a year of her life. She might be able to live with that loss. Whom do we serve? asked the catechism. The Keeper and the College, of course. She had been taught those words by her parents, as all pixies always were and always had been. If she had truly run away, disobeying the recorder’s edict that she present herself at the College, then she had sinned. Crime deserved punishment. Perhaps that dark void was her punishment.

But who had lived within that void? A boy with a kind smile whom she had loved? A man, perhaps, who had built a Place of bamboo and wicker? Who had taught her to cook fish? A lover? A man of her own?

Loss of life she might accept, but loss of love was unforgivable. She must know! She must find more evidence and be sure. She trembled as she followed her logic to its conclusions.

If she had learned to cook fish, then she might have learned other things as well.

Thaile arose and pulled a dress at random from the closet. She wrapped herself in a cloak. She did not need shoes to walk in the forest, nor any other garment for what she planned. She stepped out into the moonlight and set off along the Way, shivering a little—partly from the cold, but mostly from shame.

There was still light showing in the Mist Place. For a moment she hovered nervously on the stoop, sensing the boredom and worry and loneliness within. A pixie, lonely? Poor Mist! She could not imagine Mist as a sorcerer. Easier than picking cotton, he had said. Easier still to see the devious, sinister Jain as a sorcerer and the placid, easygoing Mist pulling weeds or just dipping a paddle into sunlit water . . .

The frogs were louder than they had been earlier, yet why could he not hear the beating of her heart? Her Feeling gave little sense of direction, but she was fairly sure that he was in bed, or at least in his bedroom. A faint undertone of disgust suggested that he might even be trying to tidy up the Place so that Novice Thaile would not be upset when she saw it again tomorrow.

Are you sure this is what you want to do? whispered a tiny voice within her.

I must know, she replied, and rapped knuckles on the planks. Wild alarm within . . . The floor creaked.

“Who’s there?” Mist demanded from the other side of the door, deep and threatening.

“Thaile. Let me in.”

Relief and delight . . . “Wait a minute, then. I haven’t anyI mean, I’m not respectable.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Incredulity . . . excitement . . .

The door opened a crack, and two eyes peered out below a tangle of hair, all silver pale in the moonlight.

She said, “Are you going to keep me here shivering all night?”

Excitement became tinged with embarrassment—and shame. “But I . . . I haven’t any clothes on.”

She pushed the door, and Felt his disbelief and wildly mounting joy as it creaked slowly open. He retreated behind it, peering around the edge incredulously. She entered, blinking in the lamplight. She could still see nothing of him except his eyes, yellow again now and stretched impossibly wide.

Her mouth was dry. “Promise me you’ll be gentle?” she whispered.

“I promise! Oh, I promise!” He pushed the door closed and wrapped her quickly in his arms. “I do love you!”