Death Weavers (33 page)

“I remember them,” Desmond said. “We'll do our best to aid them.”

“In the town of Duplan, not far from Gamat Rue, you can find an echo named Giselle,” Harvan said. “She is connected to the Unseen and will undoubtedly help you. Tell her I sent you.”

“Much obliged,” Desmond said. “We'll make for Duplan first. Gentleman, thank you for springing me from my incarceration. Would you be so kind as to point me in the correct direction?”

“That way,” Harvan said, gesturing off through the trees to one side. “Asking directions to Duplan shouldn't arouse much suspicion.”

“It was good traveling with you,” Ferrin said. “Perhaps we'll meet again.”

“I hope so,” Cole said. “Say hi to my friends.”

“Safe journey,” Drake said.

Desmond veered off in the direction Harvan had indicated. Drake and Ferrin followed. Before long, trees screened them from view.

23

S
o where are we going?” Cole asked after running in silence for a good while.

“Any guesses, Winston?” Harvan asked.

“It better be good,” Winston replied. “We just lost some capable men.”

“No guess?” Harvan checked.

“Should I know?” Winston asked.

“It would require an intuitive leap,” Harvan said.

“I'm at a loss,” Winston admitted.

“Music to my ears,” Harvan gloated with a smile.

“You got me,” Winston said. “I'm not a mind reader. Congratulations.”

“Any chance of us being overheard?” Harvan asked.

“I'm shielding us,” Winston said. “You'd know more about pursuers.”

“They're a good ways back,” Harvan said. “Some went after the others. They're not very organized. I'm taking us into the deep woods. Lonely country with few echoes they could communicate with to coordinate a hunt.”

“So we're getting away?” Cole asked hopefully.

“Looks that way for now,” Harvan said. “If we keep up the pace, I think we'll win our way clear. Nobody would be eager to follow us.”

“We're going someplace dangerous?” Cole asked.

Harvan glanced at Cole. “If you could speak to anybody in the echolands right now, who would you choose?”

Winston gasped. “You know how to find her?”

“Winston may have guessed it,” Harvan said.

“Destiny?” Cole asked.

“That would be better,” Harvan conceded. “I mean somebody you don't know.”

“You kept this from me?” Winston asked, annoyed.

“People tell me secrets because I keep them,” Harvan said.

“Until now,” Winston said.

“It's an emergency,” Harvan said. “I'm hoping she'll agree.”

“The Grand Shaper?” Cole guessed.

“Well done,” Harvan approved. “Prescia Demorri.”

“Mira's aunt,” Cole said.

“How long have you known?” Winston asked.

“I explored these lands long before we met,” Harvan said.

“Where is she?” Winston asked.

“Near the heart of the Deadlands.”

Winston slowed.

“Keep running,” Harvan said. “They won't be any less perilous if we delay our arrival.”

“What are the Deadlands?” Cole asked. The name didn't sound very inviting.

“You know how we generally avoid disturbing music?” Harvan asked.

“Yeah,” Cole said.

“We're about to do the opposite.”

“You've been there?” Cole asked.

“Twice,” Harvan said. “Alone.”

“What's it like?” Cole asked.

“Dead echoes gather there,” Harvan said. “The kind that are lost and confused but still functional.”

“In enormous numbers, if I understand correctly,” Winston said.

“There are no channels in the area,” Harvan said. “Efforts have been made to purge the Deadlands in the past. To help the dead echoes find rest. But there are too many of them, and they are too far gone.”

“Will they want to hurt us?” Cole asked.

“Some will try,” Harvan said. “We'll avoid them.”

“We'll run for our lives is more like it,” Winston grumbled.

“We're already running for our lives,” Harvan said. “Think of it as a change of venue.”

“How can Prescia help?” Cole asked.

“My highest hope is that Destiny might have found her way there,” Harvan said. “Wouldn't that be splendid? If not, consulting with the most powerful living weaver can't hurt.”

“She's been hiding in the Deadlands all this time,” Winston murmured.

“She had to hide somewhere,” Harvan said. “She built a refuge for herself. We'll be secure once we find her.”

“If you say so,” Winston said. “I can't believe we're running
toward
the Deadlands.”

“It'll take some time,” Harvan said.

“If I had any sense, I would have gone with Desmond,” Winston said. “Gamat Rue doesn't sound so bad all of a sudden.”

“The unknown always gets to you,” Harvan soothed. “I've been there. Trust me.”

“Nice try,” Winston said. “You've used that line one too many times.”

Harvan glanced at Cole. “You're going to spook the kid.”

“I'm okay,” Cole said. “When you can't avoid something like this, all you can do is be brave and get it over with.”

Harvan laughed. “Hear that, Winston. Best. Kid. Ever.”

Cole turned his head to conceal his proud smile.

*  *  *

At length they left the woodlands behind, returning to endless vistas of lawns and gardens. Time lost meaning as they sprinted under the unchanging sky. Cole tried not to worry about the Deadlands. If Harvan had survived the place twice, why not a third time?

Harvan continued to direct them around towns and any echoes he sensed, and as a consequence, Cole never saw anybody. After crossing several channels, slipstreams became less common as well. Only the passing hills and fields marked their progress.

Eventually, the landscape started to look less groomed. There still wasn't any dead vegetation, but Cole began to notice bare patches of ground and craggy ridges. The trees were less clustered, the grass wilder and longer, the way a little less smooth.

“We haven't seen a slipstream in a while,” Cole mentioned.

“We're now heading almost directly toward the fringe,” Harvan said. “Since we're traveling away from the Source, we're running parallel to most of the channels rather than crossing them.”

“The fringe is bad, right?” Cole checked.

“It's less of a paradise,” Harvan said. “More hazardous. But there are fewer towns, and fewer shapecrafters, which we don't mind. And it's how we reach the Deadlands.”

“It's bad,” Winston translated.

“Do the Deadlands reach all the way around the echolands?” Cole asked.

“Oh, no,” Harvan said. “They just cover this part of the fringe. There are many other areas, good and bad, depending on which direction you go.”

“Have you explored a lot of the fringe?” Cole asked.

“Not as much as I would like,” Harvan said. “If you venture too far, you don't come back. I've seen why. As you get out there, the shift in the music is subtle, but pretty soon it lures you along, farther and farther, and all the music behind loses its savor. Everything starts to blur into the call of the Other.”

“Sounds like you've gone out far,” Cole said.

“Farther than most who managed to return,” Harvan said. “I'm curious to go farther, but I know eventually I'll pass a point where return becomes impossible. I long to discover what the Other offers, but if I go there too soon, I may miss many explorations in the echolands. The Other will always be waiting. Who knows if I'll ever get a chance to pass this way again?”

As they proceeded, the patches of dirt or rock became larger and more apparent. They weren't ugly—they just didn't look like part of a meticulously cultivated garden. The music of the empty patches was slower and heavier.

But their pace remained quick. As they progressed, they no longer saw groves of trees, just isolated loners here and there. The fields had a lower density of flowers, and the grass grew in patches. There were still no dead plants or leaves, but lots of soil, lots of stone.

The music up ahead became foreboding. It produced emotions like loneliness and despair, a soundtrack tailored for feeble wanderers crawling through the desert, deliriously looking for the right place to collapse.

“Is that it?” Cole asked.

“We're getting close,” Harvan said.

“Should we eat?” Winston asked. “I see some carrots.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” Harvan said. “We'll want to be at our best.”

They paused, and Winston uprooted a trio of carrots. Cole accepted one and took a bite. Crunchy and sweet, the first bite brought a surge of alertness.

“Wow,” Cole said. “I feel more awake.”

“We've run a long way,” Winston said. “It depletes energy and focus. You don't tend to notice until it gets dire.”

They finished their carrots.

Harvan placed his hands on his hips. “The dead echoes up ahead are drawn to live echoes. I expect them to be extra captivated by Cole, since he's bright. We don't need to treat them with courtesy. They are the shells of echoes. Their lifesparks moved on long ago. Our goal is avoidance.”

“What will they try to do to us?” Cole asked, unsure whether he wanted the answer.

“They want what we have,” Harvan said. “They want to feel alive again. Something about the Deadlands amplifies those desires. They came to the Deadlands because at some level they're dissatisfied with their lifeless state. Some dead echoes can function normally for a long while. But if they avoid the channels for long enough, eventually they deteriorate and end up in places like this.”

“They'll attack us,” Winston translated. “They'll keep coming until we're as dead as they are.”

“So we'll be running,” Cole said.

Harvan winced. “Probably. But not at first. The echoes of the Deadlands seem drawn to motion. In previous visits, they mostly walked as long as I walked, and it seemed to curb their interest. Once I started running, they did too. We'll see how long we can hold to a slower pace.” Harvan brandished his walking stick. “Once we speed up, don't be shy about using that sword.”

Harvan started sprinting again. Cole ran at one side, Winston on the other.

“When do we walk?” Cole wondered.

“You'll see,” Harvan replied.

As the depressing music up ahead gained dominance, the vegetation dwindled. The bare landscape became gnarled and craggy, dipping and rising haphazardly. Cole didn't like how the contorted terrain limited his line of sight. Dead echoes could be lurking around the next rock pile or beyond the next incline.

Harvan slowed to a walk. “I hear some dead echoes. Not too many yet.”

The desolate surroundings looked empty to Cole. He could only hear the dismal music inherent to the landscape.

They advanced at a casual pace over dirt and stone. The uneven ground forced Cole to pay more attention to where he stepped than he had since arriving in the echolands. Harvan began turning a lot more sharply and frequently. Now that the dreary music fully enveloped them, Cole had to fight the urge to sit down.

“Are you guys tired?” Cole asked.

“It's the music,” Harvan said. “The fatigue is in your mind, not your muscles. This music demands surrender. Resist.”

They weaved around stony projections and plodded across sandy stretches. Nothing grew here.

“Don't be alarmed,” Harvan said. “Just follow my lead.”

Two men and a woman walked into view from off to one side. Cole was expecting the dead echoes to appear disheveled, like zombies, but these three looked normal.

“Excuse us!” the woman called, her voice a little too strident. “Could we have a word with you? I think we took a wrong turn.”