SOUTHERN TIER EXPRESSWAY, NEW YORK

Standing by the side of the road, the deer was all but invisible. A sharp outcropping of rock shielded it from the view of the cars heading north, and the ones heading south were too busy concentrating on driving to be looking for wildlife. This close to the river driving could be treacherous, and one wrong move coming around the sharp turn on the mountainside could send a car hurtling down to the river.Had anyone stopped to look at the deer they might have wondered at its presence there. Sandwiched between a steady stream of cars and the jagged cliff face it barely had room to stand. Further north the slope was gentler, and led to sheltering woods, the kind of place that deer normally preferred. Here there was only danger.The deer did not look afraid.

It watched as the cars sped by, glancing briefly to the side as each one passed, as if to keep the reflection from its eyes from revealing its presence. Some of the vehicles whizzed by so close that the wind from their passage bristled its fur, but it did not shy away. read more…

He opened his mouth to answer the High King’s question — to tell him that this place was a mystery to him as well — when suddenly he felt it. A sound just beyond the threshold of hearing, that resonated silently in his flesh. A tremor in the fabric of the universe, that set reality to vibrating like a plucked harp string. Looking over at Ramirus, he could see from the expression on the other Magister’s face that he had felt it, to.. None of the other seemed to. Not even the witches.

Which could mean only one thing.

“She’s coming,” he whispered.

Favias turned and nodded sharply to his people. No more explanation was needed. Dismounting, the Guardians took up their bows and nocked blue-tipped arrows in readiness. The other members of the party followed their lead and dismounted also, looking about nervously for cover as they did so. The Guardians did not bother with that. They understood that physical barriers were meaningless at this point. Either they could draw the Souleater down to them, within range of their weapons, or they were all dead men. read more…

Imnea knew when she awoke that Death was waiting for her.

She had been seeing the signs of his presence for some time now. A chill breeze in the corners of the house that wouldn’t go away. Shadows that seeped in through the windows, that didn’t move with the light. The icy touch of a Presence upon her skin when she healed the Hardings’ little girl, that left her shuddering for hours afterwards.

The mirror revealed little. Of course. It wasn’t the way of witching folk to age and die like normal people. The fuel within them was consumed too quickly, like a stove in which all the winter’s wood had been placed at once. What a blaze it made! Yet quickly gone, all of it, until it smothered in its own ash.

How long ago had the dying begun? Did it start in her youth, when she first discovered she could do odd things…tiny little miracles, hardly worth noting…or not until later? Did Death first notice her when she made tiny points of fire dance on the windowsill, with a child’s unconscious delight (and how her mother had punished her for that!), or not until she reached deep within herself with conscious intent to draw strength from her very soul — from that central font of spiritual power which mystics called the athra — and to bend it to her purpose? When and where was the contract with Death sealed, and what act marked its closing? The healing of Atkin’s boy? The calling of rain after the Great Drought of ’92? The day she had cleansed Dirum’s leg of its gangrene, so that they wouldn’t have to cut it off? read more…