Page 86 of The Salt King

“Do you think this will work?” Avelyn asked Redspear, looking into the snow. He was feeling the cold without his coat, despite the carrying and lifting. “If they really believe the lights are a mirage and . . .?”

“We’ll see. If the path doesn’t go to the town . . . well, you’ll come back. Hello, Dream,” she added as Jericho came across with Annunciata, who had her bag packed too. She looked miserable.

Avelyn wanted to die. He took Annunciata’s bag and helped her down the steep dock.

“Is it really that dangerous?” Annunciata asked him, forlorn. “The halo?”

“Yeah,” he said. So close to her, he was having to narrow his eyes against the light. “I’m really sorry, we need to get you away before it gets any worse. I’m sure you can come back when all this is over and the King is—” He caught himself. “And the light settles again.”

Redspear was making an interested study of Jericho. She was the only Hreoda Avelyn had seen so far who would look straight at him. “You can go ashore, can you? That far?”

“I can,” he said.

Avelyn caught his eye to ask if he really was all right to go ashore. Redspear was right; for someone who hated open spaces, the fen must have been horrifying. Jericho smiled quickly. He would be doing it whether it bothered him or not, then. Very doctory. Avelyn would need to keep an eye on that. He could well imagine that Jericho would claim he was perfectly all right thank you, right up to the moment he collapsed.

Having to sail with someone who might accidentally set him on fire at any moment would not be helping.

Redspear’s eyes slipped to Annunciata. The salt light halo was blazing. She said nothing about it, but if was a relief when the ferry was finally full and she unlooped the mooring line.

Redspear’s pigs were aboard as usual, so Avelyn picked up a piglet and showed it to Annunciata to try to cheer her up. Jericho had explained that the light was dangerous, but nothing more than that, in case what she believed affected what happened. The piglet oinked sympathetically and tried to eat her sleeve. She laughed a bit and stroked its ears.

On Avelyn’s other side, Jericho was watching the water, and the eels that followed Annunciata’s light. He was wraith-pale in daylight, his eyes like ink except for their strange stars, the white bolt in his hair tinting gold in the sun, which was already dying behind the mist.

Avelyn stroked the pig too.

“Oink!” said the piglet, thrilled.

Jericho laughed.

“We’re nearly ashore already,” Annunciata said.

She was right. Up ahead, Avelyn could see the road through the fog, and . . . not much else. If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see a flicker of lights on the fen, but not straight on.

“It’s fading,” he said, and tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. He had known in theory that it should, but to see that there was a logic behind this was monumental. It wasn’t just real; it had laws.

“What do you think it is?” Annunciata asked. “There must be a castle near here, and the light does something funny in the clouds . . . is there?”

“Oh, must be,” Avelyn said, hoping he sounded natural. “It’s probably Ely Cathedral or something. What do you think, small pig?”

“Oink,” said the piglet, smiling at them. He was standing in Avelyn’s lap with his trotters on the rail.

“Do you think we can steal him so he doesn’t have to be sausages?” Annunciata said.

“He won’t be sausages,” Avelyn said. “They don’t eat pork here. Pigs are people. Redspear is training these guys. They’re truffle pigs. Aren’t you?” He tickled the piglet, who squeaked delightedly. “Who’s a clever pig?”

The piglet wiggled and said that he was a clever pig.

“It’s gone,” Jericho said. He was looking across the fen where, as he said, there were no lights. Only the road, a straight line of snow leading due south into the fog.

There was a cheer as the ferry bumped the jetty. As everyone climbed ashore, saying goodbye to the pigs, Redspear knocked Avelyn’s arm.

“Watch your north. It might not be our north.”

Avelyn’s knee-jerk impulse to say What are you talking about? died quickly. He understood. Caer Halen was gone—for now. That could change, especially on the way back, without all the Outsiders to disbelieve it. “Yes, grandmother.” He hesitated. “What should I do if I think it isn’t?”

She was quiet for a long moment. She was watching Annunciata, her halo casting a fiery glow ahead of her, and watching Jericho as the salt light fled from him. “The King knows you. He’s been dreaming of you for weeks. The Witan wanted to call you home even before the Roman witch died on the fen. You go to Caer Halen, and you ask for sanctuary from whatever is coming.”

“Whatever’s coming?”