He said, "When you sing do you know what happens?"
"Those listening relive old terrors."
"But can you control the reaction?" He saw the shift of her eyes. "In a sense they move back in time," he said. "Become young again or not so young. Does the song govern that? And do you govern the song?"
"Earl! Look! A falling star!"
He ignored the arm she lifted, the finger she used to point at the bright streak against the sky.
"When you sang for me in the circus did you obey Shakira's orders as to how far to send me back?"
"Earl! Look! Another!"
She gasped as he caught her arm and turned her to face him. Her eyes widened as she saw his face, read his expression, the turmoil of his emotions.
"No! No, Earl! Please!"
A child caught in a web despite her protestations of maturity. Obeying orders, delaying him, keeping him locked in the prison of his own making.
One on which Shakira had turned the key.
The threat had been no bluff-the pain had proved that. Agony which had left him helpless and which would return should he attempt to escape. He remembered the card Krystyna had let fall toward the last. The Hourglass, the symbol of time.
How long did he have?
"Earl! Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"
Who was the Snake?
"Earl!" Melome's voice rose as fear robbed her of confidence. Tears filled the luminous eyes and her lips trembled as he reached for her. "No! Don't! Please don't-"
She fell silent as his hand touched her hair, followed it over the curve of her head and shoulders. A soothing caress to which she responded, coming closer, resting her head against his shoulder as his arm closed around her shoulders.
He said, "You don't have to fear me, Melome. I'd never hurt you. I want you to believe that."
"I do." Her voice was muffled against his tunic. "It was just the way you looked at me. You were so savage."
"I was thinking of someone else."
"Tayu?"
"No."
"Zucco? Reiza?" Her voice took on a note of jealousy. "Who do you hate so much, Earl?"
"It doesn't matter."
"No," she said. "As long as it isn't me." She snuggled a little closer. "You're strong," she murmured. "So strong. I felt it from the very first. In the market when you made the deal with Kamala. I wanted to sing for you and then she told me. Well, you're here now and that's all that matters. Together we're safe."
"Yes." Dumarest fed more fuel to the fire. "Who else lives where you do in Shakira's private quarters? Have you seen them? Talked to them?"
"One. Elagonya's nice."
"What does she look like?"
"I don't know. I've never seen her. She wears a cloth over her head."
"Old? Young? How does she sound?"
"Like music. I asked Tayu about her once and he said she had a very special talent. He didn't tell me what it was but I think she makes dolls. I saw some in her room."
Dumarest said, "Did they look like anyone you know?"
"No, they were just dolls. Small, about that tall." Her hands measured a distance. "Some of them were very old."
"And her room, was it decorated with strange signs? Like those the fortune tellers used in the market."
"I didn't see any." Melome twisted in his arm to look at him. "Why so interested, Earl? What's Elagonya to you?"
"Nothing, but I knew someone once who made dolls. She tried to use them to hurt people."
"Not Elagonya." Her tone was emphatic. "She's too nice."
To her, perhaps, but to strangers she could be different. A sensitive, hidden away, unwilling even to reveal her face-what hatred could such a creature harbor against normal people?
"Earl, you're worried. I can tell it." Against him Melome stirred, relaxing as she yielded to the pressure of his arm. "Maybe I can help. Tell me why you're so worried."
"Forget it now. Just listen to the wind." It sighed as it caressed the silvered fronds, a susurration which filled the air. "And the crackle of the fire. It's like music, isn't it. And watch the stars. Perhaps more will fall. When one does you're supposed to make a wish. Did you know that?"
She muttered, sleepily, "Will the wish come true?"
"It might. So make sure it's a good one." His voice droned on, soothing, hypnotic in its comforting reassurance. He felt the weight of her slender body as she slumped against him, the sound of her deep, regular breathing. "Melome? Melome, are you asleep?"
A sigh was his answer and he fell silent looking at the fire, the smoke, the wheel of the paling stars.
The raft came two hours after dawn arrowing from the horizon directly toward the rising pillar of smoke. Dumarest watched it from where he lay buried in the vegetation far to one side of the fire. Melome, still asleep, lay where he had placed her close to the shelter of the wrecked vehicle.
She woke as the raft landed, rearing upright as Zucco strode toward her. He was tall, arrogant, wearing yellow and black, cruel colors which matched the expression on his face. The wand in his hand reached out, touched her arm, drew back as she screamed.
"Hurts, doesn't it, you bitch. Think of it the next time you're tempted to run from the circus. Where's the scum who helped you?"
"I didn't run! I-" She screamed again as the wand touched her body. "No! Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"
"Where's Dumarest?"
"I don't know! I was asleep!"