Sending the boy in search of a clear path inland, Rhea set to work building a sledge on which they could drag Az. Both Az and the woman with the wound on her head had slept through the afternoon and the day was growing late. Soon the sun would begin to set and it would not be enough to cower beneath the big leaves of the rhubarb bush, hidden from the sky. Then the nocturnal creatures would emerge, hunting by smell and easily routing out the sick people, exposed and defenseless.

Working quickly, Rhea lashed three dry twigs together in a triangle. Spreading several thick leaves across this frame, she fastened them in place, wrapping grass around it until it seemed as though the sledge might take his weight. Glancing at the injured woman, Rhea gave a silent prayer, hoping against hope that when woken she would be able to walk. Az was far to heavy for her to drag on her own, and depending on how far they went inland there would not be time to take two trips.

Laying the sledge down beside him, Rhea took hold of Az’s good shoulder and tried unsuccessfully to roll him onto it. Groaning with pain, Az opened his eyes, looking around without sitting up. Catching sight of the makeshift stretcher, he turned to Rhea with sad apologetic eyes.

“Oh, it’s come to that, has it?” he almost whispered. “Listen, if I should get too heavy-”

“Shut up,” she said. “And help me roll you.”

With Rhea’s help, Az rolled heavily onto the stretcher, gritting his teeth as his weight pressed down on his infected shoulder. Settling in, he lay with his eyes closed, breathing deeply and lingering on the edge of sleep.

“You know, Rhea,” he said, his voice distant and dreamy, “I would rather burn than rot. Rather live than die. But most of all I want to feel I have done some good, to you at least. All that is mine is yours. I wish there were more of it to give…” For a moment he trailed off. “I am sorry that we never got to travel, like I promised. I-”

“That’s enough,” said Rhea, touching a finger to his lips and wiping the tears from her eyes. “It’s not time for that yet.”

Just then there was the patter of feet and Bobby came scrambling back across the rocks.

“Hey, you wouldn’t believe it,” he said panting. “I found an old path that looks like it might go stwaight to the wuins you saw.”

Rhea turned away, trying to hide her tearful eyes.

Following her gaze, Bobby shielded his eyes from the sun. “Keeping a caweful watch on those bastawds off acwoss the wata?”

Indeed, squinting at the far shore Rhea was almost sure she could see tiny figures moving there out on the bare rock. Suddenly remembering the spyglass Az had given her, she fished inside her shirt, pulling it out and pressing it to her eye. Clear as day, magnified many times over, the moving specks became human forms, walking the shore and picking among the wreckage. As Rhea watched, trying to tell one person from another, a shadow passed across them, sending them running up towards the treeline. Taking the spyglass from her eye to get her bearings then quickly replacing it, Rhea could see a massive red-headed turkey vulture circling above. She shuddered. It was time to go.

Turning and kneeling by the sleeping stranger, Rhea began to gently shake her. “Hey, wake up,” she said.

“Caweful thewe,” protested Bobby, “That’s an injuwed woman!”

Rhea shook her again, and the woman’s eyes opened. Blinking, she immediately closed the one with the bandage above it. Looking at Rhea, she smiled faintly. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the girl of my dreams,” she said.

“Can you stand?” asked Rhea.

“Boy, talk about déjà vu. I hope things are going better than the last time you asked me that.”

“Listen, this is serious,” said Rhea. “Soon the sun will set. We have to move inland and my friend is sick. We cannot help you. Can you walk on you own?”

“Can I have one of those crickets?” The woman gestured to the ring of dead insects drying out on the rocks not far away.

“Uh, sure.”

“Then I can sure as hell try.”

Ten minutes later, the group was moving up the shore, Rhea and Bobby dragging Az behind them on the sledge. Katerina, or Kat as the woman asked to be called, brought up the rear, leaning heavily on Rhea’s spear and munching on the leg of a fresh cricket. Beside them the smooth granite of the shore gave way to a bed of dead leaves and pine needles, laying beneath a thick canopy of overgrown juniper bushes. Soon they came to the place where Bobby had found the trail. Ancient and long abandoned, it stood between two pillars of mossy rock. Here the junipers would not grow, their roots blocked by flagstones long buried beneath the earth and leaves. Instead, they sprung up on either side, their branchy stalks weaving overhead creating a shadowy expanse filled with twisting branches devoid of leaves. Walking in silence, the group set off down the trail.

Reaching up to wipe the perspiration from her head, Rhea watched as the sparrows hopped about beneath the junipers, coming up to see who had come to intrude upon their sanctuary. She felt queasy. Having taken the time to quickly eat a cricket, but not to let it settle, before setting off, she felt as though the raw insect were not sitting right within her. She hoped that was all it was, dreading the thought of herself becoming ill. The Katorga had been filthy. It did not seem to her a coincidence that infection had sprung up so quickly among those hailing from that putrid vessel. She shuddered to think of Katerina’s wound, still hidden beneath a bandage made of Az’s dirty shirt. Rhea had not had time to so much as look at it. But she could not worry about it now. She had to save Az. She had put the safety of strangers first for the last time.

Up ahead, they could see where the canopy broke and the long amber rays of the late afternoon sun fell once more upon the ground. Leaving the cover of the junipers, the group emerged into a garden of ancient stone flowerbeds, long overgrown, with lilies, creepers and sumacs bursting forth from the fertile soil. Past the gardens half-stood, half-lay, a small brick cottage, its roof split in two and one of its walls collapsed. And, from within the wreckage of the old house, a small column of grey smoke rose up into the air. Seeing the smoke, the group ground to a halt, each seeing within it both a hope of salvation and the possibility of even greater misfortune.

Kat was the first to speak. “Damn,” she said, peering at the cottage with her one good eye. “Well, why don’t you three go on ahead and I’ll hang out in the garden until we know whether those people are friendly or not.”

Turning, Rhea gave her a look of disbelief, realizing in that instant just how little she knew about the woman she had risked everything to save.

“What?” said Kat. “I’m only joking. I’ll be right behind you. Right, way behind you.”

“Well, we weally don’t have much of a choice,” said Bobby. “Unless we want to go back to the bush…”

Rhea looked from the smoke up to the sky, saying another silent prayer. “Bobby’s right,” she said, “There’s no going back. Let’s see what fate has in store.”

Continuing on between the raised flowerbeds, they began to hear rustling among the underbrush. Kat, far from dropping back as she had joked, quickened her hobbling pace and drew up close behind the others. While Bobby, swallowing loudly, endeavored to keep a nervous smile on his face, as if intending to protect himself by appearing as unthreatening and ridiculous as possible. Rhea herself glanced from side to side, mentally preparing to drop the sledge and to do whatever was necessary to protect herself and her wounded friend.

Rounding the final corner and coming to the foot of a collapsed brick wall, the group was met by a pair of figures standing calmly atop the rubble and waiting as if to greet them. The first was a man in his middle forties, with a long grey beard and mustache dyed red by the brick dust with which his face was smeared. He wore loose fitting robes, similarly stained with dust, and leaned on a massive bow almost an inch longer than he was tall. The other was a tiny old woman, dressed much the same, but with a headscarf and a kindly expression on her face. Just as these two became visible, two more people emerged from the flowerbeds behind them, one on each side, bows in hand.

“Oh, dwat,” said Billy, quietly to himself. “Please be fwiendly…”

With quick, nimble steps, remarkable for someone her age, the old woman climbed from the brick pile and approached them. As she drew closer, Rhea caught sight of a series of scars lining the woman’s face. Three ran horizontally across each cheek, three vertically beneath each eye, and three more stood on her forehead, running from just above her eyebrows up towards her hairline. Seeing this, Rhea glanced back at the middle-aged man, then over her shoulder at the two people standing not far behind them. All three had the same scars.

“Set him down,” she said to Bobby, laying down her side of the sledge. Then, bowing her head in a sign of respect, Rhea addressed the old woman, who was now only a few inches away from them. “Greetings, Grandmother, may the blessings of the Spirits fall upon you and your kin.”

The old woman smiled, squinting into Rhea’s face. “Greeting’s, child. And may they fall upon you as well.” She looked at Az. “What is that man’s malady?”

“He was cut and the wound has become infected,” said Rhea, struggling to keep a quaver from her voice. “If nothing is done, he will surely die.”

“Ah,” said the woman, “my family saw you on the shore and feared that you brought disease. They asked me not to speak with you. But once I had heard your description…” The woman’s eyes swept over the pockmark scars on Rhea’s face and down to those on her chest, just visible above the loose collar of her shirt. Instinctively, Rhea made to pull it up and hide the marks, but the woman only smiled. “It is an honour,” she said, “to be in the presence of one who the spirits themselves saw fit to mark as one of their own. You are more beautiful than I had imagined. If only, by my hand, I could impart such marks onto the faces of my granddaughters, I would count myself a happy woman. Then they would certainly want for nothing.”

Rhea frowned, not knowing what to say.

“And what of those on your body? Why do you hide them? Are they the marks of some devil, some hex to curse all those who look upon them?”

“No,” said Rhea. “Each one is just the sign of a spirit. I’m sure none of them would surprise a believer such as yourself.”

“I see. And what about Frost and Thunder?” asked the woman, pulling down the collar of her robe to reveal two symbols carved there long ago, one either side of her chest just below her collarbone.

“Yes, I have those, too,” said Rhea. Without thinking, she turned and lifted up her shirt to show those same symbols, one on each shoulder blade; and, in doing so, unintentionally revealed the whole tessellating web of scars that ran the entire length of her back and beyond. The woman’s mouth gaped and Rhea, realizing what she had done, replaced her shirt and turned back around with embarrassment.

“Even my mother, who, steeped in the old ways, believed that children could not feel pain, had not the heart to give me one tenth those scars. Whoever it was to whom the Spirits entrusted your care must truly have been as cruel as they were wise,” said the woman.

“Perhaps,” said Rhea. “Though, had they been a little wiser, and a little less cruel, they may have come to a better end.”

The woman laughed, her aged lips parting in a smile that reached from ear to ear. “Come, my child,” she said, “let us see if we cannot save your friend. Let us eat and let us speak. And let us get you out of those borrowed rags and into something that befits a queen. The night is young. And you are with your people now.”