Why should I be alive when yer dead? I says. That’s it, ain’t it? I know I got no right to be.

The jangle of her horse’s bridle. Hermes sidesteps, his eyes rollin as he tosses his head. I grip the reins harder.

Tell me what to do, I says. Please, Epona. Say somethin.

My whole body’s shakin. I’m cold to the bone. Slow, oh so slowly, I turn to look behind me.

She’s gone.

Epona’s bin ridin with me fer the past two days. An now it ain’t jest her. There’s more of ’em.

One by one, they appeared. But these ones ain’t on horseback, like Epona. They’re on foot. They hide, jest at the edge of my sight. Or I catch a glimpse of somethin – a flash of light, a rush of dark – as they dart behind a rock or a tree. I hear the sound of runnin feet. Laughter. It’s like they’re playin a game.

I cain’t never git a proper look. They move so quick.

I know who they are. It’s Helen. Helen an the rest of ’em from Hopetown. Every girl I ever fought in the Cage. Every girl I beat. An I beat them all.

They call me the Angel of Death. That’s cuz I ain’t never lost a fight.

If you lost three times, you ran the gauntlet. Nobody survived the gauntlet. The frantic hands of the crowd, tearin at you, pullin you down. I used to turn my back so’s I couldn’t see. But I could hear. I heard everythin. It all went in. Every touch an smell an taste an sound. Every girl I fought is part of me now. I’m the terror in her eyes, her hunger to live, the scent of death-so-near on her skin.

An here they are. It’s a relief to see them. At last, I know who the shades are. Who’s bin whisperin on the wind ever since we come to the Waste. They’re waitin fer their moment to git me. To take me. I’m so tired. I cain’t hold ’em off much longer.

They’re bold. Emmi could be ridin beside me, or Lugh or Tommo, an they’ll still git up to their tricks. Earlier today, one of ’em even dashed right in front of Hermes. If I hadn’t of hauled on his reins, he would of trampled her.

I try not to sleep at night. If I don’t sleep, nobody can come an take me. Take me away from Lugh an Emmi an Tommo. Or take them away from me. We’ll all be safe as long as I stay awake.

But sometimes, sheer exhaustion snatches me. Not fer long, but when it does, I dream of Jack. Fevered, shallow dreams or . . . or maybe they’re visions, I dunno. They’re always the same. He’s trapped in the darkness. No, that ain’t right – he’s trapped by the darkness. Down the corridors I run, up the stairs. I open the door. An I search fer him. I search an I call his name, but I never find him.

I can never find my way to Jack.

Dark dreams by night. Dark shadows by day.

The days an nights melt, one into th’other, till it’s hard to tell sleepin from wakin. If the sun didn’t rise an set, I might not know at all.

I’m runnin. I gotta find Jack. I know he’s here.

Down a long, dark corridor. Torches throw ragged shadows across the stone walls. The only sound is me. My footsteps. My breathin. I got the heartstone in my hand. It’s warm. That means Jack’s close by.

Saba.

The voice brushes past me on a gust of cold air. The wall torches flicker. I stop. I’m at the bottom of a stone staircase. It’s steep, winds sharply upwards.

Saba. Saba.

The voice runs along the walls an up my spine. It settles in the dark places, deep inside of me. Like it belongs there. Jack’s voice. Or . . . no, I cain’t be certain. All I know is, I heard it before. But I cain’t remember where or when.

I clutch the heartstone even tighter.

Jack! I grab a wall torch, shine it up the staircase. Is that you? Stay there, I’m comin!

Hurry, hurry, hurry. The voice sighs down my neck, prickles my arms. I start to climb the stairs. When I git to the top, there’s a wooden door. Old, scarred.

I hold up the heartstone. It’s burnin hot now. He’s on th’other side. The sound of a heartbeat. In my head, all around me, everywhere. So loud.

Jack, I says. Are you there?

I turn the handle. I open the door.

It’s ripped from my hand. I cry out. Brace myself. The wind tears the door from its hinges an it flies off into the darkness.

It’s a doorway to nowhere.

I’m at the top of a tower. Jagged mountains rise around me. A great chasm yawns below. All is emptiness, vastness, blackness.

I cling to the door frame. The wind sucks at me, plucks at me, shriekin its rage.

Jack! I scream. Jack!

Then I’m fallin. Fallin. Fallin.

Lugh pushed us on today. We travelled long an hard. It was dark by the time we set up camp behind the rusted hulk of a great boat, stranded in ancient times when the waters it sailed on dried to dust. It’s the best shelter fer miles around, but still the sharpwinds find us. They come whinin, stingin our faces with their fiery bite. Clouds scud across the sky. Break over the face of the moon. There ain’t no stars tonight. A wolfdog howls not far away.

I’m crouched on the edge of the campsite. I keep my back to the rest of ’em. If they see, they’ll come sniffin around, askin questions. They watch me all the time. I cain’t do nuthin without somebody pokin their nose in.

I gotta git it off. This blood on my hands. Soap leaf in boilin water, horsetail . . . it ain’t none of it worked. The blood’s dried so dark it’s almost black. Unner my nails too. I noticed it today, while I was talkin to Epona. They must of got stained when I butchered the wolfdogs. Gotta git ’em clean before Lugh sees. He’s ever so particular. He always said Pa might not care but that didn’t mean us kids couldn’t be decent.

I’m diggin unner my nails with a stick. C’mon, I mutter, c’mon, shift, you bastard. But it won’t. I grab a rough stone an start scrubbin at my arms, the palms of my hand. Dammit, why won’t it come out? I grit my teeth an scrub harder. I glance over my shoulder. Check to make sure nobody ain’t noticed.

They’re all starin at me. Tommo, Lugh an Emmi. Sittin there by the fire with their eatin tins.

What? I says.

Tommo’s called you three times, says Lugh.

I go to join ’em. They’re almost finished. Tommo serves prairie dog stew into my eatin tin. Hey, I says, don’t this look good, Tommo. I’m that hungry I could eat my boots.

It’s a lie. I ain’t hungry. I ain’t never hungry these days. I tip most of it to Nero on the sly.

As I go to take my food, Tommo says, Saba! Yer hands!

I shove ’em behind my back. I’ve gone hot. My face, my neck, my chest. Tommo knows. He seen the stains, he knows what it is. Now they’ll all know.

Emmi an Lugh’s both jumped up at Tommo’s words. Lugh reaches behind me. Grabs my hands an turns ’em over. They all exclaim.

Ohmigawd, Saba! says Lugh. You got blood all over ’em. What’ve you done?

I tried to clean ’em, I says. I bin scrubbin an scrubbin, but they . . . they won’t come out, the bloodstains won’t come out. I’m sorry, Lugh.

You poor fool, he says. There ain’t no bloodstains. You scrubbed ’em raw.

I stare down at the palms of my hands. He’s right. I scraped the skin off. Scraped ’em to a bloody mess. There ain’t no dark bloodstains. None at all, not unner my nails, nowhere.

They was there, I says. I swear they was.