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  Louisa Tate, spinster, who had lost her only love in the same war, but in a different battle, held her ground. She embraced the rage of her loss and remade herself into an avenging Fury. Without the steadying influence of Ernest Tubbs and his protectively narrow pipeline to magic, she drew what she needed, and swelled from gaunt, gray-haired mouse to towering, howling Valkyrie. The rebound magic slammed into her, and she absorbed it and transformed it—fed on its energy and shed its poison into the ground. Eric saw lightning crackle from her fingertips and clouds gather around her head, and had to fight the urge to break and run from her.

  Eric held. He'd accepted his own death in the line of duty long ago; he should have already been dead, and would have been without Lauren's intervention. He figured every extra minute was borrowed time. So, accepting that he was dead already, he released his fear and took the magic that hit him, and bent with it. The great tree breaks in the flood but the reed survives, he thought. Like a reed, he bent beneath the storm of the rebound, and accepted everything that it threw at him, and passed the shock of each blow through his body to the ground beneath.

  June Bug Tate held. Her secrets frightened her more than any death by magic she might face, and so she did not quaver when the taint of death drove into her. She accepted it, channeled it, let it use her without letting it destroy her.

  Even Terry Mayhew held. He thought himself a coward, but he discovered that being afraid didn't mean being unable to fight. He shook with fear; his mouth cotton-dry, his skin soaked with the stink of his own terror-born sweat. He felt his muscles clench and his bowels churn. But something inside of him kept him in place, feet welded to the ground, arms raised to the storm that slammed into him. He thought of his nieces, five and seven years old, with their silly laughter and their delighted shouts every time he pulled into the driveway of their house and hurried up the walk to see them. They deserved another day, another week, another seven or eight decades. And only if he held would he know that he had done what he could to give that to them. If he survived by running, he thought, he would never be able to face them again.

  Jimmy Norris broke. He made a brave show when first his spell untangled the mess the traitors had left for them; but when Ernest and Nancine and Bethellen dropped dead, he screamed and dropped his beloved book and fled.

  He got no farther than the outer edge of their work circle. As his feet cleared the perimeter guarded by George Mercer's firefly "watchdogs," a bolt of fire from the parapet of the castle lanced down at him and charred him to powder. The attack was quick, soundless, as cold and fast as the bite of a rattlesnake.

  Eric had the best position to see what had happened, and he groaned; Jimmy's death proved the traitors watched and waited. They would let the Sentinels undo the destruction they had caused, perhaps, but if the Sentinels survived the rebound of the deadly magic, all three traitors would be waiting to take them on. And with both time to prepare and the vast advantage of ready-made fortifications on their side, Eric thought the odds in battle favored the traitors.

  He could have done nothing to help Jimmy, but he wanted revenge for his murder. He wanted revenge for Bethellen, and Nancine and Ernest, too. And Debora and Granger. And the faceless millions dead for no reason, dead from stupidity and carelessness and a simple disregard for the tenets of the Sentinels—that each rivulet of downworld magic released an upworld river; that good begat good and evil begat evil; that Sentinels protected life; and most of all the Sentinels did not interfere with the natural workings of the worlds below and beside them, but worked only to stabilize the flow of magic between the worlds and maintain the steady state of the universes.

  He could not seek the revenge he wanted; he could only stand, taking the blows that rained down on him, channeling them downward.

  Each death struck the surviving Sentinels. The deaths of uncounted mice—tiny individually, but like the pelting of hail that, massed and concentrated, could pound men flat, destroy mighty trees, crush and rend to a pulp everything beneath its rage. And mixed in with the deaths of mice, the millions of deaths of humans—men, women, and children who were ripped untimely from their lives and cast between the worlds. Those deaths brought with them rage and shock and dismay and grief, yearning and despair, madness and desperation. If the deaths of the mice were hailstones, the deaths of the humans were comets hurled at the Sentinels from space—a rain of two-million-plus comets, to be borne by five trembling mortals.

  They stood, arms and faces lifted skyward, absorbing, suffering, and though the hellish rain tore them and battered them and scarred them body and soul and bent them to the ground, they did not break.

  And at last the poison leached into the earth beneath their feet, and the furies of the dead abated, and they dropped, one by one, to hands and knees. Eric managed to keep the shield around Lauren and Pete and Jake in place. He strengthened it as best he could against magical attacks. He created a tiny shield around the fallen Sentinels, living and dead. But he could no more stand against the traitors at that moment than he could walk across the surface of a sea back home on Earth. None of the five survivors would be able to stand and fight—they had nothing left.

  Eric, weaving on hands and knees, stared up at the castle, knowing that now his enemies—who had once been his allies and friends—would approach. And when they did, he would be helpless to lift a finger against them.

  With the last of his energy, he rolled to his back so that at least he would see the end coming, so that he would not die unaware of the fate that would claim him. He stared up at the crisp blue sky, at the crystalline perfection of the white mares' tails that swirled across it, and he thought, At least perhaps my world will survive. At least I can hope that we accomplished that.

  CHAPTER 19

  Outside Cold Starhold

  LAUREN CUDDLED JAKE against her chest and crouched behind a tree; she held the energy weapon tucked against her hip, safety on and still set to stun.

  Pete dropped to one knee beside her. "They're in trouble."

  "But not from the traitors. This is the plague on Earth they're fighting. This is what they came to do."

  "I can feel it."

  Lauren looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "I don't know how to help them. I'm not sure we could if we tried; I have the feeling that if we did, we'd just foul things up."

  "We have to sit and wait," Pete said. "They aren't done, and neither are the traitors. Our turn is coming pretty fast, I think."

  Lauren saw movement along the castle parapet, and came to a decision. "This is nothing I want Jake to be around," she said softly. She hugged him; he was, uncharacteristically, hanging on to her as tightly as he could. He felt the magic, too, and didn't like it.

  Molly and her companion sat on a fallen log just behind Lauren. Lauren turned to her new-found sister and said, "This is bad, but it's going to get worse. I can't leave. I have to be here to run the gates."

  Molly looked scared. "What's going on here is making me sick. I've never felt anything like this. It's evil."

  "As I told you," Yaner said. "We need to go home. Now. Seolar would be frantic if he knew the danger you were in."

  "Don't go," Lauren said. "You're my sister, right?"

  "Of course."

  "You and I…know…" She paused. "We share a past. A future."

  Molly nodded.

  "You have to take care of Jake for me. You have to get him back to Earth before the next trouble comes." She pointed to three men who stood on the parapets atop the castle and stared down at the circle of fallen Sentinels. "Pete and I are going to have to get the Sentinels out of there and deal with the traitors, and I don't want Jake here." She picked him up and shoved him into Molly's arms and said, "There's a gate already waiting in the tent over there. Please, take Jake and go through it. Wait for me on the other side."

  "Where will it take us?"

  "Back to my house in Cat Creek."

  "No."

  "What do you
mean, no? It's not perfect, but it'll be safer there than it is here."

  Molly, holding Jake in her arms like she'd never picked up a little boy before, looked terrified. "I can't go back to Earth," she said. "I've changed. The veyâr part of me will—dissolve or something if I go through the gate. I have to stay in Oria."

  Lauren put her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Please. I know we don't really know each other—not yet. But Jake is all I have, and he can't stay here. You can come back here after. If you changed once, you'll change again. But you have to go…and you have to hurry. Promise me that you won't let anything happen to Jake."

  "Everything I ever wanted is here," Molly whispered.

  Lauren clasped her son's hand and said, "And everything I have left is here. Promise me. Please. If you go now, you can come back when this is over. I can make a gate for you to anywhere. But the shield around Jake and the gates is collapsing and those men on top of the castle wall have already killed Sentinels—and they're going to kill us and anyone else who isn't already dead unless Pete and I can find a way to stop them." She stared into Molly's eyes. "Promise me."

  Molly paled and bit her lip, but she nodded. "Go. Do what you have to do. Jake will be safe with me. I swear it."

  Yaner stood, trembling. "Vodi, you must leave. You cannot stay here—cannot take the child through to Earth—cannot abandon us. We need you. The veyâr need you as the humans do not and never can. And you are ours now."

  But Molly pressed a finger to his lips and said, "She is my sister. I've waited my whole life to have a sister. My whole life. I have to do this for her."

  Lauren glared at Yaner and, uneasy, turned to Pete. "One of us is going to have to fire on the traitors while the other one drags the Sentinels back and pushes them through the gate."

  Pete said, "Can you shoot someone?"

  "These things are set on stun."

  "I know that. But if stun doesn't work, can you shoot someone?"

  Millions of people back home were dead—and their killers stood on the castle parapet, threatening her, her child, and her future. To save themselves—or maybe just because they wanted to—the traitors would kill Pete. The Sentinels. Her.

  Lauren remembered Eric's warning—that using magic to kill in the downworld would have serious repercussions in the upworld. If she took the weapon off stun, people back home were going to pay with their lives. They might be strangers. They might not. She looked at Jake, clinging to Molly.

  Any magic the traitors used to kill would have the same effect. If they attacked the Sentinels, or her and Pete, she would have to act quickly to stop them. But she wouldn't kill them unless she had no other alternative. She didn't dare.

  "I can if I have to," she told Pete. "But I'm keeping this on stun unless there's no other alternative. The price we pay back home may be too great otherwise."

  "No easy answers," Pete said. He glanced over his shoulder, cringed at what he saw in the Sentinels' circle, and hoisted his weapon. "Get me home safe if you can," he told her. "I've got to go. You cover me—I'm going in there and pull out the ones that are down. I'm bigger and stronger and will be able to move dead weight a whole lot easier than you could." He looked over at Yaner. "And if you help me, we can get your Molly back where she belongs a whole lot faster."

  Yaner started to beg off, but Molly leaned over and whispered softly enough that Lauren almost couldn't hear her, "Go. Help him. Doing so will help me."

  Yaner seemed to pale, but he said, "I will assist you."

  "Good." Pete turned again to Lauren. "Don't miss, all right? I've never liked the idea of being toasted by friendly fire."

  Lauren said, "I'm a good shot. I've got your back."

  "Just make sure you leave it in one piece. You have any actual idea how to cover someone against several enemy positions?"

  "Shoot at them when I see them?" Lauren asked.

  "No. You have unlimited ammunition, and the weapon won't heat up or jam. So you just send a steady stream of fire at the wall. Spray the whole thing from one side to the other. Irregular sweeps, so they don't get a feel for a pattern and pop up where you aren't to take me or Yaner out. Or more likely, you. You're going to be their first target."

  "I know."

  They stared up at the shield that glowed around Jake, which faded and strengthened, then faded again. "I don't think it's going to last much longer," Lauren told him. "And that's our protection for the gates, too."

  "Before everything goes, I'm running. Be ready to cover me."

  Lauren nodded and turned to her sister. "Molly, go back to Cat Creek now. I'll be back at the house as soon as I can. And if I don't make it…" She blinked back the tears that threatened to blur her vision and said, "You're the only family he has. Take care of him for me. Okay?"

  Molly, white with fear, just nodded.

  "The gate's set up in that tent." She hugged her sister, then hugged Jake. "Oh, God. There are two mirrors in there, and two gates, but only one is primed. You have to use the one on the right. All you have to do is press your hand against the glass. You'll feel a vibration in your palm, and then the glass will…sort of give way. Step through."

  Molly said, "I'll…um. Yes. I can do that. I can."

  "Mama," Jake sobbed, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what. He held out his arms for her as she pulled away, and Lauren's desire to hold him and comfort him at that moment was so fierce it stopped her breath. She thought the pain of letting him go with someone else—even her sister—would kill her. "Go," she told Molly. "Hurry. Please. Get him away from this place."

  Molly, with a wailing Jake in her arms, turned and ran for the tent.

  Pete took a deep breath and began running along the edge of the clearing, keeping cover between him and the men on the castle parapet. Yaner stayed right behind him. The three traitors hadn't seen either of them yet. When they did, she was going to have to shoot.

  Lauren swallowed hard and gripped the weapon in her hand. It seemed to get heavier as she stood there, until she felt she wouldn't be able to hold it long enough to get off even a few initial shots. She wondered if fear always did that. "Tripod," she whispered, willing one into existence. She affixed the weapon to the tripod quickly, sighted on the castle wall where her enemies stood waiting, and braced herself for what she would have to do.

  Then one of the men on the parapet shouted and pointed toward the forest, toward Pete and Yaner. Lauren pulled the trigger back hard and pivoted the weapon in a short, fast arc from one side of the castle parapet to the other. She saw the watchers on the wall dive. Her belly was a sick knot, queasy from fear of hurting the three men up there—but she kept the weapon on stun, and maintained a steady stream of fire, spraying the wall in random fast and slow sweeps.

  Beneath the spray from her weapon, Pete and the veyâr charged out of the forest and bolted toward the fallen Sentinels, grabbed the nearest, and started dragging her back. Then Yaner dropped his side of the woman and pointed toward the sky behind Lauren, and his face was the face of horror from an Edvard Munch nightmare. Pete dropped the other side of the Sentinel, swung his weapon around to the fire position, and began shooting over Lauren's head.

  Lauren saw one of the traitors point behind her, too, and then the traitors were all three firing at whatever was coming.

  Lauren knew she shouldn't turn her back on the enemy, but she couldn't help it. She turned…and wished she hadn't.

  They hung in the air like holes in space—three huge, winged nightmares whose bodies swallowed the light around them, twisted it, and bent it so that they hung in circles of darkness in the middle of the day. Her eyes refused to see the three horrors clearly—she got the impression of teeth, of scales and claws, but the way they bent the light, the way they seemed to pull terror around them like a cloak, set her flesh crawling and made her knees bump against each other for support. Unthinking, she raised her weapon and fired on them. The flashes of energy splashed in the air in front of them, as if she were shooting paintballs a
t a window, and slowed them as much as paintballs would have.

  "The Vodi is here," one of them said in a voice that made the ground beneath her feet tremble. And all three of the monsters, unbothered by her fire, Pete's fire, and the blasts from the three traitors, turned their attention to the tent with the gate.