Whisperings of Magic by Karleen Bradford Page A

mean?” Dahl asked.
    Catryn cast her mind out again. She probed with it, trying with all her energy to send threads forth to meet the minds of the villagers, but to no avail. No matter how hard she tried, her searchings found nothing.
    “The village is empty,” she said finally, exhausted with the effort. “There is no one here.”
    “What do you mean?” Dahl exclaimed. “The square is full of people.”
    “No,” Catryn answered. “No one is there at all.”
    “Impossible,” Dahl insisted. He strode forward. Catryn and the others followed. As they walked through the square they greeted the people they passed. No greetings were returned. Nor did the people even try to move out of their way. Dahl became more and more irritated.
    “This is more than strange,” he growled finally. A man was walking toward him. Deliberately, Dahl stood in the man’s path. The man walked straight into him, then corrected himself, and walked around and past him. Still, no word was spoken. “They do not see us!” Dahl exclaimed.
    “They see nothing,” Catryn said.
    She led the way now, through the village and out the other side where well-tended fields of grain and vegetables lay stretched out before them. People were working in the fields. Some were weeding and watering, others were filling waiting carts with the harvested produce, but again all was being done in aneeriesilence. They walked on past and came to an orchard. Plump, crimson fruit hung from all the branches. A boy came toward them, carrying a basket-full.
    “May I have one?” Catryn asked, testing.
    As if she had not spoken, as if she did not even exist, the boy passed her by, wordlessly. Knowing what she would find, but determined to try in any case, Catryn sought out his thoughts. There were none. There was nothing but a blank and terrifying emptiness.
    They walked in and around the village for the rest of the afternoon, trying to find one person, at least, who would respond to them. It was useless. Finally, they mounted and rode out through the fields to where the forest began again on the other side and there made camp.
    “I don’t understand this,” Dahl said. “What can have happened here? Why will these people not speak?”
    “They cannot,” Catryn answered slowly. “They are not there,” she repeated.
    “That is what you said before,” Dahl said. “What do you mean?”
    “Their bodies are there, Dahl,” Catryn replied, “but their minds are not.”
    Whatever it was that they faced, it was more powerful by far than she had imagined. For the first time, she allowed her mind to dwell on the possibility of failure. What if she could not protect Dahl? Whatif he were killed? And she? She could not die, she knew that—but she could be maimed. As the Protector had been. Maimed for life, for eternity! Horror, black and heavy, crept through her.
    Help me!
she cried silently to the Elders. But this time, when she so needed to hear, when she was ready to hear, there was no answer. She was beyond their reach.
    They were on their own then, she and Dahl. And the Sele.
    And Bruhn.

    The night that followed was worse by far than any Catryn had ever known. They repaired to the woods on the outskirts of the village and made camp, but she refused the stew that Bruhn made, refused to speak even to Dahl. Instead, she sat hunched against a tree, lost within herself. She was barely aware of the others as they ate and settled down for the night, but they, too, made their preparations in silence—as chilled as she with what they had seen. There was some force at work here beyond all understanding.
    She watched the moons rise, then watched them wane. Slivered crescents now, not the full orbs they had been when she and the others had set out from Daunus. Finally, while everyone slept, she rose, stiffand cold through to the marrow of her bones. She needed an escape. She shifted. A sleek, sinewy silver cat this time, as ethereal as the moons themselves. She shut her eyes