His temple was in a deep cave from which a spring ran, and there the leaders of the people came to dream prophetic dreams. They brought sacrifice of smoke and song; or, if their need was great, blood and bone. Sometimes he gave them oracles. Sometimes he ignored them. They were his to do with as he pleased.

Ka'an, they called to him, Dreamer, king of storm and darkness, bright-eyed, keeper of secrets, hear us, answer our prayers.

They brought forth the offering. The sacrifice stumbled dazed to the spring and lay himself down, staring, eyes like circles of blue paper. Drugged, or drunk with lust. His cheeks were flushed, breath shallow, and when the knife went in his cry was one of ecstasy.

And the prophecy came, and it was this:

All we know is a lie, and the time of liars is ending.

All we know is fear, and the time for cruelty has come.

All we know is a dream, and it is time to wake.

They backed away, shaking their heads. They did not want this oracle. But the eyes of the sacrifice shone, and his blood-filled mouth moved with words:

"Kieran, wake up now."

Colors smeared; meaning fled.

"Kieran. Come on. I'm not going to shake you, you'd probably punch me, but I really don't fancy the idea of those Watch bastards sneaking up on us while you snore."

The images sank into the darkness behind his eyes; he opened them to predawn indigo. Ash was squatting a few feet away, dressed, hands dangling over his knees, talking in a near-whisper.

"Yes, it's early, but for all we know they're early risers, and we probably want the camp packed up just in case, right? I made coffee. Do I need to wave it under your nose?"

"I'm awake," Kieran said, which made Ash start a bit. "Didn't you see my eyes are open?"

"I can't see a damn thing," Ash admitted.

Kieran sat up, knuckling his eyes. "Since when do you get up before me?"

"Since I slept like a stone for maybe four hours and then popped awake. I feel pretty rested, actually. Found a snake in my boot."

"Really? I didn't hear you screaming." Kieran grinned as he got the sand out of his clothes and himself into them.

"Jackass," Ash said affectionately.

"Oh, before you put it on." Yawning, Kieran shook out his own boots, but discovered no interesting creatures. "Did you say I was snoring?"

"Like a sawmill."

"You're a big fat liar." Joking around. Suddenly wondered if Ash maybe couldn't tell, would be offended; but the redhead -- sweet boy, edeime to him now and oh it was good to remember -- gave an easy laugh.

"There was a sound coming out of you. For lack of a better word --"

"Do I always do that?"

"No, just sometimes. It's cute."

Kieran chuckled as he finished buckling his boots. "I've been called a lot of things, but -- I can't believe you said cute."

"It is. You are. I have the courage to speak the truth."

"Well, imagine that. All these years folks been shitting their britches 'cause I looked at 'em funny, and the whole time I was cute as a bug. They just failed to recognize it." He snapped his coat like a flag, dislodging a large spider and several beetles, and put it on. "Where's my scarf thing? Thanks." Not bothering with a comb, though he knew he'd pay for it in matted tangles later, he tied his hair back under the kerchief. He was too nervous now to spend time combing his hair, knowing what was coming. "You coming upstairs with me? You can wait here if you want. Safer down here."

Ash had begun rolling up the blankets, but now he sat back on his heels and shoved his hands through his hair. Looked like he'd combed his. The blood-ochre mop was brushing his shoulders, Kieran noticed, long enough to tie back. "No, I'll come with you. I don't really feel like wondering what's going on."

"Suit yourself." Trying not to show his relief.

By the time they'd eaten breakfast and packed up camp, the sky was flushed yellow-white with dawn. Kieran insisted on leaving the horses saddled and loaded, just in case. Then he pointed Ash at the cliff. "You go first."

"Ha ha very funny."

"Fine. You want rocks falling on your head and nobody to catch you, that's your business."

"Hang on. Okay, I'll go first. But no laughing." Ash went to the rock wall and craned his neck up at it, rubbing his hands together. "Right. Climbing."

"You got up that wall at Churchrock."

"I have no clue how I did that."

"Time's a-wasting, kid."

"Keep your knickers on, I'm going." Ash picked a handhold low enough that Kieran wouldn't have bothered with it, spidered his pale fingers around it, and began hauling himself up. Kieran watched with arms crossed, biting back unhelpful comments. When Ash was about fifteen feet up, Kieran started his own climb. It was a chore to go slow enough that he didn't end up climbing right past Ash. He wasn't sure he could be any use if Ash fell; pebbles bounced off his head.

Halfway up, he realized he was in a better mood than he'd been in for just about as long as he could remember.

Above him, Ash had stalled out. Kieran moved up beside him to point out a hold. Ash smiled thanks before moving on, and Kieran smiled back without reservation. You're not enjoying yourself, are you? his inner voice mocked. If you're not careful, he's going to make you happy. Quick, find something to be bitter about!

Well, he answered himself, there's the fact that I'm probably not good enough to keep him alive much longer. I dreamed him dead again, even if it wasn't me who killed him this time. If we hit serious trouble, and he can't fight, I'm going to have a hard time protecting him.

What happened to 'I'm not going to stick my neck out for you,' then? Oh, you're a hardass all right, Trevarde. You just can't wait for a chance to play big strong hero. Has it crossed your mind that picking these guys off from cover might not impress him? Maybe you should go down and stand in the road, give them a little morality speech before you kill them.

Even this only made him grin at himself. He was just plain happy, and he couldn't wreck it for trying.

At the top, Ash was sitting around picking pebbles out of his palms, but he jumped up gamely enough when Kieran beckoned. It was about a quarter mile to the place Kieran was thinking of. The way was rough; ground that looked flat from a distance but up close turned out to be made up of cracks, wobbly rocks, and ankle-twisting holes full of deceptively solid-looking sand. Ash started to crouch as they neared the edge, but Kieran walked upright and stood looking down on the road.

"No need to sneak," he said. "We'll see their dust half an hour before we see them."

"What if they don't come?"

"What else are they going to do? Go home and say they had a lead but didn't feel like following it?"

"No, I mean, what if they're doing something different? Took a train to Canyon to wait for us, maybe. Or maybe they have some other options. I'm just trying not to get stuck on the one plan."

"Huh." Kieran sat crosslegged near the edge, still looking down the road toward where he expected the enemy to come from. "Well, you think about it. But I don't think they're scared of us. We might have Talents, but mine's untrained and yours is useless in a fight, so I don't see the Watch being real nervous about us. Them knowing pattern magic and so forth. I'm betting they'll come straight at us."

Ash didn't speak for a while; he made himself comfortable on a bit of hard-packed dirt, watching Kieran set out boxes of bullets and begin loading magazines. After a few minutes, he picked up a loaded clip and examined it, popped the top bullet out and pushed it back in. "You have strong thumbs," he commented as he put the clip down.

"You got your gun?"

"You realize I probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. For one thing, these glasses are a bit weak." Nevertheless he produced the revolver Kieran had given him, acting a lot less nervous about it than before he'd robbed someone with it. He turned it over thoughtfully in his hands, then surprised Kieran by taking a bullet from the box and loading it into the cylinder's one empty slot almost as smoothly as Kieran would have.

"Hey. You've been practicing while I was sleeping."

"Nope."

"Day before yesterday you were all --" Kieran dangled his own gun from two fingers, pretending to be afraid of it. "Oh help me, it's a deadly weapon!"

"I've been thinking about what you said. It's a machine. I get machines. Hell, I've studied diagrams of various different types of guns, I know how to make gunpowder, so it's --"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"You know how to make gunpowder?"

"Black powder's not difficult. The modern stuff, what's in these, you need some chemicals that are hard to get legally. But yeah."

"I'm impressed."

Ash glowed. "Well, thank you. But I was saying -- if I know how something works, there's no point me being scared of it. Right?"

"There are probably exceptions."

"This isn't one of them." Ash stripped off his coat and folded it into a pillow. He put his gun close to his right hand when he lay down. "I can't promise I won't black out when the fight starts," he said with his eyes closed. "I'll try not to, though."

"Well, if you do, I know how to wake you up."

Ash opened one eye. "You do? How?"

"I'll just roll you off the cliff. That should get your attention."

"Bastard." Ash smiled. A few moments later, the smile faded into the slack face of sleep.

Kieran sat watching him for a time. He looked like he had in the dream. When he was dead in the dream. Something about the shape of his wrist and hand where it rested across his flat stomach, the length and paleness of his neck, the bit of collarbone and freckled shoulder visible where his shirt was pulled askew. Fragile. Yet Kieran remembered the surprising strength of those slender arms; hanging on for dear life as Kieran banged him into oblivion. Not at all what Kieran had expected, that request. Nor the unflinching eagerness with which Ash had taken it, or the abandon with which he'd enjoyed it.

A new experience for both of them; Kieran had only been on the giving side once before, when he'd pestered Shan to let him try it, and Shan hadn't liked it much. Had wanted him to get done and get out, had not come that way, and certainly hadn't begged for it with writhings and groanings and snapping teeth. Ash's reaction made him feel like a god. Addictive. He was hooked.

It was an effort to pull his eyes away to watch the road. Mind on your business, Trevarde. You're gonna look like an idiot if you let the Watch sneak up on you while you're supposed to be ambushing them.

So he scanned the distance, the way he'd learned to do when he and Shan were highwaymen: don't stare, don't strain your eyes, just let 'em wander around in that direction and catch on anything interesting. It felt strange to be using those habits again. How everything was changing, but some of it was familiar. He was different now from how he'd been the last time he'd used this ambush spot, but somehow more like that person than like the one he'd been a couple weeks ago, in prison. Had it only been days? It felt like months. And years since he'd last been the way he was today.

He couldn't go back to who he'd been before. Time had marked him. But apparently some of him was still salvageable. He could still feel things beginning, still be glad about it, even if he didn't trust beginnings at all.

So what was it that was starting? Not just the fact that he was now properly edeimos with Ash, nothing so simple or immediate. Something was lurking just under the horizon of the future, sending out rays, hints, pretending to be all bright and perfect, but the future always lied. It was something bigger than running and fighting, something that had his dreams in it, and something maybe about his Talent, a partial answer to the big question that had been hovering over him all his life, the question that was too big to put into words.

Which was ridiculous. Everyone had that same question, he was sure, and he'd long ago decided there was no answer to it. But the thought put an idea in his head, of where to go next.

He had hiding places all over the western part of the province. Some he'd found with Shan, but Shan had never wanted to go too far from the roads that brought them their money or the towns they spent it in. Shan hadn't seen the point of wandering, hadn't liked solitude. The best spots were the ones Kieran had found alone. As a child, when he'd felt himself dug too deep into the hustler's life, crowded by pains and needs, sometimes he'd launched out into the desert to wander. Mostly he'd gone just far enough to get some solitude, a day or two, but in his early teens he'd started taking weeks and months of silence and sun to earn his sanity back. After he'd learned well enough how to find water and what he could eat, he'd gone out several times with the intention of living out there and never going back, or dying out there if that was his fate. He'd always thought he could defeat loneliness. In the end, loneliness had always won.

But if he had Ash with him...

He shook his head ruefully. No way was Ash going to want to live off the land, fifty miles from the nearest plumbing. And even if he were crazy about the idea, it wouldn't change the fact that they were cornered, in purely reactive mode. But the idea of having Ash around pretty much indefinitely was looking better every day. And more plausible as well, so that he felt like a self-defeating idiot for assuming there was no chance Ash would survive. Ash had guts, he'd make it. How come I'm getting optimistic all of a sudden? Did I just need to get laid?

Before he could examine it too deeply, a drifting twist of dust to the northeast caught his attention.

Relieved to have something simple to deal with, even if it might kill him, he studied it to see if it could just be a dust devil. After a few seconds he was sure it was not. He gathered up his loaded clips and stretched out a leg to kick Ash's foot. "Wake up. They're coming."

Ash tensed and snorted in confusion as he woke. His hand went immediately to the revolver beside him. Without sitting up, he scooted back from the edge, wriggling into his jacket as he went. He whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

"First, come here."

Too slowly, as if his reluctance could postpone the fight, Ash obeyed. His response to Kieran's kiss was lukewarm at first, so that Kieran began to worry that he'd misjudged everything, but after a moment's hesitation Ash grabbed him tightly and kissed back hard. Then released him with decisive suddenness. "And now what do I do?"

"Hide." Kieran stretched out on the rock, forcing his attention back to the dust plume. He aimed his thumb over his shoulder. "There's some brush and stuff back there, right? Get behind it and stay down. And if something goes wrong, you run. Get to the horses and go."

Ash gave an incredulous snort. "Go where, Kieran?"

"Anywhere." He waited, but got no answer, heard no movement. "You hear me? If I buy it you better run like hell."

"Somehow I don't see that doing any good. Just concentrate on your shooting." Ash slapped the side of Kieran's boot as he went past.

"Ash -- Ash -- Ashleigh Trine, I'm talking to you!" He twisted around to see that Ash had stopped in a half-kneeling crouch, looking back at him with a sad little smile.

"Be serious," Ash said. "If they beat you, I don't have a chance. But don't worry, I'm not going back to Churchrock." He pressed the revolver's muzzle under his chin briefly, then put it away. "So if you, um, buy it, hold up a minute on the other side and wait for me." He turned and dashed off toward the clump of brush, and Kieran couldn't yell after him for fear of the enemy hearing it.

Fuming, Kieran scowled out at the gray-brown plume growing nearer. Thanks a lot, Ash, like I needed more pressure. But something warm and sweetly painful snaked through his guts and made him feel more awake than he'd ever been before. He was irrationally certain, all of a sudden, that he couldn't possibly lose, because Ash was counting on him.

These few minutes of waiting were always the worst. Knowing that if he'd overlooked anything it was too late now. And these were White Watch, they could have any Talents and god-knows-what else prepped by ritual beforehand. It was a relief when he actually saw them come around the bend, small pale figures on dark horses, so that he could begin judging range and taking aim. He wished he could've gotten a rifle somehow. The Hart was a nice gun, but a short barrel just couldn't do what he needed right now.

A breath of wind stirred the dust that cloaked the Watchmen, and Kieran caught his breath in dismay. There was a third rider coming around the curve. He had his rifle over his arm, not slung across his back like the other two, and he was far enough behind them that they'd be past Kieran's position before he came into good range. As if they were anticipating an ambush.

"Shit," Kieran whispered. All right, if they wanted to play clever bastards, let them. He'd take the last man first. He shifted slightly, covering a piece of ground behind the two lead men. Here we go, he thought. It was as close to a prayer as he was willing to get.

The first two were almost under the rock.

The third rode into Kieran's sights.

Three shots smashed the silence, echoing, clattering like a rockfall. The third man began to raise his rifle, but he was falling from his horse at the same time. Kieran, ears still ringing, thrust himself half over the edge to empty the rest of the clip at the startled faces below. Everything was in motion down there, and the angle was bad; he heard ricochets and a horse's scream, saw one man starting to raise his hand in a looping gesture, flung himself back and rolled away.

Not fast enough. Something invisible punched him in the left arm, jarring his elbow so that he threw his full clip up in the air instead of getting it into the gun. Chunks of rock and earth sprayed up, then pattered down around him where he lay sprawled on his back, knocked breathless.

There were a few words from below, but he was too deafened and suffocated to make sense of them. He forced his left hand to get another clip into the gun, despite the buzzing numbness spreading up from his elbow. His fingers wouldn't grip hard enough to pull the slide back. He switched hands, managed to get a bullet into the chamber just as a tingle rushed across his skin. The air's temperature dropped sharply, his stomach lurched; instinctively, he lashed out at nothing with his heart's hand, and felt it turn away some kind of groping energy.

A figure in dusty white suddenly rose above the lip of the cliff, as if jerked by strings. He had a rifle aimed in Kieran's general vicinity.

Kieran was faster, but the Watchman was more ready. They fired at the same time. Kieran felt his right shoulder slammed against the ground, felt his fingers open and loose his gun, while the Watchman's head snapped back and then rocked forward in a cloud of scarlet. The rifle dropped from his flopping hands, but the corpse continued to hang in air. It was a second or two before he fell out of sight.

So the last man was the Kinetic. He could pop up anywhere. Kieran tried to lift his pistol, but his hand wouldn't close. He sent the orders, but his body ignored them. Goosebumps ran over his skin. Under the hot morning sun, he started to shiver. The only warmth on him came in the form of trickles that ran into his armpit and pooled in the hollows of his collarbone.

"Oh, fuck, I'm shot," he said quietly. His words were mushy, drunken-mouthed. His back felt wet now too.

It's only shock. You aren't hit anywhere vital. Just broke your shoulder, is all. Pick up that gun. His silent railing at himself didn't do any good. He still hadn't managed to get his finger on the trigger when a pale shape appeared beside him.

The man had come up somewhere other than the front of the rock. Kieran hadn't seen him, hadn't heard his footsteps. Still couldn't hear properly; the man's mouth moved, but it was just noise. He understood the smile that came next, though. They'd won. Kieran had lost.

Kieran's eyes jammed shut for a moment, against a sudden sting. Ash is going to watch me get caught, and then he's going to blow his head off. The fatalism in his thoughts sickened him. He forced his eyes open to the too-bright sky again. Not fucking acceptable. I will do something, somehow.

The Watchman spoke again, and this time his words made a sort of sense. "Where's the other one? I was told there were two of you."

Kieran tried to answer, but had to spit out something metallic before he could talk. Great. It hit my lung. How many sucking chest wounds is a man entitled to in one lifetime? "He's dead," Kieran gurgled. "I killed him and ate him." As he spoke, he began to feel his gun's grip resting on his fingers, and sent all his strength into that hand. But as he finally got a proper hold on it, the Watchman casually stepped on his wrist.

Pain ripped up his arm and across his chest; bile rose in his throat, and the world went all red and white. A helpless, broken animal noise came out of him. He hated the whimpering even as he couldn't stop. The man was doing it some more, grinding with his heel, trying to break Kieran's wrist. He felt the pain loosening the weld between mind and body, knew he was about to leap free -- and for the first time in his life, he fought it. He would not leave Ash behind.

Clenching his teeth, Kieran raised his head, sweeping with his left hand for a rock or a chunk of wood or anything, finding nothing, his only clear thought sent in Ash's direction: Don't do yourself in yet, I'm not done.

Then came the bellow of the revolver. He recognized it, cried out in dismay, his determination burst like a bubble -- until he saw the red rose that had opened in the Watchman's thigh.

"Get off him! Fucker, get the fuck off him!"

Another boom of thunder called a fine, dark spray from the man's gut, a slop of almost black blood drooling down the front of his white uniform. Only then did the man recall himself enough to raise his rifle. Too late. The third shot removed his face and sent him tumbling off the cliff's edge.

Kieran whispered, "Ash. Oh god. Thank you."

Scrambling footsteps, and Ash flung himself into Kieran's field of view, dropping to his knees. He was white as chalk, eyes too wide, but he held his gun as if ready to destroy anything that came near. "Is that all of them? Kieran, was that all of them? I can't feel anything, I think I blinded myself."

"That's all." Kieran's voice was thick, and he had to spit again. "I was so scared you'd -- thank you."

Ash forced a smile. The light tone of his words sounded a little strained: "Since I can't live without you, call it self-defense. Let's have a look at this." With infinite gentleness, he began unbuttoning Kieran's shirt, peeling it back from the wound. He was taking deep breaths to calm himself. It looked like it was only half working.

"How's it look?"

"Ugly. I can see bone. You'll have that arm in a sling for a while. There's a lot of blood, too, but I'm pretty sure you won't bleed to death. It's not spurting or anything, just trickling. The bullet went in just above the top of your ribs."

"Come out the back?"

"I can't tell yet. I'm going to cut your shirt off, I don't think we can get it off the normal way."

"With what? You have a knife?"

"Oh. Damn. Okay, look, I'll be back in two seconds, all right? God, I hate to leave you here."

"I'll live." Kieran mustered a grin. "Glad I left my coat off. Can't patch leather."

Ash stayed a moment longer, biting his lip. Blinking fast, he bent to drop a kiss on Kieran's forehead. Then he dashed away.

"Wait," Kieran croaked, but not loud enough and too late. He was glad Ash hadn't heard; it had been a reflex. He closed his eyes again; the sky was too bright. Waves of needing to cough ran through his chest, but the least tension of his diaphragm pulled so painfully on his shoulder that he couldn't complete the motion. He could feel the blood trickling in, tickling him inside, imagined it filling him up until he drowned. Suffocation was a hell of a way to go.

He rescued me. There's one for the books. That was some damn fine shooting, too, for a beginner. A nearsighted beginner. I wonder what the range was? See if I can stay alive long enough to ask.

Something cold touched his hand, and he flinched, eyes popping open to the blinding sky.

"Damn it! Hold still, Kieran, I'm using the razor."

Kieran chuckled. "Trying to save me and you slit my wrists. How dumb would that be." Talking broke his resolution not to cough; he managed to croak out "Wait," before he convulsed. He couldn't quite spit right this time. It drooled down his chin. "Aw, yuck."

"Oh dear," Ash said in a small voice. His eyes were anguished as he tenderly mopped the blood from Kieran's lips with his sleeve. Then he went back to work with the razor.

Time broke down, after that. Events occurred with no connection to each other. Kieran felt horrible and fine by turns; sometimes there was no pain, sometimes it was overwhelming. Sometimes he babbled, and sometimes Ash checked to make sure he was still alive. It was forever before he had to sit up so Ash could look at his back and inform him that there was an exit wound just above his shoulderblade, but then the world flickered and he was under a blanket while Ash made him drink water, and his arm was bound tightly to his side, and Ash was shirtless and starting to sunburn.

"Where'd your shirt go?" Kieran mumbled.

"I used it for bandages," Ash answered patiently, as if he'd said it a number of times before.

"You have a lot of freckles."

"I think you're right that we can't stay up here, but I'm still not letting you climb down, considering the state you're in."

"Did I say that?"

Ash put his hands in his face. "Oh god. I don't know what to do."

Alarmed, Kieran walked his good hand out from under the blanket to touch Ash's knee. "Hey. Ashes. Don't cry."

"I'm not." Ash lifted his head to show a fake smile. "At least you stopped spitting blood. It stopped bubbling even before I got the bandage on. Maybe that part of your lung collapsed. Which would normally not be good, but in this case... hell, what am I talking about, I don't know anything about this. I didn't even study anatomy in school, I just read a couple books my aunt had. Kieran, we really need to get you down to the horses. Just hang on a bit and I'll think of something."

There was a lull during which Ash held Kieran's hand and periodically kissed the knuckles, even though they were smeared with dried blood. Kieran thought for a while that he might be falling asleep, but as the tickling in his lungs settled down to a dull feeling of stiffness, unreality began to fade. The blanket was way too warm, and his shoulder hurt like hellfire, and his thoughts began to string together properly.

"Tell you what," he said, and something in his voice made Ash look up suddenly with an expression of relief. "You climb next to me, and we'll sort of leapfrog it. I mean, you find a hold, grab on good, and then kind of push on my back while I move my hand."

"It's a long climb. Do you have the strength for it?"

"Think so. If I rest once we get there, before we start down."

"Maybe you should rest here a while longer first."

"Won't help." Wincing and groaning, Kieran sat up and pushed the blanket aside. When he tried to get his legs under him, Ash grabbed his left arm and helped. He leaned on Ash while dizziness coursed through him and then faded. "God damn that hurts. Okay, let's do this."

Ash ducked under Kieran's arm, and together they wobbled across the broken ground. The walk made him tired, but it didn't exhaust him; he rested sitting, didn't have to lie down. While he rested, Ash ran back and got the blanket and canteen, scooted down the cliff like a lizard to get more water, came back up nearly as fast as Kieran would have. Between them, they drained the canteen. Ash tossed it down to the spot where they'd slept last night. The mark of the bedroll was clear on the dust. Kieran wished fiercely he could turn the clock back and be there again, live last night again a few more times before coming to this. He wasn't afraid of dying, but leaving Ash -- You'll live, you bastard, because if you break that boy's heart by croaking, that's your only chance at redemption down the shitter. Your next life, you'll be a damn rattlesnake or something. He wasn't sure where that thought came from -- he'd never been much of a believer -- but it still gave him strength.

"You ready?"

"Ashes, listen, I'm really sorry about -- you know. Everything."

"No, no, no. You say that kind of thing when you're dying. And even then it's kind of trite. Tell you what, if you ever get a good chance for last words, how about you just tell a long joke and leave off the punchline?"

"Okay." His smile was thin, but genuine.

"You really think you can handle this right now? We could camp up here tonight."

"Nah. We have to get moving. You can bet those whitecoats' officers know they're dead. No, I got it. It's not really vertical here, so if I slip I'll just kind of bounce and roll."

"And break your head open. Let's try to avoid that." Ash backed over the edge, then beckoned.

What followed was the hardest half hour of Kieran's life, at least in a physical sense. Going up and down had tired Ash out, so he sometimes couldn't quite hold Kieran up while he shifted holds; they both had near-misses, flailing and scrabbling one-armed at the rocks. With one hand having to do all the work, they tore up their fingers something awful. Kieran's left arm started shaking almost immediately, followed by his legs, and then his whole body was quivering like custard. Sweat poured off him. The wound hurt, of course, and his broken collarbone sometimes jarred and made him want to puke. Despite the water he'd had before starting, his head was pounding with dehydration before they were halfway down.

But Ash kept murmuring encouragement, even when his fingers were bleeding. The boy who'd been unsure whether he could climb at all now did the whole thing with one hand, hanging on less-than-certain bits of the slope to leave Kieran the easy path, and all the time he was saying, "I've got you, you're doing fine, left foot about six inches farther down, ready? you're doing great, we're almost there." Eyes so calm and kind that they seemed to numb away the pain like a pipe of poppy.

When Kieran finally reached the bottom and sank to his knees, Ash left him there and wobbled away. It was an effort not to call after him. Weariness warred with frustration in Kieran's mind; he hated being so helpless. His exhaustion kept him from expressing his anger, while the anger kept him from collapsing, but it was something else that snuck up and won the war: So much for fragile. I didn't think he had it in him, not any of this, killing a man or dealing with a messy wound or climbing like that -- but he does have it, in spades. There's no telling how tough he really is. Steel under the meringue and cherries -- enough steel to arm a battalion.

"This is going to seem stupid," Ash said behind him, "but it makes sense when you think about it. Are you all right sitting like that?"

"Yeah. What's going to be stupid?"

As an answer, cool hands gathered up his sweat-damp hair and pulled his kerchief off his head. It felt nice, but he was puzzled when it felt like Ash was combing his hair.

"I'm thinking about it, and it's still stupid."

It sounded like Ash had something in his teeth when he replied. "Just a second... I had the damnedest time keeping your hair out of the bandages, so..." The sensation of tugging changed from combing to braiding. "Otherwise we'll maybe end up having to cut it off. And I get the feeling you wouldn't enjoy that." Another minute, and the rope of a braid slapped against his spine. Then a damp cloth spread blessed coolness across his neck and back, washing off the itchy grit.

Kieran sighed happily. "Okay. Good idea after all."

"Still feeling all right?"

"Little tired. Sore. But the shock's over. I'm coping."

"Good. I think it would be easier if you rode and I led the horse. I mean, through that twisty little path. You want help getting up?"

"No." Kieran started, wobbled, stopped. "Yes."

Getting into the mare's saddle was easier than he'd expected. It was staying there that was hard. He was starting to be really sick to his stomach, very dizzy and tired. He nearly fell asleep while Ash attached the gray's lead to the mare's saddle, though it couldn't have taken more than a moment. It seemed to take forever to get back to the road.

When they reached it, Ash tried to turn back the way they'd come. Kieran said, "Whoa, where are you going?"

"You really need medical attention."

"I'm not going to get it in Smith. Not after we robbed the store."

"Smith? You mean that place had a name? Look, never mind, at least we can find some shelter. It can't be good for you to be out in the sun like this, and when night comes --"

"No no. Go the other way. That way."

"To Canyon? Kieran, we can't -- ohshit." This last was because Kieran had begun to topple off the horse. Ash managed to catch him in time, and prop him back up, but he couldn't sit up straight anymore. He clutched the saddle horn in a white-knuckled grip, shivering. Some time went away; Ash moved around and did things, and Kieran studied the mare's brown mane. Light in the coarse hairs made strange shapes, pulled him in and lost him, and whenever the horse impatiently shook her head, he felt as if he'd been thrown across a room.

When Ash pried his foot from the stirrup, he thought at first he was supposed to get down, and voiced an incoherent protest. But instead, Ash climbed up behind him.

"Lucky we're both skinny," Ash said as his arm circled Kieran's waist. "No way would this work if we were fat. You can lean back, I've got you -- ow! Careful!"

"What? What'd I do?"

"Smacked me in the nose with your head, is all. Just relax and try to rest. I won't let you fall."

A pale hand reached past to pick up the reins. White fingers, pink knuckles, all spattered with freckles. As if someone had dipped a brush in liquid bronze and flicked a spray across silk. Kieran sagged back; their skin immediately stuck together with sweat where it touched, and his shoulder was aching even more now. But it felt good to rest. Good to know he was being supported and wouldn't pitch out of the saddle.

"Now." Ash's voice was soft in his ear. "You wanted to go to Canyon? Why?"

"No. Just before it. There's a crossing. Unmarked. It's hard to see... first flat place you come to, big open space... sometimes you can't see the road, it gets washed out. West. From there."

"And what's down that road? Shelter? A healer? You need a healer, or at least a doctor."

"Yeah. Show you when we get there. M gonna sleep now."

A kiss landed on the side of his neck. "Okay. You sleep."

Kieran's eyes were falling shut as the horse began to walk. He wanted to say: Keep talking, it helps when you talk. But his mouth wouldn't move. He sank into a strange, paralyzed state between sleep and waking, suspended between pain and comfort.

After a stretch of time he couldn't measure, full of whirling thoughts and windy silences, Ash's voice started up again. The sound was so near it vibrated his skin; the meaning so distant it took ages to filter down.

"I should have shot sooner. I guess I froze up -- not that that's an excuse. If I'd been helping all along, from the start, then maybe that, that fucker wouldn't have got you. Does it ever scare you how good it feels to shoot someone? No, I don't suppose it does; you're not afraid of anything. Except maybe me, sometimes. I suppose because I'm a thing that can be taken away from you, and you're scared that if one more scrap of happiness is stolen from you, you'll break. So the more you like me, the more I scare you. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, though." A slight shifting, as if Ash tried to see Kieran's face. Kieran could feel a smile lurking in his throat, but it didn't reach his lips, and Ash went on talking.

"You know what's funny? I felt the death when I killed that guy, but it didn't hit as hard as when you were shooting people at Shou-Shou's. It just numbed me. Sort of blinded me, like looking at the sun. That's fading now. Enough that I can tell you're sleeping better because I'm here. Don't worry. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. I'm not going to leave you alone.

"I love you, Kieran. I'm not deluded, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I'm not going to give up on you. You can't even get rid of me by dying, I'd follow you. Kai. My beautiful Kai. I'd follow you."

Kieran didn't like the implication of that, but was too far down to protest. Eventually, the meaning of the words Ash was murmuring fled entirely, leaving only a tenor lullaby to assure him that someone was watching over him while he slept.