The Book of Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

much as anything else. She didn’t feel so giddy anymore, and probably she should tell them why. She glanced over her shoulder at the sky. Billowy gray clouds were massing over the valley’s northern end, above the sprawling farmsteadthat nestled there. She could almost see a material darkness sifting down like ash to smother all cheer, all life within.
    “Sometimes . . .” she began finally. In the quiet, even her murmur sounded like a shout. “Sometimes I can hear him, you know . . . Brother Guillemo . . . in my dreams. Like he’s speaking to me.”
    Raven’s glance was sharp. “Really? Have you told Rose?”
    “I’ve hardly seen Rose! I’ve been sleeping so much! I was so tired! I’ve been . . .!” She was shaken by the sudden anxiety that gripped her, but she couldn’t make herself admit to them that she’d dreamed the hell-priest right there in Deep Moor. If he could find her so easily in her dreams, could he locate her in life?
    “Well, then,” Raven advised, “you can tell her soon as we get back to the house.”
    “I will. I promise.”
    In unspoken agreement, the three women quickened their pace. With memories of mad—or maybe not so mad—Brother Guillemo dogging Erde’s thoughts, the pristine snow and crisp chill were not so inviting anymore. Instead, a longing gripped her for the sweet tall grasses and wild-flowers of the summer meadows, of the Deep Moor she’d known not even a month ago. She’d felt safer then, even though she’d been in the greatest possible peril. And now, Deep Moor was threatened, too. Not just by the weather, but by the homing eye of the hell-priest. She’d promised herself to act like an adult, even more than they expected her to, but she must have shuddered or made some small sound of distress, for Raven curled an arm about her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug.
    “Never fear, sweeting. A lot of good minds and hearts are working on this problem. We’ll think of something.”
    Erde nodded dutifully. Before this morning, she had believed that the women of Deep Moor could stand against the hell-priest, against anything. Now she was not so sure.
    The Grove loomed ahead like a ruined cathedral. The bare branches of its encircling oaks reached up like burned timbers grabbing at the sky. The thick, dark trunks curved in even ranks like the charred piers of a fallen apse. Erde scolded herself for the childish thinking that had let her hope to find this stand of sacred oaks still green and heavywith summer, with the warm sighing of leaves and birdsong. But the leaves lay buried beneath the snow and the birds were stilled. She moved among the huge, knotted trunks in a daze, as if she’d lost something precious. She wished the dragon were there. His very existence was a comfort. Erde knew she could never completely lose hope, as long as there were dragons in the world.
    In the center of the Grove lay a pond no bigger than a cottage and as smoothly circular as the face of the full moon. Erde had suspected there was Power in this pond the first time she laid eyes on it. Now she was sure. The shallow crystalline water glimmered softly, without a trace of ice. All around its perfect silver arc, the snow pulled back, as if out of respect, revealing a brief but cheering fringe of green.
    Raven and Doritt led the pony to the bank and began to unpack the load. Doritt untied the two big sheaves of hay and spread them out beside the water. Raven cleared patches of snow, then handed out sacks of fruit and grain to scatter on the ground.
    “Hope this’ll hold ’em,” Doritt muttered.
    “Oh, tut,” Raven reproved cheerfully. “There’s plenty more for a while.”
    “As long as it’s the
usual
while.”
    “We’ve lived through long winters before.”
    “Not winters that started in early September.”
    “We have stores for a year.
You
always insist on it.” Raven emptied her last sack with a flourish, then whistled up into the barren branches. A sudden