shoulders, and he reached out tentatively with one hand, his palm downward, and set his hand atop her head as though marking her size.
She jerked away from him, and his hand fell. He kept his eyes averted, looking at nothing. Now that she was standing, his body blocking the sun, she could see him better. His eyes were the color of the moss that clung to the stones, but they were coated in a white haze and they had no centers . . . or if they did, the milky white obscured them. She stepped back, wanting to run, but she had nowhere to go. The sea stretched out in front of her, cliffs and hills rose up behind her, and sand extended on each side. There was only this boy and this beach. And her.
“I heard you . . . singing in the darkness. Last night. I thought you were a nixie. But nixies are not so small,” he said gently. “I was surprised by your height.”
“A nixie?” she asked.
“A fish-tailed woman who sings and draws the sailors from their ships down into the depths of the sea.”
“I don’t have a fish tail.”
“No. You don’t.” His teeth flashed, straight and white, but his eyes did not smile. “I tickled your feet, remember?”
“I am not a woman either.”
“But you are . . . a girl?”
She frowned. “Yes. Can’t you tell?”
“I’ve never met a . . . young . . . girl. There aren’t many girls in Saylok . . . and there are no girls among the cave keepers.”
“Who are the cave keepers? And what is Saylok?” she asked, but her throat was growing tight with panic. Where was she? And what was wrong with this boy’s eyes? They reminded her of Gilly’s eyes. And Gilly was dead.
“This is Saylok.”
Saylok did not look so different from home. Trees, rocks, towering cliffs, and a white-sand beach rimmed in forest.
“This beach is Saylok?”
“This whole land. But we are in Leok, a part of it . . . though no one lives along this stretch because of the storms.”
“No one but you?”
“No one but me . . . and Arwin.”
“Who is Arwin?”
“He is my teacher.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He’ll be back. Sometimes I feel him watching. But not now. Not for days. I think he’s begun to believe I can manage without him. It is part of my training.”
“You are training? For what?”
“To live on my own.”
Why would he want to live on his own? Ghisla did not want to live on her own. Yet she did. She would forever be on her own. She swayed, already wearied, wanting to sink back down to the sand and fall back into the river of dreams that had brought her here.
“Come . . . I will take you to the stream,” the boy said, turning away. She watched him for a moment, not certain if she should follow.
“I will not harm you,” he called, but did not slow. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
She hurried to catch up, toddling along behind him. He moved easily. Uprightly. But he led each step with the butt of his stick.
“Can you not see?” Ghisla asked, the realization seeping through her addled thoughts.
“I cannot.”
She didn’t know what to say. His voice was unconcerned, and he moved with surety and even grace, aware of his footsteps but not hesitant or fearful.
“How do you know where you’re going?” she whispered.
“I have been here many times before. I live here.” He smiled toward her, as though he thought her funny, and she stared up at his cloudy eyes once more, flabbergasted.
She was not watching where she placed her feet as she climbed past him and she tripped, falling heavily to her hands and knees. A spray of rocks tumbled down the slope.
He stopped immediately and extended a hand in her direction.
“Are you hurt?”
Her hands were raw, and her right knee was scraped. As she watched, blood beaded along the deepest welt, but no real harm was done.
“I am fine,” she said.
“It might be easier for you if you follow behind. You will have time to stare at me after we’ve stopped.”
She didn’t try to defend herself but took his hand to rise and then fell in behind him, watching the path with more care.
He picked his way over rocks and up a small rise to a copse of trees where a small stream tumbled between the trunks.
“Here. The water is sweet and cold, but take care to stay on the