Free Guardian of the Gate by Michelle Zink

mist, still as heavy as the woolen cloak about my shoulders. “The changeover to the world between ours
     and the Otherworlds. The world in which Altus lies.”
    I nod as if I understand precisely what he means. I do not, but that is not to say I dismiss his words, for I have felt change
     in the wind as well. I felt it as we journeyed on horseback deeper and deeper into the forest. I felt it as I awoke from my
     fitful slumber, still hearing the eerie, many-footed creatures as they stalked our tent in my dream. And I feel it as Edmund
     leads the way once again into the dense foliage of the forest.
    The day wears on, and Sonia makes nervous conversation while Luisa remains mostly silent. Edmund finally locates a place to
     break for lunch and refill our canteens. As has become our habit, Edmund takes care of the horses while I pull food from the
     packs for an easy meal. We are eating in companionable silence when I hear it. No. That is not quite right. I
think
I hear it, but it is more a feeling, a whispered intuition that something is coming. At first, I think it is my imagination.
    But then I look around.
    Edmund, still as a statue, gazes into the trees with single-minded concentration. Even Sonia and Luisa are silent, eyes turned
     in the same direction.
    I watch them and know that they, too, sense the creatures moving toward us through the forest. And this time, it is not a
     dream.

9
    “Get up, mount your horses, and follow me. Do it now.” Edmund speaks the words slowly through nearly clenched lips. “And do not stop for any reason until I say the word.”
    He is on his horse in an instant, his eyes remaining on the woods behind us as we follow suit. We are significantly slower and louder than Edmund in preparing to ride, though I have never thought of myself as particularly ponderous or loud.
    When we are ready, Edmund turns his horse in the direction we have been traveling and takes off like a shot, without a word to his horse. Our own horses jump forward without prodding, a kind of secret communication telling them that time is of the essence even though none of us gives so much as a command.
    We race through the forest at lightning speed. I have no idea which direction we travel or if we are still on course forAltus, but Edmund does not hesitate as he leads us through the forest. It is difficult to say if it is because he is certain we are heading in the right direction or if it is because he so fears the thing stalking us that he no longer cares if we run astray.
    We travel so quickly through the forest that I am forced to hunch low over Sargent’s neck, and still, twigs catch in my hair and branches claw at my skin. I feel it all with a sort of detached observation. I know I am racing through the forest with only a bow and my mother’s dagger for protection. Likely I am running for my life. But somehow I cannot feel the fear I know must be lurking somewhere beneath my skin.
    I hear the river before I see it. It is a sound I will never forget. When it is, at last, in plain sight, I am relieved that Edmund pulls tightly on the reins, bringing his horse, and our assemblage, to a quick stop at the edge of the water.
    He stares out over the river, and I bring my horse next to his, following his gaze.
    “What do you think, Edmund? Will we be able to cross it?” I ask.
    His chest rapidly rises and falls, the only indication of his exertion. “I think so.”
    “You think so?” My voice comes out louder and more shrill than I intend.
    He shrugs. “There is no guarantee, but I think we can manage it. It’s a pity, though.”
    His words are cryptic and make me feel that I have missed an important part of our conversation. “What’s a pity?”
    “That the river isn’t deeper.”
    I shake my head. “Yes, but if it were too deep, we might not be able to cross it.”
    “True enough.” He gathers the reins in his hand, preparing to urge his mount into the water. “But if we had trouble crossing it, so, too,