Free Guardian of the Gate by Michelle Zink Page A

might our pursuers. And if they are what I think they are, we should pray for the deepest body of water we can find.”
    Crossing the river is not as difficult as I fear. I do have a moment’s anxiety as we reach the deepest portion, the water nearly reaching my knees, but Sargent surges forward against the current with a minimum of trouble.
    I do not have time to speak further with Edmund about the thing giving chase through the woods. We travel nearly full speed for the rest of the day after crossing the river. There are no stops for food, water, or rest until the sun descends so far that it is difficult to see one another. It is clear that Edmund would like to continue, but no one asks whether we should keep going. The safety of our party must come first. It will do no good if one of us is injured along the way.
    We work together to prepare food, care for the horses, and set up the tents. For the first time, Sonia and Luisa help as well, and I wonder if they, too, feel their nerves wound tight with fear. I assist Edmund with supper, fill a bucket of water for the horses from the nearby stream, and feed them each a few apples. And all the while, I listen. All the while, my eyes stray to the trees surrounding our campsite. All the while, I wait forthe creatures that chased us through the forest to burst into the clearing.
    Sonia and Luisa sit silently by the fire after dinner. Their new silence with each other makes me uneasy, but there are more important concerns at the forefront of my mind. I wander over to Edmund, who is brushing down one of the horses where it is tied to the trees.
    He nods as I approach and pick up an extra brush from the ground. I run it through the coarse gray fur of Sonia’s horse and try to order the many questions running through my mind. It is not difficult to choose the one at the forefront.
    “What is it, Edmund? The thing that follows us?”
    He doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t even look at me, and I am wondering whether he heard the question at all when he finally speaks, though not to answer my question. “I have not traveled these woods, have not been in this in-between world, in a very long time.”
    I stop brushing and tip my head at him. “Edmund. I would trust your suspicion over another’s certainty in a matter such as this one.”
    He nods slowly, lifting his eyes to mine. “All right, then. I believe we are being followed by the Hellhounds, Samael’s own demonic wolf pack.”
    I spend a moment trying to connect my knowledge of the mythological hellhounds with the possibility that they could be following us. “But… the Hellhounds aren’t real, Edmund.”
    “Even so,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “there are thosewho would deny the existence of alternate worlds, demonic souls, and shape-shifters as well.”
    He is right, of course. If the measure of reality is based only on things in which the rest of the world believes, there is no Samael, no Lost Souls, no prophecy. Yet we know them to be real. It only makes sense, then, to accept the reality in which we find ourselves, however far that reality may be from everyone else’s.
    “What do they want?” I ask.
    He places the brush gently on the ground before rising to stroke the horse’s mane. “I can only guess that they want you. The Hellhounds are chosen disciples of Samael’s army. Disciples who have made their way here beyond past Sisters. Past Gates. Samael knows that with every step through this wood, we draw closer to Altus. And drawing closer to Altus means drawing closer to the missing pages of the book that may help close his door to our world for all of eternity.”
    His explanation doesn’t shock me as much as it should. It is not that I am unafraid, exactly, for even now I feel the blood race faster through my veins at the thought of meeting my death at the mercy of the Hellhounds. But I know that in order to get to the end of a thing, one must start at the beginning.
    “All right. So how do