Yet when last I had looked down on that valley with Lisana, I had seen smoke and heard the sounds of men working. How much time had passed since I had “died”? And what had made the Gernians abandon work on the King’s Road? Had Kinrove discovered a new and potent dance to keep them at bay? But if he still poured discouragement and fear down from the mountains, why didn’t I feel it? I sensed there was no magic left in me; I should not have had any immunity to his danced magic.

I turned and looked up toward the darkening mountains. I could recall breaking a Gettys Sweat. It took an act of will for me to open my senses and try to feel what might be flowing down toward me. But even after I had attempted to be aware of whatever magic Kinrove might be using, I felt nothing. It was a pleasant summer day in the forest. No fear and despair flowed, and yet the work on the King’s Road had ceased. So. The magic I had done had worked. But what sort of a magic had it been?

I imagined a Gettys full of people killed in their sleep, and shuddered. No. Certainly I would have felt such a deadly magic if I had been part of it. Wouldn’t I? Had my dance driven them all away? Was I the last Gernian left in the foothills of the Barrier Mountains?

Night had deepened around me. The frogs still peeped, and occasionally the deeper bellow of a bullfrog sounded. The mosquitoes and gnats had found me as well, and my open-sided attire left me very vulnerable to them. I slung what remained of my cloak around my head and shoulders and advanced cautiously on the buildings.

Things had changed a great deal since the last time I had visited. The charred remains of the buildings that Epiny had blasted had been completely removed. In the fading light, I crept up on one of the replacement structures. The creaking of the frogs and the constant chirring of the insects abruptly ceased when I coughed. That was enough to finally convince me that no one was about. I entered the structure. There was no door to open; all the buildings here were temporary ones, thrown up to give the workers minimal comfort during construction and to protect the tools from the worst of the weather. Most were little more than two rough walls and a roof overhead. This one was empty. Even in the fading light, I could see that.

There should have been harness racks and tools lining the walls, but they were bare, with only pegs and an occasional worn strap still tangled on a hook. There was a central hearth where men could get warm on a cold day or put water to boil for tea or coffee. The ashes in it had gone to cold damp clinkers; it hadn’t been used in a long time.

It was the same in the next shed I visited. There were no wagons or scrapers, no working equipment of any kind. What had been abandoned was the broken stuff, tools so worn they weren’t worth hauling away. I was moving more boldly now, fearless of watchmen, looking only for what I might scavenge to give myself an easier night.

Behind a broken lantern, I found a box with three sulfur matches still in it. There was a bit of oil and a few inches of wick left in the lantern. In a very short time, I had a small fire going. A brand from it offered me an unsteady light for my exploration. I saw no sign of recent human visits. Precious little that was of any use had been left behind. Yet even garbage and broken objects can seem like a treasure to a man who has absolutely no resources. Thus I found a water flask that would work if I didn’t fill it more than half full, and a pair of dirty trousers, torn out at both knees, but definitely better than no trousers at all. A scrap of leather harness made me a belt to hold them up.

I found nothing to eat, but that didn’t surprise me. The prisoners were given little food, so scraps were unlikely, and even if there had been anything, birds and mice would have cleaned it up by now. I spent the evening turning more of the discarded leather harness into a sling, and then curled up around my hunger next to my small fire.

I awoke to light and birdsong. I lay still, curled on my side, looking at the ashed-over coals of my fire. I tried to think what I should do next. For so long, I’d wanted to see Epiny and Spink. I longed to know what news they had from back west. They’d be able to tell me what had happened here, if the King’s Road had been abandoned or merely delayed. I thought of Amzil and a small flame leapt up in my heart. Carefully, I shielded myself from it. Best not even to hope in that area. As deserted as this place was, did I hope to find better at Gettys? It might be no more than a ghost town. Best to take things very slowly. I tried to tell myself that was being practical, not cowardly.

Slowly I sat up, and for the first time let myself notice how different that movement felt. No heaving myself upright. I was as lean as when I’d been a cadet. Leaner, actually. I think the little tree had claimed every scrap of fat from me that it could.

I poked up the coals and then fed the small fire, banked it for later, and then looked critically at my hands. They still hurt from the small amount of work I’d done yesterday, but the skin was unmistakably thicker than it had been. The backs of my arms looked an almost normal color, and hair had begun to sprout on them again. I tried to think about the process I’d been through. What had Orandula done to me, that I’d emerged from my old body like an insect breaking out of a cocoon? But thinking about it only made me queasy. I told myself I was wasting the precious dawn hour and went out with my new sling to hunt. But my luck was poor, and I had to settle for two small fish instead. I roasted them on a stick over the coals. Afterward, my belly still rumbling, I washed my face and hands in the same stream where I’d caught my fish and considered my situation.

Ghost I might be, but my body told me I still had to eat. I had virtually no tools for surviving on my own. I’d been banned with salt from returning to the Specks: Gettys was my only logical choice. If it was deserted, I’d be able to scavenge. And if people were still here, I’d be able to see those I cared about. Even if I could not speak to them, I could listen in and discover how they were doing. Gettys, occupied or deserted, offered me my best chance to survive. So Gettys it was.

I made the decision. I struck out down the road for Gettys. It was a fine day. I was not as bothered by the sun as I had been the day before; I almost enjoyed its warmth. As I walked, I tried to refrain from wondering what I’d discover, but it was an impossible task. I entertained every possible scenario. Gettys would be deserted, a ghost town for this lone ghost to inhabit. The houses would be empty. No. The streets would be littered with the bodies of the dead. Perhaps Gettys would be a plague town, full of the sick and dying, finally destroyed by Speck plague. Or Gettys would be flourishing, but for some reason, all interest in building the road would be gone. In every case, I could not imagine what would happen next.

Noon came and went, and I hadn’t seen anyone on the road. Of course, no one had any reason to be there unless they intended to continue building it. For all intents and purposes, it led nowhere, except to a king’s frustrated ambition. When I reached the place where a wagon track diverged from the road and headed up to the cemetery, I halted. I was hungry and thirsty. My old cabin was in the cemetery. When I’d fled, I’d left a sword there, and other possessions. If they were still there, they were still mine. And I’d never had more need of them than now.

I trudged up the hill. I thought there were faint but recent wagon tracks, but it was hard to tell. The hoofprints were more distinct. A number of mounted riders had definitely been here very recently. When I crested the rise and saw the familiar rows of graves and the little cabin beyond them, I felt a wave of almost nostalgia. Despite the macabre surrounds of a cemetery, this place had been my home, and returning to it felt very strange indeed. As I drew closer, I listened for sounds of human habitation, but heard nothing. A faint trickle of pale smoke, a ripple in the air, rose from the chimney. If the caretaker was not home now, chances were that he would return shortly. I’d be wise to be cautious.