My Swordhand Is Singing by Marcus Sedgwick Read Free Book Online Page A

still clutching his hand. He realized that he didn’t want her to let go.
    “What do you want?” he asked. “It’s dangerous out here.”
    “Let me tell you,” she whispered, so quietly that despite himself Peter leant closer to her.
    Peter was aware of the warmth from her body, and could smell her long raven locks. In that split second he wouldn’t have cared if the Shadow Queen was right behind him.
    “I want you to stay with me awhile,” Sofia said.
    Then she pulled his hand quickly, catching him off balance. He half fell on top of Sofia, who lifted herself high enough to plant a kiss on his lips.
    Peter yelped as if he had been bitten by a dog and jumped to his feet.
    She laughed.
    “Peter!” she said, smiling.
    He backed away and ran to Sultan.
    “Peter!” Sofia called, this time more urgently. “Stay with me! My back hurts! I can’t walk!”
    But Peter wasn’t fooled by Sofia’s tricks anymore; his thoughts were full of Father and the hut, and Agnes. What would she say if she knew what the girl had done?
    Sultan seemed sound enough after his fall, and Peter plunged into the forest, heedless of the danger of galloping over difficult ground in the dark. Behind him Sofia’s cries grew fainter.
    “Come back! Come back and help me. Peter!”
    He rode.
     
     

     
    11
    Visitors
    As Peter rode he saw neither trees nor snow, but instead a glorious vision of Sofia. The girl was arrogant for sure, but all he could see were the rich tresses of her hair, her welcoming brown eyes and dark skin. With a wrench he shook himself, and tried to push Agnes back into Sofia’s place. He found Sofia floating into his mind again, and started to work on the image, lightening and shortening the hair, turning the brown eyes gray. Finally he watched as the brown skin grew paler, paler, paler. There, that was Agnes.
    But no! He watched in horror, transfixed as Agnes’s skin took on an evil whiteness, the whiteness of death, and became impossibly wrinkled and old. Her lips shriveled, her nose became pointed and thin, her hair grew lank and noisome. Her eyes flattened and widened, darkening and disappearing in shadow.
    Shadow.
    “No!” Peter cried into the air, then snatched himself away from the grotesque vision.
     
    He let Sultan slow to a walk once Sofia was out of earshot. They followed the bank of the river Chust out to the hut. But Sultan was uneasy. He sensed something up ahead and now stopped completely.
    For a while Peter urged him to walk on, and they managed to go a few more steps. Then once again Sultan stopped, this time for good.
    “What’s wrong, boy?” Peter whispered, his attention divided between the horse and whatever might be up ahead that was bothering him.
    Sultan made no noise, but merely stood as still as any horse can.
    “Well, you’ll have to stay here.”
    Knowing what Tomas would say about leaving their most expensive possession alone in the forest in the night, he reluctantly tied Sultan’s reins to a sturdy birch.
    Peter turned around and all there was to see were the shadows of the night forest. Trees stretched off into the distance in every direction, becoming gray ghosts and then no more than suggestions of ghosts. In the gloom the river chugged softly somewhere away to his right, but there was just enough starlight to make his way, so he started off toward the hut.
    As he went, Sultan gave one final snort, then was silent.
    Peter knew Sultan well, knew that he was trustworthy, not the sort of horse that spooked easily. Sultan’s refusal to go any closer to the hut was a sign that something was wrong. Peter slowed his walk to a crawl as he stepped as gently as he could along the riverbank, and was glad at least for the sound of the water rushing, hiding his quiet footfall.
    There was the hut in front of him, across the log bridge. At first sight nothing seemed to be amiss, but Peter’s heart froze as he made out the shapes of not one but two horses on the bank, just beyond the bridge.