The Pillars Of The World

cutting her off from the house. She hesitated, then thrust her arm inside the fog. The boy had been right.
    She could barely see her hand.
    ‘“Morphia!”
    She thought she heard a muffled sound nearby. She swept her arm in that direction, hit something, grabbed it, and pulled.
    The boy stumbled out of the fog, bringing the girl with him. They looked at her with terrified eyes.
    “Y-you can’t see in there,” the girl stammered. “You can’t see anything!”
    “Go down to the stables.” Morag gave them a push. “Hurry. Go!”
    Thrusting her arm back into the fog, she walked the length of the terrace, grabbing at anyone who brushed against her.
    “‘Morphia! Morphia!”
    By the time she paced the terrace twice, she’d had to retreat until her leg was brushing against the terrace wall.
    “Morphia!”
    Morphia would have come out this way—unless she’d gone back to find Cullan and try to persuade him to come with them.
    “Morphia!”
    “Morag?”
    Fog drifted over her. She could barely see her black sleeve—and couldn’t see her hand. Keeping her leg pressed against the terrace wall, she turned far enough to see behind her. And saw nothing at all.
    “Morag!”
    “Morphia!”
    Clamping one hand on the wall, Morag stretched as far as she could, shouting for her sister.
    When she’d almost given up hope, a hand brushed against her outstretched one. She lunged, losing her grip on the wall but finding that hand again. Her heart pounded as she groped for the wall—and her breath came out in a sob when she found it.
    “Stay close to me,” she said, inching her hand along the wall as fast as she dared.
    “I promised that I would, didn’t I?” Morphia replied, but she sounded like she was weeping.
     
    One moment there was stone under her hand. The next, nothing. She moved her hand back, felt the comfort of stone.
    ‘“We must be at the terrace stairs,” she said, shuffling her foot and wondering if there would be anything beneath her feet when she took the next step.
    “Can you see?” Morphia asked.
    “No, but—” Her foot dropped, pitching her forward. “I did find the stairs.” But there was no stone railing, nothing to guide her hand. She tugged and guided until Morphia was standing beside her. “We get down these stairs and walk straight ahead.”
    Morphia said nothing, just squeezed her sister’s hand.
    They felt their way down the stairs.
    “That’s the last of them—I think,” Morphia said. “Ahead of us is grass, then a garden with a fountain.”
    “Then we go forward,” Morag replied. She counted the paces. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. How much farther?
    How much time had she spent looking for Morphia? Were they already too late to escape?
    The fog thinned suddenly, enough for her to make out shapes. To her left she could hear the fountain.
    “I know the path through this garden,” Morphia said. “I’ll lead.” She moved forward, guiding Morag.
    Halfway through the garden, they stepped out of the fog and ran down the path until they reached another terrace.
    Morphia turned back. “Mother’s mercy.”
    Morag pulled on Morphia’s arm. “We have to get to the stables. We have to get down the road through the Veil while we can.”
    Morphia pulled away. A couple of pieces of the Clan house were still visible, but the ground around them was thick with fog. “Cullan is still in there.”
    “You don’t know that. If he has any sense at all, he’ll have run.”
    Morphia shook her head. “He cares about me, Morag. He would have tried to find me when he realized the danger. I can’t leave him—”
    “You promised me.”
    “Morphia!”
    They looked up, saw Cullan leaning out of a tower window.
    “Cullan!”
    “Go!” he shouted. “Get away from here! I’ll meet you.”
    Morphia hesitated, looked at the fog.
    Morag gripped her sister’s arm. “You can’t go back into that.”
    “I’ll meet you!” Cullan shouted, waving at them to move.
     
    Fog danced at their feet.
    “We’re going through the Veil!” Morag shouted back.
    Before Morphia could resist or do something foolish, Morag pulled her toward the stables. By the time they’d taken a dozen strides, they were running.
    “I dropped the saddlebags and food sacks somewhere,” Morphia panted, bracing one hand against a wall when they finally reached the stables.
    “It doesn’t matter now,” Morag replied, looking around. The dark horse stood outside the stables. The little girl was on his back, and the boy