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"Harek, Harek." My mother's voice cut through the buzzing in my ears. I couldn't make out her face for the black motes that were dancing in front of my eyes.

Feordin bellowed, "Everyone shut up."

Everyone did.

Gently, Mom said to me, "You're hyperventilating. Breathe slower."

Breathe slower? I couldn't get a breath at all.

"Harek!" She shook me. I thought of all those war movies, where the wimp goes hysterical and someone gets to slug him.

"My leg," I wheezed, so that they could see how bad I really was. I wondered if it was still attached.

"It's just a cramp," Mom assured me. "Breathe like this..."

"Mom."

"Come on, exhale like you're trying to blow out three candles, one at a time."

"What is this, the Natural Childbirth Method of Fantasy Role-Playing?" But just talking to her forced me to breathe more slowly, and the cramp in my leg was already dissolving. I breathed the way she wanted me to. In a few seconds, her face sharpened into clearer focus. She was pale and grimy and blood-splattered. "Are
you
all right?" I asked her.

She smiled, a soft, gentle smile, though her eyes filled with tears. She put her hand to my cheek and nodded, perhaps not trusting her voice.

I hugged her to me.

"I hate this," she whispered damply into the space between my shoulder and my neck. "I hate it, I hate it."

My own eyes were filling. "I'm sorry I got you into this," I said.

She bridled at that. "You did not," she said, pulling away, "
get
me into anything. In fact, I practically begged to play." She wiped her sleeve across her face, smudging it even worse.

Helplessly I looked at the mess in the clearing.

Dead, Wolstan had reverted to the appearance of a regular wolf—a large, charbroiled, regular wolf. There were twenty or thirty other wolf bodies scattered about the clearing. As for the people in our company, they all looked terrible: dirty, sweaty, bloody. Thea had twigs and leaves in her hair like she'd been rolling around on the ground. Her pale blond hair was singed short and ragged on one side, as though she'd rolled too near the campfire. Cornelius's fancy robe was all tattered at the edges and hanging loose over one shoulder. Marian, pulling off her gauntlets of power, had a gash on her cheek. Nocona was still sitting next to me, holding his ankle as though he didn't dare try his weight on it. Feordin was wrapping a length of cloth around raw and bloody knuckles, watching me suspiciously.

"You get bit?" he asked.

I shook my head, afraid that this close he could tell I'd been getting weepy.

He didn't look convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I held my arm for him to see, sure he'd be grossed out and back off. "Just clawed."

He didn't back off. He took a real close look, like he didn't trust me.

"What difference does it make?" Mom asked.

"Werewolf," Feordin said.

That was a cold chill up my back.

Marian explained, "Player who's werewolf-bit has a one-in-three chance of turning into a werewolf himself in the next two to twelve rounds."

Mom gulped. "What's a round?"

"Hard to tell without dice," Cornelius sighed.

"I was bitten," Mom said, real soft. She showed a cut on her arm. "One of the wolves—"

"Only the werewolf," Cornelius told her. "Wolstan. Not one of the ordinary wolves."

Mom shook her head.

Feordin let go of my arm. "Yeah, just looks like a nasty clawing to me." To Mom he said, "Good thing, or we'd have had to keep him tied up for the rest of the game. Werewolves can't help what they are. But what they are is treacherous."

"Knock it off, Feordin," Marian said, seeing that he was scaring Mom. "Luckily, everybody is OK. Is everybody OK?"

We all nodded that we were OK.

"What we've got to do is rest as much as we can to regain our strength for tomorrow. Harek, I'll finish off your watch with you." She helped me to my feet. "Need help with that ankle, Nocona?"

"Just twisted," Nocona told her.

Marian was into her bossy mode again. "OK, everybody try to settle down as fast as possible," she said. "Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

"Yeah," I sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Considering that I was on watch with Marian for a good hour and a half and she didn't say more than two words to me, it came as a shock the following morning when she announced to the group that she had decided to turn back.

I choked on the warm water that was all we had for breakfast, and couldn't get a word out.

Cornelius set Nocona's waterskin down with a slosh and said "What?" in a tone that should have frozen Marian's blood.

She sighed. "If Robin got carried off back to the clearing behind Fred's house, there's no way he can ever make up the time on his own. If I go and get him, with horses, we can join up with you in twenty-four hours."

"Marian," Thea said, "we're already"—she glanced at Mom, who was still curled up, asleep after having been sick to her stomach during the earliest hours of the morning—"we're already four people short."

"That's why we need Robin."

Thea made a sound of mingled disgust and exasperation. She got up and went to help Nocona ready the horses. He was favoring one leg, limping when he thought no one was watching. As for my injury, my arm had improved significantly during my few hours' sleep. It was still sore, and weak, but
it
looked as
though it'd
been healing for five or six days. So did the gash on Marian's cheek. Even Thea's scorched hair was growing back. Only Mom never recovered at the accelerated rate. Only Mom got steadily worse.

I glared at Marian.
Being with Robin is more important to her than taking care of my mom,
I thought angrily.

"And you'll take the horses?" Feordin said. "Two horses? There's already only four horses for seven of us, and you want to cut that down to two for six?"

"Look," Marian said, "either way, some of you are going to have to walk. Either that or you'll double up, which'll kill
the horses once you get to
the desert. Felice
won't
be able to stand a lot of jostling either."

"I suppose," Cornelius agreed, as though it were up to him. "There's two more days to this adventure, and we certainly haven't been breaking any records. The big encounter won't be till tomorrow."

"If we live that long," I said. I looked to Feordin, hoping he'd back me in saying that dividing was foolhardy, but he just shrugged.

"Felice is awfully weak," Cornelius said. "We'd probably better strap her to the horse."

Feordin got up to help him, leaving me alone with Marian.
Jerk,
I thought.
You think like a girl.

"Harek," she said, "you know I'm right."

"Hey, listen," I told her. "You're going to do what you want anyway; you don't need to convince me you're right." Robin wouldn't be so silly, I thought. He'd put the good of the group before his need to be with his little sweetie.

Marian sighed again. "I'm real worried about your mother, Arvin."

"
Harek,
" I screamed at her. "My name is Harek. And you sure have a funny way of showing your concern."

"Has it occurred to you," Marian said softly, unaffected by my temper, "
Harek,
that there's something seriously wrong here?"

"It's a stupid game," I grumbled. "I wish I'd never joined."

"It is not a game. It has nothing to do with a game.
That's
why I've got to find Robin. So we can work together to get out of here as soon as possible. Harek, if you can think of any way to speed this up, to get out of here entirely, say it now."

She wasn't just trying to justify herself. She was talking about my mom and she was scared, and that scared me. "What are you getting at?" I asked.

She glanced away, reluctant to look me in the face, and that scared me even more. "I don't know." She shook her head, then stole a quick peek at me. "I don't know anything more than you do, Harek."

I sat there watching her.

"It's just ... I'm worried that there's something wrong with her—really wrong with
her,
nothing to do with her character as Felice or the quest or Rasmussem."

This was something that had been poking at the borders of my mind, too, though I didn't say that. I said, "You're crazy, Marian."

"The program has direct contact with our brains," she said. "Which is why we feel we're here when we know we're not. But it's all condensed, concentrated. That's why we experience five days when it's only an hour. Harek ... Harek, what if there's something going on in your mother's body so that her brain is trying to send signals that something is wrong?"

"That's stupid," I said.

"I hope so."

I chewed on my lip. "Something wrong like what?"

Still Marian wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Something wrong with her brain?"

Marian tugged at her sleeve.

"Marian," I begged.

"I don't
know,
Arvin. It's just that that's what my mother died of, a stroke. It happened just like that." She snapped her fingers. "There was no warning because it happened so fast. I'm just wondering if your mother's getting a warning because time here feels so stretched out." She made a vague gesture like pulling a giant rubber band.

I shook my head. "My mother isn't having a stroke," I said. "Her headache is just ... another glitch in Shelton's program."

Marian couldn't bring herself to say the thing she was obviously trying to get out.

Good,
I thought.
Marian at a loss for words,
I thought.

And then something struck me.

My jaw dropped. "Your mother
died?
" We'd just been over there a couple weeks earlier. For a moment my mind flitted to the idea that she was talking about her
character's
mother.

Marian looked at me as though I were a slug. "Of course she died, you stupid little measle pustule of an eighth-grader. You were at the funeral home."

"No, I wasn't," I insisted. "The only times I've ever been to a funeral home were when my Uncle Lennie died and when Noah's mo-mo-mo..." I must have looked as spastic as I sounded. Things suddenly fell into place. Marian put her hands on her hips and looked exasperated.

Just like a girl.

"Noah?" I squeaked. "You're
Noah?
"

"Measle pustule," Marian answered, sweeping to her feet.

So, riding one horse and trailing another, Marian—who was Noah—headed back to find Robin—who was not. And we walked to Miller's Grove, leading the remaining two horses, the one with Mom tied on, and the one carrying the treasure.

I watched Mom's limp frame sway with the rhythm of the horse's steps and thought back to when I'd been a little kid; how, if I had the flu or an earache or something, my mother would get this worried look on her face. Sitting on the edge of the bed while she put cold washcloths on my forehead, she'd say, "Don't be sick," and I'd promise to try hard not to. "Don't die," I wanted to tell her. But I didn't want to scare her.

I didn't want to scare myself.

Marian's crazy, I told myself instead. It was a nice thought, but it didn't help.

It took us almost three hours. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that we could buy something to eat from the miller. First we heard the rushing of the River Gan, then the creak of the mill wheel, then the thumping of the machinery inside.

The miller must have seen us from a window, for he came out, wiping his hands on a cloth he wore tucked into his belt like an apron. At first he looked worried. No wonder: we were dirt- and blood-splattered, a desperate, rough lot. But then he recognized Feordin and Nocona.

"Greetings. I see you did finally meet up with your friends. Nocona, wasn't it?" He took Nocona's hand and shook it, although Nocona was simply trying to hold his hand up in Indian-style greeting. "And, ah, let's see..."

Feordin didn't give the amiable miller time to grope for the name. "Feordin," he said. "Macewielder. Son of—"

"Yes," the miller said, pumping his arm, still smiling, "Feordin." He started to turn to Thea.

Feordin didn't let go of his hand. "
Feordin Macewielder,
" he repeated more loudly, slowly, and distinctly. The miller froze, realizing what he had done. "Son of Feordan Sturdyaxe. Grandson of Feordane Boldheart. Brother to Feordone the Fearless." Feordin was getting louder with each generation. "Great-grandson of Feordine Stoutarm who served under Graggaman Maximus." His eyes were beginning to bulge, and you could see this one vein on the side of his forehead throbbing.

The miller gulped.

"I don't," Feordin said, "have a mace with me."

The miller gulped again. "No, you don't," he agreed shakily. He waited several long seconds to be sure Feordin had finished. Finally he cast a furtive glance at Thea, at the rest of us. "Well"—he took a step backward—"welcome to all of you. It was good to meet you. I've got to get back to my work."

"Wait," I said. "We have an injured member in our party."

The miller's gaze drifted over all of us.

"Here." Impatiently, I indicated Mom, asleep, tied to the horse.

He watched me with a wary expression. "The horse is injured?" he asked.

I gritted my teeth. "The lady on the horse." Technically speaking, Mom was a female thief, not a lady, but I was getting ticked off at the way he kept looking right through her like she wasn't even there.

"The lady," the miller repeated, only glancing at Mom, his eyes roving over me. He stole a quick look at the others then took a step away.

It was almost like icy spiders scurried up and down my arms.

Thea grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved his face practically into Mom's. "The lady," Thea said. "Can't you see her?"

"Yes," the miller assured us. "Of course. The lady. Ahhh, no cleric with you?"

"NO!" we all screamed at him.

He was obviously getting pretty rattled from being shouted at all the time. I consciously tried to speak calmly. "We're in desperate need of food. All of us. We're willing to pay."