Sybil strained to see. A figure-garbed in pale white from head to foot-emerged from the fog. It floated just above the ground, undulating in the miasmic air.

"Is that the monk?" whispered Alfric.

"I don't believe so," Sybil replied, her voice equally soft.

"Who ... is it then?"

"I think it's Saint Elfleda."

The glowing figure lifted an arm-as if beckoning.

"She wants us to follow," said Sybil.

They followed the white figure as it floated in and out of the mist. At times it seemed as if she were gone for good. Then they waited. She reappeared soon enough-always beckoning. Sybil and Alfric kept on. But abruptly the figure vanished.

Sybil squinted through the fog. A structure, more blur than bulk, loomed before them. "There's something," she said.

They drew closer.

"It's a church and cemetery," said Alfric.

Sybil stopped and gazed at the cemetery. She recognized it as the place where Brother Wilfrid had taken them. "I know where we are," she said.

Sybil searched for some sign of Wilfrid, but saw nothing. "We'll look for him in the church." Moving cautiously, she made her way forward. When they found the entryway they stepped inside.

Inside the church an altar light flickered, revealing only a deserted hall. "She's here" whispered Alfric, pointing to the image of Saint Elfleda on the wall. "But where's the monk? Is there anywhere else we can look?" asked Alfric.

After a moment Sybil said, "Yes."

"Where?"

"The cemetery." Sybil, feeling uneasy, said, "I think it best that you stay here."

"Why?"

"I'm only going to look. The book will be safer here with you."

"Will you be gone long?"

"No. Sit yourself near the altar."

Sybil placed the Book Without Words upon his knees. "Best not open it," she said.

"I won't."

Sybil started to go, only to look back at Alfric. The boy's face was full of misery. She reached into her purse and felt for the stone. "You must to do something for me," she said.

"Please, Mistress, anything."

"It's the stone," she said, drawing it from her purse. "Hold it and protect it. It will be safer with you, too."

"But ... what might happen?"

"I don't know. But if something does ..."

"Yes?"

"Get the stone to Odo," said Sybil. "If you can." She put it into his hand and folded his small fingers over it. "Hold it tightly," she said.

The boy squeezed his hand shut. "I promise," he said.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," said Sybil. She left the church through the same door they had entered.

9.

Once outside, Sybil headed around to the back of the church. With care, she edged along the perimeter of the low slate wall that bordered the cemetery. Finding a gap, she pa.s.sed on through, then stopped to gaze upon the dismal scene. The old cemetery was rank with decay, choked with wilted and twisted weeds. Over it the fog rose and fell like a restless, inland sea, so that the burial markers looked like the fingers of drowning men and women. The only visible life was clumps of lichens, which glowed and winked in the dank and dismal air with a melancholy, phosph.o.r.escent hue-like dying embers.

Not knowing where else to go, she wandered among the stones, now and again stumbling and tripping on the slippery graveyard mire. Once, she caught sight of something gleaming-a wee bit of pallid, broken bone.

When the fog lifted briefly, she saw a shape distinct from stone. She gazed at it intently, gradually realizing it was the shape of a man. Brother Wilfrid Brother Wilfrid, she told herself. Wanting to feel relief, but unsure if she should, she edged forward. The fog shifted. She could see. It was Thorston.

10.

Inside the church, Alfric sat motionless with the Book Without Words resting heavily on his knees. The church's emptiness unsettled him, making him almost afraid to breathe. It did not help that the large eyes of Saint Elfleda seemed to fix upon him. He squeezed his hands over the stone so tightly his fingers ached.

To ease the pain he relaxed his hands and let his fingers uncurl. The stone lay in his palm, glowing. A sweet, springlike smell suffused the air. Alfric's head teemed with images of bright flowers, fields of wheat, and leafy trees. He recollected something he had seen in the book: a magic for making food. Just to think of it made his mouth water; his stomach churned. He began to open the book, only to be held by a sound.

Someone had entered the church. The images in his head vanished. His hands clapped tightly over the stone and book. He strained to see into the darkness.

"Sybil?" Alfric called. "Is that ... you?"

Alfric strained to see. Gradually, a figure emerged out of the darkness. It was Brother Wilfrid. Alfric sprang to his feet.

11.

The monk halted before him. His green-hued eyes seemed to glow. The strands of his pale hair stirred. "Do you have the book?" he asked.

"I won't betray her!" cried Alfric. "I won't!"

"I must have it," said Brother Wilfrid. "It's what you agreed to get for me." He sniffed. "You have the stone too, don't you?"

Alfric nodded dumbly.

Wilfrid extended his frail, clawlike hand. "Give me the book and the stone," he said.

"Please, I promised ..."

"The book and the stone," Wilfrid repeated as he drew closer, his eyes fixed on Alfric's face.

Alfric tried to back up, only to be impeded by the altar. "Please," he cried, "she's been kind to me. She?"

"Listen to me, boy. When I have them," said the monk, "I will help her."

"Does ... she need help?"

"She's in great danger. Now, give me what I asked for so I may go to her."

"I just want to help her," said Alfric. He was trembling, and sobbing softly, clutching the book to his chest, a tight fist clinging to the glowing stone. "Can I truly trust you?"

"Of course you can!" cried the monk, and he reached out until his thin fingers touched Alfric's hands with an icy coldness that made the boy gasp. In an instant, his grip on the stone loosened. It dropped, pinging on the stone floor.

Wilfrid bent over and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the stone. Then he brought the stone to his mouth and swallowed it.

For a moment he stood unmoving until he reached out again, and this time gently pulled the book from Alfric.

Then the monk turned and began to walk away, taking the Book Without Words with him.

"Please!" Alfric cried through his sobs. "You promised to help her."

When the monk did not reply, Alfric smeared away his tears and hugged himself. A sensation that something was gone filled him. He looked around. The image of Saint Elfleda was no longer there.

12.

In the cemetery a shocked Sybil shrank back from Thorston. He was very different from when she had seen him last: he had become a young man.

"Stupid girl!" he cried. "How dare you leave the house! You're my servant and nothing but but my servant. Who gave you permission to come here?" my servant. Who gave you permission to come here?"

"No one," said Sybil.

"Look what I've done for you," Thorston went on. "An orphan girl, I gave you a home. I gave you food. Protected you. Is this the way you repay my kindness? Must I punish you?"

Sybil could not speak.

"But I will forgive you," said Thorston, his voice softening. "Just give me the book and the last stone."

Sybil backed up a step.

"Come now. Without the Time stone I have nothing. Do you have it?"

"No."

"Liar! Give it to me."

The measure of anxiety in his voice made Sybil look at him in a different way: what she saw was something she had not seen before in him-fear.

"Did you not hear me?" cried Thorston. "I must have the stone."

"Where is Odo?" she managed to ask.

"Dead," cried Thorston, his face suffused with rage. "Let it be a warning to you," he said, pointing at her. His hand shook. "Just give me the stone," he shouted. "I must continue to live."

"Why?" asked Sybil.

"Because I do not want to die!" Thorston screamed and took a step toward her.

"But why should I die for you?" Sybil said, backing up against a grave marker.

Thorston lunged. Sybil spun around, only to slip in the mud. The next moment, she felt Thorston's hand on her back, her neck. He held her tightly until, with a grunt, he flung her backward into the mire. She fell hard and turned just in time to see that Thorston had s.n.a.t.c.hed up a rock and was holding it high, about to bring it down on her. With a sudden twist, she rolled away. The rock came down by her side, deep into the graveyard mud.

Desperate, Sybil reached up and clutched the nearest marker and tried to pull herself up. Thorston grabbed her, forced her around, and pressed cold hands around her neck. "The stone!" he screamed. "I must have the stone!"

It was then that Sybil, sure she was about to die, heard another voice: "And if I have it?"

13.

Thorston gasped. His hands went slack. He spun around. "You!" he cried.

Sybil, struggling for breath, looked around, too.