Rani was uncertain what was going to happen next. All she knew was that Malina knew what to do; that she was not afraid; all she had to do was wait, and watch, and listen. And when the time came . . .
Deborah’s struggles had ceased. She lay unnaturally still, her pallor beginning to grey as life left her altogether; her eyes, though no longer rolled back, were staring, and beginning to take on the glassy aspect of death . . .
Ralph was too stunned at first to understand what Theuli’s words meant.
‘She’s gone. There is nothing more that we can do.’
Devoid of life, Deborah’s naked form lay white, almost ethereal-looking, in sharp contrast to the dark blankets upon which she lay in the semi-darkness of the wagon. She seemed somehow smaller, as though her inner fragility had finally pushed its way to the surface, forcing out everything that was strong in her, leaving her diminished . . .
Outside, a sound came to their ears. It barely registered at first, it was so small and faint; that of a single voice, alone in the dark. After a moment, it became joined by another . . .
Years ago, as a child, Malina’s mother had taught her a song; a simple child’s song, to sing to herself for her own protection, when her mother was drawn away by some necessity. She had sung it to herself often when her mother had disappeared, and often in the years after when she was alone and frightened. And for all those years, alone, undefended and defenceless, it had kept her alive; had kept her spirit unbroken. And when she had come upon Rani, as a little girl, lost in the woods, she had taught the child that same song.