“There’s one more besides,” Bran pointed out.

“The she-wolf?” Doyle shrugged. “Not bad.”

“We should sing another!” Annika swung up on a pile of rock—yes, as nimble as that mountain goat.

“Do you know another one?” Maybe she had to catch her breath, but Sasha was game.

“Oh, yes. I love listening to music from the boats or from the places on the shore. I know this one, but I don’t understand most of the words.”

She shut her eyes, ticked her hands in the air a moment as if reaching for the beat. Then to the astonishment of everyone on the hillside, lifted her voice into a soaring aria.

“Tvoyu mat,” Sawyer said, reverently. “She’s . . . Is that opera?”

“It certainly sounds like opera. And beautifully rendered,” Bran added, as with her voice still winging through the air, Annika jumped down to continue the climb.

“La Traviata. She’s gone from Queen to Verdi.”

“You know opera?”

Doyle shrugged off Sawyer’s surprise as the men moved forward. “Live a few centuries, you know a lot of things. Just as I know a siren’s voice when I hear it. Mind yourself, brother, or she’ll have you wrapped up like a trout.”

“Already wrapped, I’d say.” Bran gave Sawyer’s shoulder a slap.

When the last note echoed off, and her companions applauded, Annika took a laughing bow.

“First, wow, major kudos on the pipes. Where’d you learn that?” Riley wondered.

“There is a big theater by the sea, far from here. For three nights they told this story with songs. It’s not happy because the woman who sang that song dies.”

“That’s opera for you,” Riley told her.

“But the songs and voices? So beautiful, so I went to listen every night they sang. I can teach you the song.”

“You couldn’t teach me to sing like that if we had a couple decades.”

“And we don’t.” Sasha stopped. “It’s there. The cave, it’s there.”

The mouth opened, tall and narrow, in the rock. Spindly brush clung to the top, drooping down like a sagging awning. And over that a black snake slithered.

“Wall lizard,” Riley said.

“That’s no damn lizard.” Sawyer’s fingers itched for the gun tucked at his back under his shirt.

“Just a whip snake—not poisonous.” Smirking, Riley took out her water bottle. “But they do like to bite.”

She took a quick swig, replaced her bottle, started forward toward the cave. Muttering about snakes, Sawyer stepped behind her.

“Wait! Stop!”

Leaping after him, Sasha grabbed his hand. Nearly at the mouth, Doyle and Riley turned.

“Don’t go in. Don’t . . .” Her eyes went darker, deeper. “Don’t go in. Don’t go near.” She turned to Sawyer. “Pain, fear, the shadows of death. Blood and rage. Water and traps. I don’t know. I can’t see clearly. You. Annika.”

“Annika?”

“It’s not safe for you. For either of you. Don’t go in. Stay away, Anni.”

“I’m here. Don’t worry.” Her voice pitched to soothe, Annika took Sasha’s other hand. “We won’t go inside.”

“He’ll use it. Use you. One to the other. Don’t believe him.”

“Malmon.”

“Malmon. Not what he was, not what he will be. But hers. You can’t go inside.”

“Okay. We’ll stay out. We’ll stay right here,” Sawyer assured her. “What about the others?”

“What?”

“Is it safe for us?” Bran nudged Sawyer aside. “Do the rest of us go in?”

She let out a long breath. “I don’t feel anything for the rest of us. Just Annika and Sawyer. It’s life and death for them inside. For us? It’s a cave.”

“All right then. They’ll stay out here, and we’ll go in, see what we have.”

Sasha nodded. “Please.” She took Sawyer’s hand again, gripped Annika’s. “Promise.”

“You got it. We’re out here.”

But when the others went in, he stared at the mouth.

“Promise me.”

“What?”

“Promise me,” Annika repeated. “You won’t go in. You won’t use the compass, and come back to go in and see.”

Since he’d toyed with just that, he hesitated.

“You promise me. I promise you. Because we believe in Sasha.”

Damn it. “You’re right. Okay. I promise, I won’t go in—unless there’s no choice. Unless one of us is in trouble inside. Good enough?”

“Yes. I promise the same.”

She took his face, kissed him. “Now it’s an oath, and can’t be broken.”

He thought of Doyle’s words—wrapped up like a trout—but didn’t see where he had much choice.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The cave, they reported as they took time to rest, eat, drink before starting the hike back, was simply a cave.

Wide and deep and dry.

Sasha sketched it, added the dimensions Doyle estimated, as well as the narrow tunnel that forked off into a second chamber, wider, deeper than the entrance.