17
A Silver Stream
Light seared through me and I screamed, pain shrilling along every vein, every nerve ending. Was I going to die being burned from within?
Then I heard a man’s voice, commanding and deep. “Nizhoni.”
It was as if I had been on fire, and someone had thrown a bucket of water over me. I blinked, then looked down, expecting to see burns from Nizhoni’s lightning running down my bare arms. But the skin was smooth and untouched, lightly brown with the faint beginnings of my summer tan.
And then I glanced up to see who had spoken, and saw a tall man walking toward us through the trees. His hair was as black as Nizhoni’s, though cut short and slicked away from his face. In his features I could see an echo of the Wilcox men I knew today, the fine strong nose and chin, the well-
