BENNICK SAID, with a jerk of his head. Jaumé obeyed. He lay down on his sleeping mat, wrapped himself in his blankets, and pulled the rabbit-fur cap low over his ears, but he didn’t close his eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on the campfire, on Bennick drinking the bitter tea the Brothers liked. How could he close his eyes when Ivek’s curse was here? He almost imagined he could see the curse, see dark shadows creeping across the ground, almost imagined he could hear it, a sound like ants gnawing on grains of dirt. He could definitely smell it. Smoke and blood. Bennick finished his tea and crossed to the sleeping mats. He picked up his blankets, shook them out, moved his mat close to Jaumé’s, so they almost touched. “Go to sleep, lad. Nothing to worry about.” And with Bennick alongside him, he found he could close his eyes. JAUMÉ DREAMED OF blood and screams, and jerked awake. The night was dark, the campfire a pile of glowing embers. Alongside him, Bennick’s sleeping mat was empty.
