Pillar of ash, p.20
Pillar of Ash, page 20
So alert was I that when the creature came, I heard it from far, far away. It started as a lack in the gathering night, a gradual shushing of the owl and rodents in the brush. Then came the steady, shuffling thumps of great paws on the earth. Steaming water in my clay pot, nestled among the coals of the fire, rippled. A dead tree crackled as something nudged it, and my heart stopped beating in my chest.
When the creature was close enough that the ground shook and I hopelessly considered fleeing the frail safety of my fire, a deeper hush fell. The footsteps ceased and for a breath absolute silence reigned.
I heard a huff, the brush trembled, and two huge eyes blinked at me from mere paces away. I reached for the horn at my belt, but had no breath to blow it. I could only tilt my head back, slowly looking up to meet the creature’s eyes.
They glistened gold in the firelight and as the beast breathed, the stink of mushroom, must, and damp fur gusted over me. It made the fire dance and flare, and in the sudden light, I made out the face of an enormous, scarred bear.
“Aegr,” I breathed.
The Bear regarded me for a long, long moment, then he advanced. One great paw thudded down on the other side of my firescreens and I felt all blood drain from my face in a slap of cold. I was struck dumb, but not out of fear—at least, not purely. Unreality and awe overwhelmed me.
I tore my eyes from the Bear’s and ducked my head in reverence. My hair, half-bound in braids, fell over my face and I fixed my gaze on Aegr’s enormous brown paw. It was, I suspected, the very same that had shaken the ground next to me on the shores of the Headwaters.
Something brushed my scalp and moist breath gusted around me again, stirring stray hairs and turning my stomach. A second brush turned into a nudge, and my head tipped back.
Aegr stared down into my face, so close our noses met. His broad head and immense shoulders filled my vision, and I could see my own reflection in the black depths of his eyes, silhouetted by firelight.
“I honor you.” When I spoke my words were soft, but I was grateful they didn’t waver. A little voice in the back of my mind wondered if the Bear was connected to the whispering I’d heard, but Aegr felt entirely different. He had a presence, like an unveiled Miri, and it was not what I’d felt when the pale foxfire blazed.
“You saved my mother once, on the shores of the Pasidon,” I continued. “Our family has not forgotten your kindness.”
Aegr continued to watch me, breath rushing over my skin.
“We came to see the tree,” I added, feeling as though I should explain my presence. “And to meet those who worship you.”
It seemed to me that the Great Bear became even more still at that. I’d no doubt he could understand my words, but replying was another matter entirely. For all the magic he’d absorbed over the centuries in the High Halls, he was still a bear.
Aegr lowered his nose to my healed thigh and sniffed carefully, without touching my clothing. Then he eased back, stepping over the firescreen with the tips of huge claws just clearing the top. The boughs of the trees and the undergrowth shifted around him, jostled by fur and muscle, and the foxfire faded as he passed.
The Bear turned and wandered off, out of sight.
I sat frozen by the fire until the last of his footsteps faded. The owl hooted again, low in the night, and Isik peeled from the shadows.
My friend didn’t need to speak—I could tell from the shock, awe, and soul-deep relief in his expression that he’d seen my encounter with the Bear. Still facing the direction Aegr had gone, I reached out a hand to him, our conflict and uncertainties forgotten in the power of the moment. He took my fingers in his, neither of us speaking a word.
Beneath my grip, his blood thrummed as fast as my own.
Twenty-Six
Isik and I stood together until the pounding of our hearts slowed, then I stepped away.
He ran his hands over his beard, letting out a short breath. “So he is here.”
I nodded, still too awestruck to speak, and touched my hair where the Bear had breathed on me. It was warm, and a little damp. I shivered. “I think he has been from the beginning. I saw him, on the shores of the Headwaters.”
Isik shook his head, overcome. “I thought I saw him too, once, perhaps twice. But I was never sure. He seems… content, to leave us in peace?”
I nodded. The memory of the Bear’s eyes still saturated me, but other concerns began to resurface.
“Did you hear the voice?” I asked. “Before the Bear came.”
“When I arrived, he was already here. What voice?”
I told him, explaining how the sound had seemed to come from the earth itself, how the roots had spasmed and the foxfire had awoken.
“This foxfire isn’t… normal,” I added, gesturing at the night. Tendrils of illumination remained among the trees, but I could barely see them now in the firelight. “It dimmed when Aegr was near, and I’ve seen it during the day. It burns even when the forest is dry. And the colors, they’re not right. And,” I added with growing realization, “I’ve seen it before. In the High Halls, that night we spoke in the forest.”
Isik’s brows drew together. “Have you noticed there’s more of it, the further east we go?”
I suppressed a shiver. “Yes. It seems a great coincidence, the foxfire waking when the voice came. Whoever spoke asked me to free them, Isik. And if I’m right, Aegr chased them away. Or at least, they fled his coming. The foxfire dimmed where he passed, too.”
Isik surveyed the night for a somber, contemplative moment. The fire crackled at our backs and the forest slowly regained its sleepy chorus—the repetitive call of a nightbird and the occasional dance of dry leaves in the wind.
“I have no answers, though I suspect Aegr might, if he could speak. Perhaps he came because of the voice,” the Miri suggested. “Or perhaps they were both drawn to you for the same reason. Did you use your magic again?”
I searched for the rebuke in his voice. But there wasn’t one. Just a question. In fact, the hard edges he’d worn when he left seemed to have faded and his gaze was concerned, but not accusatory. Perhaps he’d reconciled himself to my sacrifices?
“No,” I answered simply and pushed the topic aside. We could do nothing more than stew in our own questions, and my brother was still missing. “Did you find Berin?”
“I didn’t. But I found a village. Arune rules there, if what I saw was any indication. The people speak Fith, but they do not seem to be allies with the riverman’s folk.”
“The riverman spoke of another clan of Fith who had a foreign ‘god,’ ” I shared, though the mention of gods and worship felt heavy on my tongue, charged with more potential conflict. “He called them the Aruth.”
Isik gave a thin laugh. “Aruth. Arune. Gods below, he’s conceited. Your companions are there, except for Berin and Ursk. I saw no sign of them.”
“They’re all right? Seera and the rest?”
“They’re alive and looked as though they were being cared for.”
Relief and unease sifted through me. “So Berin and Ursk escaped and carried on to the coast.”
Or they’re dead, I thought. I’d heard Berin’s horn, but that didn’t mean he had been the one to blow it, or that he had lived long after that.
I dropped a hand to the horn at my own belt, anchoring myself to the smooth, cool feel of it.
Isik nodded. More tension ebbed from his frame and he glanced back at the fire and the pot of stew. He looked so human in that moment, so tired and hungry.
I crouched and started to reach for the pot, shielding my hand with a fold of skirt, but he beat me to it.
“Let me,” he said mildly, his mind clearly elsewhere. He sat by the fire and edged the stew out of the coals with a stick. I offered him a spoon from my pack, and he began to eat with obvious hunger. His shoulders slumped as he chewed and he smiled in satisfaction. “I forgot what a good cook you are.”
“Don’t tell the others.” I waved a finger at him, though the humor felt forced. It seemed we were both going to ignore our earlier conversation, and I was glad for it. Perhaps we need never speak again of love and worship and obligation. We could return to being friends. “Then I’ll be cook and story-singer and healer.”
“Our secret,” he said through another mouthful. “Tomorrow I’ll go to the lake and see these Hask. That’s the direction Berin and Ursk went, last sign I saw of them. That man Ursk is very good at hiding his passage.”
Another day of waiting. Displeased, I prodded at the fire with a stick, nudging a charred chunk of wood deeper into the flames. “Do you think—”
Arune stepped from the shadows, glancing around with overdone curiosity. Isik was up in a flash, woodcutting axe raised, and I snatched up my staff.
In the firelight I saw Arune clearly for the first time. His face was beautiful, almost feminine, white hair wild and wind-tousled, except for where it was bound back at the temples in thin braids, twined with black threads and hung with fine animal teeth. A long tunic slit at the hips clothed a narrow-hipped, athletic frame with long, trouser-clad legs and well-kept wrapped leather boots, embossed and braided with intricate depictions of snow and wind.
The Winterborn eyed Isik. “Greetings, Son of Esach. Yske.”
“I hear you have my people captive,” I stated, pleased when my voice came out cool and devoid of emotion. “Release them.”
Arune appraised me momentarily. “They’re not prisoners, just… surprise houseguests. You’re welcome to fetch them, whenever you please. I’ve just come to arrange the payment of your debt.”
The ease with which he agreed made me suspicious. “Who do you want me to heal?”
“My sister. A desire I’m sure you can understand.”
My apprehension began to retreat into the clear, analytical purpose Aita had taught me. “What is wrong with her?”
“As I told you, Logur tried to use my blood to open a door to the High Halls, some seven years ago. That blood was, in fact, my sister’s. My kin’s.” Arune delivered his words with a deadly lightness. “But she is immortal as I, and had no death blood to spill. Yet her wounds were grave, so now she sleeps in a tomb of ice. Heal her and I will consider your debt paid in full.”
I came to stand next to Isik. “You’ll free my people and swear to do us no harm?”
“Yes.” Arune nodded with overdone graciousness. “I’ll even lead you to your brother. I know where he is now, he and the other that escaped with him. And I’ll allow your people to winter with mine— largely to keep you from causing trouble, but I could also use a healer and more good warriors within my walls. Trust me when I say you will not survive alone in this land, and the other clans in this region are prone to butchery. The Hask may throw you to their bears. The Fith to the riverman’s monsters.” His eyes moved to Isik. “You really should leave though, and take your blood with you.”
Isik let out a gust of breath and glanced at me. “So everyone tells me.”
“Regardless, come to my hall in the morning,” the Winterborn concluded, with a vulpine smile. “You already know where it is.”
Isik scowled. “You followed me back.”
“You’re a child, young Miri,” Arune said, a doting uncle despite the fact that they, deceptively, looked no more than a year or two apart in age. “I may be a half-blood but I’ve walked this world longer than you. So believe me when I tell you that I do not simply ride the winter wind. I am the wind. It is I. And it whispered of your presence for many days before you trespassed here.”
I saw a flush creep up Isik’s neck and his fingers tighten on the axe, knuckles white.
“We will be there,” I promised, brushing Isik’s arm with one hand to keep him quiet. He stilled beneath my touch. “Thank you, Arune.”
Arune seemed delighted by my politeness. He offered a bow, white hair falling forward and the fine animal teeth in his braids tinkling.
“Until tomorrow,” he said, and vanished to the wind.
* * *
Thunder rolled, rain drenched the forest, and Isik let his human façade fall away. In my Sight his Miri aura saturated the gloom, drifts of dust the color of soaked slate, edged with gold. It swirled and gusted without heed to raindrops or shuddering leaves. His shoulders were level, his chin high and his pace determined but smooth, a king in his court. The son of a once-goddess, surrounded by her power. Fueled by it.
My breath was shallow as I followed in his wake, staff in hand and Nui at my side. I’d rarely seen my friend in this state, and it impacted me more than I wanted to admit, fanning the embers of thoughts and truths best left untouched.
The pull of him was… intoxicating. I told myself this reaction was purely physical, a natural response to seeing someone who was objectively beautiful, soaked with rain and at the height of their power. There was nothing spiritual about his draw, no soul-deep tug of worship, nor the inexplicable bindings of romantic love.
Still, when he looked back to check on my progress and I saw the familiar lines of his face, the coolness in his eyes, his words came back to me.
I’ve never had worshipers… but I feel the lure of it.
I coaxed my expression into impassivity and looked away. This show was for the Aruth and Arune. Not me.
The forest ended and the walls of Arune’s settlement came into sight. Rain battered a network of fenced, dying gardens and shelters for animals, running right up to the palisade. Throughout, chickens and rugged goats watched us through the downpour with the same steady silence as the guards at the high, narrow gate.
Arune waited, framed by open, iron-banded oak doors and half a dozen warriors with spears and helmets. The rain did not touch the Winterborn, though his hair stirred in the breeze. When lightning laced across the sky, light flooded his pale-skinned face and made his white hair glisten like silver.
The eyes of the guards—boasting the distinctive eastern cheekbones and rain-soaked brown hair—fixed on the two Miri-blooded men, awe leaking through their stalwart exteriors. I felt it too. The power of the moment was undeniable, but I kept my composure.
Arune cocked his head to one side, blue eyes flicking from Isik to the sky above. “Remind me never to fight you in the rain,” the Winterborn commented dryly, then stepped aside and threw out an arm, welcoming us to the settlement. “Come.”
We passed through the muddy, rain-splattered streets. Despite the weather, locals clustered in small windows and open doorways, or lingered under the dripping eaves of wood-tiled roofs. Nui pranced past a few growling dogs, unbothered by their hostility, and I laid one hand on her sodden back.
Arune’s hall was built in the style of the far north, circular with an outer tier and a lower central pit, where a fire burned away the chill and damp. Carved animal totems sat atop the ceiling’s spoke-like beams, each one watching us enter. A few villagers passed to and fro, stoking the fire and tending three cooking tripods which filled the air with the scent of baking flatbreads, roasting venison, and a pot of earthy mushroom stew. Smoke trailed up toward a broad chimney, where sparks danced in the shadows.
Not far from the flames, I saw my companions. Askir, Bara, Sedi, Ittrid, Esan, and Seera hovered as if they’d only just entered the hall themselves, their hair and clothing wet from rain.
They perked up as one as I stepped inside, though Askir’s eyes immediately jumped to Isik at my shoulder. Bara and Ittrid sprinted across the wooden floor, outpacing the priest.
Bara pulled me into a firm, relieved embrace. Ittrid took his place a moment later, enfolding me in warm arms and the scent of smoke and a sweet medicinal herb that made me take her arm as she pulled back. The smell came from a paste, crusted beneath a bandage at her collar.
“I’m fine,” she told me. Her smile was warm but I saw the strain behind it, the days of anxiety and frustration. “Their healers have been good to us.”
“You’re alive.” Bara squeezed my shoulder. “The Winterborn told us, but I hardly believed him.”
Arune tsked. “You’re so distrustful.”
“Why are you with a Miri?” Askir cut in, still eyeing Isik. “A full-blooded one, at that.”
Bara glanced at the tall form of Isik behind me and kept his hand on my shoulder.
Before I could reply, Sedi, Esan, and Seera closed in. All sported a mosaic of minor injuries and several more serious ones, Seera’s arm in a sling and the fabric of Esan’s tunic showing layers of bandages beneath.
Esan nodded and smiled in a rare display of affection, though he gave none of that smile to Isik. Sedi smiled and Seera looked almost relieved to see me, though her eyes roamed, noting the distance Isik and I kept from one another.
“This is the son of Esach,” I explained. “Sent by Aita.”
“Fathered by Gadr,” Askir concluded.
“The priest knows his business,” Arune commented, fluffing his hair out with his fingers to dislodge the rain.
“I’m Algatt,” Askir replied to the Winterborn. “Gadr is still our ruler, under Thvynder, and he is not quiet about his relationship with Esach. But why is a Miri here?”
“Aita sent me,” Isik said, repeating my earlier assertion. “I assure you, I’ve only come to help. There have been rumors of strange sights in the Unmade. I came both to investigate and protect Yske.”
“And Yske and I have struck a deal,” Arune cut in, usurping the conversation.
“Let’s sit,” I suggested to the Winterborn. “Perhaps drink something warm while we dry off and I explain the situation to my companions?”
Arune nodded and called to the villagers at the hearth. A few moments later, we clustered in a corner of the hall, steaming cups in hand. Arune left us with a half-bow, and my companions and I were alone with Isik and the servants, the latter of whom studiously ignored us.
“Have you been treated well?” I asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” Ittrid admitted, grudgingly.
“We’re captives,” Sedi growled.
“We’re fine, for now.” Bara glanced across the hall as if he feared we’d be overheard. “Where are Berin and Ursk?”
“According to Arune, they went east toward the Hask. We’ll follow them soon.” I sniffed at my tea, which no one had touched yet, and sipped it. The flavor was sweet, pine touched with honey. Not so different from home, I thought with a pang of longing. “I’ve agreed to heal Arune’s sister, in return for your freedom and finding Berin.”
