Too Cold to Bleed

by D Murray

  On the third day, Evelyne lurched awake with the rushing need to vomit. She fought herself free of the tangle of limbs and blankets, and scrambled for the exit of the tent. The chains to her wrists and ankles conspired to frustrate her, snagging amongst their bedding and ceasing Evelyne’s efforts to clear the tent. She fell to her knees and retched, trying her best to avoid Selby and Franny.

  “Sorry,” Evelyne croaked, bent over. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the wool of her fingerless gloves scratching rough against her cold-chapped skin, such was the ice that had bound to the fibres in the night.

  “You all right?” Selby asked, still half terrified from Evelyne’s maddened rush to get free of the tent. “You sick?”

  “She’s not sick, Sel,” Franny grumbled, trying to pull her blanket closer to her chin, only to find it had been fixed tight in a knot of chain. “She’s with.”

  Selby sneered at Franny. “With what?”

  Franny shook her head and tutted. “What do you think?”

  Selby turned her head from Franny and caught Evelyne’s gaze. “Are you?”

  Evelyne nodded. “I think so.”

  “Didn’t think they’d taken you. Thought you were being kept away from all that.” Selby shuffled over to Evelyne, half dragging Franny at the same time, and tried her best to put her arm about Evelyne’s shoulders.

  Evelyne offered her a weak smile. “They didn’t. It’s from before.”

  “Does the king know?” Franny asked.

  “No.”

  “Reckon he’s got a thing for you,” Selby said. “You don’t think he’d change his mind on you if he knew?”

  “Sel!” Franny hissed, her brows furrowing. “Don’t say that.”

  “What?” Selby replied, her face contorting in offence.

  “She’s right, Franny,” Evelyne said, leaning in close between the two sparring women. “There’s no telling about him. He’s mad. That’s why we need to find the lichens for Slowblood. Keep your eyes open for any of the pieces. If you see it, fall on it. Pretend to be hurt, or exhausted.”

  “But the guards will hit us.” Selby’s voice had quietened even further, a frightened whisper of breath.

  “Aye.” Evelyne rubbed at her shoulder. “They likely will, but we need to take a hit or two if it comes to it.”

  “No worse than we’ve been getting before, Sel,” Franny said with a stoic look upon her bruise-marked face. “We’ll be grand if we see it,” she reassured Evelyne.

  They set off not long after Evelyne had woken, the morning cruel. The wind bludgeoned them head-on, sending stinging darts of ice into their faces in a constant barrage. The scarves they had been given had helped for the first while, but then as their breath soaked the wool, it froze, and caused their breath to wet the skin about their mouth and chin. Evelyne felt the raw flesh begin to rash, and then cause sores. The sun was permitted no quarter to shine through the constant grey of the cloud and snow. How they were able to find their way in this was beyond her reckoning, but Evelyne sensed there were spirits in this land. Her body ached from the pain of the cold, but it tingled from the ghostly touch of old power.

  For hours they walked on, snow as high as their knees on either side of the wide track now cut along the path over the mountains by the feet before them. Evelyne could see the snaking line of dark-clad bodies for only a few hundred yards before the swirling mass of spindrift obscured them. There was almost no ability to discern the shape of the land they travelled, thanks to the lack of contrast born of the snow and oppressive greyness of the sky. We could be walking over the edge of an abyss at any point. Mercy, Dajda. At any point Evelyne’s mind drifted to death, her stomach roiled, and she felt the warmth in her belly flood her body. It spread to her feet, her hands, and all the way up her back to her head. She felt her cheeks flush, and brightened at the feel of energy pulsing through her.

  As the day came to a close, the wind died to a whisper. The heavy clouds had diminished and thinned, leaving small patches of darkening sky. For the first time that day, Evelyne could see the landscape before her. The line of black stretched up over a snow-covered saddle of mountain, with ragged black-blue rock stretching in ragged conical spirals and wedges either side of it, like the stretched-open jaws of some great winter beast. She looked at the image, the soldiers and villagers marching up into the maw, and coughed a chuckle utterly devoid of humour. How very apt. As they ascended the saddle of the mountain and crossed over the ridge, she saw it. The mountain fell away in a slow, gradual decline onto a wide, flat plain of grey. Surrounding the rocky plain were huge mountains, creating a massive bowl with edges covered in snow and rock. At the farthest end of the plain, at the foot of a tall, wide slab of rock, stood Hagra Iolach. It had been carved into the rock face, from what Evelyne could tell at this distance, and was fronted by a massive rounded wall stretching out from the mountain and curving around in a semicircle. Within it Evelyne could see other buildings, though she could not tell much of their nature. Smoke or steam, or both, rose from behind the wall, and appeared to seep from fissures in the ground around the outside of the wall also.

  They descended onto the plain. Evelyne felt a flush of relief to finally make it out of the snow. As she marvelled at the dusty, almost desert-like appearance of the ground on the plain she noted that there was a sense of warmth emanating from it. And then she saw them. Ahead of her, maybe ten feet, there grew the lichens she needed for Slowblood. Selby must have seen it too, for in a few more steps, she dropped onto her front, her hands between her body and the ground.

  “Get up,” Higgs' rough voice grumbled from behind Evelyne as he rushed to pull Selby to her feet. Then Franny dropped, pulled down by Selby’s weight on the chain. Evelyne looked about and saw a small clump of lichen. She let the chain take her down, and angled herself to land on the small growth.

  “Fucking hells' bells,” Higgs sighed. “Get your lazy arses up or I’ll beat them up.”

  Evelyne’s fingers searched blindly, finding the plant and digging it free from the ground. It felt dry on her skin, drier than normal, and more than likely stunted by the heat. As she tried to haul herself onto her knees, she felt Higgs approach from behind and place his arms under her armpits.

  “The old man wants us to be nice to you.” Higgs leaned in as he lifted her, his stinking breath tickling warm and foetid by her ear. “So you get happy Higgs. Your friends, on the other hand–” He stepped around Evelyne, and grabbed at Franny by the hair as she hurried to get up. She yelped as he yanked her to her feet, then cuffed her across the back of the head. “And what about you, pretty little Selby? You want a hand?”

  Selby had got herself onto her knees, but with her hands clutching tight to the lichens, she couldn’t get up quick enough.

  “Here, let me.” Higgs put his hands about her, snaking where he pleased, and finally settled under her arms and onto her breasts. “Higgsy will help you up. Then maybe later, you can help Higgsy up.” He grunted a dirty laugh, and licked a rank tongue against her ear. He shoved her on a step, causing the chain to yank at Franny and Evelyne. “Go on, get a move on. Want to be in before it’s fully dark.” Higgs looked about him, a nervous look creasing his face for a moment. He then walked on ahead of Selby, whistling to himself and scratching at some itch or another.

  Selby turned around and looked at Evelyne as she stepped on, her hands stuffing the lichen into the pocket of her cloak. She smiled, then turned back and walked on towards Hagra Iolach.

  Well, Grunnxe, now let’s see how you like your supper.

  Twenty-Eight

  The Way

  “Where are they?” Kalfinar growled to Murtagh through gritted teeth as he and Broden stormed down from the embankment and towards the main hall.

  “In the room above the armoury,” she replied, keeping in step with them. “Someone can look to your wounds.”

  He ignored her and pressed on, entering the Great Hall.

  The milling villagers hurriedly cleared the
way for him as he paced in, his anger bubbling from the fight.

  “Kal,” Broden called over his shoulder as he followed on. “Go easy when you get in there. We need them to talk.”

  Hold on, my dear. Just hold on a little longer. He saw the entrance to the room above the armoury, and could see Jukster and Ferdus standing guard over the two kneeling Raven Men. Valus stood with arms crossed and leaning against the wall. Her eyes flicked up to Kalfinar’s as he approached the room.

  Be still. Her voice sounded in his head. He pushed it away and burst into the room.

  “Boss,” Jukster spoke.

  Kalfinar didn’t break stride. The Raven Man’s flaming eyes widened as the punch landed, bowling him over onto his back. Kalfinar knelt on him and landed another punch, and another.

  “Enough, Kal!” Broden said, stepping up behind him. “That’s enough.”

  Kalfinar shrugged off the big man’s grip and smoothed his hair back from his face, chest heaving. “Just softening them up.”

  Be at ease, Kalfinar. Valus’ voice sounded again in his mind. I can speak in their minds also. They are resisting me, but the words will come. Let me work.

  The unharmed captive looked across at Kalfinar and back to his injured comrade. He spat out some words in the guttural tongue and cast his eyes to the floor.

  “What the hell did that mean?”

  “They call the Lihedan woman a devil.” Harvind stepped into the room and approached the captives. “She is reaching into their minds, and it frightens them.” Harvind looked up at Valus. “You have a gift which all our peoples fear, for it is only gods who speak in the minds.”

  “That’s not correct, friend,” she replied in her soft accent. “It is a gift my god grants to me, and those few of my people who are blessed with the skill.”

  Harvind turned from the Lihedan and back to the kneeling captive. He barked out a string of words and grabbed the captive tight by the chin, shoving him onto his back beside the injured Raven Man. “These two know the way. But they won’t speak the words.”

  Kalfinar looked at Harvind. “The Grey Father said the Maracost know the way to Hagra Iolach. That you would lead us there. Was this not true?”

  Harvind stood and faced Kalfinar and Broden. “We know of the land it’s rumoured to be in. We know the way inland is treacherous. The mountains and valleys are cruel. A few more specifics wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’m all about the specifics,” Broden said, leaning against the wall beside Valus and folding his arms over his chest.

  “Specifics?” Kalfinar hissed. “He told me if we fought with you, he would show us the way.”

  Harvind stood up, rubbing his palm across the runic tattoos along the shaven sections of his head. “I can lead you into Hagra. I can probably take you to Hagra Iolach, but the way is dangerous. Don’t you think we’d best get all we can from those who have been there?”

  Kalfinar could feel his pulse banging against his throat. His dry, tight, angry throat. He glared at Harvind.

  “Kal,” Broden stepped over and put a hand on Kalfinar’s shoulder, “come on. Let Valus work.”

  Kalfinar broke off glaring at Harvind and let Broden lead him to the side of the room.

  Valus stepped up to the two captives and looked down at them for a moment. She turned around to Kalfinar and smiled. “They fear me, and so I shall work my words in their mind, and they will show me all we need to know. Let me have them this night, and by morning, the way will be clear and absolute.”

  Kalfinar held her blue gaze for a moment, his impatience making him want to scream. I need to get to her. It’s been too long. Valus’ voice sounded in his head. She will endure, and so must you.

  Kalfinar swallowed his anger, trying to quell the fury inside him. “Do what you must.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room and back into the Great Hall.

  “Kal,” Broden sounded behind him. “Get your wounds seen to. You’ll need stitches for your face and finger.” The big man touched his shoulder and pointed over to a corner of the Great Hall where a number of the villagers worked to provide care to those injured in the earlier fight.

  “You reckon she’ll find out all we need to know?” Kalfinar asked him, heading over to where the injured were being tended.

  “I don’t know. But she’s not fared badly by us so far. You say she can project into your mind, so there’s no reason to believe she can’t do the same with the Raven Man.” Broden presented Kalfinar to a young woman from the village and sat down on the bench beside him while she carefully tilted Kalfinar’s chin, then looked at where his finger had been severed. “I think she’ll do fine.”

  Kalfinar flinched from the stinging pain as the young villager touched a warm, wet cloth to the stump just above the second joint of his severed little finger. “Shitting hells.”

  “Big strong warrior like you.” Broden nudged his shoulder against Kalfinar’s.

  “Got all your fingers, haven’t you?”

  “I do,” Broden replied with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

  “Piss off, then, and do something useful with them.” Kalfinar looked back at the villager as she cleaned the sticky blood from the stump and picked up a curved bone needle and what looked like thin gut.

  “I don’t like this bit much anyway,” Broden said, absently scratching at where the scars on his belly were. He stood up, winked at Kalfinar, and walked back towards where the prisoners were being held.

  Kalfinar winced as the bone needle bit into the new tip of his finger, causing the villager to look up apologetically. So much a human, yet so different. How has it come to be that we know nothing of you? How has it passed that a god can cast out a people to suffer such a cruel existence? The gut pulled tight, eventually closing over the wound. The young girl dabbed a greasy white ointment onto the tip and then covered the wound with a thin weave of hair-like moss, before taking a hood of fine leather and pulling it over his fingertip, tying the thongs tight about his hand and wrist, holding it in place.

  “This?” she said in a clumsy tongue, pointing a finger at her chin.

  He smiled at her, and nodded. “Please.”

  She took the cloth and soaked it in the bowl of hot water before dabbing away the dried blood about his chin. Her touch was gentle as she worked, her eyes flicking up at his as he watched her. She offered a shy smile as she caught him looking at her eyes, and returned to her work. She threaded more gut to the bone needle, and tied the wound shut.

  Another nice scar for the collection, one on each side of the chin now.

  Broden hurried back towards him just as the villager tied off the last stitch of gut. “She’s done it,” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “She’s only gone and fucking done it.”

  Kalfinar stood up immediately, causing the village girl to jolt back in fright. “Sorry,” he apologised, raising his palms to her. “Thank you.” He pointed to his finger and chin. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and said something gently in her tongue.

  “Come on,” Broden said, turning back and rushing to the room.

  Kalfinar followed on, entering to see Harvind shaking his head. Valus stood over the two captives. One lay dead, white froth about his mouth. The other knelt with head bowed, body shaking from great racking sobs.

  Kalfinar looked at the body, and then back to Valus. “And you told me to be at ease?”

  “I didn’t mean for him to die,” she said in a calm voice. “Sometimes the mind can be weak, and it falters from the questioning. Sometimes it can break altogether. The dead man had a seizure when I probed deeper. He gave me only one image: a twisted mountain, he called it the Spire. He gave nothing more, even when I pressed him. His mind broke. The seizure killed him.”

  “And the other, what did you do to him?”

  “His mind is stronger. He withstood the questioning, and he gave us a clear way to Hagra Iolach. Although his mind was strong enough that he did not die, he will be haunted by the experience for
all his days. He’ll be mad. It would be a kindness to end his life.”

  Kalfinar regarded the tall blond woman. Her mind-probing was clearly the cause of the dead man’s demise. The other would be tormented for life by it, and so would be better off dead. Yet she seemed unmoved. Maybe this woman has a colder heart than I thought. “Where do we go?” he asked her.

  “We must pass between several tall ranges, until we come to a mountain with a tall, twisted spire of rock, rising from the land like a giant tooth. From there we must travel up the valley, rising into the mountains. We should come to a great plain at the head of which is Hagra Iolach.”

  “We should get moving.” Kalfinar’s black mood lifted and he felt a flush of hope in his chest.

  “Steady, Kalfinar,” Valus said. “There is more. The way is treacherous. Not only is it cold and unwelcoming, it is home to ghosts of long forgotten gods and their servants.”

  “We need to get out of this wind!” Kalfinar roared hoarsely.

  Broden nodded, cinching his hood closed over his face.

  “Harvind!” Kalfinar shouted ahead. “Harvind!” he called again over the howling, ice-filled wind. His sealskin boots plunged up to the knee in the snow as he stepped forward and reached a hand out to the Maracost man’s shoulder. Harvind turned, his mismatched eyes framed by frosted lashes. “We need to get out of the wind!” Kalfinar repeated.