by H. M. Long
“Was the vision you had of him now, or in the future?”
I paused. “I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t that clear.”
He tilted his head in consideration. “Fate rarely is, that manipulative old hag. Well, you should make your way north, in any case. Are you asking me to come with you?”
“No,” I snapped, beginning to fray. “I just…”
“You’re lost.” Ogam set the spit back over the fire and leant closer to me. The iciness in his eyes retreated. “My mother molded you to serve her and now she’s abandoned you. I can understand that. You were raised as an Eangi, always surrounded, back to back, shoulder to shoulder. Now they’re all gone.”
I hadn’t expected such sympathy to come from him. It made my next question, a startled, tremulous thing, slip more easily from my lips. “What do you mean, all the Eangi are gone? Your mother said… she said I was one of the last but…”
“Well, you’re the only one I’ve been able to find.”
“What about the western villages?” I pressed. “West Meade? By the sea? There has to be at least one or two Eangi that far out. How could the Algatt have gotten so far so fast?”
Ogam shrugged. “I have no answers, Hessa. Not yet.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “Eang… she wouldn’t have let any of this happen because of me, would she?”
Ogam’s eyes widened a fraction, flicking between surprise and amusement, and I saw the laughter build up in the crinkling of his cheeks. Then he seemed to register the rawness of my own expression, and his humor fled. “You’re serious?”
I flushed with grief and embarrassment.
“It’s not your fault.” Ogam leant in close again, all at once the warmth of a winter hearth instead of the cold wind outside. “I assure you, my mother does not think nearly enough of you to deliver such a punishment. All of this happened because my mother hadn’t the chance or will to stop it.”
I wanted to take comfort in that, but the suggestion that Eang hadn’t been able to save us, or hadn’t bothered to, was nearly as terrible as my fear of culpability.
I wrinkled my nose and let out a long breath. “I’ll find Omaskat, whatever the cost.”
“Yes. That’s your charge from Eang, and it is your highest priority, no matter what else happens,” Ogam affirmed. “Forget Ashaklon – leave matters of gods to the gods. But I will offer you one piece of advice. Do not go back to East Meade.”
I met his gaze. He didn’t elaborate, but I saw more than warning in his eyes. And I, for all my supposed pride and strength, could not bring myself to ask why.
That was, until something else occurred to me, something that made my lips numb and my chest ache. “But I could go to Albor and release the dead.”
“No. It would add too much to your journey,” Ogam said with finality. “They’ll have to wait. Besides, time is different for the dead, Hessa. Stay focused. Find Omaskat.”
With that Ogam looked back to his meal, and neither of us spoke again.
* * *
Despite the weight on my mind, I slept long and deep. By the time I opened my eyes again, the colors of dawn had faded, and a blue sky opened above me.
I searched for Ogam. The space across the fire where he had slept was still rimmed in ice, but he was gone.
As if sensing my gaze, the son of Eang strode out from a cleft, clad in nothing but his loose trousers, tied at each hip with simple knots.
A flush rose up my cheeks. Growing up Eangi, I had seen men of all types in less than this – but no one to compare to Ogam. His masculine perfection was casual, not overburdened with muscle, yet every line of him was clean and defined. His skin was the only thing that detracted from his appeal, ethereal and cold.
“Braid my hair,” he commanded.
I paused. Eidr was there at the back of my mind, like he always was, and as the memory of him swelled so did a spark of anger. Braiding hair was an intimate gesture among the Eangen, something families and close friends did for one another. Last night had been one thing, but to ask again? The shirtless Ogam’s request bespoke overfamiliarity.
But he was my patron goddess’s son. I likely didn’t have a choice.
“At least give me time to relieve myself first,” I muttered.
Eang’s son wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Very well, but hurry back. Then I’ll tell you what I discovered last night.”
That convinced me. I quickly took care of my necessities, splashed my face in the stream, and returned to him within a few minutes.
“Well?” I asked. “What is it? What did you discover?”
“I visited Oulden,” Ogam revealed nonchalantly. “And he – come, braid my hair.”
I complied. “And he?”
“Had word from Esach.”
My hands slowed at their work.
“The Storm Goddess says the legions have been pouring north via the Arpa roads, to the Eangen border. But she did affirm that none of them seem to have actually crossed that border since last harvest.”
“So if there are legionaries in the mountains, they went north last year.”
“Precisely.” His broad, bare shoulders shone in the sun below me. “And wintered in the mountains or the Hinterlands. Also, Esach has quite set her face against the Arpa. Several of their gods, it seems, have been encroaching on her territory too. Another god, starlight and shadow, challenged her just a few days ago. While she labored over the harvest. They did battle.”
“In the storm?”
“Yes.”
“Another God of the Old World, like Ashaklon?”
“How am I supposed to know? Maybe. Are you almost done?”
“Almost.”
I hooked and twisted, turning over this new information in my mind. Finally, when I’d finished braiding, he stood up.
“Sit,” he instructed. “Your hair looks like sparrows tried to nest in it.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“While I return you to a moderate state of refinement, I’ll tell you about my mother.”
The temptation was too strong. I sat and tried not to flinch as he dropped my beaded leather tie in my lap and began to work his fingers through my hair. They were cold, but pleasantly so: like cool stone on a hot day.
“When my mother conceived me, she was furious,” Ogam began. “She strode to the High Hall and demanded that Aita, the Great Healer, remove me. So Aita did. She carved Eang’s belly open and handed her my tiny, naked self. Eang’s wound healed as I screamed, and she left the High Hall, striding past all the rows of gods and human dead while I wailed in my birth-blood. Then Eang climbed the highest mountain and left me there to die. What happened to your ear?”
It took a moment to register the question. “What? My ear? Oh… a dog bit it off.”
“Pity.” Ogam fingered the frayed tip and tsked, then plunged back into his tale. “But I did not die. For a hundred days, my mother returned every dawn, hoping I had perished in the night. Still, I lived, and at the end of those hundred days, I won her respect. She took me to her breast and paraded me back through the High Hall. ‘Look,’ she crowed, ‘I have birthed a true immortal. The cold could not kill him, and the wind could not kill him, and sun and storm and time could not kill him.’”
Despite the reminder about my ear and the overall heartlessness of his tale, the gentle passage of his fingers made my scalp prickle with pleasure. My eyes drifted closed.
Eidr used to do this for me. We’d sit together on cool evenings and he would run his fingers through my hair, just like Ogam did now, and hum under his breath.
My heart contorted and my eyelids flickered. Clenching them shut, I forced out a long breath and turned my thoughts back to Ogam.
The Son of Eang continued, oblivious to my pain. “She kept me with her for… oh, I’m not sure of the years. I never had a need to count them. She taught me to fight and she relished my strength. She loved seeing herself in my face. And that, my little Eangi, is how you came to be.”
My eyes cra
cked open and I turned my good ear towards him. “What?”
“My mother decided she liked seeing herself in other beings. But the gods were reluctant to lie with her and Winter turned her away – apparently, I was something of a disappointment to him. Human mates would do for entertainment, but she would not carry their children. Instead, she wandered through the villages and began to choose her Eangi from the Eangen people. It was a bad habit, if you ask me, something she picked up from one of this land’s old gods. Ried did such things – I’m sure you know of him, a rebel my mother slew and buried in Iskir. Binding himself to so many other lives made him rather difficult to put – and keep – in the grave.”
I stared across the camp, my pain forgotten in these revelations. I knew, distantly, that I should be getting on the road, but this was not the kind of information one came across twice in a lifetime.
I said into a pause, “But the Fire is in our blood now. We’re born with it or we’re not… like red Risix hair.”
“Yes and no,” Ogam acknowledged. “My mother’s Fire can only be ignited in someone dedicated to her. But back then things were more… intentional. Those first Eangi were unstoppable. And your presence made my mother far too strong, like Ried. Fate forbade her to make more, but the Fire was in the blood by then, as you say. Short of annihilating all Eangen, it could not be stopped. But it did thin, with the understanding that, eventually, it would cease altogether.”
I nodded inwardly. Everyone knew that there had been fewer Eangi born in the last generations. “So the Eangi make – made – Eang stronger? Like Ried’s followers made him?”
“Yes.” His fingers continued to weave, drawing the hair back from the sides of my face in meticulous lines. “The Eangi make her nearly immortal, between your blood sacrifices and other… services. Nearly. Anyway, as I said, bad habits from old gods. She was stopped.”
I took a minute to digest this. “And with… with the Eangi gone, is your mother weaker?”
“Yes. Her life is tied to you little creatures, and without you, her power wanes. Think of it as a tree… My mother is the oak, your worship – especially your shed blood – waters her, and you yourselves are the roots.”
“I see… What about all your children,” I wanted to know, “do they make you stronger?”
“Stronger?” He chuckled. “I’m immortal. I need no one but myself, no need to visit the Halls – not like they do. And I do not give bits of myself to worshipers.”
“Halls?” A shadow slid between my brows at his choice of words. “Do you mean the High Halls?”
“Of course,” Ogam returned.
“Then what do you mean, the gods need the High Halls?”
Ogam started to smirk, then the expression waned into a grimace – as if he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. “Well yes, and no. It’s more nuanced than that. I assumed an Eangi would understand.”
“I’m no High Priestess,” I said defensively, though the concept of the gods needing the High Halls, instead of simply dwelling there, was absurd. Ogam had to be toying with me.
“Ah, well, you don’t need to understand. As to my children,” the god said, tugging the conversation back around, “would you like one? They’re adorable, I promise, and many of them are immortal. Parenthood is so much less stressful when they’re immortal.”
Irritation flared in my belly. “You’re wasting my time. I need to leave.”
“Ah, yes,” he agreed, sounding as if he had forgotten this fact. “You shouldn’t ride over the border. You’ll attract too much attention, a lone woman on a valuable horse. The Algatt are as thick as flies on a dung heap and the Arpa are arresting anyone near their outposts.”
I recalled Nisien’s promise to direct me to a quieter path. “Where should I cross, then?”
“I’m not all-knowing.”
I tried to glance up at him, but he prodded my head back into position.
“I will take your horse for you.”
My gaze darted to Cadic, steady and trustworthy. “I need her.”
“You need to pass unnoticed,” Ogam corrected. “And I like horses.”
I wanted to protest, but he was probably right. And I knew there was little use arguing with an immortal. “Can you take her back to the Soulderni?”
“No, I need her. She can have the privilege of being my valiant steed for… however long horses live. I get your lifespans all confused.”
“Fine,” I agreed. I licked my lips nervously; whether or not I liked or trusted Ogam, I needed allies. “But in return, I want a favor.”
“Yes, you can bear my child. Just let me finish your hair, first.”
“I want you to hear me.”
He paused in the midst of gathering my braids at the nape of my neck. “Hear you?”
“If I’m in need, hear me. Offer me counsel, if you can. Not as a duty in place of your mother, but as yourself.”
Ogam finished his work, came around, and pulled me to my feet. Thoughts flickered through his eyes and I thought he might be genuinely lost for words.
“I agree,” he acquiesced.
I smiled an almost genuine smile and lifted my hand to touch my hair. It was elaborate, multiple smaller braids pulling my hair back from my forehead and merging into a thick, leather-bound plait, but it was practical. “Thank you, Son of Eang.”
Ogam nodded. “You’re welcome, Hessa. I…” He considered the horse. “I may have a suggestion.”
The positivity in the air wavered. “Oh?”
“It seems that we both have need to cross the border. So, let us ride together.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I thought riding across the border was too conspicuous. That’s why you’re taking my horse.”
“It’s too conspicuous for you alone,” he waved a dismissive hand. “So it occurs to me that I would do better to take you with me… just until we’re in my mother’s lands.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re as difficult as the stories say.”
Ogam’s only reply was a slow, dry smirk.
EIGHTEEN
Irode behind Ogam as the Spines came into sight. Larger, grander and deeper versions of the cleft where I had camped, they brought the rippling grasses of the Ridings to an end and served as a natural border between the outer limits of the Arpa Empire and Eangen – difficult to navigate but easy to defend. On the other side were the thick forests, lush farmland and meandering rivers of home.
“Where are the Arpa outposts?” I asked Ogam, keeping my voice low. “There’s one just over the ridge in front of us.”
I stiffened. “What?”
“We need to pass,” Ogam said reasonably. “But we can’t very well scale the wall with Cadic now, can we?”
I forced an irritated hiss back down my throat. “The horse – Gods. You said… oh, never mind. But they won’t let us through. Worse – they’ll kill us. Or me, rather.”
“Hessa,” Ogam reached down to pat my calf. I moved it out of reach. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
“I think I have.” I leant around him and tried to snatch the reins. “Hold up. I’ll take my supplies and go on alone.”
Ogam held the reins out of my reach. “Woman, I’m as much a god as Eang, no matter what my mother and her court say. I can talk my way through a gate.”
I dropped from the saddle. My indignant departure was hindered by the fact that I lost my balance on the uneven ground, but I recovered. Jogging along beside the horse, I reached up to dislodge the saddlebags.
Ogam reined in and grabbed my wrist. All jesting departed his voice as he barked, “Hessa! For all I know you’re my mother’s last Eangi. I would not put you at risk. That’s why I decided to cross with you.”
I tried to jerk away but his fingers didn’t budge. “I’m not walking through an Arpa gate.”
“You’ll ride if you get back up here.”
I slipped the hatchet from my belt. I wasn’t sure immortals could lose limbs, but I wasn’t above finding out
.
That was the precise moment when an Arpa patrol rode over the hill in a ripple of hooves and flash of steel.
“Up. Now,” Ogam snapped.
I was already halfway back in the saddle, left hand dug into his belt for grip.
“Let me speak,” Ogam told me as he nudged the horse back into movement. “The only woman an Arpa respects is the one that birthed him.”
I shifted my hips, feeling the press of my sword and hatchet. “Then I already know one of their weaknesses.”
Ogam’s chest rumbled with a low laugh. “Good, Eangi. Now hush.”
The Arpa patrol split before us, three to each side.
“Halt,” one of them called in butchered Northman. “Who are you? What is your purpose?”
“I am Ogam, Son of Eang.”
A shiver raced up my spine. As he spoke a cold wind whisked around us and his skin went frigid. Furthermore, Ogam’s voice had changed. It was low and somehow hollow, like an expanse of slumbering forest on a midwinter night.
Cadic’s flanks rippled and she shuffled backwards beneath us. The Arpa horses reacted similarly, tossing their heads and dancing away. More than one of the riders darted glances at their leader as they struggled to calm their mounts.
The leader rose higher in his saddle. This was a man who had spent decades on the Rim, his face carved by hardship and sword alike. He was clean-shaven and wore a helmet, but his eyebrows betrayed tarnished grey hair.
“My lord,” he said in a tone that held just enough deference not to be offensive. “I will escort you to the gate. I must, however, alert my general before we allow you to pass.”
“To pass into my own land?”
My eye snagged on Ogam’s braids, hanging just above the level of my eyes. They were crusting over with ice.
“There is great unrest in the north. We have orders to—”
“I am the north. Do you presume to tell me something I do not know? If you hold us back, none of you will rise from your beds come morning.”
