by H. M. Long
The solidity of rock vanished beneath my feet and water crashed closed over my head. My back struck stone again, the edge of a hidden well, and I lost my breath in a gargling shout.
I began to sink, clothing and armor and muscle pulling me down. Pain coursed up my leg. My eyes flew wide and I lashed out, but another creature’s claws were anchored in my calf.
More claws sunk into my left arm, jerking, dragging me down even further. I tore a hatchet free from the brace across my chest and hacked wildly, legs spasming and one arm desperately searching for grasp on the rim of the well. My fingers found a lip and seized it.
Amid the blood and bubbles, I saw my new attacker. A second sleek creature clung to my arm, vertical eyes – nearly on top of its head – blinking at me as it bit into my flesh. A third clasped my leg with stubby paws, backed by the black depths of the well whose edge I clung to.
Two more creatures approached from the sides, their heads angled down so that their unholy eyes could track me. Almost in unison, their jaws unhinged, widening with every flick of their lithe bodies.
I saw Omaskat’s legs plowing towards me, but the creatures would arrive first. Omaskat was too far away to intervene – but he was far enough away for Eang’s Fire to burn.
Blood exploded in the water. My wounds started binding as I hauled myself upright with a cry, closing the remaining distance to Omaskat in one frantic, sodden lunge. We fell in back to back, I gasping and dripping and he watching the creatures bleed through his mismatched eyes.
Ayo pounced upon one of the twitching beasts. It was already dead, but that didn’t stop the hound from hurtling it away with a vicious toss of the head. It shimmered as it arched through the air and crashed back down into the Headwaters.
Omaskat let out a short breath and looked at me askance. “Now I’m doubly grateful you can’t use that Fire on me.”
I gave a ragged, panting grunt. “What are those?”
“I’ve heard them called Silver Seals.” He waded towards the nearest body, the one he’d killed with the knife. The creature glistened in the sunlight as he lifted it by the knife haft and suspended it, dripping, between us. “I believe one of the rivermen made them from otters, as pets. But Eang wouldn’t permit him to keep them, so he left them out here. They bred.”
I grimaced in disgust.
He pried the knife loose with a moist crack and discarded the corpse. “Let’s keep moving. There’s more out here than one riverman’s mischief.”
* * *
The day lengthened and the Headwaters spread around us in an eerie, windy hush. The springs were less active out here and the sun warmed the shallow water, but my nerves were too raw to find solace. Loose strands of hair tickled my face and I raked them back, squinting towards the shore.
Omaskat waded between me and the peninsula from which we’d come, preceded by his pole. I let my eyes rest on him, then glanced to where the dog roved, ears forward, nose questing after errant scents. They were the only other living things I could see on the Headwaters, the only movement other than the surface of the water and… the mist.
An island of ice came into view, sending thin tendrils of mist out over the water. I saw it at the same time as a strand of winter wind trailed across my cheek, pure and bracing.
“Hessa,” the wind whispered.
“Ogam,” I replied.
The stillness of the water amplified my voice. Alerted, Omaskat closed the gap between us and took up position at my shoulder.
“Do not do this, Hessa,” the disembodied Son of Winter warned.
“Where are you?” I responded, setting my pole on end like a staff. I exchanged a look with Omaskat, trying to determine whether he could hear the immortal’s voice too. He gave a silent nod.
The tendril of winter vanished. My companion and I waited briefly before I gave him a significant glance. As one, we began to jog towards the island.
The sunny warmth of the water vanished, replaced by shards of arctic cold. Frazil appeared, twisting through the water in unseen currents. Our going slowed. The dog, lighter and more agile, plowed over the streams of crystals with great, bounding leaps. We followed her trail before it disappeared, avoiding unseen wells.
A sudden crack made me spin. Ice skittered across the Headwaters towards us like lightning, freezing everything in its path and locking the surface in a sheath of frozen water.
“Run!” I dropped my pole and threw myself forward, opening the distance between Omaskat and me until Eang’s Fire could flare. Then I bolted for the island, Ayo just ahead and Omaskat barreling along behind.
I followed Ayo’s bounding leap onto the ice, landed hard and slid several paces. Omaskat arrived an instant later, his boots having barely left the water before the ice snapped closed. He fell beside me with a convincingly human, “Oof,” and rolled.
By the time he struggled to his feet, I was already in a crouch nearby, shield raised and axe resting on one shoulder, waiting.
Then I saw her.
The sight struck me like a midwinter gale. I faltered, unable to pry my eyes from the sight of my High Priestess, my mentor, locked in the ice below my feet.
She was enveloped, every hair on her head frozen in individual movement. Her tawny skin still held the color of life, but a solid foot of ice obscured the details of her condition; I could see closed eyes, an arched neck – divided by Eangi collar – and an open, screaming mouth.
The horror in her face reflected in mine as I stared down at her in growing, overwhelming urgency. I had to get her out. I had to. Now.
But she was not alone. Sixnit rested not far off, curled into a fetal position around a bundle that could only be Vistic. Beyond them, to my further shock, was Cadic. Still saddled, Nisien’s horse lay splayed beneath the ice, tail and mane frozen in a frantic bolt for freedom.
“Burn them out,” Omaskat panted to me. The dog had fallen in at his side, the thick hair along her spine bristling like a boar’s. “I’ll hold him back.”
My eyes flicked from the empty Headwaters to the ice below my feet. There was no time for indecision. I returned my axe to my belt and crouched again, this time far enough from Omaskat for Eang’s Fire to burn.
The instinct to pray hit me and passed. Instead, I tugged at my Fire, pushing it down into my hands in a hot rush. I sketched runes into the ice: one over Svala, one over Sixnit and Vistic, and the last over Cadic.
Omaskat noted my progress, his expression laced with tension. Ogam was still nowhere to be seen, but the hair stood up on the back of my neck. His voice had come to me before over vast distances before – for all we knew he could be in Souldern. But without the burden of humans or Cadic, I had no idea how fast the winds could carry him.
The bones in my arm ached all the way up to my shoulder as I pressed an open palm onto the ice between my runes. Then, gathering every fragment of Fire I could find, I channeled it into the markings.
THIRTY-NINE
Steam began to rise in thin, snaking tendrils.
“Keep going,” Omaskat urged. “I—”
His voice died at the same time as the light. Clouds locked over the sky; the broad, seamless grey of a winter storm.
“Burn,” I hissed to my runes. “Wake.”
The symbols flared. I flinched but maintained connection with the ice, which transformed into water around my fingers. The steam began to billow. All the while Omaskat squinted between me and Ogam’s oncoming storm, its mass of grey preceded by curls of frigid wind and a portentous hush.
My feet splashed in meltwater as the runes seared deeper into the ice and steam filled my lungs, prickling and constricting. Moisture began to freeze on my lashes, on my hair and clothing. I shook my head and rubbed my face on my arm, but the condensation only returned a moment later.
My breathing thinned. Before long, the miasma was so thick and obscuring that I barely noticed the snowflakes. They fell lazily at first, evaporating on my cheekbones and collecting on Omaskat’s shoulders, beard and hair.
“Be ready,” I warned Omaskat. “I need a minute longer.”
It was so strange to see him standing there, braced and prepared to protect us, to protect me. But there was a rightness to it, a consolation outside simple logic – one that even the thought of Eang could no longer smother.
I pushed these thoughts aside and divided my power further, driving a thread into Cadic’s blood. As soon as the others were free, we would need to run.
A blast of midwinter air knocked me backwards. My shield clattered away and I fell on my back, momentarily losing contact with the runes. They froze over.
“No!” I slammed both palms onto the ice as the wind howled around me, tossing my hair and the edges of my clothing into a frenzy. I couldn’t see Omaskat anymore. I couldn’t even see my own hands, though I could feel them shaking with fatigue. And I felt the heat of my runes, burning down and out from me until a great pit formed in the ice.
The roar of the wind grew so strong that, when Svala’s Eangi howl rose, I thought it was part of the storm. Only when it formed into feeble, urgent words did I recognize it.
“Eang, Eang! The Brave, the Vengeful! The Watchful, the—”
I was tired, drained, but I plunged down into the pit. The bottom was smooth rock, worn from millennia of erosion. As it became exposed, the runes had shifted into the walls of the pit around me, each line illuminated by wavering heat.
Svala was on her hands and knees, choking and praying. Nearby, Cadic, awakened early by the Fire in his veins, jerked free from the ice with a clatter of hooves and a terrified whicker. Sixnit still lay on her side on the rocky ground, her body a shield around the tiny child.
I battled the wind to reach Svala first. There was no real thought in my action; years of devotion and admiration pulled me to her, even as the sight of Six and Vistic clotted my throat with emotion.
Svala nearly collapsed when she saw me. Half-upright, her eyes darted over my shoulder, filling themselves with the surreal world of ice and steam and storm.
I was grateful for her distraction. Maybe then she would not notice how the sight of her choked me with guilt, loss – and deep, quiet ire. “High Priestess.”
“Hessa, child. Ogam,” she croaked. “He—”
“I know.” I helped her stand, bolstering the older woman against the wind. “Burn, High Priestess.”
She did. She was the strongest Eangi I knew, and within seconds her spine straightened and her eyes began to clear. Still, when I handed her my axe, her fingers shook.
“What is happening?” she asked. Her eyes flicked to the runes, still smoldering. “Did you write those?”
“Yes. There is a…” I hesitated. If Svala realized who Omaskat was, she would likely resist. “Another god above, holding back Ogam. But we need to go. Now.”
Svala asked no more questions. She stumbled towards Cadic and I ran for Sixnit.
My friend stirred as I touched her cheek but did not rouse. She was no Eangi; her time in the unnatural ice had brought her near to death.
Vistic’s heartbeat, however, was strong beneath my searching fingers. His eyes opened and through a veil of snow and ice-crusted lashes, I saw their color – one was blue, the other gold. The exact reflection of Omaskat’s.
He turned those eyes upon me and, for an instant, I forgot the storm. I forgot my fear and my guilt and everything else, lost in the gaze of the uncanny, inscrutable infant. When had his eyes changed? Had they always been this way?
“Hessa!” Omaskat bellowed over the wind. “He’s here!”
I tore my attention from Vistic and pushed Eang’s Fire into Sixnit’s veins. Her eyelids flickered open, but I gave her no time to pull herself together.
“Sixnit, you need to ride.”
Sixnit looked down at Vistic, fumbling to ensure he was safe.
“Hessa, now!” Omaskat bellowed. “Take them and go!”
Svala flinched towards him, fingers tight on her weapon. “Hessa, send the girl and the child on. We’ll—”
“No,” I stopped her. “We have to go with them. We’re in the Headwaters. Take Sixnit and the child on the horse; head for the shore, as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind.”
Svala looked down at me, still holding Cadic by the bit. With the swirling snow behind her, I could almost imagine us back in Albor on a winter’s day.
Then the Son of Winter roared. The snow became shards, lashing at our eyes and stealing our breaths away.
“Take them and go!” I screamed to Svala. “I’ll be right behind you!”
Something flashed through her eyes. Anger? Questioning. Pride? Then she beckoned Sixnit.
I scrambled back up into the storm, jerking a hatchet from my brace as I went. I saw Omaskat’s running form on the other side of the island, obscured by the tempest, and my shield protruding from a growing bank of snow. I took it up at the same time as Cadic, with Svala and Sixnit astride, clattered out of the pit.
“The shore! Which way is the shore?” Svala called to me. One of her hands tangled in Cadic’s mane and the other rested on the beast’s neck, feeding the wild-eyed steed Eangi strength.
I pointed, Svala spurred Cadic and the maelstrom swallowed them whole. I spun my shield lightly, testing the strength of my tired body, and cast Omaskat one last, hesitant glance. Then I started after them.
A frigid hand dug into my hair and hurled me backwards. I slammed onto the ice and skidded, ending in a frenzied tumble of shield, hatchet, snow and limbs.
I threw my shield up as Ogam fell upon me. I growled in shock and frustration, bracing the shield with both arms. It cracked. His booted foot slipped and, flinching, I momentarily lost sight of him in the snow.
There. A dance of white braids and the blur of pale grey kaftan. I loosed an Eangi battle cry, crackling with Fire, and hurled my hatchet.
Ogam roared again. The sound left no doubt as to whose son he was: it was the crack of ice on a winter lake and thunder of an avalanche in one bone-cracking blast.
His boot came down on my throat this time. I dropped my broken shield and scrabbled, clawing at his foot one instant and my last hatchet the next. I tried to throw more Fire at him, but the boot barely shuddered and black sparked across my vision.
“I should have killed you the day I found you.” The Son of Winter bent low, his words piercing through the wind. Blood streamed from his nose, eyes and ears, crusting over with frost – Winter’s immortal silver blood, unlike the rest of the gods. The Miri.
My Fire had only angered him. With his impossibly blue eyes boiling, Ogam now looked nothing like the mischievous being I had encountered in Souldern. “Fate and her meddling be damned.”
Ayo hurtled out of the snow in a streak of black and grey. Her jaw clamped down on Ogam’s head and pulled him sideways, providing just enough of a distraction for me to wriggle away.
Ogam threw the dog back. She hit the ice with a pained yelp and skidded off into a blur of snow.
My mind clacked and stuttered. I struggled onto my hands and knees and tried to stand, but Ogam backhanded me. I crashed down again.
A hand grabbed me under the arm and hauled me upright, but all I could see was a haze of black sparks. I sensed Omaskat more than I recognized him, with his squared shoulders and swirl of hair.
Ogam laughed. His voice was loud, clear, and charged with the power of the storm itself. The fringes of his kaftan rippled around him, silver and red embroidery flashing in the white. “Even if I can’t kill that whelp, I can imprison him until the end of time. And with both the last Eangi dead, my mother will fall.”
“I will not.”
A new voice ruptured the storm. Beyond me, a dozen paces to every side, the wind and snow began to twist and swirl into a tornado. The wind fled from our vicinity, leaving us locked in its heart. Air rushed into my lungs again and what sparks of Eang’s Fire remained in my body flared and bucked.
Omaskat released me, hiding his mismatched eyes behind an upthrown arm. Simultaneously, Ogam’s head whippe
d around.
A new figure appeared. The Fire inside me knew her, even if she was disguised by the snow. Her gait was predatory as she circled, her every muscle moving with uncanny grace. Legendary twin axes rested in her hands and bronze armor was cinched over a tunic of pure black.
A blind, ecstatic rush swept over me. My head cleared, a lifetime of prayer, of service, of blood sacrifice and songs beating back my own screaming conscience. This, this magnificent creature, stalking unaffected through the storm, had to be a goddess. The goddess of my people. The goddess who owned my life.
My exhausted muscles eased, strength returning to me in a warm rush.
Go. Eang’s voice resonated through my body like a drum. Help Svala. I will see to my son.
Blindly, soullessly, I started to step backwards.
Ogam hurled a blade of ice at my throat.
Omaskat’s axe knocked it out of the air, and as soon as he neared me again, Eang’s hold broke. My own mind rushed back and I staggered into the raging wall of snow, throwing my arms over my head and toppling out into the ice-locked Headwaters on the other side.
Omaskat was a second behind me, stumbling to a halt with his face still concealed. Eang, occupied with her son, naturally did not follow – nor even seem to realize who Omaskat was.
Instead, beyond the stormy wall, I heard Ogam unleash a torrent of hateful curses in a language I did not know. Eang responded, her voice thrumming in my head, as the storm turned in on itself. It streamed in towards its master in a great icy rush, then shot into the sky.
I felt Eang follow the storm. The wall of white disappeared entirely, leaving me alone on the ice with the snow-caked Omaskat and the limping form of Ayo.
An oppressive silence fell between us. The late afternoon sun shafted down through the clouds, glinting off the ice in his hair and beard as his mismatched eyes found mine. I saw caution there, along with a grim question.
Ayo limped over. He reached out a hand and rested it atop her head.
I knew what his look meant. He didn’t need to voice it, because the same question clutched at my heart. Now that I had seen my goddess in the flesh, would my mind be changed? Would I throw myself at him, here and now, and bury my hatchet in his chest?
