The world became very still, the potentials of magic swirled all around her, then exploded outward. There was the sound of shattering ice crystals, thousands of them. A flash of blue-green light, like that seen from the inside of ice-caves. A whiff of the sharp, wet scent that comes just before snow starts to fall.
And it was there.
It brought with it none of the theatrical freezing of leaves and swirling of eddies of ice-fog. Not now, and not with her. It knew that it was in very, very deep trouble. And although it was one of the four named winds, it also knew that a powerful enough set of human magicians, or even a single Great Mage, could hurt it, or even imprison it. The Sammi were well known for imprisoning and releasing Winds—though only the most powerful and terrible of Sammi magicians would dare to imprison one of the named winds—so it stood to reason that a Godmother could do the same.
After all, once, long ago, a great and evil Witch of the Sammi had imprisoned the Sun…and had kept all four of the Winds in chains.
So the North Wind huddled on the ground in a spreading pool of ice-fog at Aleksia’s feet, looking rather like a ghost, although a good bit more fantastic. In form, it looked like a skeletally thin, long-nosed man. Its hair and its beard were spines of ice, and its “clothing” did not move at all, being basically only the North Wind’s imperfect mimicry of clothing. It had an extremely long and pointed nose, with, as the final touch, an icicle permanently clinging to the end of it. And just now, it looked utterly miserable and quite afraid.
“Do you know who I am?” Aleksia asked, not loudly, but with great intensity and just a little magic behind the words.
The North Wind shivered, cowered and wailed—a sound like a hundred lost souls. Ice crystals formed at the corners of its eyes and tinkled down its cheeks to fall with little ticking sounds into a pile in the snow. You are the Snow Queen, the Godmother Aleksia! It wept. Do not harm me! Do not chain me!
Well that was a satisfactory reaction. “Perhaps I should melt you instead,” Aleksia replied threateningly, allowing one hand to glow with a heat spell.
The North Wind wailed again. I am sorry! I am sorry! I lied to the mortal women!
“Yes, you did. Did you think I would never find out about it?” Aleksia’s voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “You lied, and about a Godmother! You placed the deaths of dozens of mortals at my doorstep. I will be blamed for this, and mortals will come here looking for revenge. It was not enough that you lied, but you compounded the lie by bringing trouble down on my head! I am not amused!”
She did not go further and say what she wanted to—that she had now been marked as a murderer of dozens of innocent people—because the North Wind was not mortal and did not much care what mortals lived or died. In fact, the North Wind was personally responsible for many, many deaths every year, most of them, by any standard, innocent. Murder was a way of life to it; whatever this Icehart creature was, it didn’t care how long the Icehart continued to kill. It cared only that she was angry, and it was only interested in somehow wiggling out of the situation it found itself in,
Don’t hurt me! It cried pitifully. It shivered uncontrollably as she glared down at it.
“Then tell me why you lied!” she snapped. The creature cried harder, more ice-crystals ticking onto the pile. Its shivering increased, and it shrank in on itself.
I—I—I cannot!
“You will,” she countered viciously, scowling down on it and allowing the heat spell to flare up in her right hand. There was a lot of satisfaction in this, truth to be told. It gratified her to have the thing so petrified of her. “Tell me who put those words in your mouth! You will—or you will pay! I can make your life far more of a misery than the one you are protecting can!” Of course, these were hollow threats. It wasn’t as if a Godmother was allowed to torture anyone—or anything. But the North Wind didn’t know that.
I dare not!
Aleksia growled, and held up her hand, glowing with heat and light.
With a cry of despair, the North Wind hid its face in its hands. Aleksia extended her hand toward it—
Loviatar.
She paused. This must be a name, but it was not one that she knew. “What?” she replied. The North Wind whimpered in abject defeat. She had won her bluff, and now she had a name.
Loviatar, it repeated, its glance flitting about now as if it expected this person to materialize at the first hint of the name. She is a Witch.
“I gathered as much,” Aleksia said dryly, as the Wind hid its face in its hands. “More detail, if you please.”
The North Wind peeked up at her cautiously through its fingers. She is beautiful. Very beautiful. And very angry—almost all the time. She will be furious with me when she finds out.
“Angrier than me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes dangerously. She noted with further satisfaction that the Wind grew a bit more transparent at that.
The North Wind shivered.
She lives to create pain, chaos and confusion, the North Wind said, from behind gritted teeth. She especially hates men, Mages most of all. She has been destroying as many as she could, sending them to the Underworld on impossible quests, setting monsters on them. Lemminkal and his brother, Ilmari, decided that he should take the young apprentice into the wilderness to train him further, for he had gotten beyond the mere monster-slaying and fiend-binding they could do near their home. They are great Heroes, are the Heikkinen brothers, and their fame has spread far into the North. The Witch Loviatar saw a chance to slay them, and corrupt the young Hero, and she took it. She has taken the boy. I do not know what has happened to the men. I only know that she has the boy in her thrall.
“And why compel you to lie to those women?” Aleksia asked, with perhaps more venom in her tone than she intended, for the North Wind shrunk back in fear. “And why lay the blame on me?” That was one thing that sorely puzzled her. There seemed no reason for the lie.
Do not punish me! I had no choice! She was going to bind me in a cave forever with chains of fire, as my brothers and I were bound once before! She can do it! She has great power!
Aleksia frowned. “I still do not see why she chose to lay all of this at my feet. It makes no sense—”
She was more or less speaking her thoughts aloud, but the Wind answered her anyway.
I do not know! I do not know! How can I fathom the mind of a mortal, and a woman at that?
Well Aleksia had some ideas, now that she knew a little more of the shape of this situation. Certainly Veikko’s mother and sweetheart would tell others what had supposedly happened to the boy, and they would tell others, and soon it would be spread far and wide, as she had foreseen. Such a tale would not be kept quiet for very long; that was the nature of such things.
And then the Heroes would come to the Palace of Ever-Winter, looking to defeat her. Such was the nature of Heroes. The Tradition itself would aid and abet them, even though Aleksia was actually the innocent victim here.
Now it was one thing for Aleksia to take the occasional young man off and teach him much-needed lessons. They always came back. They were usually much the better for it, or at the least, sadder, but much, much wiser. Real Heroes understood instinctively that she was doing much good, even if they were not already aware that the Snow Queen was a Godmother. That was the way of The Tradition, too; that young men who deserved it got their comeuppance. There were many Elder Princes who returned, chastened, to the family fold when a Godmother, or The Tradition itself, tempered by the hand of a Godmother, got done with them. No lesson of that sort came without some pain.
It was quite another thing for her to imprison or slay two great Sammi Heroes and their apprentice, to kill whole villages in the night with ice-magic. The other Godmothers would call her to account; Heroes would come to destroy her. And even if they knew she was a Godmother, would assume she had gone to the bad and come to take her. And yes, she was powerful, but there was only so much she could do to defend herself without hurting those who were acting in good cons
cience. And, yes, it was possible that she would hurt or kill someone in trying to protect herself. Even if she did not, she would be weeks, months, perhaps even years, in proving that this was not her doing. While she was defending herself and clearing her name, she would not be doing her job. And then, how many young girls, twisted by the insistent pressure of The Tradition, unable to fit the path it wanted for the good, would themselves go to the bad? How many would wind up in the hands of evil magicians to be drained and die? How many young men would turn cruel and hard and become monsters? How many innocents would go unrescued?
And Ilmari, Lemminkal and Veikko—if only she had not given up her watching! She felt guilt and anger and an upsurge of grief at the thought that they might be dead. And that, too, was her fault. She would be called to account for it, one way or another.
The thought made her shiver inside. But not visibly. The last thing she wanted to do was to betray any signs of weakness to this creature. She must keep the upper hand here.
This Witch Loviatar was not all-seeing. She had not guessed that Aleksia had already found her out. Aleksia glared at the North Wind, but behind that glare, her mind was working quickly. The Tradition preferred that evildoers be overconfident, when they were not so paranoid and self-protective that they were inclined to slay someone on mere suspicion that he might be an enemy. It appeared that this Witch was of the former sort. I must keep things in that path, was the one clear thought in her mind. And that meant dealing with the North Wind in such a way that Loviatar would not detect her, nor anticipate that she was coming, nor plan against her meddling.
This was a very great risk. The North Wind was not a mere human, and certainly was not one of the lesser elementals. But—
“She will punish you, even if I do not,” she told the North Wind, her voice silky with menace. She rather thought that her deception would hold up, since the North Wind had never dealt with her before. It did not know what she would—or could—not do. It had no idea of her power, and what was more, it was used to dealing with something that was completely evil. “You know this, or you would not be so afraid. And you know that if you see her, she will have that out of your mind—you cannot possibly conceal such thing from one such as her.”
The North Wind wailed; she had thought it was afraid before, but now it was nearly mindless with fear. I must hide from her! Hide! It made as if to flee, but Aleksia still had its magical “leash,” the summoning, and she metaphorically jerked it back to her side. It flattened itself against the ground and tried to blend in with the snow at her feet. Whatever, whoever this Witch was, she must be terrible and powerful to frighten the North Wind like this. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was a demigod. If so, she would need some help in being rid of it.
Then again, there were two Heroes and an apprentice out there. If she had not killed the Heroes outright, there could very well be some help here for her. She must definitely research this in the archives. If there had ever been a similar situation, she needed to find it, and figure out how to make The Tradition work for her.
Meanwhile, given that the North Wind was so terrified of her and the Witch, that it would do anything, she was going to take full advantage of the situation. “If you run, she will chase you. If you hide, she will find you.” She smiled nastily. “I would.”
By now, the poor North Wind was shaking so hard that all the icicles of his hair and beard were rattling together like glass reeds in the wind, and the one on his nose broke off with a metallic “chink.” What will I do? What will I do? It clawed desperately at her hem with translucent blue hands. Under any other circumstances she would have felt sorry for it. But it had brought this situation on itself. You must save me, Godmother! It is your duty! You must save me!
“Save someone who betrayed me?” She widened her eyes as if in astonishment, and chuckled dryly. “So you think you are dealing with some soft creature like a Godmother of the South? I am the Snow Queen, as cold as ice and as hard as the rock of my mountain! Don’t you know I have no pity in me?”
Please! I beg of you! Have mercy! The poor thing was really reduced to a pitiable state now. She had rarely in all her life seen anything so consumed with fear and desperation. She hooded her eyes as it wept copious amounts of ice crystals. So demoralized was it that it even forgot to maintain its ice-fog. Now it was just a translucent blue caricature of a man, with comical hair and beard, emaciated and helpless.
Finally, before it was reduced to babbling, she spoke again. “Very well. I will save you—”
Now it was all over the hem of her dress again, kissing the cloth, blubbering its thanks. Have I ever had any creature abase itself so much to me? She couldn’t remember. This is remarkable. She would have to research the archives to see if any other Snow Queen had had such an experience. Truly, this was a reasonable revenge for what it had done to her; she enjoyed it for a moment, then cut it short with an upraised finger and a single command. “Silence!”
It went as still as a windless day, ironic since it was a wind. It even stopped moving altogether, looking now like a grotesque ice-sculpture clinging to the hem of her gown.
She became incongruously aware of how wet and sodden her gown was, with the chill and wet almost all the way up to her knees now. Small wonder the Sammi women wore the dresses and breeches that they did.
“You must give me a piece of yourself,” she said, flatly. “You must give me a piece of your memory, the memory of my summoning you here, of you telling me about Loviatar, and of my agreeing to help you. You will lose that piece forever.”
It hesitated, for to a creature like the North Wind, only imperfectly tied to the world and unable to have possessions as such, its memories were everything. Even bad ones. Its memories were the map to tell it what to do should something like this arise in the future. But it hesitated only for a moment. Then it bowed its head to her. I give my consent.
“Let go of my dress.” When it had released her hem as if the thing burned it, she called up her warming spell and infused it into the velvet. The gown steamed for a moment, drying quickly in the arid air of the heights. With a sigh of satisfaction, she wrapped her magics around herself again like a cloak of power, and prepared another summoning, although this one was not so much a summoning as an invitation. One did not summon a god, even if it was a very small god. That sort of arrogant behavior rather well got one in trouble very quickly. And she must phrase her invitation in a very different pattern—the chant of the Skald and not the rhyme of the Bard.
Harbinger of storm and battle, black-winged, bright-eyed secret keeper, will you grace me with your presence, swift all-seeing Memory-holder?
She knew that the North Wind could hear her; his eyes widened as he realized what she had meant. It was not possible for him to become more deferential, but he certainly became quieter. They waited. Presently, a distant, mocking sound echoed across the snowfields and a black speck appeared in the sky. The speck grew larger and showed itself to be a bird. A great, black bird.
A Raven. But no ordinary Raven, as she and the North Wind both knew. This was a very special bird, one of a pair—they did not “belong” to the being that they aided, but they served as his eyes and ears on all of the world that gave him worship and regard.
Aleksia stretched out her arm as the Raven approached, and it landed heavily, talons biting into the fur and velvet of her gown and coat. “Greetings, Munin,” she said, bowing her head to him. “I thank you for your attendance.”
Quork, said the Raven derisively, then made a chuckling sound as it looked down on the trembling North Wind. There was no doubt that Munin was amused to see the North Wind in this state. Then again, in the past, the Wind had probably tossed the Raven all over the sky just for the malicious amusement of it. Small gods were not powerless, but their powers were very narrow; it was unlikely that Munin had any means of retaliation against insult by the Wind—until now.
“Indeed.” Again, she bowed her head. “I crave a boon and grant you
a gift with one and the same act. We give to you a piece of memory, this creature and I. This is a piece, not for keeping, but for your own devouring. Not for the One-eyed, but for you. Not for sharing, but for consuming. You will, however, need to extract it with great care. No one must be able to tell that the North Wind’s memory was tampered with. I know that you, and only you, have the skill to do this. Do you consent to this?”
She had just offered the Raven called Memory something that he rarely got—for it was his duty, his function, to serve as the repository for the memories of the One-eyed Father-God of the Skandians. It was his duty to whisper those memories into the One-eyed’s ear when they were needed, as it was the duty of his brother Raven to read the thoughts of mortals and immortals and whisper those into the One-eyed’s other ear. And yet, Munin yearned to consume those memories; they were, for him, the same as the flesh of the fallen for the lesser Ravens of the earth. Only rarely was he granted such a treat. And this! It was the memory of a creature not mortal at all! Such a feast as he had not been presented with in—surely a hundred years.
Ravens are by their nature, greedy, even demigods in the shape of a Raven. So The Tradition arranged things; the outward appearance dictated the inner self. And having been offered such a thing, he could not resist it. Quork! Qwa, qwa, qwa! he assented, head and shoulders bobbing with eagerness.
“Then go, feast, and work with skill upon this creature’s mind.” She held her arm out and he bounced from it to the North Wind’s shoulder. “You may take the memory from the moment he left the Wise Woman Annuka and her daughter-to-be until the moment you and I both leave him. Only this much, and no more—but you will find it flavorful with fear, I think, and with the echoes of magic.”
Inside, she was feeling as alive and excited as she had ever been. This was all new ground she was breaking here, using her knowledge of the creatures of the North and all that they stood for. Rarely did a Godmother ever get to forge whole new paths, even small ones! It was as hard now to keep her icy demeanor as it had been when she was livid with anger.
A Tale of the Five Hundred Kingdoms, Volume 2 Page 41
