Eve of Snows: Sundering the Gods Book One

by L. James Rice

  “My Lord, that’s not possible, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “My words carry the weight and will of Ulrikt. Do you question my wisdom?”

  Meris shook her head, and the Face took a seat in the stars with the Fire-Lion’s constellation framing his head. “I’ve been observing your sky for weeks. What do you see behind me?”

  Weeks? Meris’ heart jumped and wavered. What face had this person been wearing? What secrets might it know? Had he witnessed Ivin’s reading? “The Fire-Lion, to his left the Winged-Viper—”

  “What is out of place? You have stared at these stars too long if you do not see.”

  Out of place? Stars are never out of place. A twinkle of light caught her eye. “A comet?” Its appearance was a mystery, she’d never seen its like before. A new star didn’t make sense. It was an impossibility that hung in the night, a ball of light, smaller than most stars, to the right of the Fire-Lion. “It has no tail.”

  “Not a comet, not a star, a Messenger from the Celestial, a harbinger for great change. Upon the Eve of Snows it will sit as the eye of the Fire-Lion, and the followers of Sol will rejoice like never before. It is written that the Road of Living Stars will align, and the gods come to rid our people, the Silone, of their enemies.”

  “What enemies?”

  The lips twisted, narrow then pouting, fading to pale blue. “The bears, the elk, any foolish animal which will not bow before their rightful king.”

  Confusion mangled Meris’ thoughts, then fear. The Choerkin Clan would be the bears, and Clan Emudar the elk, and Lord Priest Ulrikt the king. She hadn’t studied the prophetic scriptures for fifty years or more, preferring the immediacy of cracks in bones to scrawls on a sheep’s skin, but one thing was clear, the Face spoke of forbidden texts she had never set eyes on. He spoke of the Codex of Sol and its mysteries, of Holy War. Rumors of the tome spoke of dozens of contradicting prophecies, and she hadn’t a clue of which one the Face spoke, but she feared to show her ignorance. Meris straightened her jaw and met the Face’s disturbing gaze. “I see, My Lord. And why reveal this to me? Am I to observe or cast bones?”

  “You will travel to Istinjoln for the Eve of Snows.”

  The last time she’d left the Watch was for a wedding in Choerkin Fost twenty years ago; she couldn’t recall the last time she’d traveled as far inland as Istinjoln. “My Lord, I will be ninety-five in a matter of days. I-I—”

  “Come spring you will be a young girl again, bathing in the fires of Sol. Lord Priest Ulrikt commands your presence to break bones for the great celebration, and feast to celebrate a glorious future.”

  It didn’t ring true, and she proved she still possessed nerve. “There is more?”

  “There is.” The Face’s visage twisted into a silent, gape-mouthed scream, but said nothing more.

  “What?”

  “You will know.”

  “And if I don’t? If I fail?” Suspicions and doubts pounded blood through her veins, and she hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt.

  “Failing me is to fail Lord Priest Ulrikt, and Sol himself. You will live the eternity in the fires of the Slave Forges with no faith in your heart, for I will have smitten it from your breathing breast.”

  A serious threat to her soul coming from the Lord’s Face. Meris trembled. She’d suffered threats such as these decades ago when training at Istinjoln, and though frightful, they never carried this venom and weight.

  She answered the only way she could muster, uttering a phrase of devotion from her acceptance into the priesthood. “I am hardened in the forge fires of Tezmanu and quenched in the salted waters of Zinmil, my metal is not to be questioned. I will know.”

  The voice became feminine and sultry, lacking the threatening quality of moments before, but it sickened Meris to the depths of her soul. It was the voice of the Lady Pineluple Choerkin, Kotin’s wife, who’d died in Meris’ arms during childbirth. “Even to the doom of my sons?”

  Meris fought anger and disgust, and did her best to stare unflinching into the face of a woman long dead, a woman she’d befriended.

  And murdered.

  “My metal is not to be questioned.”

  10

  AFLOAT IN AN EPHEMERAL SEA

  You complain of not remembering, whilst I complain of not forgetting.

  How I wish I could forget what I see each day I Awake!

  Tremble. Scream. Rage.

  I have gazed into the eyes of the First Dragons

  And they into mine,

  And it was for me that they wept,

  He who will never forget.

  —Tomes of the Touched

  Thirteen Days to the Eve of Snows

  Open my eyes to blue.

  His thoughts echoed the fading memory of a deep, yet feminine, voice. A flicker later he awoke to a universe of brilliant undulating blues marked by streaks and swirls of shading grays, the colors washing over and through his body and soul in stringy waves of energy like cool, wriggling worms. No sun. No moon. No stars. The light of this universe was soft and sourceless.

  His feet rested one upon the other with straight legs, and his arms stretched perpendicular from his body. He tried to look at his toes, but found his head immobile, only his eyes moved. Fingers and toes wiggled at his command, but they tingled and felt disconnected from his being.

  Am I dead? Am I alone? Deep in his gut resided a confidence which dismissed both these possibilities. He released a deep breath to relax. There was exhalation, but his chest didn’t move, as if experiencing breathing as memory instead of reality.

  “Might you be dreaming, my love?” Feminine, sultry, and passionate, the voice came from everywhere or nowhere at once.

  “No.” His voice too came from an unknown, haunting origin as his mouth didn’t move.

  “You are wise, my love.” Despite the proclamation, he realized love wasn’t a term of endearment, but a phrase without emotional attachment.

  “Who am I?”

  The presence swallowed him. “Wouldn’t you rather know where you are?”

  “Where I am doesn’t matter without knowing who I am.”

  Awareness of the omnipresence became acute, smothering, as she spoke again. “You are Solineus Mikjehemlut, of the Clan Emudar, a Silone warrior in a long line of warriors and sailors.” The voice coalesced in a dance of eight white sparks funneling to a single point.

  His memory was vacuous, it denied every word. “I’ve never heard the name.”

  “Irrelevant, my love.” The man who now thought of himself as Solineus was in awe as an indistinct haze shifted and flowed, molding into a woman more beautiful than he conceived possible. Her eyes read the depths within his soul, but they didn’t pierce, they took him in, soothed his being until snuggling into every thought.

  “You are Solineus Mikjehemlut, of the Clan Emudar, a Silone warrior in a long line of warriors and sailors.”

  Solineus struggled against the warmth of the woman’s gaze. “Where am I, then?”

  The woman smiled with teeth of polished ivory. “You are afloat in Purdonis Bay, territory of the Clan Choerkin. You were upon the Resten when it struck ice and sank two days ago. Soon, you will wash ashore, upon the island of Kaludor.”

  Kaludor, the name felt familiar. “I am dead then?”

  “No, my love, death is not for you.”

  “Then where am I?”

  “I am sorry to confuse you in these ways, my love. You are now upon a rocky shore, safe. The waters are cold, but cold you will survive.”

  Attempting to shake his head resulted in frustration. “No, my consciousness. Me. Here. Where am I?”

  “I will not confuse you so much, so soon.” She leaned in, the warmth of her being palpable so close, and kissed him on the forehead.

  SOLINEUS AWOKE with a chill in his bones and a lip-shaped burn upon his brow. He’d never felt so cold, with icy waves slapping his bare feet and calves. His breath came with a start, and his eyes sprang open to a w
orld more gray than the one he left, the cloud cover hazy and absolute.

  He rolled from his back on the rocky surf, propped himself on his elbows. His body was stiff and sore, and he groaned from the exertion to stand. He stared at bare feet, wiggling his toes, then his hands, making fists.

  Giggles caught his ear, and he raised his head. Two young girls stood side-by-side, clad in roughspun robes, carrying baskets of clams. From their blue-gray eyes and long, straw-blond hair to matching hand-on-hip postures, he decided they must be sisters.

  He did his best to smile and spoke, hoping they shared a common language. “Greetings.”

  “Hello,” the eldest girl said, speaking the same language as he spoke, the same language as the woman from the dream-state.

  The younger chose blunt words. “You’re naked,” she said as she pointed at him.

  Naked? The concept struck him as outrageous, but when he looked he realized more than his feet were bare. He blushed, a sensation so foreign it felt the first time he’d done such a thing.

  Wide-eyed and embarrassed, he covered himself the best he could as the elder girl removed her scarf and tossed it to him. He snatched the rough wool from the air and wrapped it around his waist. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Alu, and this is my sis, Kinesee.” She smiled, expecting him to say something.

  He stared at the girls with a blank brain, stared too long, as they grew uncomfortable with his gaze and silence. “My apologies.” He shook his head and released a breath. “I’m Solineus Mikjehemlut, I sailed upon the Resten. We struck ice, and she sank, and I find myself washed ashore. I fear my memories are a bit… confused.”

  The sisters relaxed, but they stayed silent until young Kinesee chimed in. “If Father were here, he’d invite him to sup.”

  Alu nodded. “But Father isn’t here, and we don’t know to trust him.” She appraised him with a squint. “Still, we shouldn’t leave him to nature this way. If we lead you home, do you swear to stay thirty paces behind us the entire walk?”

  “I swear, with gratitude for your kindness.”

  Alu took her sister’s hand and led the way while Solineus fell in a safe forty paces behind. “You’re Silone?”

  Kinesee laughed. “Of course, silly.”

  And Alu hushed her little sister.

  Solineus cursed himself under his breath. “I meant, of course, Clan Choerkin? My brain is still cold and slow.”

  “Yes, but we ain’t clan-blood if that’s what you mean.” Alu glanced back. “What clan do you hail from?”

  “Emudar.”

  “Father says the Emudar are good and honorable to trade with,” interjected Kinesee.

  Alu was having nothing to do with her sister’s platitudes. “I know nothing of them.” She glowered at her sibling.

  Solineus kept his mouth shut and his eyes anywhere but on the girls so they didn’t catch him looking. A gray sky, a gray surf, and gray rocks interrupted by evergreen shrubs and patches of tall grass. Not a single landmark was familiar; however, such a stark and simple landscape, it didn’t seem foreign, either. He spoke their language, he looked like them… would two young girls accept him as one of their own if he wasn’t?

  He rubbed his head in search of a welt or bruise and found pain. Could the woman from the swirling pale and his lost memories result from a blow to the head? Logic suggested one conclusion: He was Solineus Mikjehemlut, of the Clan Emudar, a Silone warrior from a long line of warriors and sailors.

  Nothing else made sense.

  A thin trail of smoke rose above a ridge to the north. They climbed a winding trail up a short bluff and the children’s home came into view. Round, single storied, and constructed of the region’s common gray rock, it stood in the midst of a wide array of greenery, including blooming purple monkshood and sunflowers. A broad, single door faced the sea and a massive chimney rose from its peaked center. Chickens ran free, feeding on sparse vegetation, and a few hens peeked from a coop nestled on the conical slope of the home’s roof.

  A woman spotted him behind the girls and ducked into the house. He stopped and waited for the girls to tell his story.

  A bearded man walked from the home, a knife at his belt and a triple-barbed spear more for fishing than war in his hand. The man spoke with the girls then walked Solineus’ way, stopping a safe distance in front of him.

  The man appraised him with a squint identical to Alu’s, a family trait he guessed. “Should I fear an unarmed, naked man?”

  “Solineus Mikjehemlut, indebted to those girls for a simple cloth.” He gave a modest bow.

  The man raised his voice to make sure his youthful audience would hear. “They are good girls who’ve normally the wits to not bring strangers home. One is near twelve but you’d guess her half that from her stubbornness, while the other is fourteen and thinks she’s the elder of this home. If they don’t mind my words, they’ll be sleeping with the chickens.” He cast the girls a glare and pointed to the house. They darted through the door.

  “I hope my people would do the same for you and yours if fate were so unkind.” Truth, even if he didn’t remember his people.

  The man grinned and nodded. “Fate is kind and cruel, to throw a man into the icy waters of the Strait, and still see he survives. Most would be dead. Yet here you stand, without a chill, wrapped in little more than a loincloth.”

  Solineus struggled for a convincing answer and stammered. “I can’t explain my luck, either good or bad.”

  Alu trotted up with woolen tunic and pants. “Here, Father.”

  He took the clothes and offered them to Solineus. “To the fire, Alu.”

  The girl trotted back to their home, dragging her sister inside with her.

  The scratch of wool was foreign but its warmth welcome to his bare skin. “My thanks.”

  “I’m Iku Koest, father to these girls, and Second Voice of the Fire in our home. You are welcome, by my word, so long as you guest with honor.”

  “I appreciate the hospitality; maybe someday I can return the kindness.”

  Iku gestured to the door. “Join me by the fire.” The thick oak door was reinforced with iron and led into a corridor, marking the walls several paces thick. Wide open space greeted them, except for wood and fur structures pressed against the outer walls, through the flaps of which a few curious eyes peered at him. In the center of the home sat an open stone hearth with a fire.

  Iku led him to the fireside and sat on a simple, three-legged stool. The man didn’t invite him to sit.

  Solineus said, “An impressive home.”

  “Our family is fortunate to have shelter where we may stay safe and welcome strangers.” Solineus acknowledged this with a nod. “What ship were you on?”

  “The Resten.”

  Iku’s face fell into solemnity. “I’ve hailed the Resten, a fine vessel and respected crew.”

  “I reckon I’ll miss many, once my memory returns.”

  “A man’s memory, a blessing and sometimes a curse,” said a hoarse voice from behind him.

  Solineus turned, catching the gaze of a frail woman hunched by her years. Her leathered face bore decades of wrinkles, and her ears and nose were too large for the rest of her face, but her black eyes remained keen. She walked with a staff carved with owls and vines, and which stood two feet above her brow, its fur-wrapped base silent as it plied the floor.

  Iku gestured. “Ielu the Matron, First Voice of the Fire, this is Solineus Mikjehemlut of Emudar.”

  The woman shot Solineus a cockeyed squint. “Do you know what year it is? It is the five hundred and second year of Remembered Time, over five centuries since all the world’s peoples lost their memories. The Great Forgetting, our priests call it.”

  “What’s this to do with me?”

  “Some say it’s an auspicious honor, bearing a moniker beginning with our Lord Sol’s name. We of the Choerkin do not believe this. My people believe it is arrogant, insulting.” Ielu ambled to the fire and took a seat, her eyes pinned on him.
“Pray, what were the parents of a man thinking to name their child so?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “It is not a sailor’s name, Solineus.” She stressed the Sol until her voice slid into a deep bass. “Sit. Warm yourself.”

  Solineus stepped toward a bench, but she corrected him. “On the stone and dirt. You have the welcome of our fire, but not our wood. Not yet.”

  So he sat cross-legged on the floor. “I never claimed to be a sailor.”

  “You are no sailor, I already told you. Your wits are gone with your memory? No. A boy with such name is clan-blood or the child of a famed warrior. Both. Your parents were prideful, or their priest convinced of your greatness.”

  Iku moved to sit beside Ielu. “I’ve heard of chieftains who consult oracles on the birth of their children, breaking bones to discover the child’s name.”

  “I wish I could tell you.”

  Ielu smiled with crooked teeth. “Some say the Great Forgetting was a punishment, others say a cleansing of the sins of mortals.”

  Solineus put the weight on her scales. “What do you say?”

  Her wrinkled mouth curled into a smirk. “I say nothing. I accept the Great Forgetting, but leave the moral judgment to my betters. A fool looking to impress might choose a name such as yours when pulling himself from the waves, adding memories lost to forget and cover their sins. Are you such a fool? Desperate to impress? Were you punished or cleansed?”

  Solineus appreciated the way this woman did battle with words despite being her target. “I might be a fool, but I feel no need to impress. Nor lie.”

  Ielu stared with a blank expression, but her mouth retained an unnerving smile.

  He cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the silence.

  “If your name is true, you are either a man with a future deemed blessed, or the son of braggart fools who is a fool himself, and maybe a liar. I heard of a man born and named Solik. The bones declared he’d rise to rule. He wailed as an infant about his destiny until the stake burst from his throat. His blood watered the grass and stones, the true destiny bones didn’t reveal.”