Eve of Snows: Sundering the Gods Book One

by L. James Rice

  The aura died in a splash of gore and the priest with the Sliver spurred their mount, charging headlong for the oncoming wardens riding in from the southern choke. The priest’s hood flew back, long black hair flowing, a woman. Her hand raged in the white aura as she bore down on the wardens.

  Ivin screamed, “No!” And the gods seemed to listen, even if nobody in the Omindi could hear him.

  The priestess vanished.

  The wardens reined hard, confused, their mounts spinning in chaotic circles.

  Ivin and Pikarn screamed in unison. “Loose!”

  Only ten or so holies remained alive, standing as awed as everyone else. But they weren’t going down without a fight. Arrows and rocks ricocheted off prayer magic, but more Colok scaled the cliff walls, and the mounted wardens recovered to charge forward.

  Ivin looked to Pikarn. “Gods be damned, we’ve got to find that priestess.” He sprinted south, cutting across open ground until stopping where the Omindi twisted in front of him. He slid to a stop, lungs heaving billows of fog. The priestess rode down the trail with an open road to the foothills.

  Puxele and Pikarn slid to his side.

  Ivin said, “To the horses.”

  Pikarn nodded. “Wardens in the foothills’ve got no idea what’s comin’.”

  The foursome ran to a copse of trees and untethered their horses and mounted, joined by Tokodin, Zjin, and a handful of Colok, along with the wardens who tended the steeds.

  Ivin leaped into the saddle, reined his horse, shouting, “Stay with me, if we catch her we’ll need every hand.”

  They rode hard until they reached a manageable trail leading into the Omindi. They lost precious time getting down the slope in one piece and pacing their horses was another consideration. The wardens’ horses possessed a speed advantage over the short-legged pony, but mountain ponies possessed uncanny endurance.

  Ivin imagined a massacre in the foothills if the wardens confronted the priestess. The whirlwind of blood, the disappearing act—the artifact gave the priestess powers Ivin hadn’t imagined. Unless they put an arrow through her, dropped her mount maybe, they’d be chasing her fifteen leagues to Istinjoln. And what the hells would they do if they caught her? Fight and die, he supposed.

  They’d need fresh horses from the foothills or Ervinhin for a race to the monastery. Their horses were lathered, even in the cold mountain air, and they slowed to a trot.

  SAGEBRUSH, jagged stone, and boulders dominated the entrance into the foothills. Heads popped from hiding as they thundered into the gap. The wardens were alive, their arrows pointing at the Colok warriors running beside Ivin.

  They reined their horses to a stop and Pikarn bellowed, “Quiver them shafts!”

  Ivin called, “Seen a priestess?”

  The group of wardens pinned their eyes on the Colok, and no one spoke.

  “A priestess, godsdamn it! Did a holy ride through!” the Wolverine fumed.

  “No sir, we seen nothing.”

  Ivin swung from his horse. “Bring us fresh animals.” He looked to Zjin. “How are you and your people holding up?”

  The great bear’s chest labored from the run, but he gave a curt nod.

  Pikarn moved to Ivin’s side. “What’re you thinking?”

  Truth? Ivin figured they’d failed. “We send the Colok straightaway toward Istinjoln, save them some distance. We’ll take fresh horses to Ervinhin, send word to the Fost… remount and ride for Istinjoln.”

  “Aye, sounds good.”

  Puxele asked, “What’s the point? No way we catch her now.”

  “Her pony could pull up lame, she might get cocky, a Shadow might kill her… We don’t give up now.”

  Tokodin said, “I’m thinking the woman is High Priestess Sedut, you put arrows in her pony and she wouldn’t let it go down. Odds of catching her?” He spat, shaking his head.

  Ivin glared at the monk, judging the man. He figured the holy was as trustworthy as using a viper for a sling. “There’s hope. If we can’t catch her, we need to be there, try to get an idea of what the hells is going on. With me?”

  They all nodded, except the damned monk.

  “Couldn’t I stay in Ervinhin?”

  Ivin would love to leave him behind. “No, we might need your help.”

  Fresh horses arrived and they mounted. “Zjin, head for Istinjoln, rest in the foothills and we’ll be along fast as we can. If you catch her, do what you can, but don’t get killed for nothing.” Zjin nodded and he and his people leaped over rocks, disappearing east. “Those who are staying here, keep your eyes open for any priest for several candles yet. Should be more wardens coming, too, I hope. A lone woman, a priestess, kill her, no questions, no delay. Detain or kill any others.” He spurred his fresh roan and they trotted southeast.

  THE SUN FELL toward the peaks of mountains in the west as they entered the gates of Ervinhin. The sky was cloudless and promised a frigid, windless ride through the night.

  Puxele paced as she waited for fresh horses and full canteens; the remaining wardens stood stiff and tired. Ivin overheard a couple grousing about fighting beside Colok, but didn’t address their worries. He couldn’t blame them. To a man they’d fought Colok since joining the wardens, lost comrades to the creatures. Now they relied on them as allies against the Church.

  Fate shoves food in your mouth— “Your choice whether to swallow or spit it out.”

  Pikarn cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “What’s that?”

  Ivin chuckled. “Something Kotin told me.”

  “Thought it rang familiar. Your old man has a way with words.”

  “Who’re your best three riders in town? We need to get word to Lovar at the Fost.”

  “And tell him what? We started a war with Istinjoln and probably every holy on the island? Better to ask which three riders I like least, sending them into that hellstorm.”

  Ivin grinned, point taken. “Either way, track them down and get them horseback soon. No written word, don’t want a letter falling into the wrong hands. Have them warn every waypoint on the road as they swap horses, too.”

  The Wolverine nodded. “Aye. I’ll see to it.”

  Puxele grinned at him, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Look at you, pulling Choerkin rank and giving the old man orders.”

  Ivin flushed and scowled. “I’d rather be taking orders.”

  The woman winked. “I’m just shittin’. But mind how your words sound to those who don’t know what’s going on.”

  Damned if Puxele didn’t have the right of it. Last thing they needed was strife within the wardens. “Thank you.”

  She scrunched her nose and blew him a kiss he interpreted as “You’re welcome.” He smirked and turned his back to the wind as they waited, wondering how in the hells they got to this point in such a short time. In a matter of days he’d gone from bickering with his dad and brothers on the Watch to the bloom of a holy war with him stuck in the middle. When Meris and the cracked bone spoke of war it struck him as hyperbole, but all those cracks, had they spoken of this?

  The clop of hooves on pavers rattled him from his musings. Several wardens led a dozen horses covered in extra blankets for the night’s ride.

  Twelve riders and five Colok against a single priestess, if they managed to catch her, and still he didn’t like the odds on winning that combat. If she made it through the gates, well, they’d have to deal with failure then.

  Packed with gear and food, including grain for their steeds, the wardens rode out the eastern gate as the last orange rays of sun faded on the horizon. The ride in daylight with fair weather took six candles at an ambling gait, but at night with temperatures plummeting, and needing to keep an eye out for signs of the high priestess, Ivin figured they’d be lucky to see Istinjoln by daybreak.

  The winds picked up a candle from town, blinding them with drifting snow despite clear skies lit by moon and stars. Men and horses ducked their heads, hiding their eyes from the onslaught. Two candles out the weather defeated
them, and Pikarn asked the Squirrel to lead them to a cave to wait out the winds. The tunnel was tight but opened with space enough to sleep thirty and their horses. In a dry alcove in back they found kindling for a fire to thaw their bones.

  Rinold sat staring into the flames. “Coldest godsdamned year in my memory. Shouldn’t be like this outside the mountains.”

  Ivin glanced from the Squirrel to the melancholy monk as Tokodin rubbed his hands over a fire. “Would even a high priestess travel in this cold?”

  “I’d say no, were these normal times. But…” He shrugged, shaking his head. He reached into the folds of his robes and produced dice carved from bone, three white and one black, and a small silver flask.

  Ivin asked, “Whiskey?”

  The monk blew on the dice in his hand and rolled them on the floor, but Ivin couldn’t see the results by the light of the fire. “Sadly empty.”

  Ivin nodded. “I never was much for games of chance.”

  Tokodin chuckled. “You’re a wiser man than me.” He stuck the dice and flask back in his robes.

  Ivin flopped his bedroll on the hard floor and rested his head, watching smoke billow as it hit the ceiling. “We lost our one chance in the Chokes.”

  No one disagreed.

  34

  BEATEN TO THE KILL

  Yap and flap, noisy bird,

  wallowing in the snake’s shadow

  of pointless pity,

  corn-worm in apple,

  dragon in snail’s shell,

  haunting spirit in living man’s body.

  —Tomes of the Touched

  Two Days to the Eve of Snows

  Solineus understood the monastery’s reputation as a foreboding place of power. What he didn’t understand was the tense silence. When they arrived on the nineteenth, the gates were open and welcoming. Priests and monks were jovial, looking forward to the celebration. The guards were loose and rested.

  Everything changed on the twentieth. Guards were doubled on the walls, tripled by the gates, and eyes drooped from the extra work overnight. Wagons came into Istinjoln, but not a soul left, not even the peasants who lived in the village a candle’s walk south.

  Something had happened, but not even a rumor managed a whisper from those tunnels. He doubted the guards knew a thing and pressing one for chatter might be his undoing. Ilpen’s young friend hadn’t reached out to the tinker yet with most of the holy folk locked in their badger hole. Any chance to learn of this place lay in ruins. He’d be forced to rely on luck instead of guile to reach the lord priest.

  He’d hoped Lelishen and her pilgrimage would unlock some doors. She prattled to any holy who’d listen, but even when priests were plentiful, they didn’t care a lick about this woman, Firde, or her journey to see the shrines of Istinjoln. They didn’t allow her a stride inside a sacred building. It was as if people didn’t make pilgrimages to this holy place.

  Random musings may have struck the truth—he needed to converse with the woman. Time spent with Ears the Elder grew tiring anyhow; after all, the old donkey made no claims at being a great conversationalist. He rubbed the critter between his namesakes and stepped outside.

  Solineus rounded the stable’s corner and a young woman in priestly robes came from nowhere, plowing into him. She gasped and ricocheted to her rump, staring up at him with striking green eyes Solineus would never forget, despite the change in robe colors. The same girl who’d broken Lelishen’s charade.

  Solineus smiled and offered his hand. The connection clicked so hard he wanted to slap himself for not seeing it earlier. “Are you Eliles, by chance?”

  Her hand took his, a puzzled look crossing her brow as she stood, rubbing her shoulder. Her eyes were blue now, making him blink before dismissing the oddity.

  “Ilpen spoke of you as we made our way to Istinjoln. A good man, full of chat.”

  She dusted herself. “Yes, yes, I am. And he is. Is Ilpen nearby?”

  The girl’s tension came from more than bumping into a stranger. “I don’t know, but I’m sure he isn’t far. Anything I can do?”

  She fidgeted, glancing around the yard.

  If she uttered a word everything she wanted to say would come pouring out, if he could just pump the well. Solineus put a hand beneath her chin, raised her eyes to his. “Whatever it is, you can trust me. As we’re friends of Ilpen’s I’ll keep your words as my own.”

  Her cheeks quivered before a flurry of whispers. “My master, my master confessed to murder. Murder of Lord Priest Ulrikt. I was there, I saw it, the bone exploded. He couldn’t have done it.”

  Solineus stared at the girl’s flapping lips, but heard nothing else. Well, how was that for a son-of-a-bitch? He traveled for days to come and kill a man he figured nigh on impossible to reach and somebody beat him to it.

  She continued. “They’re going to kill him, I know it. I’ve got to save… avenge him.”

  Solineus shook his head. “Whoa, girl.” The frantic look in her eyes as she rambled tore at him. He grabbed her shoulders. “Eliles.” She looked to him, tears welling. “Slow down and think.” Think of what, by the gods? “What can we do to save him?”

  Her blank stare turned to tears, and he pulled her into a hug. A desperate girl to return the embrace of a stranger, she needed more than he could give. He looked around, aware hugging a priestess might raise eyebrows, and spotted his savior. “Ilpen!”

  The big man raced to Eliles faster than Solineus would’ve imagined and swept her into his arms. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  Solineus kissed the girl on the head, patted her shoulder, and walked fast as he could from the stables. His heart raced and his teeth gnashed; crying girls robbed him of reason. Thank the gods Ilpen came along.

  Deep breaths retrained his focus, and instead of wandering he turned for the storehouses. The maze of crates and sacks brought in for the Eve of Snows would give him a quiet place to think. Ulrikt dead. Could the Lady from his dreams be so wrong? Even if the lord priest survived, he wouldn’t so much as piss without a guard.

  The rhythm and tenor of Lelishen’s voice, like someone trying to shake the chirp out of a sparrow, ended his pursuit of silence. “I so much want to see the shrine of Elinwe; it would mean so so much to me and my family to light a candle for Firde.”

  Solineus followed the noise until he found the woman trying to coerce some poor monk into letting her into lower Istinjoln. The poor man’s eyes were wide, she grabbed his shoulder every time he tried to flee.

  “Could you at least light a candle for me?”

  Solineus came to the man’s aid. “Light a candle for which Firde?” The monk bolted, shoes flapping on the pave-stones.

  Lelishen turned a frown on him. “I do so adore you, but you shouldn’t be interrupting a lady’s conversations such.”

  “Mmmhmm, maybe so. But you aren’t getting into those caves any time soon, not by invitation anyhow.”

  “What font of wisdom did you drink from?”

  “You recall the girl, the one who looked like one of your Firdes? Turns out she’s Ilpen’s friend.” Bringing up the girl focused the woman’s attention, now to knock her off balance. “Someone assassinated Lord Priest Ulrikt.”

  Her eyes scrunched. “Well, that does paint a grim picture of my visiting the shrines, doesn’t it?”

  The twittering bird faded from her voice, but how to take advantage. “How do you say your name again?”

  “Lelishen.” The accent changed, she caught her inflections and her frown morphed into a wry smile. “Is he truly dead?” There was no hint of the woman he’d listened to for candles on the wagon ride.

  “I’m not half so clever and truth is better than a lie. Pilgrims don’t make it into Istinjoln’s shrines, do they? What are you doing here?”

  “You first.”

  He tried for a straight face but surrendered to a laugh. He glanced around to make sure no one watched. “Oh, I don’t think so, lady.”

  “You mustn’t want to know.”

/>   She turned to walk away, but he spun her by the shoulder. The withering glare and balled fist suggested she wasn’t used to being manhandled. He dug his fingers into her and leaned to whisper his last weaponized truth. “I came here to kill a man who’s dead.” He let go of her shoulder and strode down the aisle. He expected her to say something to stop him. She didn’t. He would’ve paid the few songs he held to know the look on her face, but he held resolute and didn’t turn around.

  He stepped into the courtyard, stopped for a deep breath. To hear himself say those words, uttering the truth, removed a weight from his soul and he hoped, put it on hers.

  Her voice came right next to his ear. “We should talk.” The woman was quiet as a cat when she wanted, that’s for sure.

  She led him into a box canyon built from crates and eyeballed him. “By whom?”

  The ugly question he hated to answer struck him again, he grew tired of sounding like a lunatic. “A woman who visits in my dreams. I washed ashore with no memories, except… she visited the first time while I was unconscious, floating in the bay, and told me my name.”

  She didn’t laugh at him, he figured that was a positive, but she studied him. He gazed into her brown eyes until they turned a dark blue with flecks of silver, no longer human. He blinked and she returned to normal. “You experienced a Forgetting.”

  “The Forgetting was five hundred years ago, if it was even real.”

  “Very real.” She pulled a chain around her neck to reveal a charm. “Inside is my name, and other personal notes like family and friends. It isn’t unheard of for localized events to strike, erasing memories. Do you think this woman lied? After a Forgetting, the mind is impressionable, it’ll seize any name given it.”

  “At first, but I met a man who knew me.” He spoke of Kinesee and Alu, the family who succored him, as well as the sailer from Emudar, and after she listened intent, he asked his question. “Now who the hells are you?”

  She smiled as she weighed her words. “I am sent here by the Edan to observe the Eve of Snows, nothing more. I had hoped to learn more, but alas…”