Eve of Snows: Sundering the Gods Book One

by L. James Rice

  As the wardens dismounted and tethered their horses to a hitching post, he noticed the tinker’s wagon and three riders. The same people he’d seen when leaving the monastery days ago, only this time Eliles was with them, clad in the robes of a priestess. He ran to them, his eyes engaged with the girl.

  He grabbed her horse’s bridle to slow the beast’s prancing. “We almost had the Sliver of Star, but we failed. They fulfilled the prophecy?”

  “They tried. But they didn’t have the Sliver.”

  Ivin cocked his head. “We saw a high priestess with a deadly magic.”

  The lanky man he’d seen riding the cart dismounted and strode to him. “Master Dareun told us it’s not the Sliver. With you and your men we might still stop what they’re doing, but I want these ladies out of the monastery.”

  Eliles glared at the man. “I’m not some baby bird you need carry cupped in your hands.”

  “I promised Dareun I’d help you, sweet girl, and that doesn’t include taking you back to that tower. Stay with Ilpen, please.”

  Ivin loved her courage, but wanted to protect her more than his own life. Thunder bellowed from the heart of Istinjoln, and his eyes darted to the tower. “Let’s go.”

  Ivin trotted into the dark streets with Solineus taking the lead.

  The wardens followed with the tall woman he didn’t know. He cast his eyes back several times, thankful he didn’t see Eliles among them. A whiff of smoke and honey caught his nose and grew stronger as they approached, a smell familiar after the Crack of Burdenis, an odor he’d never forget, and one that brought a chill to his soul.

  When they reached the edge of the courtyard, they weren’t alone. Guards from the walls, monks, priests, and folks more common stood and stared, dumbfounded. A couple hundred paces away a priest hovered in the air, his robes billowing in eddies of translucent light twined with Shadow that streamed between him and the six robed priests around him. One stood out.

  Ivin looked to the Wolverine. “Dunkol?”

  Pikarn nodded and spat. “Puxele, think you can put an arrow in the fat bastard’s back?”

  “I’ll do one better and put it in the flying man.”

  Ivin said, “Bad idea.”

  Puxele smirked. “You don’t give all the orders ’round here.” She trotted through the scattered gathering, nocked an arrow, and let fly without a single holy bothering to stop her.

  The arrow arched into the light before disappearing and Ivin sprinted forward as she nocked and loosed another. The arrows suspended in the sky above the floating priest who must be Ulrikt. He grabbed her shoulder. “It’s no use.”

  She stared at him and snarled as she nocked a third arrow. “This one’s for Suvarn.”

  Ivin let go her shoulder and nodded. The taut string sang in his ear and he watched the arrow soar, a lower trajectory which split the middle of the Broldun’s head. But the man didn’t fall, slump, or run, Lord Priest Dunkol raised his arms with the grace of a priest beseeching his flock to rise, and looked to the eye of the Fire Lion. Tendrils of Shadow slithered from the wound around the fletching jutting from his skull, and his voice thundered with inhuman volume that made Ivin’s ears ache. A chant of rhythmic, guttural roars Ivin didn’t understand, but their intent he felt: They called for power and spoke of doom.

  A crackle of energy vined up the light in the sky and formed an oblong halo higher than the tower’s peak and four times as broad. Ivin grabbed Puxele’s shoulder and pulled her toward the wardens, churning their feet but unable to take their eyes off the sparkling spectacle.

  A ribbon of black within the aura of light expanded, contorting and wriggling. The patch of black tumbled to land at the Broldun’s feet, a living Shadow splayed on all fours like a crouching wolf.

  The wardens and the stranger stared in horror as Ivin and Puxele returned.

  Ivin said, “Get to the horses, we’re too late.”

  Pikarn bellowed, “Fall back!”

  Everyone fled but the two strangers. Ivin put his hand to the man’s shoulder. “We can’t fight these; our swords are nothing to them.”

  The man thrashed his shoulder free of his grip and looked at him, without fear, but eyes full of desperation. “We must kill Ulrikt.”

  A wailing shriek pierced the commons, driving them to cover their ears. When he glanced behind them, eight clawed fingers with nails the size of grown men stretched a gap in the fabric of the universe, and Shadows spewed through the opening, plummeting to the pavers as dark splotches of rain. A great green eye appeared in the opening, a malignancy of evil hoping to find its way into their world. The first Shadow rose and attacked, striking a nearby monk, and a cacophony of chaos rang in their ears as prayers smote the creatures, appearing to kill several as they dissipated, but the surviving Shadows slithered and spread, ducking into buildings and attacking priests and monks in their paths.

  “Not here, and not now. We need to regroup and pray the priests can handle this.”

  The tall woman grabbed the man by his shoulders and spun him to look in her eyes. “You have not failed, not yet. There is hope, but he’s right, we need to leave this place.”

  The stranger’s determination faded and with a sullen nod he turned, trotting to the bailey with Ivin and the lady on his heels. The Wolverine, Rinold, and Puxele waited for them, mounted, but the rest of the wardens were through the gates. Ivin leaped into the saddle, eager to leave this fight to the holies.

  Pikarn asked, “What’s going on back there?”

  An explosion rocked the monastery, and Ivin’s horse reared. He reined his mount’s head into its chest, regaining control. “A hell, maybe all the hells, I don’t know.”

  Ivin spurred his horse into a canter and rode through the gates, passing a number of common people, cooks, stable hands, and sundry others who labored for the holy, until reaching the tinker’s wagon with its donkeys clopping double time.

  Ivin twisted in his saddle, watching as people flooded from the gatehouse, many opting to slide down the steep bluffs along the road to faster reach the distant town below. He hated leaving them, but this was a fight steel and sweat couldn’t win.

  The stranger rode beside him, offered his hand. “Solineus Mikjehemlut of Clan Emudar.”

  The man’s last name rang familiar, clan-blood. Ivin clasped forearms. “Ivin Choerkin.”

  “A Choerkin, perfect.” The man’s smile felt sincere, a pleasant surprise these days. “It’s a dark day, but you and me, we’ll persevere and kill every last one of those sonsabitches.”

  The man wore plain gear, and carried a sword several decades old judging by its hilt design, but Ivin loved his attitude, and it was infectious. “We’ll meet up with the Colok and see what we can do about that.”

  “Colok? Who’s Colok?”

  Ivin glanced to the man, puzzled. “Not a person… You’ve never heard of the Colok?”

  The man’s eyes turned to his saddle horn with a nod. “Oh, Colok. Understood.”

  The man was off in the head maybe, but his courage couldn’t be questioned. Priest magic and Colok claws were the only thing he’d seen so far able to hurt the Shadows. He prayed there was at least one more thing.

  37

  RUNNING WOLVES

  WHISKEY WASHES RAINING FIRE AND FISH,

  Whiskey washes raining Fire and Fish,

  turbid waters turning, learning

  The sermon’s shadow, turning back Shadow.

  What have I? I have nothing but what you do not.

  The nothing no one needs or wants but still will die for,

  Distilled in the universal still, pure alcohol, pure life, pure death,

  I have nothing but the end and beginning of all things

  That should never have been.

  —Tomes of the Touched

  Ivin and the wardens led the group from Istinjoln before leaving the road to find their camp, where Tokodin sat idly by the fire waiting for them. Ivin had forgotten the monk in the race to Istinjoln.

&n
bsp; Ivin said, “Good to see you in one piece.”

  Tokodin’s face bore a haunted grin in the fire’s light. “Staying alive is staying smart.”

  Thunder from the monastery, and Ivin couldn’t argue the man’s logic, only his courage. Men and women were dying, others taken by Shadow to kill their friends and colleagues. The horrors in Istinjoln were just beginning if the priests didn’t destroy the threat.

  Ivin dismounted and popped his canteen, the dribble of bracing water that remained chilling his tongue and cutting the dry in his throat. He pulled a hooded lantern from his pack, held it facing Eliles and it lit without saying a word. The Colok would see the light and arrive soon. He eyed Lelishen, the tall woman with a strange name. “You said something about hope back there, what hope?”

  The woman smiled and took a deep breath, he soon learned why. “Well, back when I was a wee tiny girl my aunt taught me things, she was a priestess in Istinjoln as some here know, well, she taught me bits and pieces of High Silone.” The man he knew as Solineus looked near busting a gut as he listened to the woman’s prattle. “That’s the tongue some few priests still speak during rituals if you don’t know, and well, so… long story short that big thing with the green eye that looked like it was trying to get through that there gate? Would you call that a gate? Well, it needs the Sliver of Star to get through. Which apparently they don’t have.”

  Eliles said, “Then Dareun was right.”

  Ivin asked, “Who’s Dareun?”

  “My master. He was executed for assassinating Ulrikt, but he was innocent.”

  “Ulrikt is dead?”

  “No, the gem they believe is the Sliver raised Ulrikt from the grave.”

  The Wolverine grunted. “How many piles of horseshit do I have to wade through to find out what the hells is going on here?”

  Solineus said, “I spoke to Dareun’s ghost after Ulrikt sundered his soul. He managed to tell me they had the wrong artifact. I’ve no idea how he knew.”

  The Wolverine’s face froze in a smirk before he replied. “Are you shittin’ on me? Shittin’ on me, really?”

  Solineus fumed. “Look, old man, all you need to know is Ulrikt declared Holy War on the clans when he rose from the dead.”

  Pikarn stalked to the man, staring up at him. “Old man, is it?”

  “An old man dumber than a shit-covered horseshoe if you think you want to pick a fight with me.”

  Ivin coughed. He’d never imagined anyone giving Pikarn lip, and despite the man’s ill-fitting armor and old sword, he thought Solineus might be able to back his words. Pikarn’s chest puffed, fingers trembling by his side.

  Ivin shoved between them. “You’re both pissing blood to kill something, but neither of you are the enemy.”

  Both men glared but backed off.

  “Aye, my apologies,” Solineus said.

  Pikarn paced. “So this dead guy, this ghost, what else did he say?”

  Solineus shook his head and leaned against his horse. “Mostly, he wanted this girl safe and made sure I knew to get the hells out of Istinjoln.”

  “If they don’t have the Sliver, they’ll be after it, then.” Ivin tried to remember the names listed in the lord priest’s scroll. “What were there? Six names listed for tombs they needed to search?”

  Tokodin said, “Five: Ximfwa, Cimdine, Komdwom, and Extek, plus one unnamed.”

  Eliles said, “I burnt a scroll with a couple of those names, only the nameless mausoleum remained unexplored. Something about ‘Wakened Dead’ inside.”

  Pikarn gazed at Eliles as if noticing her for the first time. “Do I know you, girl?”

  Eliles smiled, her eyes turning to her feet. “We met once before.”

  “Sure as hells we have. Good to see you survived Istinjoln.” He relaxed, his tone more sober. “So, some godsdamned crypt in the Steaming Lakes holds this Sliver. Maybe. Guarded by the Wakened, what the hells? What godsdamned good does that do?”

  Lelishen said, “The Shadows and Taken will go there to bring back the Sliver. Just me, maybe, and I’m crazy and all, but I don’t think that’d be much of a good thing.”

  Ivin asked, “There a chance this Sliver could destroy what the priests wrought?”

  Eliles said, “I don’t think a soul here can answer that, but we can’t let them get it either way. That thing loosed on the island? There’d be no hope.”

  The Wolverine said, “Then we head for the Steaming Lakes to kill or die.”

  “No,” Ivin said, and he endured the Wolverine’s scowl. “I need you at the Fost. My uncle needs to know what’s going on and you’re the man he’ll believe.”

  Pikarn snarled but nodded. “Makes sense. Ain’t gonna be no easy trip north, and you’ll be racing Shadows and Taken. Don’t envy you, boy.”

  Tokodin said, “Zjin’s got three wolf sleds, they’d haul one or two men each.”

  “Well, Monk, you just volunteered. Who else is goin’?” Too many hands rose, but only one surprised him: Eliles. Ivin’s heart was in his throat, and he ignored the girl. “Puxele, I want you and most of the wardens getting back to the Fost, and make sure this fine tinker gets there safe, too.” He glanced to Puxele and cut off her protest. “I’d appreciate it if you paid special attention to this man’s safety with that bow of yours.”

  Puxele twisted her head and smirked. “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

  “Much obliged, friend,” Ilpen said. “Gods know Ears and I need to get back to the family.”

  Solineus said, “No way in the hells I’m not going, and don’t discount this woman, she’s been useful.”

  Ivin nodded, glanced to Lelishen. He didn’t like it, but her knowledge of languages might be useful. Eliles stepped forward, her eyes boring into him, but he stared right back. “No, we’ll need more steel in a fight.” And he wanted her safe.

  “If a storm hits the tundra who’ll keep everyone warm, a sword or me?”

  “Tokodin has prayers, too; he’ll suffice.”

  The monk laughed. “My vote is for One-Lash over every one of you. Rest of you are fodder.” The monk spun on Solineus. “Except you, you scare me.”

  Solineus asked, “Do we need this one? I’d prefer two more swords.”

  Tokodin retreated from the man. “That wouldn’t hurt my feelings, not at all. I’m volunteering to ride to the Fost.”

  Pikarn said, “Much as I’d prefer him with me, take the Squirrel with you.”

  Rinold grinned. “I’m in, if’n you say the word. I’m for anything keeps me from town.”

  Ivin nodded to the tracker, as the donkeys and horses brayed, pawing the frozen ground, and everyone’s eyes looked into the darkness. “Colok are getting close,” Ivin said. Or at least that’s what he hoped. “We’ll have Colok and wolves with us, you might need more bodies than we do to make it south. Rest of you get moving, we don’t want the animals spooking when the Colok arrive.”

  They shared handshakes and hugs and said their goodbyes until the party of six stood alone on a dark hill with their horses. Ivin clutched his shoulders, shivering and impatient for the Colok to arrive. He looked around, everyone seemed comfortable despite the howling winds, and he wondered if he were the only one who got cold. He wandered to Eliles’ side. “Anything to keep us warm?” A fire appeared, hovering in the air, and everyone huddled around it.

  Tokodin stared. “The rumors of you were true, you’ve mastered prayers of Fire. Prayers without words at such a young age.”

  Eliles looked to the turf. “I am blessed by Sol.”

  “So you are, my dear, so you are.” Lelishen’s voice caught Ivin’s attention, and he detected a hint of humor, but he didn’t have time to consider these nuances.

  Zjin trotted into the far reaches of their light and stopped before Tokodin waved him closer.

  Ivin smiled at the giant. “Zjin, this is Eliles and Lelishen, and over here Solineus and Rinold.”

  Solineus looked the creature up and down. “No wonder we don’t need more swords
.”

  Zjin growled, “Eliles, Lelishen, Solineus, Rinold.”

  Lelishen stood with her mouth open and her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, how I’d love to spend time with you and study your language.”

  Tokodin pursed his lips. “They aren’t all warm, furry hugs like you might imagine.”

  Ivin said, “Zjin, we need to go to the Steaming Lakes, to the priest camp. Fast. Could you take us by sled?”

  The Colok licked his teeth. “Danger.”

  “You might’ve been right, these Shadows might have a lord, but it hasn’t made it to our world. We need something from the lakes to keep it out forever.”

  Zjin stared, his fur flowing with the winds whistling over the hill. “Lost many.”

  “You’ll lose more if we don’t stop this lord.”

  The Colok’s clawed feet dug the ground, and he sighed. “Come.”

  They followed the Colok, a company ten strong, until they reached a crumbled tower half buried in snow. Ivin figured it was an outpost for the wardens in summer months from the bales of hay stacked in a corner, and makeshift stable worthy of an overnight stay. They led their horses inside.

  Zjin stood in the doorway. “Rest. Sleds. Morning.” The Colok left them.

  They fed the horses and made beds of hay and blankets for themselves and the sun rose so soon Ivin felt he hadn’t slept. Zjin rousted them from their makeshift beds and led them outside. Ivin had seen Tundra Wolves pulling sleds when heading for the Ambush Chokes, but he’d never been within a couple strides.

  The lead wolves were twelve hands at the shoulder, he’d swear, and their tongues lolled between yellowed fangs the length of his finger. The largest dogs he’d known in his life were half the size of these beasts, and even the angriest mongrel lacked the intensity of stare these wolves gave him with every step he took closer.

  Tokodin climbed over the edge of a sled and leaned into the handle bar with hands clutching the top rail and looked downright comfortable, so Ivin fought his nerves and climbed onboard with a team of seven man-eating wolves casting glances over their shoulders at him.

  He took Eliles’ hand, and she eased onto the cushioned seat, leaning into his chest. He kept his hands on the rails and took a deep breath, not sure whether the wolves or the girl made him more nervous. “I prefer a horse.”