Ice Shards

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Bits of dried grass occasionally poked through the snow that blanketed the mountain. What rock we could see was dark and granite-hard, peeking out through the windswept snowbanks. We were reaching the highlands here, where the glaciers took hold and the alpine regions started in earnest.

  The ice would be problematic in places, though most of it was rough and chunky. Not easy to navigate but easier than the smooth, hardened shell that streamed in long fingers down the mountain. The Skirts of Hel would be grueling to cross, even with our gear.

  I thought over what we’d brought, but our mountaineering gear was limited. I’d assumed I’d be keeping on trail. I’d forgotten what harsh territory the craggy peaks around the temple really were.

  Roz knelt beside me. “Take heart. I know what you’re thinking,” he said, staring at the expanse of ice before us. “We’ll find a way across.” He stood, turning to address Howl. “Where are we headed?”

  “See that dark mouth against the rock, under the overcropping ledge up there?” Howl pointed to a barely visible splotch against the mountainside. If we could just hoof it without worry, we’d be there in ten minutes. But with the landscape reminiscent of a frozen lava field, it wasn’t going to be so easy.

  “I can see where it is. I can take Iris and Camille through the Ionyc Sea and meet you there.” Smoky shrugged. “Easy enough.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Camille said. “I don’t fancy trying to work my way over that ice, and night is coming.”

  Howl gave him a nod. “That would be best. But let me go on ahead. My people would not welcome you kindly without my presence. Rozurial, how will you fare?”

  “I can travel through the Ionyc Sea, too. It’s easy with a visual marker.”

  And so it was settled.

  Howl leapt forward and, in midair, became a huge white wolf, transforming in the blink of an eye. He stood shoulder high to Smoky, gigantic and fierce with red eyes and a swishing tail. He gave us a long look, then turned and bounded across the ice as if it were nothing. Within minutes, he was standing at the edge of the cave, waving to us.

  Smoky wrapped his arms around Camille and me, and we flashed out of the snow, into the Ionyc Sea. The shift was abrupt, and if I had not experienced it before I might have been terribly frightened. It was like we were in a bubble, and the outer world had turned to smoke and fog around us. Before I could adjust my thoughts, though, we were standing near Howl, so quickly that Camille and I were both left breathless.

  Howl nodded as Rozurial appeared beside us. “Handy travel, it is. Come, follow me and do or say nothing until I have introduced you. You are in my home now, and you will show respect for my people and my ways. They are leery of dragon folk,” he added, looking at Smoky. “Dragons have been known to carry my wolves away and eat them.”

  “Wolves eat cattle, too, and sometimes people,” Smoky said. “It is the way of the world.”

  “Aye, it is the way of the world, but here we will all eat venison stew.” Howl smiled, then, ducking his head, led us into his world.

  AS WE FOLLOWED him into the cavern, a strange glow took hold of the walls—faint like blue topaz, sparkling with a cold magical fire. The cavern extended far back into the mountain, with a high ceiling, and glistening stalagmites and stalactites shimmered their way to meet in the center, forming walls and chambers.

  A rimstone pool sat in the center, but instead of being filled with hardened calcite, the water was clear and fresh, and warm—I could see the steam bubbling from it. Howl must have a way to heat it from below the floor.

  Eye catchers floated lazily throughout the chamber, and everywhere we looked, wolves of all sorts sat, resting, watching us. Several men sat among them, strong and bare-chested, with six-pack abs, long, flowing black hair, and eyes that glowed topaz like Morio’s—who was a youkai-kitsune. I looked for women but saw none. But scent on the wind told me they were here—females of the Pack. I had the feeling they were remaining in wolf form, protected from the sight of outsiders.

  “This is your court,” I said, suddenly understanding.

  “You are observant, Lady Iris.” Howl motioned to the men and they crossed their arms across their chests and knelt as the Great Winter Wolf Spirit passed by them. We followed in his wake, first me, then Smoky, then Camille and Roz behind her.

  Howl stopped by a stone worn smooth into a throne. He slid off the heavy fur and, bare-chested but with a wolf pelt around his neck, took his place on the dais. With the headdress and pelts off, he reminded me a little of the Autumn Lord. His hair was jet-black streaked with silver, now that I could see it, and his eyes were the color of chocolate, dripping with gold flecks.

  He was vivid in that unearthly way the Elemental Lords had, and as I gazed at him, surrounded by his people, I slowly dropped to the floor, kneeling. Beside me, Camille and Rozurial had done the same. Smoky stood tall but inclined his head.

  Howl rose, then looked around at his people who gathered to watch—in both wolf and human form. He held up the staff that had been lying by his throne, with a handle made of wood, inlaid with bone.

  “Listen well. These four are under my protection. Lord Iampaatar, Rozurial the incubus, Lady Camille, and Lady Iris walk under my cloak. Let no one who honors me lift paw or hand against them.”

  There was a collective shuffle, as if the Pack wasn’t sure what to think, but then—as one body—the men standing by him went down on their knees, heads thrown back, exposing their throats. The wolves in the hall rolled over, all of them, onto their backs, again exposing their bellies and throats.

  Howl took a long look around the chamber at every throat that had been presented. “On pain of death, you have submitted to my will. Remember well, my people.”

  He clapped and the wolves returned to attention. “Now, will my wife come forward? I wish to present you to our guests, my love.”

  Slowly, one of the largest, most beautiful white wolves rose and padded forward. In the blink of an eye, she shimmered, and a woman stood beside Howl. She was short—about five five—and sturdily built with visible muscle under an even layer of padding. Her eyes were glistening, pale blue, and her hair was as silver as Smoky’s. She was dressed in a white pair of soft leather pants and matching tunic. A long white pelt draped down from her back and it was then I realized that these wolves weren’t typical Weres.

  They’re like the selkie, I thought. Their pelts were worn as cloaks when they were in human form, around their necks. I decided to keep my mouth shut, though. The subject was personal and could be a secret that few mortals knew about. And it didn’t do to let the Immortals know you were in on their secrets.

  “I present to you my wife, Kitää, Queen and Mother of the Katabas Wolf People.”

  She gave us a brief nod, taking us in with those brilliant blue eyes, her gaze stopping as she came to Smoky. “Iampaatar!” With a sharp laugh, she threw her arms around the dragon and gave him a hearty hug before stepping back. “What brings you to our lands? I’d heard you’d stomped out of the Dragon Reaches, vowing not to return.”

  Smoky sucked in a deep breath. He grinned and leaned forward in a deep bow, surprising all of us. “Lady Kitää, Queen of the Wind Wolves, I am honored to be in your presence. In the distant past, your people joined with mine to drive back the Northmen in the Rout of the Great Snow. I hearken back to that friendship on this journey and ask for a traveler’s respite.”

  Kitää let out a low laugh. “My husband,” she said, turning to Howl, “you have unleashed a dragon in our midst? What are you thinking, my Lord? But for a dragon, Iampaatar is one of the better ones. And he tells a feisty tale or two, at that.” There was a shuffle and murmuring throughout the chamber, but she held up her hand and the room fell instantly silent. Stepping forward, she looked Smoky up and down, then gave a little shrug.

  “You seem to be in fair enough health, Prince. Introduce your companions.”

  Prince? I glanced over at Smoky and saw Roz and Camille doing the same, but he gave us a
short shake of the head, a warning in his eye.

  “I left the name Iampaatar behind when I left the Dragon Reaches. I am known as Smoky by my friends,” he said softly. “I present to you my wife, Camille. She is part Fae, part human. And our companions, Rozurial, an incubus, and the Lady Iris, one of the Ar’jant d’tel and a Talon-haltija.” He slid his arm around Camille and stepped back a pace.

  Kitää arched her eyebrows as she gave Camille a long look. “You must be exceptional to win the love and heart of a dragon prince and to make him rise up against his father. I wish you luck, my girl. If you have not yet met your father-in-law, I quake for you when you do.”

  At Smoky’s sharp glance, she merely said, “I have heard the rumors, Iampaatar—and do not think you can escape your Northlands name so easily. You cannot slip through without being recognized. I am not sure what you are doing here, but watch your back. There are those your father has driven into a frenzy with his treachery and lies. He was always a violent soul, and his ability to persuade others serves him well.”

  “We are not here because of my needs, Queen Kitää,” Smoky said. “We are here as companions to the Lady Iris, who seeks to right a wrong some six hundred years old. Leave my concerns for another time.”

  She gracefully inclined her head. “As you will.” Turning to me, she knelt and extended her hand. “One of the Ar’jant d’tel?”

  “I was so named centuries ago,” I said quietly. “The title was revoked and I was cast out of my temple for a crime about which I have no memory. I come to find the truth, either to free myself from a curse or to bear the punishment should it be proved I did this deed.”

  The Wolf Mother held my gaze for a moment, but then the hesitation slid away and she smiled at me, rich and full. “I see truth in your heart. I smell no lie, no hesitation. Lady Iris, you might be stripped of your title, but you wear it like a cloak in your aura. Mortals may give and take names, but they cannot remove the energy behind the title. Rest, and tell us what you need.”

  As she spoke, several of the other wolves shifted form, into stocky, lovely women with dark hair and eyes. Kitää clapped her hands and they hurried over to pull pelts and furs out from behind one of the columns and began to form a thick bed on the cavern floor.

  One of the wolf men knelt and began to light a fire in the fire pit, rubbing two sticks together, but Smoky motioned for the warrior to hand him one of the sticks. He held it to his lips, blew on it softly, and the wood sparked to life. Handing the torch back to the man, Smoky leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of Camille’s head.

  Kitää led me over to the pile of furs and I gratefully sank into the bedding. It was warm and cushioned, and I realized how bone-weary I was. Camille, Smoky, and Roz joined us.

  “Food,” Kitää said motioning to a couple of the women. “Make certain it’s hot and hearty.”

  Howl sauntered over. “What think you of my home?”

  “It’s incredible,” I said truthfully. The chamber led back into tunnels, and the eye catchers provided soft light all the way through. Even though the fire was limited in scope, the air in the chamber seemed warm compared to the outdoors and we shed our cloaks.

  “You have a lovely home,” Camille said, smiling at him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “So what is your plan, Lady Iris? We stand on the edge of the Skirts of Hel. What do you need to do next? Go to the temple?” Howl motioned to Kitää and she curled in his arms as they sat back, resting against a stone column.

  I shook my head. “They would not allow me entrance. No, I have to find Vikkommin’s shadow and confront him. I need to break through his madness and discover what happened that night. Once I find out, then I can go to the temple and they can look into my mind and see the truth of the matter.”

  Memories of their inquisition ran through my thoughts and for a moment I felt fear. But then, what worse could they do to me than they’d already done? I was stronger now, tougher, and had already been through their torture.

  Kitää reached out, ran her fingers up my arm. “You are a brave soul. Tell me what happened.”

  I glanced at Camille and she nodded. “Long ago, I was taken to the temple . . .” And I told them everything. This was the first Roz and Smoky had heard of the whole tale. Camille knew I’d been tortured, but I hadn’t told the guys. I didn’t want them playing hero before I needed them to.

  “Let me see them,” Kitää said. “Let me see your scars.”

  Camille looked at me. “It’s up to you. Do you want to?”

  I bit my lip. No one had seen my scars since I’d stopped at the inn on the way down the mountain. Not even Bruce, because I played it shy with him, keeping the lights off. He thought I was just demure, but really it was to prevent him from asking questions. They had healed without leaving raised bumps, but they were still there, across my back.

  “Only the women.” I glanced up at all of them.

  Rozurial laid his hand gently on my arm. “Iris, my sweet. I know I’ve joked around, and tried to win you into bed, but trust me, I would never make light of your past or your need for privacy. Smoky, come on, let’s go outside to stretch our legs and lose some drink.”

  Howl said nothing, but he followed Smoky and Roz. Kitää motioned and a ring of wolves—all female—surrounded us, their backs to us, keeping everyone at bay. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. The moment of truth.

  As I stood and dropped my cape to the floor, then unfastened my walking skirt and tunic and dropped them away, and finally my bra, the cold air hit me, chilling me through. Slowly I shifted my hair forward, letting it flow to the floor over my breasts, and turned so that Kitää and Camille could see my back.

  “Oh, Great Mother,” Camille said, her voice a low whisper. “Ishonar.” She paused, then asked, “How many?”

  “Thirty lashes,” I whispered. And for the first time, my scars and my shame were fully exposed.

  “PIRKITTA, TELL US now. Give us the truth and we won’t have to do this.” The Priestess-Mother begged me, but I shook my head, unable to do as she asked.

  “I can’t—I’ve told you everything I remember! Look into my mind, please, look into my thoughts and you will see.”

  I was naked down to my waist, my arms stretched between two posts, manacled with iron that was lined just enough so that pain seeped through from the metal but not the actual burns. My hair had been draped over my shoulder, spilling strands down to coil at my knees. I had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed or ashamed. I wanted to wrap my hands in front of my body, to cover myself, to curl in a ball weeping, but the manacles prevented all of those.

  “Pirkitta, please. Tell us why you did this thing?”

  “I don’t know if I did! I have no memory. Please stop . . .”

  The Priestess-Mother bit her lip and I saw blood swell, trickling down the side of her mouth. “My child. This is the way—there must be tradition. If you won’t tell us the truth, then we have to administer punishment. And the punishment must fit the crime.”

  As she backed away, I gazed up into her eyes. She was old, old past counting, and I had been chosen to take her place. I knew now that would never happen. There would be no future for me here, if anywhere. I would die here, at the hands of those who believed I’d killed my sweet Vikkommin.

  There was no tomorrow. No yesterday. Only today and the looming pain waiting to descend.

  And then the lash fell, burning with white agony. I managed to keep from screaming the first time. The flames of ice licked at me, magical fire that hurt worse than the whip itself. Cold fire, the fire of deep ice, leaving marks but no wounds. Leaving no lasting damage but pain—and the memory of that pain—beyond what any normal lash could ever hope to achieve.

  The second strike. The pain bit deeper, into my body and blood.

  The third strike, and the pain wormed into my soul, jolting like lightning.

  The fourth strike, and everything began to spin, the world falling away as the pain
flayed apart my soul, opened me up, let every secret I had in the world come spilling out into the minds of my torturers. I could feel them poring over my innermost thoughts, my memories—everything I’d heard, seen, done, including my most private moments. Melting from the shame of exposure as well as the pain of the lash, I tried to sink to the floor, but the manacles held me fast in their iron grasp.

  And on the fifth strike, the exquisite pain became all there was in the world, and I started to scream. And I went right on screaming until the lashes had counted to thirty.

  “We could not find the truth,” the Priestess-Mother said, staring down at my prone form on the floor. “It is cloaked so deeply in your psyche that we have no hope of ever knowing. We cannot allow you to stay in the temple, but neither can we punish you for his death if we don’t know for certain you’re guilty.”

  I sobbed, all my tears long shed but the pain unending. Ishonar would stay in my system for days, tearing at me every time I moved. “Please, don’t send me away. I loved Vikkommin. Just send me to him now if you’re going to get rid of me. Please, please just kill me.”

  The Priestess-Mother ignored me. “You are excommunicated from the Temple of Undutar, turned away as pariah. You are stripped of your title, no more the Ar’jant d’tel. You are stripped of the mightiest of your powers.”

  And a new hell rushed through me, a great hand tearing power and spells out of me like it might rip weeds from a garden. The pain sent me into a convulsion, and next I knew, I was on the steps of the temple, and the Priestess-Mother stood there with shears and my hair in her hand.

  “Pirkitta, as our last punishment, we take away your power to bear children and the symbol of your power as a woman. You shall never carry a child to term until you can find out what happened to Vikkommin and put to right what went wrong. You may grow your hair back, but it will never be the braid you were born with.” Holding out the shears, she clipped off my hair at the nape of my neck.

  I screamed, but she tossed the strands onto a fire and as the smell of burning hair filtered through my nostrils, the heavy doors swung shut and I lay sobbing for what seemed like hours.