by Megan Derr
Raz shrugged. "Take a look at him for yourself; his eyes glow violet. Someway, somehow, he possesses shadow magic."
Ailill frowned, looking troubled. "I don't see how, and that is more than a little worrying."
"Rumors abound in this part of the country," Ivan said, looking at them both. "Zholty's holding are also not far from here, though it's said he pays his lands little attention and they have largely fallen into neglect. His land includes a good portion of the Jagged Mountains, and anyone who lives in this area will tell you that there are old footpaths leading up them. Whatever you say about impossible, I promise there are at least a few people in all of these northern villages who have managed the impossible. 'Shadow madness' is what they call it; they say those who climb too high are met by terrible black monsters with glowing purple eyes and scales harder than steel that nothing can penetrate."
Raz shivered, skin prickling. "I've heard of the shadows before, but I thought they were exaggerations."
"You live in the Heart and rarely leave it," Ivan said. "I've been all over this country more times than I count. Trust me, nothing is ever truly impossible. Not when people are bored enough or drunk enough or desperate enough."
"True enough," Ailill said with a grunt, sipping his own beer. "So what do we do now?"
"We wait until the snow makes travel possible," Ivan said. "We take Zholty back to the Heart and leave him where he can become someone else's problem, and then we take Raz wherever he wants to go." He gave Raz a pensive look. "What are you going to do?"
Raz shook his head and said nothing, because he just did not know what to say—or what he was going to do. Well, that wasn't true. He knew. He just didn't want to think about it yet. He looked up. "Zholty tried to convince me he'd killed the High Priest. I don't believe him, but what's happened since I left the Heart?"
"The Tsar is dead, and we heard a rumor as we were leaving that Lord Krasny is now Tsar."
"I didn't know he could assume the throne," Raz said. "But I hardly know how any of that works, really."
"They were married, apparently," Ailill said. "It's all rumor, but I believe it; it's what I would have done in their place, especially if they had reason not to trust Zholty. Everything is really quite crazy right now."
Raz's mouth quirked. "Crazy? No." He turned his head to look into the fire and added softly, "The threads of Order begin to fray and all is falling into Chaos."
"It's really creepy the way he keeps doing that," Ivan muttered.
"You get used to reincarnations being strange," Ailill replied.
Raz blinked, turned back to them, and said, "Douse it."
Ivan and Ailill laughed. "When do you think the snow will begin to ease up?" Ailill asked. "I've never seen such snow; it's quite impressive."
"It's irritating," Ivan said. "This time of year we'll not see the ground again until it decides to begin melting in spring—and every year, spring takes longer and longer to arrive. Everyone fears the day spring never returns."
Raz shook his head. "That won't happen." Ivan's brows rose. "I won't let it," Raz said firmly.
"Your mermaids said something else interesting," Ivan said. "They said that the High Priest is trying to bring Holy Zhar Ptitsa back to life, not kill him. So I have no idea what's going on with the High Priest or with Zholty. You can enlighten me any time, Holiness."
Raz made a face. "I don't know why Zholty—" he broke off when they heard screams followed by the sound of wood cracking and breaking—
Ferapont hit the floor in a shower of broken wood, screaming in pain before abruptly going silent, and it took only a glance to see that his left arm was broken. A moment later Gleb landed nearby, already unconscious. Raz bolted from the table, but he had only crossed half the dining room when another figure dropped down from the second floor.
Zholty's eyes glowed completely violet—not just the colored portion of his eyes, but the entire eye. His nose was still broken, the cut in his lip had reopened, and his clothes were torn and rumpled. "Firebird," he rasped.
Behind Raz came an eerie sound—like a growl or a yowl, or something in between. It reminded him of the sound a cat made when its tail was stepped on, but threatening and terrifying. He turned and saw that Ailill had shifted just as Ailill launched himself at Zholty.
Zholty raised a hand and violet light flared, but not quite in time, as Ailill's enormous weight knocked him to the ground and his teeth sank into Zholty's arm. Zholty screamed, magic flaring again. Ailill let out that feline scream again as he was thrown off. He made a pained sound when he slammed into the wall, fell to the floor, and did not move again.
Ivan moved next, and Raz finally stopped gawking. "Enough!" he bellowed, throwing out his arms and negating the magic that Zholty tried to use. Striding across the room, he wrapped a hand around Zholty's throat and slammed him into the wall. "What do you want, shadow child?"
"You dead," Zholty gasped out when Raz relaxed his grip enough to permit speech. "If you are thrown into the fire ... I lose all my power, I lose everything."
"You lost everything the moment you sided with the Shadow of Licht," Raz said, and he slammed Zholty into the wall, threw him to the floor, and clubbed the back of his head. Kneeling, ignoring the dizziness now that he was better braced for it, Raz laid a hand on the back of Zholty's head and said quietly, "Sleep until a new life wakes you."
Standing up, Raz went to help Ivan with the others. "How is Ferapont?"
"He'll live, barely," Ivan said. He turned when they heard noise, and saw the innkeeper and several others appear, both from upstairs and the back of the main hall. "Check on Ailill," he said with a sigh. "I will deal with this."
Raz nodded and went to look over Ailill, not liking what he saw. He'd managed to shift back, but the pallor of his skin was wrong and, like Ferapont, one of his arms was broken. Raz frowned when moving Ailill revealed blood, and he reached around to find the back of his head wet and sticky.
He heard footsteps approach and half turned to look up at Ivan. "It's not good. Broken arm, injured head."
"All that—they barely fought!" Ivan said. "I don't understand how Ailill was able to move."
Raz frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Ivan shook his head, expression furious. "It was like I was paralyzed until Ailill got hurt. Something about that broke whatever spell Zholty cast. I was frozen to the spot, as though with fear except I have never been frozen with fear in my life. It was even worse than the strange light that blinded and froze me when I was cursed."
"Interesting," Raz murmured. "I wonder if that was part of my problem, even if I am a Vessel." He gingerly pulled Ailill into his lap and bent over him, not certain what he was doing exactly, but feeling he was doing the right thing. He rested one hand against Ailill's cheek and closed his eyes. "Fires warm and heal you," he said softly, and he could feel the heat that left him to flow through Ailill, easing his pain and closing the wound on his head so he stopped losing blood—
Then the dizziness he'd been fighting became too much, and Raz broke away with a gasp. He set Ailill gingerly on the floor and slowly stood up. "I think—I think that's the best I can do. But he needs to go home; that head injury and the broken arm … and I think something else is wrong, something I cannot completely fix. Whatever magic Zholty used, it nearly killed Ailill. It may yet still kill him. He needs to return to Verde if he is to recover properly."
Ivan nodded, grim-faced. "We need to get Ferapont and Gleb back to the Heart. This village doesn't have a healer; they just get visits from one who makes rounds through several villages."
"Once I've rested, I might be able to help more. Let's get them ready to go."
"We can't go anywhere in this snow. Maybe if it stopped snowing we could figure something out, but not with it falling so hard you can't see your hand in front of your face!"
Raz drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll … I think I can take care of that. Maybe. But we need to get everyone ready to go first. I assu
med the others were supposed to be headed here?"
"Yeah, but I doubt they were able to leave the Heart," Ivan said. "Get Gleb, but be careful because I think he cracked a few ribs, possibly broke them. What did Zholty do to them?"
"I don't know, but they're lucky to be alive." Raz moved to get Gleb and over the next two hours he and Ivan managed to load the three unconscious men onto a cart bought from the innkeeper along with blankets, foodstuffs, and other supplies. Zholty they bound and threw over Raz's horse and tied him down. Raz checked the spell that he'd cast on Zholty, but it seemed it had worked—Zholty would never again wake up, not unless Raz himself willed it.
When they were finally outside, Ivan groused, "You'd better—I don't know, do something, Raz. My men don't deserve to die because of all this nonsense. We're just mercs; we don't get involved in the affairs of gods."
"I'll take care of it," Raz said softly, stroking the muzzle of his horse where they stood in the stable yard. Ivan sat on the seat of the cart, holding the reins of the two large plow horses who would be pulling it. Stepping away from his horse, Raz let the strange heat coiling in him take over, closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Brothers, hear my distant voice and heed my plea. Break the snowfall so that we might travel home."
"Creepy," Ivan muttered.
Raz opened his eyes and smiled crookedly. "I think if I am creepy now, I will be much worse to you later. The snow is slowing, however. I see a path enough to begin our journey, and I think it will get easier as we go. Shall we, then?"
Ivan shook his head, but flicked the reins and slowly got the cart moving out of the stable yard and down the center of the village where a rough path of sorts had been carved through the snow. Raz rode ahead of him, silently clearing away what snow he could, hoping that between him and his request for assistance they would be able to make it back to the Heart.
Chapter Fifteen: Farewell
Ivan thought wistfully of only a few weeks before when his life had been simple. How had he gone from locating objects, delivering dubious packages, roughing up people—from the life of a merc to whatever the fires he was doing helping a Vessel.
He looked over Gleb and Ferapont, fast asleep in their beds, battered and broken and wearing more bandages than clothing. Isidor sat on a stool between their beds, leaning against the wall and slowly reading a book. Ivan smiled briefly, remembering the Isidor who had joined them, rough and surely and defensive about not being able to read.
Fires, he would not be able to bear it if he lost his men. He might have been nothing but a sorry merc destined to die a sorry death, but he at least was smart enough to care about his men—his family, he supposed, though he rarely succumbed to such fanciful thinking. "How are they?" he asked.
Isidor looked up, sticking his finger in his book to hold his place. "Gleb still talks in his sleep, though I think he's simmered down for now. The wounds look like they're healing well, at least. Poor Ferapont's arm is never going to be quite the same. Broken in two places—that's scorching. Fire and ash, boss, what happened?"
"I don't know," Ivan said. "One moment everything was fine, the next I couldn't move, and it only got worse from there. I'm heading out to take Ailill to his ship. Luka left to find food and information. Raz has wandered off somewhere, but he promised he'd be back. Keep an eye out. If you hear a ruckus anywhere, stay out of it. I don't want anyone else hurt."
"You got it, boss. Be careful, huh? I think the guards are still looking, even if they'll only bother to look hard if they get bored enough or need to accept a bribe."
Ivan grunted. "Nobody is taking me back to that cell, not after all this trouble. Stay alert." He waved and left, going downstairs to where he had left Ailill in the entry hall sitting on a bench.
Though it had been a few days, Ailill still looked ashen and was definitely weak without ever seeming to get stronger. Even Raz had not been able to help him much; whatever Zholty had done to him, Ailill was not recovering from it. "Ready?" Ailill asked when he saw Ivan.
Nodding, Ivan helped him to his feet and, when Ailill seemed to sway, tucked Ailill's arm into the crook of his own. He felt more than a little silly, but he liked less the idea of Ailill's falling on his face in the street. Leaving the inn, they headed toward the harbor where a small section had been restored and a couple of other sections were limping along.
By some providence, there was a ship in port that was headed directly toward Verde, and Ivan had made certain that Ailill would be on it. That he had nearly used up all the money they had made from their last two jobs he preferred not think about: money came and went like the wind. They had sufficient funds to bed down long enough for the throne to lose interest and another job to come in.
Reaching the harbor, Ivan glared his way through the crowds, snarling at a careless spark who ran into Ailill, making him pale and sway all over again. Holding him closer and looping an arm across his shoulders, Ivan finally barreled their way to the dock where a beautiful two-mast ship with the distinctive white sails of a Kundou trade ship waited.
Ivan sat Ailill down on a trunk, but kept his bag, afraid someone might run off with it before Ailill could react. The rest of Ailill's belongings he'd sent ahead that morning. He approached the ship and saw the captain, who bore a strong resemblance to Shio and Shinju except he was bone white from head to toe. His vibrant clothes and the black pearl in one ear really only served to make him more ominous looking. "Captain."
"Ah, you're here. The White Beast over there is my passenger, I assume?" the captain looked past Ivan's shoulder toward Ailill.
"Yes," Ivan said. "May I help him aboard?"
The captain nodded, gesturing to the man beside him. "Aye. Samé, get someone to show his grace aboard."
"Aye, Captain," Samé replied and turned to bellow up to the ship.
Ivan left them to it and went to retrieve Ailill. "Come along, your grace, it's time to get your fragile self back to Verde."
Ailill muttered something that Ivan didn't quite catch, but assumed wasn't very nice. A young man was waiting for them, and after thanking the captain again, Ivan carefully helped Ailill up the gangway and onto the ship.
He firmly squashed the pangs of longing that rose up as he took in the ship and walked through it until they reached the cabin assigned to Ailill. He was thirty-five, too old for adventuring—and adventuring was expensive anyway and even less of a stable income than mercenary work. Thanking the young man who had escorted them, Ivan waited until the door had shut behind him, and then settled Ailill on the small bunk.
"Not how I wanted to leave Pozhar," Ailill said. "I definitely had several plans that involved you naked."
Ivan chuckled. "I guess this means you'll definitely have to come visit me again, your grace."
"You should come visit me," Ailill replied. "I won't be able to leave Verde again once I'm home; the Tragedy of the Oak draws ever closer and the White Beasts must be present. So you'll have to come to me."
"We'll see," Ivan said, surprised by his own disappointment that it would never happen. Not unless he abandoned his men and went alone, which was unbearable for many reasons.
Ailill smiled, and Ivan realized he understood. "You're a good leader. You'd make a good noble yourself."
"I'm no noble."
"Neither was I," Ailill said quietly, shifting to lie on his side, head turned up so those pale, pretty eyes could fasten on Ivan's face. He smiled weakly, sadly. "I was just a farm boy with aspirations to write great books about my travels. When I reached my maturity and accessed my Form, no one was more shocked than I that I was the White Panther. My hair was brown as a boy."
Ivan shook his head and chuckled softly, reaching out to comb through Ailill's pale hair. "I don't believe it."
"No one ever does. Thank you for everything, Vanya." He reached out and gave a feeble tug on Ivan's shirt. Ivan obediently bent and kissed him, enjoying the feel and flavor of him, surprised all over again that he was actually going to miss Aili
ll. "Be careful," Ailill continued when they drew apart. "I think if Zholty is taken care of then you will be fine from here, but Teufel will stop at nothing to destroy the gods."
"No one is killing me or my men. Don't let them get you again, your grace. Have a care for yourself."
"I will, Vanya. Kiss me goodbye."
Ivan obeyed, more happily and more sadly than he cared to think about. He thought he was probably going to hate the smell of flowers in the future. Drawing back, he said gruffly, "Get some rest; don't do anything stupid, your grace."
Ailill smiled. "Goodbye, Vanya. Blessing of the Three to you and your men. I hope that someday I see you again."
Nodding, Ivan finally rose, fighting a stupid impulse to bend down and steal one last kiss. "Fire warm your hearth and light your path, Ailill. Farewell."
He left before Ailill could reply, trying to shake the gloomy mood hanging over him. Leaving the ship, he saw the captain. "Thank you again. You'll see to it he makes it to his home once you land in Verde?"
"Yes," the captain replied, seeming amused by something. "You have nothing to fear, my lord. His grace is in good hands."
Ivan nodded and reluctantly walked away, wondering what in the fires made the man think he was a lord. He barely looked respectable. Well, the deed was done and nothing else mattered. It was time to move on to the next matter.
But at the edge of the harbor, he still caught himself looking back toward the white-sailed ship, fighting an urge to return to it. Unable to shake his mood, he settled for scowling at everyone and everything until he ran into Luka in the entryway of their inn. "What have you heard?"
"Not much," Luka said. "Anyone of importance is busy trying to find favor with the new Tsar and, of course, no one can do much of anything with the mourning period officially in place. I couldn’t even find anything about the Vessel hunt. It's like nobody is looking, despite the fact they should be." He shrugged irritably. "Everything has just … stopped. Like we're all waiting for something. It's aggravating." He shrugged again and shook his head. "How was his grace?"
