Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  “So those razor-antler things pass that way, just not in the last few days,” Borya filled in. “How do we know they’re not due to come by again?”

  “We don’t,” Nidhud admitted. “Like the tunnelers and the howlers, the capreols don’t belong on Edgeland. There isn’t a way to predict their movements, because they haven’t always been here. And since game is scarce, predators roam quite far in search of a meal. Talishte included,” he added.

  “I can attest to the scarcity of game,” Grimur said. “I find that I must go farther and farther afield after deer than I needed to before the Great Fire and its wild magic brought the monsters to Edgeland. Yet one more reason I enlisted Kane’s assistance. He can organize the Bay-town men into hunting groups to kill the monsters more easily than I can. It’s in all our interests to keep them from depleting the food supply.”

  Connor could not help glancing over to the bowl of blood beneath the freshly slaughtered deer. He was all in favor of anything that kept predators well supplied with game meat, since the alternative would be the colonists themselves.

  Outside, the wind had picked up. A howl in the distance was answered by another and then more, a sound that sent a chill down Connor’s back. He had grown accustomed to wolves, though the creatures usually stayed well clear when he traveled with Penhallow, as if they knew they were not going to win a fight with a talishte. Something about these howls gave Connor to think that the creatures would not be so easily scared away.

  “Howlers,” Nidhud said, noting Connor’s distracted expression. “Don’t worry. They can scent talishte, and they won’t usually pick a fight with one. I doubt they’ll bother us tonight.”

  “Where, exactly, are we going?” Verran pressed. “I don’t care if it has a name or not. I’m not a trusting sort, and I don’t like wandering around a wilderness waiting to get eaten.”

  Grimur nodded, and went to a small desk against the wall. From a drawer, he withdrew a folded map of Edgeland. “There’s nothing special about this map. Unlike the one Ifrem gave to McFadden, it’s just a map of Edgeland, copied from one in the king’s library at Quillarth Castle, and corrected over the last decades through my own wanderings.”

  He spread the map out on the desk, and the others crowded around. Connor could easily make out the location of Skalgerston Bay and Velant, and of Estendall, the volcano not far from the Edgeland coast. Over his years of ‘exile’ in Edgeland, Grimur had mapped the fjords and inlets of the Edgeland coastline as well as the lowlands and passes of the mountains closest to the colony. Grimur’s map was far more detailed than anything Connor had seen before, including the map Penhallow had included with his own gear.

  “The whole point of hiding the Elgin Spike was to keep it from being found,” Grimur said drily. “I may have gone a bit further in that regard than Penhallow intended.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “We are here. The Spike is here.” His finger came down on a place in the foothills of the mountains, a distance Connor reckoned was at least another day’s hike.

  “Why there?” Borya asked.

  “Because the hunters from Bay-town almost never go that far out on the ice,” Kane replied. “Least they didn’t before the magicked monsters started eating up the game. Before that, they could hunt and trap enough game close to the town to keep them within a one-day trek, and seeing how Edgeland’s not the most welcoming place, no one saw the need to explore beyond that.”

  “Kane is correct,” Grimur said. “But there were other reasons as well. Donderath has explored very little beyond what the kingdom needed for the prison and colony. But Donderath was not the first to come to these shores. Others have come and gone over the centuries, for many different reasons. Don’t forget, Estendall is a place of power, which is why its eruptions have coincided with significant magical events. Nodes and meridians run beneath the land, as they did beneath Valshoa and Mirdalur. We’re not the first to notice. I’ve had plenty of time to wander the mountains. And I found ruins from long ago, proof that other mages have come here over the centuries to work magic.”

  “So you stashed the Spike in the ruins of an old civilization in the mountains?” Connor said incredulously. “This sounds like Valshoa all over again.”

  Grimur chuckled. “I assure you, it is quite different. There is no lost city, just a forlorn old ritual chamber. It will seem very familiar, if you’ve been to Mirdalur or the Citadel of the Knights of Esthrane. It’s a workspace for mages constructed to focus and contain power. I don’t believe the mages who built it ever tried to live on Edgeland. I found no ruins to suggest that they did. Perhaps they considered Edgeland to be sacred, or merely too damn cold. We’ll never know.”

  “Why there?” Zaryae asked.

  “The Elgin Spike is a magical artifact,” Grimur replied. “When I first brought it to Edgeland, I thought the Spike was safe with me here, since the cabin seemed so far from other people. Over the years, I started to look for a more secure hiding place, which led me into the mountains, and the ruins. They had not been used in a very long time, and the power beneath that spot seemed ideal to bind the Spike and keep it safe.”

  “What do we have to do to get it?” Connor asked. “Because we all nearly died at Valshoa and Mirdalur.”

  “Your part in this is simple. All that is required is for your blood to bear witness to the bond between you and Penhallow,” Grimur replied. “The magic I worked allowed me to bind the Spike but not release the binding on my own.”

  “Where’s the catch?” Desya asked, leaning in to peer at the map. “Traps to navigate? Time of the day or phase of the moon to access it? Special magical items needed?”

  Grimur chuckled. “I kept it simple. All it requires is our presence—and the correct working of the counterspell.”

  “And without that?” Verran asked.

  Grimur frowned. “Well. Let’s just say things would go very badly.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DID YOU SEE THE SIZE OF THOSE HOWLER TRACKS?” Borya said as he and Connor took their turn hauling one of the sledges.

  “I was trying not to think about it,” Connor replied. Though the creatures did not attack Grimur’s cabin during the night, their massive footprints—more bear than wolf—and the number of prints made it clear just how many of them had been close by, and how big those beasts were.

  “Desya and I have fought off wolves plenty of times, out in the Western Plains,” Borya said. “Can’t say the same for bears.”

  “We’re just lucky the magicked creatures can’t spawn,” Connor muttered. “At least this way, we’ve got a chance of killing them all off someday.” His calf hurt with every step, though he refused to mention it. Zaryae had done all she could, and Connor knew he was healing faster than normal. There was nothing to gain by complaining, but that did not ease the pain.

  “I’ll be glad to be back in Donderath,” Borya replied. “After this, I don’t think I’ll complain that anything is cold again!”

  “The last time I was here, the temperatures were dropping. So it actually gets worse than this—a lot worse,” Connor replied. Talking with Zaryae and the twins helped to pass the time as they trekked toward the mountains. Verran was reserved and snappish, still in a foul mood about Kane. Kane was consistently surly, which Connor guessed was his natural way of being. Maybe that suits Grimur fine, Connor thought. Makes for less conversation.

  The Long Dark made it difficult to figure time, but from the position of the stars, Connor knew the day was far spent by the time they reached the foothills of the mountains. Kane led them with a tracker’s instincts across the rough terrain. When the pass became too rough for the sledges, they shouldered the gear they would need for the night.

  “I hope we’re close,” Desya said. “I don’t fancy carrying this up the side of a mountain.”

  Despite Connor’s fears that they might face a magically trapped obstacle course as they had in Valshoa, Grimur’s description of the ritual space was accurate. A circle of standing sto
nes much like those near Lundmyhre had been erected in a valley surrounded by large, sharp peaks. Once, the pillars and lintels must have all been upright, but weather and the earthquakes common when Estendall erupted had shaken some of the huge stones from their places and they lay toppled and broken. Most had remained in place, and even imperfect, the circle was imposing, and Connor felt a primal level of awe.

  “Grimur says they called the place ‘Erhenjal.’” Kane’s voice was unexpected, and Connor startled, shaken from his thoughts. “He says he matched some of the runes carved into the stones with that diary he gave McFadden, the one by the old mage.”

  “Valtyr,” Connor supplied. “The mage’s name was Valtyr.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said. “That one.”

  “Who made the circle?” Connor asked, drawn to move closer but wary of setting off any lingering protections.

  “Don’t know. Grimur says he doesn’t know, either,” Kane answered, looking up at the tops of the tall pillars. “But whoever they were, they knew how to build.”

  Kane turned to face Connor. “You see ghosts, right? See any around here?”

  Connor had been on guard for any ghostly intruders as they neared the Grief Mountains. From the time they had set out from Grimur’s cabin, Connor had sensed occasional flashes of presence, and guessed them to be hunters who had lost their way on the ice or fallen prey to wild animals. None of those spirits had made a move to communicate, and Connor was content to leave well enough alone.

  From the time they entered the Grief Mountains, however, the sense of ghostly presence grew stronger. Connor had the clear impression that ghosts were watching their group as they entered the pass, willing them to leave. The ghosts did not attempt to stop their progress, but Connor found their baleful silence was unwelcoming. Whether or not they were malevolent still remained to be seen.

  “You sense them.” Zaryae had walked up beside Connor, and she laid a hand on his arm. Kane walked around the standing stones, perhaps checking for danger, or maybe as much in awe of them as Connor.

  “Yes.” It was a relief not to have to either hide or explain his abilities to Zaryae. Her acceptance of his gifts made Connor feel normal in a way no one had since before the Cataclysm.

  “Friend or foe?”

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Right now, they’re trying to figure the same thing out about us.”

  “If no one actually lived here, why are there ghosts?” Zaryae asked.

  “Good question,” Connor replied. “If I could find out how they died, I might have a better idea of whether or not the standing stones are a danger.”

  “Grimur didn’t think so,” Zaryae replied.

  “Grimur is a talishte-mage. There are a lot of things that wouldn’t be a danger to him that could do us plenty of damage,” Connor replied. “And there are predators that wouldn’t even approach him that would pounce on us in a heartbeat.”

  “Can you make contact with the ghosts?”

  Connor chewed on his lip as he thought. “I’m sure I can. But I don’t know how or if the ghosts figure into the safeguards Grimur set up for the… item. I’d rather keep my distance unless they approach us, at least until Grimur is here to ask. I’d hate to blunder into setting off his protections.”

  “Have you had any visions?” Connor asked. The wind gusted through the pass. Zaryae shivered, and Connor moved closer to shield her, slipping his arm around her shoulder. She smiled appreciatively and leaned into him to escape the wind.

  “I feel uneasy,” Zaryae said, “and I’m not sure why. It’s not the same as before Valshoa or Mirdalur. Then, I knew we were in for serious trouble. Here…” Her voice drifted off as she considered her words. “Here I have the feeling that the future is in flux, that things could go several different ways, some good and some bad.” She shrugged and gave a weak smile. “Sorry. It’s not a very precise gift sometimes.”

  “Just listen carefully to those voices you hear, in case anything changes,” Connor said. “I hope Grimur’s right and it’s as simple as he made it sound. But I won’t really believe that until we’re safely back in Donderath.”

  They walked back toward where the others were already setting up the tents Grimur had packed for them. Two canvas tents plus bedrolls would shelter them for the night. Verran was making a circle of small rocks for cooking and setting out some of the firewood. Borya rummaged through the packs for dried meat, cheese, and fruit and some hard bread, along with wineskins and water jugs. Borya arranged the sledges to block the entrance to the pass, making it easy for them to make a quick exit if need be, but presenting obstacles for any unexpected guests. Kane continued walking the perimeter, having put himself on first watch.

  “We’ve still got a candlemark or so before Grimur and Nidhud join us,” Borya said, craning his neck to see the sky for the mountains around them. Out beyond the pass, they heard distant howling. The two talishte had gone to scout the area, making sure they would be safe for the rest of the night.

  “Let’s hope they get here before those beasts do,” Verran muttered, shaken by the howls.

  Connor glanced over his shoulder, assuring himself that Kane was still out of earshot. “What’s your grudge against Kane, other than that he was a guard at Velant?”

  Verran glared at Connor as if he were daft. “Isn’t that enough? You’ve heard Mick and Piran talk about what it was like in there. We got beaten, starved, frozen, worked like dogs, and worse. Kane wasn’t the worst of the guards, I’ll give him that. But he didn’t do anything to stop bad stuff from happening, either.”

  With that, Verran walked away toward the mouth of the pass. “Stay where you can see us,” Borya yelled after him.

  “What do you make of him?” Desya asked with a jerk of his head toward where Kane was on the far side of the standing stones.

  “If he didn’t have a bond to Grimur, I’d be more inclined to worry,” Connor replied. “But you saw what happened when he wanted to hit me. Grimur wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Fine for you. What about the rest of us?” Borya asked.

  “Penhallow wants us back safely. His intent carries through the bond. Kane can’t harm us, or permit us to come to harm if he can avoid it without Penhallow and Grimur intervening,” Connor said. “If he tries to betray us, Penhallow will know. And even though Kane is all the way up here, it wouldn’t be good for him.”

  The howlers’ cries echoed in the mountain pass, making it difficult to know where they were. Close, Connor thought. Too close. Much as he hated the thought of crossing the ice again and risking another encounter with the tunnelers, he had already decided that they could not return to Bay-town fast enough for him.

  In the mountain pass, the perpetual twilight gave way to dark shadows. Connor and his friends lit the lanterns Grimur and Nidhud had packed for them and waited.

  “Let’s begin.” Grimur’s voice startled them. He and Nidhud stepped out of the darkness and into the glow of the lanterns. “This shouldn’t take long.” It seemed strange that no cloud of mist came when Grimur spoke. No body heat, so no reason to see his breath in the cold. And if the talishte did not need to speak, he did not have to breathe.

  Kane joined the group, while Borya took his place on watch. Verran, Desya, and Zaryae hung back, curious onlookers without a role in the ritual. Nidhud, Grimur, Connor, and Kane walked into the center of the stone circle, and Grimur took a boline knife from his belt. Nidhud held a small wooden bowl. Once they were assembled inside the ring of standing stones, Grimur lifted his knife and began to walk widdershins in a circle between where the others stood and the stones themselves. As he walked, he murmured words Connor did not catch. Grimur was raising strong magic, setting a warding to contain the power he called—and perhaps, to avoid having the power be noticed by someone else.

  The wards rose with a slight shimmer against the shadows. When Grimur finished, he walked back to where the others waited. Nidhud held out the wooden bowl. Kane was the first to push back his s
leeve, baring his scarred left forearm. Grimur lifted the knife to each of the four quarters and murmured under his breath. Then he made a thin cut into Kane’s arm, just enough to raise a line of blood and drip freely into the bowl.

  Connor felt his heart thud as he extended his own arm and pulled back his sleeve. Grimur drew the sharp edge of the knife along the skin, and blood beaded up from the cut. Grimur added several drops of Connor’s blood to the bowl, then thrust out his own bony arm and did the same. He flicked the knife blade over the mingled blood, adding his own to the mix, chanting.

  Grimur held the bowl up to the night sky, turning to each of the quarters, then he lowered the bowl and walked to the center of the stone circle. Grimur dipped the knife into the blood and traced the blade in a circle on the thin dirt. He repeated the action three times, and then tilted the bowl, letting the crimson fluid drip into the center of the small circle.

  “Once, I bid you open. Twice, I bid you open. Thrice, and it shall be done.”

  Connor blinked, and the ground in the center of the small circle had vanished. In its place was a shallow hole in the rocky ground. Grimur gave the blood bowl to Nidhud and reached into the hole, retrieving a cloth-wrapped bundle tied with strips of leather. He raised it carefully and passed it to Nidhud.

  “You understand the power of the blade you hold,” Grimur said gravely.

  Nidhud nodded. “I will protect it with my existence, and see that it reaches Lanyon Penhallow safely,” he promised.

  “Now can we get out of here?” Kane asked, fidgeting. “I’ve got a feeling that something’s about to go wrong.”

  Grimur nodded and began to walk the circle deasil, releasing the energy of the warding he had set. The iridescent shimmer blinked out, and they stood in the shadows once more.

  Connor, the Wraith Lord said, I can see beyond the mountain pass. There’s a dangerous storm coming. You’ve got to get out of there.