“Baas was holding back,” Linn said, feeling certain of it. It made her feel a bit better to know it, allies or not.
“You never know with that one.”
They started back toward the others. Gwenithil strode past them nervously, but they didn’t spare her a second glance as she grabbed Pirrahn under one arm as Cress took the other and helped the Ember Misha had burned to the base of the trail.
“No more?” Misha said as they rejoined the others. The Ember smiled as she leaned against her Everwood spear, still steaming as the air grew thick with moisture.
“I don’t think it would do any of us any good,” Jenk said, watching the queen, who seemed to be waiting for them midway up the slope as Tundra stalked past her.
Linn moved to stand beside Kole. He was stroking Shifa intently, the hound looking up at him worriedly.
“You okay?”
He winced before turning to look at her. He showed her a smile, faint as it was.
“Getting dark,” Baas said from behind.
“Getting hungry,” Misha said. “Think they’ll still feed us?”
“This whole … experiment was her ask,” Jenk said. “Can’t hold it against us that we got the better.”
“She didn’t show us everything she’s got,” Kole said.
“Neither did you,” Jenk said and Kole didn’t respond. He started toward the bottom of the stony trail and the others exchanged glances before following. Linn paused to look up at the cliff once more and found Elanil’s waiting gaze. She winked, and Linn couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.
But then, Linn had done her part. That and then some.
Linn rounded the black spur that separated the cliff trail from the flat and found Shifa waiting for her at the bottom, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
“Let’s go,” she said, smiling at the loyal hound as she started up. It wasn’t long before she heard commotion ahead, and she groaned as she looked up at the clutch of Landkist. She imagined Baas launching one of the Blue Knights to her death, or Kole bathing them all in an amber bath of fire.
But as she neared, she heard a familiar voice up ahead. Captain Fennick.
She reached the top, where the cliff trail met the wider trench of crystallized brown rock that would take them back into the courtyard.
Fennick looked pale. Seeing the state of them, their scorched armor, wounded Blue Knight and undoubtedly haggard dispositions made him hesitate.
“What is it, Captain?” Queen Elanil asked.
He blinked at her, trying to put as much distance between himself and Tundra before he answered.
“The Quartz Tower,” he said, breathless. Linn only now noticed the sweat pouring from his scalp despite the cold. “The Quartz Tower has fallen.”
Instead of feeling the grip of fear or the jolt of shock, Linn felt a surge. It was nearly upon them, the confrontation they had been chasing. The battle they sought, and the answers that would come with it.
She remembered Fennick, remembered the soldiers who had been at the Quartz Tower. By his look, it hadn’t gone well for them.
“Yana?” Linn ventured. Fennick grimaced and Linn felt suddenly sick for having such an easy reaction to the captain’s proclamation.
All eyes turned to the queen, to the Frostfire Sage.
“Let him come.”
She left the words like dropped stones at Fennick’s feet and moved past him with a purpose the Blue Knights were quick to match.
Fennick stood there in the trench, not even following his queen’s path with his wide eyes. Baas laid a hand on his shoulder, and, when he didn’t respond, helped to turn him around and led him from the windblown confines, the others trailing, each lost in his or her own thoughts.
It was cold when Iyana woke, and the freshness of the air stung her nose and dried her eyes. She sat up in bed, hearing the twittering of birds. It was dim in the musty confines, and she remained there for a time until the soft morning light came in through the high, glassless windows and painted the contours of the room.
Ceth was gone. Either she had slept more deeply than she had thought, or he had slipped out silent as a vole before dawn.
She pushed aside the heavy blankets of soft fur and swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing for the shock of cold as she touched them to the smooth, grooved surface. The dawnlight—dark as it was for this time of year—was pleasant, and Iyana traced the paths of the swirling motes of dust for a time, but as she rose in the same clothes she had traveled in over the course of the preceding day and a half, she felt the stiffness of her travels catching up with her.
Iyana raised her arms over her head and bent from side to side, and then smiled as she turned her mind to all the little aches she found in the process. She might not have an Ember’s fire to warm her, and the fire in the grate had long since gone out, but she had something of her own that would get her through all the cold mornings to come, just as it had Mother Ninyeva.
She closed her eyes and searched for that flicker at the corners of the black. She imagined it was different for other Faeykin, but that was how Iyana always found her fire. She felt it before she saw it, the torch of emerald green.
The greenfire moved through her veins without warming her skin. Each knot of tension or loose section of joint it passed over tingled and buzzed. This was the healing gift of the Faey.
Iyana’s smile dropped, clattering to the floor like an empty cup.
That was the problem with healing. It always reminded her of hurt.
She sighed and snatched her pack from the floor, placing it on the bed so she could more easily comb through it. She glanced toward the door and decided to chance it, feeling her heart beat faster as she changed from the previous day’s traveling clothes into a fresh pair of more fitting brown pants and a looser homespun blue shirt she hadn’t worn since she was a girl. It reminded her of waiting for the fishing boats to return, legs hanging over the dock, feet brushing the tops of the shallow waves.
She moved to the front door, which was framed on three sides by the soft white of daylight. Before she could press her hand to it, it swung open and left her blinking. When her vision cleared, she felt a little more than foolish, standing at the top, hair disheveled, feet bare and clothing more than likely pinching in all the wrong places.
Ceth stood with one foot on the top step. Tall as he was, he stood with his face even with hers. Behind him, Iyana could see several of the Faey young standing with their big eyes and pointed ears, paused in the midst of whatever games they played with one another.
“Daylight,” Ceth said.
“I can see that.”
The children, mercifully, gave up their examination of her and seemed to think nothing of her appearance, though they did have to work to tear their eyes from a shirt that was a good sight brighter than the dirty cloth they had first seen her in.
Iyana and Ceth stood there, awkwardly looking at one another before Iyana arched her eyebrows. “Seen Kenta?” she asked, remembering where the older man had stayed the night before and wondering how he’d managed without her.
Ceth only shook his head, and where Iyana had at first held the impression that he had come to fetch her, now she thought that it was Ceth who felt out of place. She hadn’t spared it much thought before now, but as new as the Faey realm was to her, she represented Ceth’s only anchor to the Valley, where all was new to him.
She smiled at him, amused at his obvious discomfort. “Shall we find him, then?”
Ceth nodded and stepped off the front stoop, making room for Iyana. They retraced their steps past the stone well and onto the moss and balding paths between homes. There were few of the Faey around, and Iyana thought it might be because there were few of them remaining. She thought she remembered something about them having few children and over long periods, but it was always difficult to know where the truth ended and supposition began with the Faey.
The children shadowed them. Iyana could see Ceth twitching to tur
n around. She almost reached out to steady him, but refrained.
“This was the way, wasn’t it?” Iyana asked, speaking more to herself than Ceth. The Northman nodded stiffly, and then bristled. Ahead, a tall figure with long, black hair clad in leather garb and carrying a brilliant bow took the lane.
Tirruhn’s ear twitched at the sound their boots made in the gravel, and the warrior turned a surprisingly gentle look on them. He seemed happy to see them, and walked over without a hint of the tension Iyana would have expected and that Ceth returned.
“Morning,” Tirruhn said, nodding at Iyana first and then Ceth. Ceth looked to her, and Iyana laughed at the innocence of the expression. His face colored some, the wind-smoothed skin taking on a plum hue.
“Morning.” Iyana returned the greeting between breaths, and Tirruhn arched an eyebrow.
“Have I said something funny?”
“No,” Iyana said, wiping a tear from her eye. “No, no. Apologies, Tirruhn. That was your name, yes?”
Tirruhn nodded.
“It’s just,” she shook her head, taking him in along with their surroundings, “it’s all so … ordinary.”
Tirruhn frowned, but did not seem to understand what she meant enough to judge whether she offered insult, compliment or something in between.
“The alien realm of the Faey,” she tried to explain. “And yet, life here seems so much the same as it is in our villages. In our towns, and beside our hearths and fires.”
Now Tirruhn smiled, seeming to understand.
“You are young,” he said, making Iyana think he was far older than he looked. She spared a glance behind, but the children had abandoned them at Tirruhn’s approach. “No matter the differences between tribes, they pale in comparison to what binds us, in my experience.” He turned his eyes to Ceth, who stood unmoving.
Another pair rounded the same bend he had. They were dressed similarly, and one carried a bow while the other seemed to bear a sling, along with two poles slung across her back that Iyana had seen Nathen take with him on his woodland hunts. The fiery female they had met two nights before, Shek, was nowhere to be seen, and Iyana wondered if she was still attached to Beast, their steady black charger.
Tirruhn made somewhat stiff introductions and looked up. Iyana followed the direction of his gaze, marveling at the way the black branches at the borders of the small town reached in toward the center. It was like an upside-down well of brilliant blue, but Iyana knew it wasn’t nearly as bright as it should be, given the time of year. Where Ceth came from, that might not matter so much, the Dark Kind being little more than shadows in stories to he and his folk. But to all in the Valley, they were something much more. Had been for a generation.
“Light doesn’t last, these days,” Tirruhn said, his voice going from light to grave. “We need to get all the game we can.”
They nodded their goodbyes, a little less stiff than their greetings, and Iyana and Ceth watched Tirruhn and his small company of hunters move off toward the border of inky black trunks.
They continued around the bend and nearly collided with Luna, who was moving with some haste in their direction.
“Ah,” the Faeykin said, out of breath. “There you are.” She was adjusting a loose-fitting shirt that exposed the ribs on either side so that it appeared to Iyana as little more than a blanket. It was green and cinched at the waist with a yellow braid over clay-colored pants. It was a strange and noticeable mix of drab and gaudy, and it clashed with her silver-white hair.
Luna didn’t seem to take offense at their staring, and even smiled at Ceth, seeming to appreciate his attention.
“Ready, then?” she asked, expectant. Iyana looked from her to Ceth, unsure what she had expected.
“Kenta—”
“Is indisposed,” Luna said. She tossed Iyana a wink that made her blush scarlet. “Safe to say, he’s quite forgotten the rhythm of our coupling.”
There it was, plainly spoken and without a shred of shame or modesty.
“No harm in letting the man take a bit of rest,” Luna continued. “After all, there’s not much he can offer that you’re searching for.”
Iyana noticed that whatever tension might have existed during last night’s conversation had blown out. Either Kenta had had something to do with it, or Luna wasn’t about to argue the politics of Sages with someone as young as Iyana or as foreign as Ceth.
“To that end,” she said, appraising the Northman, “where shall I take you on this day?”
Ceth opened his mouth to speak, but no answer was forthcoming.
“I think he’ll be coming with us,” Iyana offered.
“With you, you mean,” Luna said.
“Y-yes,” Iyana said. “Or—” Ceth looked between them, anxious. “Would that be a problem? I must confess, I don’t even know who we’re seeing.”
“We’re seeing someone who’s less likely to give you answers than me and,” Luna sighed dramatically, “admittedly more likely to point you in the direction of the right ones. And no.” She smiled at Ceth. “It won’t be a problem to have your fearless protector along. That is, if he doesn’t mind the smell.” She turned on her heel and motioned them to follow. “Come, then. We want to catch him before he leaves without us.”
“Where—”
Luna tilted her head and tapped her temple. “Not a where in the sense you’re thinking, Iyana. Come, now. Use what the Faey Mother gave you. That is why you’ve come.”
Even her reprimands were offered without a shred of venom or bitterness. All told, Iyana quite liked her. She thought Ninyeva would have. Thought she might have, and that Luna could have been among any number of reasons a part of her teacher had always regretted her decision to leave the Eastern Woods and return to her leaning tower at the lake.
They passed over the green space where they had burned Sen the day before. Iyana felt her heart begin to race as they walked very near to the charred grass where his pyre had burned. Instead of avoiding it, she examined the place and even walked a little closer. There were flowers growing in the debris that she hadn’t noticed in the field the day before. They were white, mostly, but the way the ash and char stained them made them appear purple and gray. She smiled.
They passed another row of homes set up on their short stilts. They sat nestled in the darker shadows of the encircling wall of trunks. Iyana could see that here, the gaps between trees were choked with creepers that bore all the fur that could be found among the Deepwoods to the west, where Kole and Linn had played as children. These homes seemed more readily in use than those to the south, where Iyana and Ceth had been staying. The stone chimneys issued their plumes of white smoke, all of it smelling fresh, a mix of pine and maple sap.
Behind the homes was a structure that stretched the definition. It wasn’t propped up on pegs above the sodden, dew-soaked ground, but rather seemed to grow out of the field—a leaning, haphazard collection of bundles, mounds and thatch sheets interrupted intermittently with clay pipes and crusted vents that let out twisting trails of vapor. There was yellow straw sticking at every angle, and the front door was not so much a door as a section of crisscrossed sticks that leaned against it without a thought to warmth or security.
“Go on.”
Iyana only realized she and Ceth had been standing uneasily before that door when Luna set to prodding them forward. “I’ve never seen him bite.” She sniffed. “Citrus. Never grew into the smell, but can’t say it hurts with the traveling.”
“You’re not coming in?” Iyana asked.
“An excellent guess,” Luna said, “and correct, as well.” She offered them a bow and moved off, heading back in the direction they’d come. Iyana heard her hailing another as she reached the row of homes at their back. She looked at Ceth, who hadn’t taken his eyes from the door.
“Shall we?”
“Yes,” a reedy voice called from inside. “And with a pinch more haste than you seem interested in calling at present, if you can spare it.”
Now it was Ceth’s turn to look at her. Iyana blew out a sigh, only realizing how woefully underprepared she was for … whatever it was she was about to experience as she opened the light, fragile door and ushered herself inside.
She should have known better, given their experiences of the Faey realm thus far, but Iyana still couldn’t help but be surprised and somewhat disappointed in what she found on the other side.
Ceth pushed in behind her, stooping longer than he needed to as she stepped aside to make room for him. It was more roomy inside the ramshackle structure than it appeared from outside. The walls were rough and crusted with a mix of lattice and straw that might have been smoothed over with some sort of mud—perhaps clay. The ceiling was rounded and oblong, with various openings acting as chimneys. Some were struck through with the thin red pipes she had seen from outside while others were wide as mixing bowls that seemed less intentional and more a result of falling—or perhaps rising—debris.
The man busying himself over the fire toward the back of the short hall was the same elder they had seen wending his aching way around Sen’s prone, lifeless form the night before. He seemed more full of life now, pacing a well-worn path into the dried scrub underfoot as he added various dashes of dried plants and brighter bulbs into the copper cauldron that spat over the glowing coals. The fireplace didn’t seem safe to Iyana, with too much that could go up around it. It was cramped and appeared not to have been cleaned in ages, and the pristine robes the man had been wearing at the ceremony had been replaced by any other farmer or craftsman’s clothes. She blinked at pants that were stained by so many colors she couldn’t have guessed as to their original hue. Seeing him wipe a bit of orange paste onto the pockets, she knew the task would prove beyond most.
The Frostfire Sage (The Landkist Saga Book 4) Page 48
