by Kaplan, EM
She sent a silent prayer to Lutra to protect her brother and Mel, in the name of hearth and home. She prayed for Ott's unfailing luck to stay with him and to protect him. Then she sent a tentative prayer to Dovay, the bear god, to aid them. Although she wasn't certain the bear was to whom Rob sent his words of need, she suspected that it would do well enough. Certainly, the man was like a bear. He had waited patiently enough for her to come to him. More patiently than she.
"All right. Out you go," Jenny said, lifting the boy out of the tub and swaddling him in a thick cloth. He giggled when she swooped him up in her arms and rocked him. She bellowed a lullaby in a voice fit for outdoors, pretending he was a newborn and a deaf one at that. His giggles turned into full-blown shrieks of laughter, and when she plunked him down on the soft rug, she spied a smile lifting the corners of his sister's pale mouth.
Chapter 46
Guyse, in the shape-shifter skin he now wore instead of Jenks, scanned the crystalline, snow-covered terrain. They were in sight of the mine. Its adit, or entrance, was marked by enormous wooden side beams and an equally massive lintel bracing the top. Crouched on the crest above the valley that led up to the mine, Guyse observed the cleanliness of the snow around the entrance; there'd been no creatures in or out of the shaft since the last snowfall four days earlier. In fact, the snow all around looked pristine except for their own prints. Not a big surprise—the trogs were subterranean dwellers. They probably traveled underground as well.
He broadcast a short series of hand gestures to convey to Ott that his cursory search had yielded no others in the immediate vicinity. Finding the trogs would not be a difficulty. Ley’Albaer, the so-called seer, had outlined a plan for contacting the trogs which was simple enough. They would approach the mine shaft and enter it. All of them. Together. Ley’Albaer, his brother and his lifelong rival for Ana’s affections, and Ana. Mel and her Mel’s newly-chosen mate Ott. Guyse gritted his teeth and tried to assume the devil-may-care attitude that was coupled with and embedded in Jenks's skin. It didn't work. Guyse's jaw popped, and he worked it from side to side to loosen it. So many things could go wrong with this simple plan.
Inhabiting Guyse's skin made him crack his knuckles and roll his neck. Being in this man's skin amplified his sense of ownership over the two women and his need to protect them. Shifting had always worked that way as long as he could remember. Personality changes occurred along with the physical changes in his appearance. Inhabiting the kindly, but detached, form of Jenks was the only way he could bear living so close to Ana when he could not be with her, have her, touch her, possess her. And with Mel, he had been able to be objectively removed, a distant, all-seeing benevolent presence. A hermit grandfather, mildly curious about his own daughter. Otherwise, the pain was too great.
Neither the skin of Guyse nor of Jenks was his true form. In actuality, and ironically, he looked much like his older blooded brother Ley’Albaer, though he would never—not on his life—curse the family resemblance that had made him acceptable to Ana. She had willingly conceived Mel with him when Ley’Albaer had refused. His older brother eschewed sexual acts saying they clouded his thoughts. He preferred to exist without physical intimacy and to remain entirely celibate. Later, however, Ley’Albaer had willingly assumed the role of Mel's father. Ana had received the child that she wanted, a daughter who looked like Ley’Albaer. And Guyse had done it willingly, just for the chance to be with the woman he loved—if only for the few times until the baby took hold in Ana's womb. He held the memories in the deepest, most sacred part of his soul, and took them out only when he felt the need to reward or punish himself.
He stood up cautiously on the icy crest—he was dressed in dark clothing for their underground mission—and did a quick scan, circling once to look in every direction. No dark figures. No shadow. No movement. Nothing but reflective whiteness in all directions. He set his narrow board on the edge of the crest, anchored a foot on it, and shoved off, surfing down the snow toward the others. He swayed in a gentle ribbon pattern down the crest, then turned to skid to a stop, lithely jumping off his board and stowing in the back of the sled.
"Our path is clear," he told them.
They gathered in a loose half-circle around his brother Ley’Albaer, who met each of their eyes. Guyse watched his brother, who said, "Each of you has a role. Do not hesitate to do what is necessary. We must obtain these people’s requirements for a peaceful resolution. Without conflict. I have seen what lies ahead. And there will be a negotiation that leads to a situation that is beneficial to both parties. How we convey this message now determines the future. Be strong." Ley’Albaer looked at Mel. Then, he looked solely at Ana and reminded her of their oath as Masks, "Impartiality. Diligence. Fair-mindedness."
Ana inclined her masked face, nodding once. Guyse wished he could see her expression just then. He wished she would look right at him and not at his brother. He wished she would look at him as a woman looked at her mate. Just then, he was glad he couldn't see her face. She probably had exactly that expression on her sweet face now as she looked at his brother.
They silently gathered behind Guyse and headed toward the entrance. He would be leading them, weapon drawn, into the mine. After him came the three other Masks. Ott, whose vision was not as strong as that of the others, would take the rear. Mel had opted not to cloak herself, he realized with a mixture of pride and sadness. She was more like him than he'd realized before their talk at the house in the woods. For safety, he wished that she had covered herself. He didn't want them to recognize her from the attack on the Keep or even to see that she was young and female. But she was like him, his inner self insisted. Once deciding that she could not fulfill the obligations that the Mask demanded, she would not submit to it. Or, perhaps, she could not tolerate the lie of wearing it when she had to know in her heart of hearts that she could never fully be a Mask.
He saw how she was with Ott. And he admired her for it. He warmed to her humanity and her emotion, the craziness that neither of them could deny. He pitied her that the truth separated her from all she'd ever known and from what she had been raised to be. But the truth also opened up the world to her in a way that he himself held close. And that world was one of sensation and feeling, of loss and suffering. And love.
"Hold here," he said immediately inside the mine. He allowed them time to adjust their eyes, and for Ott to remove some of his bulkier outer garments. The Masks adjusted their body temperatures accordingly. It was much warmer inside than out, due in part to underground heat and in part to the green stone itself. There was a strong stench of chemicals and burning that he wasn't sure had to do with the stone. The harsh odor made the eyes water. Maybe it was the trogs themselves that emitted it. Mel tossed her head as if to shake it off. Then he saw her set her shoulders with a stubbornness that sent another tingle of pride up his spine. She is so like her mother, he thought.
Though it was hardly the time for reminiscing, he caught himself thinking about Mel as a child. She had been frenetic compared to the sedate children in the settlement, not that there were many others. She had always been different. Running, jumping, saying things aloud that would have remained unspoken by the others. She was both an irritant and a salve at the same time. Ana and Ley’Albaer had tried to deny it, tried to raise her as if she were just one of them, but she was his legacy. No matter what Ley’Albaer claimed to see in the future that lay ahead, he had not accounted for Mel's nature taking after his, her blooded father's.
He had eavesdropped on some of Ana and Ley’Albaer's conversations about Mel. He had stood quietly outside Ana's house listening at the window as he dropped some necessity at her doorstep: fresh milk, vegetable trade, or some other sought-after commodity from Port Navio. They thought she could be trained to be a common healer, at the most. He had listened to their hopes and fears for Mel, and, as his lack of role in her life dictated, had walked away from them. He was the surrogate father, nothing more.
His eyes drifted to the ramrod-st
raight set of shoulders on his daughter as she came to stand beside him in the darkness of the mine. Her eyes glittered in the ambient light from the stone. Her preternaturally gold-tipped hair gleamed. And he felt with every last fiber of his being—no matter what skin he wore, with all that was purely and essentially him—if anyone harmed even a hair on her head, he would shred every last one of them to blood and bone, trog or human.
Chapter 47
Ott stood at the back of the group, his hackles up. He didn't like the harsh chemical smell of the dank air inside the mine. He didn't like stumbling around in the dark; the dirt and their slow descent made him feel that he was being buried alive, slipping down into the earth, scrabbling on the loose rocks on the floor. He didn't like the two Masked figures in front of him—not that he minded the people inside much anymore, just the unsettling effect on him of the fabric itself, the swirling sound of it and the lack of sound from their footfalls. And most of all, he didn't like Mel walking up ahead so far away from him.
He could see her only if the two Masks between them swayed in the same direction as they stepped. Then he caught a glimpse of Mel's hair or sometimes her slim shoulder. He strained to see more, to reassure himself that she was still with them. She followed behind Guyse, that hulking mountain of a man, who was leading them on this fool’s errand. As it turned out, Guyse was her father. However that worked. He still had trouble grasping how it was possible. For now, he bit his lip and kept his mouth shut, and dealt with the distance between Mel and him. He didn't want to demand that she come back near him—and insult her abilities—though he was crawling out of his skin with want.
He'd already unsettled them all with his early morning marriage proposal, or whatever it was. Mel didn't seem overly pleased with him. And she'd never actually said yes either. He'd woken up that morning with the crazy idea in his head. He'd felt the necessity driving him to say it, to commit to the formal words, to lay out his emotion in front of her parents. Lutra’s luck had it, “her parents” had all been in the room at the time—all three of them, including Guyse. Mel seemed bowled over by the revelation, and he hadn't had a chance to take her in his arms and ask how she was taking it.
He tilted his head trying to see more of her. It had to be rough, thinking one man was your father your whole life, then learning it wasn't true. And Ott didn't exactly get it. Mel didn't look like Guyse. The guy was actually kind of an ugly brute, although Ott wouldn’t for his life want to insult the man. Big and hairy though Guyse was, he seemed to know how to handle himself in a situation like this, and that was all that mattered to Ott. Although he still didn't like any of it. The whole situation. It stank down here, kind of like the back end of a goat . . . dipped in pitch . . . and lit on fire.
Ott gripped the handle of his axe, which felt neither comfortable nor right in his hands. Rob had brought the tool out of the wood shed behind the big house, insisting that Ott carry it. Something in his friend's face, the weary set of his expression—grim determination? helpless fear?—nagged at Ott until he'd taken the heavy tool. No, weapon. Now it was a weapon. He fingered the heavily grained haft and then tightened his grip.
He paused a minute to scrutinize the mine entrance over his shoulder as it disappeared behind them, taking with it the last rays of natural light. Curse it, he thought. If he had thought he'd been on edge this morning before his ridiculous proposal of marriage, then he was ten times that edgy now. And he couldn't see a blasted thing in this brown-tinted light of the mine. The air was stifling with a smell that reminded him of the awful night at the Keep. He didn’t entirely remember the details, just bits and pieces and bad smells and sounds. And Lutra on a spit, why hadn't she said yes? That way, if something bad happened . . . at least he'd know for sure that they were together, that somehow they'd made it official in the eyes of . . . well, he didn't know. He caught a glimpse of her wiry shoulders and marveled again at how she didn't feel the chill in the air. It made him shiver and want to pull her close, but she didn't need him. He still wished he could pull her close and put his mouth on her skin, just breathe into the hollow at the base of her throat to get some reassurance that she was all right. She was little more than ten feet away, but it might as well have been a mile.
While Ott was gnashing his teeth, they reached a branch in the mine shaft where it branched left and right. Guyse told them to wait while he scouted ahead. Ott had visited this very mine several times as a child, having been taken on tours with Rob and his father. Back then it had been full of activity, teeming with workers and bustling with life, even as dank and cold as it was. On their visit, the mine had been well-lit, and the noise of wheeled carts had rumbled up and down along the shaft. He knew the workers were normally fastidious for the sake of safety. The dust-covered, hastily discarded pickaxes and shovels on the mine floor were a stark reminder of the events that led them to abandon it. Now it was a graveyard. A tomb.
Ott wrinkled his nose, sniffing the caustic air. He'd more than bet they'd find the filthy trogs if they headed right and took the smaller of the two branches. To the left, the mine floor seemed fairly level, like it led straight through the mountain, but the branch to the right sloped down, the rocky floor descending into the dark, dimly lit by the softly glowing bits of stone. Ott swore under his breath, but loud enough that they all heard him. They paused, looking at him in question, and he was forced to shake his head that it was nothing.
He had cursed because he had realized that he saw the dim light as brown. He shook his head again. What an idiot. Agamite was green. Therefore, the light would have to be green, too. It was his red-tinted vision returning, his red battle haze bleeding into his eyes because he was on edge. Red mixed with the natural green light of the agamite to cause the sick brown tainting his vision now. He gritted his teeth. Nothing he could do about it. No time to stop for calming breaths or healing time with Mel. The thought forced a stupid grin to his face, the red receded from his vision accordingly, and the unseemliness of the thought made him quickly wipe the telling smile off his face as the big body of Mel's blooded father loomed toward them in the dark channel.
Guyse drew near and pointed toward the right-hand branch of the mine. He held his hand up straight, fingers toward the ceiling, wide palm a warning to them all. Take it slow. Use caution. And Ott found out why as they made their way forward. The ceiling dropped low and the shaft narrowed. Both he and Guyse had to duck their heads and walk crouched. The Masks between them were all much shorter. Ott could feel either side of the corridor when he put his arms out; it was wide enough for two smaller men to pass shoulder to shoulder. This part of the mine must have been carved out very slowly. Probably it was not as old as the other, wider branch, but a newly explored vein of agamite scattered throughout the walls and ceiling around them, providing a dim glow.
The smell grew stronger. Ott heard Mel cough once, the breathy, non-vocal sound of her voice ringing like a tuning fork through him, speeding up his heart. The urge to touch her, to reach out and make skin-to-skin contact raced through him, barely held in check. If she coughed, it meant she wasn't controlling her breathing the way her parents were, filtering out the dust and chemical stench. They'd warned him that it would get bad and that he might have to turn back if it got toxic. He wanted to stop them to check on her, but Guyse kept moving forward.
The glow of the rock—whatever color it was supposed to be—cast the rest of the group in silhouettes ahead of him. He thought the person directly in front of him was Mel's mother, though he wasn't absolutely sure. Along with the stench, a nervous jangle in his bones was making him twitchy and it was getting worse. But they weren't here to fight. They were here to try to talk. It was absolutely, positively, a non-violent, peace-keeping mission.
They were supposed to make contact and to demonstrate immediately, by their lack of serious weaponry, that they meant no harm. It was imperative to communicate that they wanted peace, and they needed to know the creatures’ demands. He could kick himself. Why hadn't he insiste
d that Mel stay back at the sled in relative safety? The thought of something happening to her caused fear to ripple through him. Now that he knew with certainty that she returned his feelings, at least enough to lie with him, to let him touch her, embrace her, kiss her . . .
He gulped air and tried to steady himself. And whatever had been wrong with him, whatever had been eating him up inside and turning him black as winter, she'd cured it. Losing her after that was an impossibility. Thinking about it threatened to tear him apart where he stood. He shook his head to get himself back into the present. He needed to focus on what lay ahead.
The tunnel opened up without much warning, and they spilled into a natural cavern.
Chapter 48
In the gaping underground chamber, more than 100 feet wide, Ott's eyes followed the crusty white ceiling across to the other side of the room where a group of a dozen chuffing trogs stood in loose formation. He swallowed. He'd known there were a lot of them, but he thought just a few trogs would meet them. A handful. Maybe, a couple. Not this many. Their small delegation was outnumbered and could be easily overpowered by a dozen of these brutes. Overpowered? Slaughtered, more likely.
Guyse moved them farther into the room in single file at a slow and non-threatening pace. Ott kept his eyes narrowed on the trogs, watching them for the slightest hint of threat. The beasts were motionless, other than their raspy breathing, watching Ott and the others just as warily as they were being watched.
Gods above, Ott thought, they are huge.
His memory of them was vague and clouded by battle haze. But now, here, standing within hurling distance, they were animalistic menace personified. Gnarled, gray-skinned hands clutched heavy axe hafts and spears. Their bodies barely clad in furs and leather, feet bare, not hoofed, but gods above, they might as well have been. Their skin was more hide than human. They shifted their weight, one or two of them at a time, so that they seemed to undulate, ready to lunge across the rapidly shrinking space between the two delegations. And the smell. Unholy rot. Lutra on a spit, Ott didn't want to feel the nervous buzzing throughout his legs, but it was there. His fingers itched to grasp Mel's shoulder and pull her behind him.
