Edgelanders (Serpent of Time)

by Jennifer Melzer

  Just being near him sent off a whole host of warning signals her body didn’t quite know how to interpret. She found that strange, considering how easily she’d fallen into Trystay’s trap. With Trys she hadn’t felt any warnings at all; not until it was too late.

  Rolling onto her side, she stared toward the entrance to the cave and saw the shadows of two bodies sitting on the ledge outside. The light filtering in through the tangled branches that blocked their hideaway was brighter, tinged in the gold afterthought of sunlight behind the orange glow of fire in front of her. The fire burned steady and strong, putting off so much heat she felt like she was cooking in her own skin, and the thick tendrils of smoke drifting toward the cracks in the cave wall to escape made her lungs feel tight and heavy.

  Coughing softly, she nestled her head against her hands and listened to the sound of muffled voices outside the cave. She could see Finn’s broad back, the damp length of his ebony hair jostling against his wide, bare shoulders when he shook his head in reply to something his brother said. Beads of water dripped from the wet tangles, down the smooth surface of his muscular back, glistening for a moment in the sunlight streaming over his shoulder. Every inch of him was solid and strong, from his monstrous height to the thick, generous arms that made her feel so safe each time he’d drawn her near him in the last twenty-four hours.

  Just thinking of those arms around her signaled a strange flutter in her empty tummy, and she drew her legs up closer to try and stave off that familiar feeling.

  She liked him.

  Even though she didn’t want to, she did. She liked the way he looked at her, the mischievous glimmer she saw in his eyes whenever he teased her. Judging from how quickly he’d put his own life on the line to save her, it seemed he liked her too, and that should have made everything easier, but it didn’t. Being attracted to Finn didn’t help matters much at all. If anything, it only made things more complicated. She didn’t have time to be attracted to anyone, especially if they were heading into the tundra of Rimian where their days were surely numbered in the single digits.

  In that case, why shouldn’t she let herself feel what she was feeling? It wasn’t love; it was just attraction, only affection for him, and it would certainly be nice to die with someone she genuinely liked.

  But she couldn’t trust herself. Trystay was proof of that. And Finn was hiding something. She knew he was. Something important he kept passing over in conversation until she was completely diverted from the thread. Every exchange between them since she’d woke to find him watching over her in the healing room had been riddled with clever diversions meant to steer her away from the strange way she felt in his company. As if in echo of those recent memories, her heart fluttered inside her chest and she lifted her hand to cradle and press into her breast as if outward touch could quell that eerie, internal thumping.

  She rolled onto her back again and stared at the dark ceiling of the cave for a moment before closing her eyes again. Soon thoughts of Finn were replaced by the strange dream fragments still resonating in the back of her mind, captured images and lingering words. Standing amidst the stars, watching the light of the gods flutter before her. .

  What did that mean?

  As a little girl she’d often dreamed herself riding on the back of a great white stag through horrors so dark and terrifying she woke screaming in the dead of night. Pahjah would ask her to recount the dreams, and then her nurse would talk her back to sleep with stories of the great white stag, the god Llorveth who had fathered the U’lfer before becoming enemies with Foreln, the god of men.

  She’d never understood why Llorveth would come to her in her dreams. She was a daughter of Foreln; at least she’d thought she’d been at the time. When she asked Pahjah for a reason, her nurse could never give her one. She only said, “All the gods are connected by the same source, Lorelei. Llorveth created the U’lfer and Alvariin made the Alvarii. Foreln and the Ladies gave birth to mankind, but who do you think breathed first life into the gods?”

  “Their father, Heidr,” she’d replied dutifully, wringing a proud grin from her elven nursemaid before she held her body a little closer in the rocking chair beside the window.

  “That’s right, little one. Heidr made the universe as a playground for his own children. They watch over us from the sky, the thirteen constellations. Can you name them for me?”

  Every evening sky was a lesson in mythology and creation, and Pahjah seemed to hold her breath as her pupil rattled off the names of every constellation like a song. When she was finished, Pahjah made her point them out. The twins, Alvariin and Ninvariin, Llorveth the stag, the great helm of Foreln, Dvergen’s anvil, Kivtaryn’s ship, Drakiir’s wings, The horn of Trygvln, Ukoruuna’s shield, Thuun’s silver hammer, Gorscha’s diamond, Bauthrun’s saddle, the flame of Seraphii and the waves of Aqatiiri. Each of the gods attributed to the thirteen races of Vennakrand held a place in the sky, even those races that had long since died out, like the Dvergr, Drakiiri and Seraphii, just as the U’lfer would die out as Llorveth predicted in her dream.

  Faith. Her faith… It was the only thing powerful enough to draw Llorveth’s people back from the edge of extinction. Llorveth’s people, Finn and Vilnjar’s people… her people in some way she still didn’t really understand.

  Her empty stomach groaned so loud she half-expected her mumbling companions to glance back over their shoulders at her, but neither of them seemed to notice she was awake. She withheld the sigh she felt brewing inside her, and tried not to think about how good that venison smelled roasting on the makeshift spit over the fire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, perhaps because that instance brought on another bad memory she’d thought at the time was a good one in the making.

  Her perfect, fairytale life with Trystay.

  Before she’d overheard him blissfully announcing his plot to have her killed, he’d invited her to his tent to dine with him and made a host of promises he had no intention of keeping. It must be easy to do that, she thought. A man could offer a girl impossible things if he were planning to murder her. It would mean never having to make good on those promises.

  They’d had such a pleasant evening, laughing, talking, planning their future together, and when he’d asked her to accompany him to his bed, she’d nearly said yes right on the spot. “After all, we’re to be married in just a few weeks, what will it matter if you come spoiled to our marriage bed if it was I who spoiled you in the first place?”

  That one word, spoiled, made her hesitate and then he’d gotten angry with her, calling her a little girl and telling her she may as well run back home and hide behind her nursemaid’s skirt. She’d fled his tent in tears, feeling stupid and foolish and very much the little girl he insisted she was and in her own tent she’d fretted endlessly over his anger with her. It was bad luck to begin a new life together in anger; at least that seemed like something Pahjah had told her once. And as terrified as she was to give herself to him, she knew Trystay was right. She would be his wife, and he would be the only one who ever knew she’d come to their marriage bed without her virginity.

  After hours of debating and arguing with herself, she finally gave in. She crept back through the camp, weaving in and out of shadows to avoid raising suspicion and arriving at the back of his tent where she immediately overheard voices. Not just one, but two voices. Trystay was talking to someone else in that same seductive purr he’d tried to use to win her into his bed, evoking soft feminine giggles from the woman he promised to raise up above all others after the princess was dead.

  She nearly gasped again, the memory alone stirring shameful terror in her she never wished to share with anyone else. She’d nearly given herself to him, and he had been plotting to kill her all along, and though she’d replayed over the snippets of his plan she’d overheard before rushing off in horror, it still didn’t make sense. Something about a scripted ambush near the docks, a skirmish in which a few expendable men would die along with her, and he would t
ake her body back to her father and claim the attack had been warranted by the Underground Alvarii movement. He would demand retribution, and Aelfric, who claimed to want peace above all things during the final days of his reign, would give Trystay anything he asked for.

  It was a clever plot; she’d give him that. She just didn’t understand why there had to be a plot at all. Scowling, she felt her already uncertain mood grow foul. The fact that she was half-starved probably didn’t help matters much either.

  “…should divert them further east and keep them off our trail just long enough for us to head into the mountains. But we won’t be able to linger here long if we want to stay ahead of them. We’ll rest for the afternoon, pack up just before sundown and then head out again.”

  “You really think it will throw them off our trail long enough for us to get to Rimian safely?” Finn. He had a deep voice, the underlying hint of a rasp in his throat that made her want to listen to him talk for hours.

  “After all that work, I damn well hope so,” Vilnjar said “I did everything I could, went several miles out of my way to create the illusion of a false trail. And I covered my path back to Breken completely.”

  “You should have let me do it. I have more experience with that sort of thing. Rue taught me…”

  “And who do you think taught Ruwena?” Viln let his brother sit with that for a second before clearing his throat. “We should be safe here, but like I said we shouldn’t get comfortable. We rest a couple of hours each, let Lorelei regain as much of her strength as possible and head out at nightfall.”

  “I’ll follow your lead then.”

  “Really? I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say those words.”

  “Yeah, well don’t let it go to your head. I still don’t even know what you’re doing here.”

  “Did you think for even a second I was going to let you go off into the great wide world without me? You’re reckless…”

  “And don’t forget mad.”

  “How could I forget,” he snickered. “You need someone watching your back out there, brother. Someone you can trust.”

  “I think I can handle things for myself all right,” he retorted. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Will the princess walk on her own two feet when we leave here, or will she make you carry her again?” There was an underlying tone of derision in that question that made a guilty flush burn her cheeks.

  “She’ll walk,” Finn assured him. “And don’t call her a princess. She doesn’t like it.”

  “Doesn’t she now? I’m only calling it as I see it. I’ve never seen anyone throw quite a fit before in my life.”

  “Yeah, well she’s been through a lot.”

  “So you’ve said,” he reflected quietly for a moment. “You didn’t exactly spend enough time with her to dig that deeply into her history. How can you be sure she’s really been through any more than you or I?”

  “You saw what happened to her at the council’s judgment. That alone is more than one person should ever have to experience, but it’s deeper than that. I can feel it every time I’m near her. She’s like a bird that spent its whole life in a cage, and now the door’s been opened and she’s free, but she doesn’t know how to fly and it terrifies her.”

  “Wow,” Vilnjar muttered. “That’s pretty deep, even for you.”

  “I just call it like I see it.”

  “So what does that make you then? Her wings?”

  From where she lay, she could just make out Finn’s profile as he turned his head over to exchange looks with his brother, the length of his sharp nose, the quirk of a grin forming at the edge of his full lips.

  “Right. I suppose I don’t know how that whole thing works, and I’ll have to trust your judgment since you’re so much more experienced than I in matters of mating now.”

  Mating? Lorelei’s heart thumped so hard in her chest she swore it burst inside her. What was he talking about, mating. That was the second time that word had come up in conversation. She wasn’t mating with anyone. Ever. Not after the disaster she’d nearly embarked on with Trystay.

  “Yeah, I’m so versed and experienced in the ways of mating,” Finn droned sarcastically. “I can barely even talk to her without sounding like an idiot, so I tease her instead of having actual conversations because it gets her all riled up and frustrated with me.”

  “Good, you’re being yourself with her then. They say you should always be yourself, so people always know what to expect from you, and she’s in for a long life of being riled up and frustrated if she’s mated to you.”

  “I don’t even think she likes me very much. I don’t know if she ever will. How awkward would that be? She’s only a half-blood, so it won’t be the same for her, will it?”

  “You’ll grow on her,” Viln clapped his hand over Finn’s back and leaned out to look through the thin space between the branches of the fallen tree they’d layered over the entryway. “You have a way of doing that to people when they least expect it. You’re kind of like mold that way.”

  “Mold,” he nodded, snorting a laugh. “Nice, Viln. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, little brother.” They said nothing for what felt like several minutes and then Vilnjar finally suggested, “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep an eye on the spit and take first watch, wake you when I start to get tired.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Finn reached across the space between them and lowered a wide palm onto his brother’s shoulder. He squeezed gently and nodded, saying nothing more than, “Thank you.”

  Finn ducked into the cave and Lorelei quickly closed her eyes, pretending to still be asleep. He stopped to check on the fire, kneeling down, adjusting the logs with a long stick and then lowering the smoldering tip onto the stone before pushing into a standing hunch again. He made his way into the corner opposite her and curled up on the cold, hard floor to sleep. Lorelei listened to the fire crack and spit, to the slow draw of Finn’s breath as Vilnjar stalked toward the mouth of the cave to look inside through the brush covering the entry.

  It wasn’t long until soft snores began to rise from the corner and Lorelei slowly pushed herself into a seated position. Beads of sweat dribbled down her temple and onto the shirt she wore, down the curve of her back to tickle her skin. Her legs were so sore she could feel the muscles in her calves and thighs protesting with every step, and then she felt guilty about that pain because she’d barely walked at all through the night. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Finn must be feeling, all those muscles aching from the burden of having carried her for endless miles.

  She approached the slight opening in the brush and peeled it aside before she stepped through. She spied Vilnjar immediately, hunched in the shadow of the cavern squinting toward the midday sun. The rustling brush caught his attention immediately and he turned over his shoulder to look back at her, a chin-length slice of his dark hair falling into his face and curling against his lip. He shook it out of his face, but didn’t reach up to tuck it away and it fell right back into place.

  Vilnjar made her uncomfortable, mostly because it was impossible to judge what he was thinking as he studied her through the veil of his own hair. From the very moment she’d first met him it felt as if he were judging her, some prejudiced part of him scowling on the inside because of who she was and the manner in which she’d arrived in the forbidden land of his people. And she really felt like he blamed her for his brother being exiled, even though Finn kept insisting he’d been on the verge for a long time.

  The way she’d acted the night before didn’t help matters much either, but she couldn’t take it back even if she wanted to. Still, a warm blush crept up the sides of her face, making her feel faint and flush as she pushed gently through the tangled branches hiding them away inside that cave.

  “You’re awake,” he observed, pushing out of his crouch and starting toward the rocky ledge leading into their hideaway.

&nbs
p; Lorelei ducked back with surprised when held an almost gentlemanly hand out to help her down from the steep ledge. “It didn’t feel like I slept for very long, but the sun is much higher in the sky than it was when I laid down my head.”

  “It’s midday,” he told her. “Finn tried to wake you when the venison was cooked, but you wouldn’t budge.”

  “Is there finally food then?”

  “Aye,” he nodded. “It’s probably not the glamorous fare you’re used to, but it’s edible.” There was a nervousness to his voice, as if he were combining sarcasm with a hint of humor and wondering silently if he’d pulled it off. “Come back into the cave and I will carve you some meat. We shouldn’t linger out here anyway, in case we’re spotted.”

  “In case the hunters find us?”

  “They will find us eventually, but I’ve taken precautions to ensure that isn’t until long after we’ve left this place behind us.”

  Lorelei ducked back in through the brush, into the smoky cave that felt more like an oven than a refuge, and Vilnjar followed. He drew the fallen tree back over the entrance and lifted a knife from his belt as he approached the shank roasting on the spit. Standing just near the edge of the stone pit containing the monstrous fire, he touched the sizzling meat, hissing a little as it burned his fingertips. He carved a juicy hunk off and turned toward her with it. She watched the blood run into the fire, bubbling as it dripped across the stone when he turned to hand it over for her to take. As soon as she took it, he popped his fingers into his mouth to suckle the pain and clean the juices away.

  The meat burned her fingers too, but she didn’t care. Once the reality of food was in her hands, she tore into the steaming, greasy hunk and reveled in the spill of warm, oily juices down her fingers and chin. She felt like a savage, imagining how Pahjah would shriek with dismay if she could see her in that state. Hair a mess, blood and dirt-stained clothes, scarred and battered and eating like some homeless drifter who hadn’t had a proper meal in more than a month.