Ice Shards

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  ICE SHARDS

  AN OTHERWORLD NOVELLA

  YASMINE GALENORN

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  Dedicated to

  My Lady Mielikki

  I seemed to vow to myself that some day I would go to the region of ice and snow and go on and on till I came to one of the poles of the earth, the end of the axis upon which this great round ball turns.

  —ERNEST SHACKLETON

  Though lovers be lost love shall not;

  And death shall have no dominion.

  —DYLAN THOMAS

  ONE

  I STARED AT THE PORTAL, WONDERING IF I really wanted to do this. I’d been running from this moment for almost six centuries. I’d been running from my memories for just as long. Now, even though I wasn’t sure how, I had to return to the place where my downfall had taken place—and right what went wrong.

  If I can. If I am truly innocent. But what happens if I find out I did it? What happens if I find out that I really did kill Vikkommin and forever lock his soul within a shadow, to roam the northern lands, crazed like a wild, magical beast? What. . . what if I am the monster the temple Elders thought I might be?

  Camille, Smoky, and Rozurial stood behind me, Camille’s hand on my shoulder. “All you have to do is say the word and we go through. Or turn back. It’s up to you, Iris. We’ll support whatever decision you make.”

  I glanced up at the raven-haired beauty who made up onethird of the half-human, half-Fae D’Artigo sisters. She had dressed for the journey, eschewing her usual bustiers and chiffon skirts and stilettos for a warm, black split skirt and turtleneck, and a heavy cape slung around her shoulders. The cape was thick and resonated with magic, having been cut from the hide of the Black Unicorn himself. Camille carried a staff with her that I’d never before seen.

  “Where did you get that?” I pointed to the intricately carved stave. The wood resonated as yew. The head was a polished knob of intricately wrought silver surrounding a crystal orb the size of my fist.

  She smiled and ran her hand over the burled surface of the wood. “A gift. From Aeval. I still don’t know how to use it, but I thought I’d bring it along. It will make hiking easier, in any matter.”

  “Enough said.” I didn’t have to ask any more. The Queen of Darkness was to be Camille’s new mistress, and it seemed she intended for her new acolyte to return in one piece.

  Two men stood beside Camille—Smoky, one of Camille’s three husbands, and Rozurial, an incubus. Smoky’s hair coiled with a life of its own, surrounding him like a cloud of spun silver, and he stood more than two feet taller than me. Smoky was a dragon—half silver, half white, and pale as milk on a snowy morning. He’d come down from the Dragon Reaches high above the Northlands untold years ago, leaving his homeland to reside Earthside. Rozurial had dark curly hair, and he’d searched the Northlands from one side to the other, looking for the crazed vampire who had destroyed his family, the same one who had turned Camille’s sister Menolly. Rozurial knew the land like the back of his hand.

  Smoky knelt beside me and took my hand, bringing it up to press gently to his forehead. “Lady Iris,” he said, his eyes whirling, a glacial pool of hoarfrost and ice. “We will do whatever we can to protect you on your journey. The Northlands are a dangerous place but you know this better than anyone. You are part of my wife’s extended family; therefore you are my sister. Whatever I can do to help, if it is within my power, I will do.”

  My hand seemed so small in his—we Talon-haltijas were, like all types of sprites, tiny. I was barely a smidge over four feet tall, petite though sturdy. I gazed at his hand and then curled my fingers around his, squeezing them tight.

  Rozurial joined him. “The only thing that can drag me back to the Northlands is to help a good friend. You’re one of the best. Even if you won’t date me.” He gave me a twinkling smile, but concern lurked behind the mask of humor.

  I grinned at him. Roz would never change, and for that I loved him. “I won’t date you because I’m already dating Bruce. And you . . . you’re a heartbreaker.”

  “Not my fault, just my nature,” he pleaded.

  I turned to Camille, whose lips bowed in a gentle smile. She let out a long sigh. “If we’re going, we’d better get a move on. It will be freezing in Otherworld, and we need to portal jump to the Northlands before nightfall.”

  I steeled myself.

  You know it is time . . . The words tickled my thoughts, sliding over my doubts and fears like cool comfort on a hot summer night.

  Yes, my Lady, I know . . . I cannot avoid this any longer. But please, guard over us, and whatever happens to me, watch that the others return to fight against the demons. I am taking them into danger.

  But Undutar’s voice was soothing, and for the thousandth time I was grateful she hadn’t forsaken me when the temple Elders had.

  They go with you willingly, my Priestess. Come now. Return to the lands of your power. Return to me. Free Vikkommin’s spirit, break the curse upon you, and clear your name so you will be able to marry and have children.

  I stared at Grandmother Coyote’s portal. We were standing in the middle of a snow-shrouded wood, in the Belles-Faire district of Seattle, a few miles from home. But we were about to travel through the veil, to Otherworld, the land of Camille’s birth. From there we would journey to the Northlands, the world I’d left behind so long ago, when I’d been branded a murderer, stripped of my strongest powers, and cast out of the order of Undutar, the Goddess of the Mist and Snow.

  I sucked in a deep breath and turned to the three of them. “I’m ready.” As we stepped through the portal, the world shifted. There was no turning back.

  WE EMERGED FROM the portal near the mounds surrounding the Elfin city of Elqaneve. Great, snow-covered grass barrows served as the ancient tombs of elfin lords and heroes, the site where horrific battles had been waged and won or lost, long past in the mists of time.

  We arrived in the midst of a snowstorm—the seasons in Otherworld matched those back home. By the looks of things, the snow had already fallen thick and fast. On a positive note, Otherworld had escaped the global warming that was affecting Earthside. The air over here was also cleaner than the air back home, and a soft flow of magic replaced the constant hum of electricity.

  Nearby, a family of elves readied themselves for a jump somewhere—Dahnsburg, according to the sign they were standing next to—and I stared at them, thinking that it was no different from a family holiday vacation back in Seattle, except they were traveling via portal rather than airplane.

  “What do we do first?” Camille asked.

  “We meet up with the Great Winter Wolf Spirit. He’s agreed to help me.”

  Actually, Howl and I had struck a bargain, is what we’d done. He would help me, if I worked to help his Earthside wolfen children. I’d joined Wolf Whistle—a new organization in Seattle dedicated to spreading the return of the wolves across the United States and protecting them from slaughter—and I was pouring time and energy into the group. That seemed enough to satisfy him.

  “I’m glad I caught you.”

  Turning, I was surprised to see Trenyth standing there. Queen Asteria’s adviser, the elf was kind and regal and fair. It seemed that trouble always followed close on his heels.

  “Trenyth—what are you doing here? We didn’t tell anybody we were coming.”

  He gave a genteel bow. “I’ve come to escort you to your meeting.”

  Camille glanced at me, a question in her eyes. I shook my head slightly. I hadn’t let him know we were on the way, so he must have found out through some other means.
We waited until we were in the carriage headed toward the inn on the other side of the Elfin city, before Camille turned to the adviser.

  “How did you know we were coming?”

  I knew she wanted to ask how her father was—they were on the outs—but she didn’t, and I decided not to broach the subject. Trenyth seemed startled. He paused, then gave a sideways glance at Rozurial, who cleared his throat.

  I turned to Roz. “What did you do?”

  He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then gave a little shrug. “Well, I figured the elves should know what we’re doing. Just in case . . .” With a sideways glance back at me, he smiled and I realized he thought I’d be mad at him. Which wasn’t far off.

  “Rozurial is right on one thing.” I sighed, then looked over at Trenyth. “We’re heading into danger. Some of the creatures in the Northlands could rip us to shreds without the least exertion. And my end goal . . . is dangerous as well. I suppose somebody had to know over here. Just in case we don’t check back in, would you let them know back home?”

  Trenyth tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes were somber. “Of course, Lady Iris. But you must come through this alive and in one piece. The war against the demons is too dangerous for any of you to die.”

  Smoky punched Roz in the arm, and not all that gently. “Good thinking, though I hate to admit it. But next time, I’ll take care of the worrying.”

  “Easy, Dragon-Boy. I am not after your woman. She has three husbands, and there’s no room for me.” Roz arched one eyebrow, but now he was teasing and the tension slipped away. Though they had actually gone tooth and claw at one point, they were friends now. For the most part.

  Camille shook her head. “No use arguing. They’d gang up on us.”

  Feeling outnumbered—and loved—I laughed. “Not a problem, as long as we don’t miss our appointment with Howl. I’m not upset he spilled the beans.”

  But inside, I was pissed at Roz for sticking his nose in where I hadn’t asked him to. I didn’t want anybody else knowing about this. The last thing I needed was for Asteria, the Elfin Queen, to look at me with a question in her heart. I had enough of those myself.

  Trenyth seemed to sense my mood. He leaned toward me. “Lady Iris, Ar’jant d’tel—the Queen knows only that you are planning a ‘vacation’ to the Northlands. I did not tell her the reason and, unless it threatens security, I will not tell her. I give you my word.”

  Relieved, I forced a smile to my lips. “You’re all right, Trenyth. I owe you one.”

  “Just do what you need to do, and reclaim what is rightfully yours.” He lifted my fingers to his lips, gently kissing the top of my hand. A shiver ran through me and I gazed up at him, wondering just how much he knew.

  Ar’jant d’tel. In the language of my childhood—the language of the Talon-haltija—it meant Chosen of the Gods, bound for great hope and responsibility. But the title had been stripped away with my honor and every hope I’d ever had. I opened my lips to protest, but one glance at his eyes—at his caring gaze—stopped my tongue. Trenyth believed in me. Could I do any less?

  I let out a long sigh and nodded. “Thank you. And we gratefully accept your help. I’m afraid . . . but I have to do this.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  MY NAME IS Iris Kuusi, and I’m one of the Talon-haltija, a Finnish house sprite. I was born for greater things. Chosen by the Temple of Undutar when I was very young, I was carried away, much like the young Dalai Lama, and raised to be a priestess. My destiny was to become High Priestess—to rule over ice and mist and fog as the handmaiden of a goddess.

  My consort was chosen in much the same way. We were raised together, never questioning our destinies, accepting that we would rule over the Order until we were old, if our goddess willed it.

  But shortly before we ascended to our posts—before the elderly Priestess let go and fell into her final, mist-shrouded sleep—something happened, and I left the temple under a cloud of suspicion, never to return.

  For six hundred years, when winter sweeps into the land, I feel the chill of the snow in my heart, and in every shadow I see Vikkommin’s accusing face. And I wonder—did I commit the crime of which they accused me? The Elders never ascertained whether I was actually guilty. And in my heart, I do not know the truth. I don’t know if I’m a murderer, or whether I was framed . . .

  *

  “WHAT ARE YOU thinking about?” Roz tapped me on the shoulder. I gave him a slow smile, thinking that he, too, had seen a life of pain and torture. The gods were cruel in their play and fate unmerciful in her choices.

  “I’m wondering what I’ll find. Whether I’ll be able to find the answers.”

  Trenyth glanced over at me from his seat opposite mine. “I have every faith in you, Iris. I trust you are innocent. But you need to prove it, once and for all, to lift the curse and to move on with your life.”

  I nodded. There was no going back, no turning around and ignoring it. I wanted to marry Bruce O’Shea, my leprechaun lover, and have children—a whole passel of them. I was still young, young enough to have the large family for which I longed. But until I could answer the questions as to what happened that night, the temple Elders had cursed me to forever be barren.

  But what if I’m guilty? How will I live with that?

  With these thoughts running through my head, I stared out the window as we passed through the city streets. The houses in Elqaneve all had a mossy, leafy feel, even though they were made of stone and wood just like back Earthside. But their yards and lawns—they were brilliant works of art, living gardens that sparkled and popped with energy. Even in the winter, under a thick blanket of snow, they were filled with ice sculptures and the crystalline look of snow on conifers.

  Camille leaned her head against Smoky’s chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. She was five seven, and next to his six four, she was positively diminutive. “Where are we headed?”

  I let out a low sigh. “We meet Howl at the Wounded Warrior. It’s an inn.”

  “How will we know him? I assume you know what he looks like?”

  I nodded, quietly. I knew what Howl looked like all too well. “We’ve talked several times over the years. The last, near the fall equinox when I came to Otherworld with Camille. Howl and I met then, and I asked for his help.” And then I told them what I’d asked.

  *

  SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE, near the autumn equinox, I’d journeyed back to Otherworld with Camille and Morio—her second husband. While Camille reunited with her alpha lover Trillian, Morio and I’d prowled the streets of Dahnsburg. I’d left Morio outside in the streets telling him I’d be out later. Howl had instructed me to come alone and I didn’t want him to think I was cheating on our deal, so I entered the tavern by myself. The Crystal Bridge, a sister bar to the Wounded Warrior in Elqaneve, primarily serviced veterans of the Y’Elestrial civil war. Elfin vets, that is. Too many had been killed or captured by Lethesanar, the Opium Eater drugcrazed queen who had been taken down by her sister. A number had retreated to Dahnsburg, on the shores of the Wyvern Ocean, hoping for rejuvenation.

  The bar was dark, gloomy, and filled with smoke from a dozen different herbal smoking mixtures. I coughed, glancing around. Amid the shadows that flickered in the dim lights, I saw a variety of elves mingling with Fae and even a few Svartans. But these elves didn’t have the easy look of most of their kin. They were weathered, some missing limbs or limping, and had a look in their eyes that reminded me of myself six hundred years ago. They’d been through hell, and returned.

  One wandered up to me and leaned down, his fingers reaching for my hair. “Beauty. You are such a little beauty—”

  “I can cut your privates off with a whisper to the wind,” I said, smiling sweetly. “Do you really want to chance it?”

  Most people thought I was a pushover, an easy mark, since I was so short and petite. Some assumed I was mild and delicate; others thought I was a cozy maid. But I’d seen too much to ever be mild or cozy o
r an easy mark. I hid my memories well, but they were always there to fuel the need to fight.

  He looked at me, looked deep in my eyes, and backed off. “No, I don’t think I do. Mistress, be safe on your way.” As he turned to leave, a small gleam of clarity peeked out through his fog-shrouded gaze.

  I continued through the bar unaccosted, the cacophony of noise crowding my thoughts. The smells of ale and wine were thick, and I motioned to the bartender. “Brandy, please.” Tossing a coin on the counter, I took the proffered glass and turned to let my gaze flicker through the crowd.

  There . . . in the corner . . . a man who was staring directly at me. He was tall, at least to me, probably about five nine and rough looking. Five-o’clock razor stubble shadowed his chin. I knew those features.

  Howl.

  He was wearing leather buckskin pants, and his chest was bare, with a cape of wolf pelts draped around his shoulder and a headdress of teeth and bones and cedar rising from his head. His eyes were dark, so dark you could fall in and lose yourself for days. He looked to be in his early forties, and I noticed everyone had given him wide berth.

  When he caught me staring at him, he raised his glass silently to me and I headed over in his direction.

  “Howl. It’s good to see you again.”

  “As it is you, Lady Iris.” He motioned to the opposite seat. “Please, sit.”

  I slid into the booth and carefully placed my brandy on the table in front of me. “Thank you for meeting me. I did bring a companion but left him outside.” I wanted to be straight up in case he somehow knew I’d come with backup.

  “Not a problem,” he said, attending to his own drink. He paused, sipping the golden liquor in his glass. “So, tell me, how can I help you?”

  “I’m seeking information and help and it has to do with something in the Northlands. You are one of the Elemental Lords, ruling over the plane of ice and snow. I thought perhaps you might be willing or able to help me.”