“You ask, knowing there is always a price to pay. I sense no fear. Desperation, perhaps? You are able. Willing? We shall see.” He raised one eyebrow. “Ar’jant d’tel. Chosen of the Gods. You wear the cloak in your aura but not on your back. Why?”
I let out a soft sigh. “I was accused of murder, of misusing my powers. I have no memory of whether this is true. That is what I seek to find out: What really happened so many centuries ago. Whether I destroyed the man I loved or whether I was framed. That’s why I need your help.”
“How would I be able to help you with that?”
I paled. “They say I ripped away his spirit and embedded it in a moving shadow, then destroyed his body. I certainly had the power to do so, but . . .”
“And again, I ask, how would I be able to help you with this?”
I gazed into his eyes, direct, opening up my fears that I would be forever cursed. “His spirit roams in shadow form through the Northlands, through the lands you rule over, and that is where I must go to seek the truth. Vikkommin is forever trapped within the shadow and he’s gone mad over the years. I need to set him free and hope to learn the truth of my past if I’m ever to break a curse placed on my head.”
Howl finished his drink and signaled for another. He leaned forward, across the table. “Mistress Sprite, you have been living in sorrow for centuries now. Are you sure you want to chance deepening that pain? What if you find out that you were responsible?”
I swallowed the rest of my drink, and when the waitress came I motioned for another.
“If I did do it, then I’ll turn myself in to the temple and await their punishment. They set me free the first time because we couldn’t find the truth. If I am culpable, then I will accept their decree, whatever it is.”
The thought of what the Elder Council could—and would—do to me should I be proven guilty terrified me. But if I had done it . . . if I’d trapped Vikkommin for centuries in shadow form and tortured his body, then I deserved whatever they offered me. I hung my head, waiting.
Howl reached across the table and took my hand in his. His touch sparked the wild, feral side of me and I gazed into those brilliant eyes.
“You truly deserve your title, stripped or not. Few are so brave as to willingly walk into the fire. But my dear Iris, I cannot help you. Not now. This is not my season and the Northlands are in the throes of autumn. Return to me near midwinter. Return to me when the snows are high and the winds howl around the eaves. And then I will help you. You may bring with you three friends. That is all I will allow when it comes to mortals.”
I caught his fingers in mine. “Thank you. I did not expect you to agree.”
“Beware, Iris Kuusi—I have offered my help in uncovering your past. It may not be the help you want. It may be the door to your own destruction.”
“Understood.” I polished off my brandy and nodded to him, turning to leave.
“Iris?”
Turning back, I saw he was leaning forward, watching me. “Yes?”
“You are caught between worlds, you are caught between paths, between destinies. If you do this thing, it may alter your life forever. Make very certain you are willing to pay the cost before returning to me. Only then shall you summon me.”
He tossed me a shimmering quartz bead. I caught it, gazing into the fractured surface. I could have sworn snowflakes glimmered from within. “What is this?”
“When you are ready, smash the gem and it will alert me. I’ll meet you in Elqaneve, in the Wounded Warrior tavern, two days after you have shattered the crystal. If you do not come to me within that time, then it will be as if we had never spoken.”
As I watched, he flickered and began to vanish, and then—he faded out of the booth and it was as if he’d never been there.
I GLANCED UP, Shaking off my memories. Everyone was looking at me, including Trenyth. I let out a long sigh. “I broke the crystal yesterday. If I don’t meet him before sunrise, I won’t ever meet him at all. He’ll lead us to the Northlands.”
Smoky nodded. “I have spoken with him, long ago. He is as honorable as you can expect one of the Elemental Lords to be.”
“I came prepared with some gifts to make your journey easier,” Trenyth said. But my mind was far away, returning over and over to the bloody room and what was left of my fiancé. And the dark shadow he had become.
TWO
THE STREETS WERE NEARLY CLEAR BY THE time we pulled up in front of the Wounded Warrior. Trenyth had given us climbing rope and food, and delicately light elfin cloaks that shed snow and water and cold like a duck’s down. As he helped me out of the carriage, he took me aside.
“Mistress Iris, I have something for you and I want you to promise me you’ll carry it with you.” He held out a small jewelry box.
I frowned, slowly accepting it. “What is this?”
Inside the velvet box sat a ring, a silver ring with a blue stone. It was beautiful and ornate, the band embellished with etchings of roses and leaves, but the energy coming from it was obscured to me.
“This is a ring of Shevah. It captures the spirit of Elqaneve and draws on the powers of Queen Asteria. It will strengthen you in the storm and shadow, and guide you when you are not sure of which direction to go. It won’t save you from harm, nor will it bring you victory, but the gift it bears may help see you through your task with a little more safety.”
His soft smile touched my heart, and I gazed into the eyes of the royal assistant. He was right-hand man to the Queen, her personal bodyguard. We had seen into his heart and knew something he didn’t even know about himself—Trenyth was in love with Queen Asteria. She was his all, and he would die for her. Any gift or help he gave to us had come from the heart of a gentle soul.
I held up the ring. It had been sized for small fingers, and so I slipped it on my right index finger and it fit, perfectly. As I gazed at the soft glow of the gem, a tear slid down my cheek and I found myself crying—just a little.
“Oh, Lady Iris.” Trenyth slipped his arms around me and I rested my head on his chest as he patted my back. “You’ll come through this. I know you will. I have faith in you.”
Sniffling, I pulled myself together and gave him a soft smile. “I wish I had as much faith in myself. I just . . . don’t know.”
He offered me his handkerchief and then, as we headed toward the bar, he saluted us. “Be safe. Contact me within four days’ time or I will send a search party.” And then, before I could say a word, he leapt into the carriage and the horses clattered off down the cobblestone streets.
THE INSIDE OF the tavern was dour, filled with shadow and the scent of overly sweet wine and hops. I glanced around, and toward the back, sitting at a long table alone, with a pitcher of beer in front of him, sat the Great Winter Wolf Spirit. Oh, how he shone. The season had quickened him. His wolf pelts were shimmering white and he sat tall, his skin pale against the dark tones of the table.
I motioned for the others to follow me and we headed toward the table. Howl glanced up at me.
“And so you come, Lady Iris.”
“And so I do. These are my friends, Smoky, Camille, and Rozurial.”
He gazed at them silently for a moment, then bid us all sit down. “Dragon, Witch, Incubus. And all bound to shadow, as is the Lady Iris.” He turned to Camille. “Though your shadows stem from another realm, far more terrifying than her own.”
At Camille’s startled look, he added, “I am an Elemental Lord. You expect anything less than my insight?” Before she could answer he drained his pint and stood. “You have struck the bargain, Iris. There is no turning back. Come, follow me. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find out the truth of your past.”
Howl led us to the door, then out into the snow-shrouded street. I glanced up at the shimmering flakes that softly drifted to the ground. The elfin cloaks were warm, and I was grateful that Trenyth had stopped us before we left. We’d brought packs and gear, but now we were much better prepared. Smoky and Roz were carrying most
of the equipment on their backs, leaving just our packs to Camille and me.
Passersby gave us wide berth—Howl was well known in Elqaneve and Dahnsburg, though he seldom went south of either city. The Winter Wolf Spirit was known to be volatile. He’d tear out your throat for as little as looking at him wrong, and yet he might just as easily rescue your child caught in the rapids of a rushing stream. Most people—elves, Fae, and Cryptos alike—found it safest to avoid the Elemental Lord.
We followed him through the darkened streets until we were on the outskirts. He led us to one of the barrows where a seldom-used portal waited. The guard look mildly surprised.
“Not many folks pass through here. Are you sure you want to go? The mountains are fiercely cold and winter is deep—” But then Howl, the Winter Wolf Spirit, walked to the front of the line. The guard fell silent, bowing his head quickly. He readied the portal.
“Where will this take us?” I asked.
“Deep into the upper reaches of the Tygerian Mountains, miss.” The guard glanced quietly at Howl, who did not speak. “From there, I assume you will be taking the portal to the Northlands. But you should rest for the night there—the village is safe for outsiders. Once you get into the heart of the Northlands, the accommodations are few and far between, and mostly to be found with private households.”
“I know the Northlands well, elf.” Smoky turned to him. “We won’t have any problems, but thank you for your concern.”
“The portal is ready. You may pass. May the Queen of Stars watch over you.” The elf stood back and we faced the glistening portal. The energy between the two standing stones crackled and popped, blue and white bolts rebounding from one stone to the other and back again.
Howl nodded to Smoky. “You first, then the incubus. Then the women. I will come last.” And so, without another word, we passed through to the Tygerian Mountains, where we did not tarry but instead crossed silently to the next portal and jumped all the way to the Northlands.
THE NORTHLANDS EXISTED in their own region, though they abutted Earthside, Otherworld, Valhalla, Kalevala, the Dragon Realms, and several other planes of existence. As we came through the portal, a blast of frigid air hit me—Elqaneve might have been chilly, but this was true cold. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as my breath puffed into white clouds in front of my face.
I stepped into a small room—it was a cavern actually, formed by hand, chipped out of the mountainside in the rough approximation of a square room. The man standing guard looked human, but I could tell he was one of the Northmen, a breed of humans who had sprung from the Norse and Finnish gods as they intermarried with humans.
Living between “heaven” and “earth,” the Northmen stayed in the Northlands between Valhalla, Kalevala, and Earthside. They were as strong and quick as most Fae, but over the years the powers they’d inherited from the gods had diminished. Even so, they were still hardier than any human and could take chill temperatures without exhaustion. Some of the Northmen could see in the dark, and others were extremely adept at fighting and shield work. Their magic was in their singing voices and in their ability to charm the energy of metals and woods and weather.
“Welcome to the edge of the world,” the guard said in the common tongue. He glanced at Smoky and let out a little cry, before giving the dragon a swift bow. “Lord Iampaatar, welcome back.”
Smoky returned the nod. “Well met, Hanson. We need lodging for the night. Can you send word ahead to the inn? Three rooms—one for myself and my wife, one for Lady Iris, and one for Rozurial. The Winter Wolf Spirit will no doubt wish to make his own accommodations.”
I gazed at Smoky. He was well known here, that much was obvious. Hanson motioned to another man who had been standing nearby, and the man took off with a single nod.
Howl let out a low grunt. “I have a standing room at the inn. We stay one night. Tomorrow we begin the journey at daybreak. We cannot afford to be out in the mountains come evening. I would survive, and the dragon, but the women and incubus would freeze.” He swept out of the stone room without another word and we followed him.
It had been cold inside, but outside, it was brilliant and icy. The darkness ate up every light except the glow from the crusted snow beneath our feet. The sky was clear—the stars twinkling over our heads.
Camille immediately pulled her cloak in front of her face and I did the same, although I was more adapted toward these temperatures than she. It felt a good fifteen degrees below zero, and we moved silently along the trail, which had been marked by ropes on both sides and eye catchers spaced evenly along the way. If we wandered off the path and got lost, we could die.
Howl led us along the trail, nimbly striding along the packed crust. As we skirted a snowbank to the right, then a thick copse of fir and cedar to the left, a faint light began to sparkle up ahead.
Rounding a curve in the path, we found ourselves facing an inn, just right of the path, about sixty yards ahead. Lit up like a Yule tree, with eye catchers all over the outside framing the three-story building, the inn had been carved out of stone. As I gazed at it, I suddenly remembered: I’d been here before. This inn had been witness to the end of my life in the Northlands.
THE JOURNEY DOWN from the temple had been achingly hard. There had been several blank spots in my memory, then the image of a sparkling woman in the mists who had carried me across a chasm. I’d struggled through the snows, not sure if I would survive even to reach the next morning.
They’d cast me out before I fully healed from their interrogations, and every joint in my body ached. The ishonar—magical flames of ice colder than anything in nature—had stripped my back with every lash, and while there were no open wounds, the weals that the whip had raised along my back ached. But the pain of my body was nothing compared to the pain in my head. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to keep it together.
Vikkommin, Vikkommin . . . his name echoed in my head.
Did you kill Vikkommin?
No, I don’t know, I don’t know anything.
The pain of a lash slashing across my back. Did you bind his soul to a shadow?
I don’t know . . . I don’t remember anything. I loved him—I loved him with all my heart. How could I have done anything that horrendous to him?
Another lash, another hellishly cold sting of ishonar, another scream that I slowly realized was emanating from the back of my own throat.
Tell us what happened.
I don’t remember. . . There was a knock on my door. I answered to find a message from him. He had called me to his room. I went, and I remember him opening the door . . . then it’s all blank, until you found me.
A pause, and then the lashes began to fall in earnest, as if all the pain in the world could break through the wall that had formed in my memory. And I began to scream, unable to stop, as I realized I had just lost everything dear to me in the world. And at that moment, I willed myself to die.
Later, when they had done all they could to me, but could prove nothing—no truth uncovered—I stood on the edge of the temple as they administered the final punishment: With one quick lop, the High Priestess sheared off my ankle-length hair at the nape of my neck. Now everyone would know I’d been banished from the temple—at least as long as it took to grow it out again. As she threw the golden strands into a fire pit, my nose wrinkled at the smell, and I hung my head, weeping silently.
My life was shattered. My head ached from the violation my mind had suffered. My back hurt beyond any pain I’d ever felt. But I understood that I wasn’t going to die, as much as I’d prayed for it.
The doors slowly began to shut. I turned and screamed, throwing myself to the ground. “Don’t forsake me. I am called by the goddess! She is in my heart. Kill me, please.”
The High Priestess stared down at me and a sorrowful look filled her eyes. “This is the last any of us will ever speak to you unless you can prove that you did not kill Vikkommin and bind his soul to the shadow. You have bee
n stripped of your strongest powers and are no longer a threat. You have been stripped of the title of Ar’jant d’tel. You are excommunicated from the order. Go forth, back into the world. For your life here is over.”
She turned away, slamming the giant doors against me.
I stayed prone for a long time, weeping until the tears froze on my face. Slowly, when the cold ate into my body, I stood and shouldered my pack and—as it rubbed against my wounds, setting off sparks of pain—began the harrowing journey down the mountain toward the portal that would take me out of the Northlands, back home to Finland where I would have to lie to my family to avoid the embarrassment my downfall would bring on them.
“IRIS, ARE YOU okay?” Camille poked me on the arm.
I shook out of my memories and blinked. “I just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I stayed at this inn a long, long, long time ago. It is very old yet still it stands against the ice and snow.” And so do I, I thought.
We headed up the steep flight of steps—the entrance to the inn was a full story off the ground, to avoid being snowed in every winter. When we reached the door, Howl pushed it open and we followed him in.
The central dining hall was huge and jam-packed. Northmen, a few ogres, a large party of dwarves, and other mountainhearty folk filled the room. Howl motioned for us to follow him to the bar.
“Jonah, you have the rooms ready?” he asked the barkeep.
Jonah, a dwarf, gave him a curt nod. “Aye, Master Howl. They are ready, indeed. Here are the keys.” He pushed four keys across the counter. “Will you all be wanting dinner?”
“Yes, we’ll eat over there.” Howl nodded toward an empty table, then handed the keys around. “Stew, bread, solid food for traveling.”
We made our way through the crowd to the table and slipped onto the benches. Smoky seemed unusually silent and I tapped the table in front of him.
Ice Shards Page 2
