Ice Shards

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  I WAS SO young. If I’d been human, I’d have barely passed sixteen. Many years before, the temple mothers had come to my family’s house in Finland, shortly after I shed my first monthly blood.

  “Your daughter is destined for the Order of Undutar. We’ve come to prepare you—she will come to the Northlands next year and live with us.”

  My mother had burst into tears. There was no refusal. When the gods called, you answered. If the gods wanted your children, you handed them over.

  “Will we ever see her again?” Mother wrapped her arms around me, and, speechless, I leaned my head against her chest. I’d never expected anything like this to happen, although I’d been having dreams of snow and mist and storms for months on end now.

  “You may come visit her in the temple once a year until she takes her oath of initiation. Then it’s up to her whether you’re welcome or not. Some of our Priestesses prefer to leave their old life behind for good. Others keep contact with family.”

  The Priestess, who was so old that I didn’t even dare gauge her age, smiled softly at me. She was wrapped in a blue and white cloak, and her eyes were covered with the clouds of age. She traveled with assistants, as well as a younger priest, and they all sat in our cozy little house in the forest.

  My father had gone hunting as soon as he let them in. He’d stared them down, silent, then left without saying a word. Everybody knew that if the Priests came to claim your children, all you could do was accede.

  The thought of life in a temple, high in the Northlands, both terrified and intrigued me. I’d never had high aspirations, hoping only to marry and bear children and live as my mother had lived, and my grandmother.

  Mother did the expected. Through her tears, she inclined her head to the Priestess. “It is an honor that one from our family be chosen. We have one year?”

  “One year.” The Priestess, who had once been human, rested her hand on a silver walking stick. “Spend it well and enjoy the time. Pirkitta will be well taken care of and she shall enjoy every luxury that comes with being one of Undutar’s handmaids. You need never fear for her future as long as she belongs to our order.”

  And so the next year, I kissed my ma and da and brothers and sisters good-bye, and when the entourage arrived in our village to take me to the Northlands, the entire town turned out to bid me farewell.

  I tried to numb myself as I climbed into the sleigh but as we journeyed toward the portals leading to the Northlands, slow tears etched down my cheeks as I watched everything I’d ever loved and known fall away behind me. Up ahead lay only the unknown. Everything was changing, and there was no turning back.

  Long years were spent being schooled in both magic and history. But finally . . . our time came.

  Fully a young woman now, it was time I underwent my vision quest. The Lady Undutar, in her infinite wisdom, would whisper to me and tell me the direction in which I would spend my life.

  On Winter Solstice, I was taken out to the Skirts of Hel and left with only a thin blanket. Along with five other acolytes, I scrambled on the wide swath of ice, staring up at the cave that led into the underworld.

  Hel’s Mouth . . . Hel’s purse . . . the Gates of Hel—the cavern was called by many names. Hel was not of our order, not of our pantheon, but we respected her and it was said that during the summer she and Undutar drank tea, and their ice cubes were the calves that broke off from the glaciers.

  I looked for shelter—the night would be deadly unless I could forage for some sort of protection from the elements, and acolytes were not allowed to stay together. And then I saw it: a small cave opening, tucked away at the edge of a forest. The White Forest was filled with dangers, but a night on the glacier seemed even more dangerous.

  I used the senses I’d been taught to heighten and reached out, examining the cave. It was small, big enough for one person, and empty. Nothing creeping within. Relieved, I scrambled down the glacial skirt—half sliding, half walking—and crawled into the opening against the side of the mountain.

  The sense of earth was thick around me and I felt mildly claustrophobic. I’d been working with mist and fog and snow energy for so long that earth felt too solid. But it would protect me from the bitter wind.

  As I calmed my thoughts and realized that, while chilly, I was no longer freezing, I decided to get it over with. No idea of what to expect, I pulled out the flask that my mentor had given me. She’d mixed the potion herself, spending three days in isolation to make it.

  “Pirkitta, this will give you the ability to enter the Dream Time. It will call the Goddess Undutar into you, and she will show you the path of your life and give you your true name. I will be able to sense you while you are out in the Dream Time, but I won’t be able to help. I will, however, be the one who records your true name into the historical ledger of the temple.”

  I sat in the dark, the smell of earth thick around me, sour and pungent, and held the potion to my chest. With a brief wonder at what my fellow acolytes were going through and whether they’d all be alive in the morning, I popped the top on the potion and drained the bottle.

  At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but then I realized I was able to see inside the inky cave. The ground itself was giving off a faint yellow glow, and in wonder I picked up a handful and brought it to my nose, deeply inhaling its rich scent. The uncomfortable and frozen hideout had now become a warm, inviting womb, filled with the scent of fresh rain and windswept moors and hot soup simmering over a slow fire.

  My fear draining out of me, I leaned back and closed my eyes. “What do you have to say to me, Lady? I feel you every morning when I wake, and I sense you watching over me every night when I fall asleep. Thank you, for bringing me into your Order. Thank you for choosing me.”

  And then, I was standing on a cliff, overlooking a steep valley below. All was crystalline frost and snow as far as I could see, clear and brilliant under a pale sky, and beside me stood a tall woman with hair as black as midnight, and eyes as piercing blue as my own. She stretched out her hand and the valley below came alive with deer and white hares, foxes and cardinals darting from tree to tree, their red a siren song in the endless vista of white.

  “This is my realm, this is my land. And there walks my daughter.”

  A young woman, or she might have been ancient—I could not tell, but my senses cried out “youth”—walked across the field, the animals gathering at her feet as she silently glided through the snow. Her hair was long and silver, with hints of violet streaking it, and her dress was gossamer and sheer as lace. She glanced up at us and smiled, waving.

  “The Lady of the Mists,” I whispered, suddenly recognizing the girl. She was an Elemental Lord—or Lady, as the case might be. “She is your daughter? I did not know she was a goddess.”

  “Yes, she is my daughter, but she is not a goddess. Her father is the Holly King, and therefore she takes her place as one of the Immortals. Even the gods die, but the Immortals live on, forever, as long as the world beneath our feet lives.” Undutar knelt by my side. “I chose you for a reason, Pirkitta. Your path will be neither easy nor comfortable, not for a long, long time to come. But you are mine, and all will play out in the end.”

  And then she kissed my forehead and her mark sang through me like the morning sun, warming me, blossoming out into my heart, and I knew I would forever love and cherish her.

  “Do you accept me, child?”

  “I do. I am yours, by heart and soul, by blood and bone, by breath and life.” My breath caught in my chest. Whatever she asked of me, it was hers. If she commanded me to rip out my heart and hand it up to her on a platter, I would willingly do so.

  “Then I name you my Ar’jant d’tel. You are Chosen of the Gods, and you will train for the position of High Priestess. You will be my incarnation in the world and my voice. Remember me when times are bleak. I will always be at your side, regardless of what others say.”

  A silver buzz began to fill my head and I tried to focus, but it swept me
under the layers of swirling fog. I rose into the air, arms outstretched, through layers of rock and stone and bone and ice, until all around me swirled the sparkling mist, a vortex of vapor, a whirlwind of whistling snow and my heart felt frozen through, as the ice clung to my body, melting through my flesh, sinking deep into my blood.

  In my veins, the freezing rain took hold, blended into my very essence, singing its magic into the cells that made up my body and soul, and the world began to expand. I sucked in a deep breath as my Lady spun me round and round, a marionette on strings. Her laughter flowed like honey in my ears, her songs were siren’s breath, and I knew that no matter what she would always be with me, because I was now a part of her.

  At the core of my being, I was no longer alone. Undutar was with me.

  Joy took hold, the snowflakes whirling in time to the music that raced by on the wind. I wanted to dance and sing. The Lady had chosen me, I was her handmaiden. I was Ar’jant d’tel—and I would someday be her voice.

  Visions of leading her rituals in the temple, of walking in her glory through the rest of my days, of being the Priestess Incarnate washed over me and I dropped my head back and let out a slow, luxurious laugh.

  At that moment, I noticed someone coming into view, through the astral fields of magic and mist, and he was glorious. He was not a sprite, but human, albeit quite short. His long dark hair tumbled to his shoulders, and his eyes were molten pools of chocolate. He was fair of face, though his jaw had a vaguely rugged look to it. He was slight of build, but the power in his walk—he was no acolyte.

  He wore robes as blue as the summer morning, and when he saw me his eyes lit up with a warmth that immediately sucked me in.

  “Vikkommin, my High Priest–to-be, meet Pirkitta, Ar’jant d’tel, who will one day take her place as my High Priestess. Together, as consorts, the two of you will be trained to take over my temple and to lead my order. Get to know one another—you will have a long lifetime together.”

  And so Vikkommin and I came together, on the astral in front of our Lady, and began to explore each other’s energy. He leaned down, took me in his arms, and as his hungry lips met mine, the world faded and I lost my heart to him.

  I SHOOK MY head, surprised to see that we were almost at the edge of the forest. I’d been wrapped in memories for some time, and the snow had built up on my shoulders. I brushed it off, letting out a long sigh.

  Vikkommin, what happened to you? What happened that night?

  We walked in silence, Smoky and Howl striding through the depths, Rozurial aiding Camille through the drifts. I glanced down at the dragon on whose shoulder I sat, thinking that we made for a strange little party of five. And how far I’d come—how far I’d fallen—from the day Undutar named me her Ar’jant d’tel.

  And yet, I was not unhappy. Life as the High Priestess would have been wonderful and strange and magical, but when I looked over my life, except for the inability to have children, I was content. I was helping out in a cause where I was sorely needed. I had extended family and a new love. And friends. I’d never expected anything spectacular before I was first approached by Undutar’s envoys—and though the land I lived in now was far from the shores of my birth, it was a beautiful and vibrant land.

  Once I broke the curse and put Vikkommin to rest I’d be content to return to Seattle and marry Bruce. If you’re innocent , a little voice whispered inside. If you’re innocent.

  “There—up ahead. Just a little farther and we’ll be on the Skirts of Hel.” Howl pointed, looking relieved in the growing dusk. The snow was still swirling and we glided silently along the path.

  We were almost to the edge of the tree line when a swishing sound slashed through the air, and Camille screamed. Smoky turned, abruptly, catching me as I fell from his shoulder. He sat me down behind Howl and I peered around from behind the Great Winter Wolf Spirit to see what was happening.

  Camille was fighting against something—all I could see was a shine that flickered like strands of hair. And then Smoky was by her side, as well as Roz, and they were struggling to free her. Howl held me back by the shoulder.

  “Snow spiders. Do not draw near them, Iris, for their venom is deadly and could kill you with one bite.” He glanced around, pulling out his sword. “Where there is one, there will be others.”

  Smoky lashed out with his talons and Camille stumbled, as if freed from something. It was then that, glancing into the trees, I caught sight of her attackers. They were hanging down, a foot or so above her head, from the tops of the interlacing trees that crossed the path—a pair of wide, squat, joint-legged spiders. Almost alabaster, they shimmered in the late afternoon light, and it was then I noticed we’d been traveling under a layer of webs that spanned the treetops along the entire path.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” I whispered.

  Howl glanced down at me. “Would it have made the journey easier, to know?”

  “No, no—I guess not.” But the sight of the webs brought back thoughts of the web-laden forests of Darkynwyrd and of the hobo werespiders I’d fought with Camille and her sisters, and a chill raced up my spine as I saw a host of scuttling creatures racing along through the nets of silk.

  Camille broke free from the snare line, thanks to Smoky, and leapt back, trying to shake off the webs. Roz pulled out a jagged dagger and began thrusting his Kris knife at the nearest spider.

  Smoky leapt up and landed a blow on the other one, yanking his hand away as the creature struck at him with very visible fangs. The spiders were the size of a dinner plate, and a faint bluish glow emanated from their fangs. Magical.

  Camille backed up, chanting something.

  “Damn it, I suppose they’re immune to ice and snow magic, too,” I said, feeling useless.

  Howl nodded. “I’m afraid so, Mistress Iris.”

  A wave of discontent raced through me, and I began to stew. What good was I if I couldn’t help my friends when they’d come along just for me? As my irritation grew, I found myself focusing on the spiders that were now scuttling down to the ground as Smoky and Roz sought to keep them from reaching Camille without getting bitten themselves in the process.

  And just like that, I felt it well up—the same energy that had come rolling through when we’d faced the Tregarts who had killed Henry. The same energy that—

  Before I could capture the memory, the rolling wave hit and I forced them into the stream of energy that poured forth from my outstretched hands.

  With a little shriek, the spiders appeared to explode, but at second look, they were simply reversed. Turned inside out like a cast-off shirt. Torn to shreds.

  I gasped. Once again, I hadn’t realized what I’d been doing, although I knew I’d been driven to do something to protect my friends.

  Smoky and Rozurial stared at the two bloody bodies, and then, together with Camille, they looked at me.

  “Iris,” Camille whispered. “You did it again. You . . . They’re . . .”

  “Yes, I can see,” I said, not sure of what to think. “I thought once it might be a fluke, but twice . . .” I’d had this power when I was in training to be High Priestess and thought it stripped away from me, but now twice it had come flooding back, when I felt weak and angry and helpless.

  I glanced up at them. “I was capable of much more than this when I was in my training. I could have so easily torn Vikkommin from his body and thrust him into shadow. So the question is, did I?”

  “No,” Howl said. “The question is, shall we remove ourselves from the White Forest before the rest of their eightlegged brethren come to capture us?” He nodded to the webs where the spiders looked to be amassing.

  “Fuck! Run!” Camille said, grabbing my hand and struggling toward the entrance. “I have no desire to be lunch to a bunch of spiders.”

  Smoky grabbed the both of us up and, tossing us over his shoulders, ran with long leaping strides through the snow. Five minutes and we stood on the edge of the Skirts of Hel. The edge of the world.

&nbs
p; Howl and Roz joined us as we silently gazed up at the towering mountain of ice that stood before us. The White Forest marked the end of the tree line. Above here existed ice and snow and, for the brief summer, scattered fields of wildflowers and scrub brush that were as fleeting as a distant dream. The path, still compact snow, led ever upward, skirting the plains of ice, winding through the windswept trees that lay nearly sideways from the constant storms that buffeted the mountain peaks.

  Camille gazed at the panorama of jagged peaks and frozen sheets of ice. “Where’s your temple?” she whispered, as if afraid of setting off an avalanche.

  “See the bend that winds to the left, near the stand of scrub there?” I pointed to a small thicket of scrub brush in the distance. “When you turn left, you pass behind a tall ridge and then curve back to the right. You can’t see from here, but there’s a fork in the road at that point. The path leads higher, the fork takes you on to the Order of Undutar. I haven’t been this close to the temple in . . . six hundred years.”

  And then it hit me that I was on the way home—but to a home that had cast me out, that had branded me pariah. I’d spent so many centuries writing them out of my life, hiding behind half-truths and truths unknown. And now I had returned, to discover once and for all what the truth of my life was.

  Would I like the answer when I found it? I didn’t know, but whatever happened, I would know, forever, if I was a murderer.

  FIVE

  “WE’RE CLOSE TO SUNSET AND THE NIGHT winds will be howling down the mountain any moment. We have to reach my Pack.” Howl motioned off the trail toward one of the nearest skirts of ice that stretched down from the glacial peak.

  Most people didn’t understand that glaciers weren’t the mountains themselves but rather the ice that covered the mountain in large patches and sheets. Some glaciers melted during the summer—there were areas here that did, but unlike back in the Cascades near Seattle, the Northlands were not subject to global warming. During summers here, the temperature occasionally reached sixty degrees, but days like that were seldom and far between.