Without seeming to look around, Aleksia meandered up the bank. At least the vegetation wasn’t dead here, although it certainly was lifeless-looking. As she had been led to believe, Tuoni was essentially a duplicate of life on the living earth, an endless series of identical villages going deeper and deeper into the fog. Those who had died the most recently were nearest the river, and the marks of what they had died of were still visible on their bodies. It could have been gruesome, had their wounds not been bloodless and their bodies as pale and chill as the maiden’s. It was said, by the sources that Aleksia had studied, that the longer a spirit remained her, the more of its death it forgot. Signs of wounds and injuries and illness vanished, severed limbs reattached and the spirit looked more and more as it remembered itself, in its prime of life. It would move away from the bank and deeper into the island, finding a home for itself, beginning a kind of passionless second life that was a mirror of its first. It would push the memories of that first life into the depths of its mind, unless it was asked. But then, if it was questioned too closely, or in the wrong way, all those memories would come rushing back, and with them, all the remembered pain and pleasure of living. Then it would turn on the questioner—and that could be fatal. Eventually, the spirit would come to a place where it would just lie down and sleep. It could be awakened, but if it was not, that was how it stayed—in a state of endless slumber.
Fortunately, questions were more common, here on the shore. The spirits wandered, looking for loved ones, looking for answers, looking for a purpose. She wandered among them, also looking. In her case, she was looking for the victims of the Icehart. They should be obvious enough; an entire village worth of people that had all died at once should stand out.
There was a strange feeling to this place. It was not despair; it was too dull for that. Apathy, perhaps. It seemed to permeate everything, lying over Aleksia’s spirit like a gray pall.
It made it hard to move and hard to think. She had armored herself as best as possible against this very thing, and still the all-pervasive melancholy made it hard to move and think. And this was the second trap, this terrible lack of anything but ennui, this leaden weight on the soul that made it tempting, so tempting, just to lie right down and never move again.
This place did not need monsters to keep it free of the living. And it did not need guards to make it deadly. Not all traps were violent, or needed to be. This was why the spirits of the dead stopped moving, stopped thinking, and went to sleep.
Aleksia kept moving, staring at the faces of the dead, until she became inured to what she saw there, and to some of the terrible things they had died of. What was perhaps the most disturbing about them was how they went about perfectly ordinary tasks with the signs of terrible deaths on them, or wrapped in shrouds instead of clothing. They moved slowly, dreamlike, in and around the ghostly houses and buildings that were only half there, chopping wood, cooking, washing and yet, not really accomplishing anything.
And then, finally, she saw what she was looking for, the signs that these people had been victims of the Icehart. An entire village full of people, many of them, men, women, children and even infants in the arms of some of the women. All of them with ice-rimed faces and hair, skin frost-covered, and wearing, not shrouds, but ordinary clothing that was also ice-coated.
She drifted closer to them, letting the eddies of the crowds carry her toward them. Finally she was in among them, and paused, then stood completely still, her eyes on her feet. It was very cold among these people, as if they still exhaled the freezing breath of the thing that had killed them.
One of the men finally noticed her. He sat knotting a net, or seeming to anyway, although the net never got any bigger. Of course it didn’t. Nothing ever changed here. Nothing ever would.
“Do I know you?” he asked, with a vague frown.
She took care not to show any interest. That would point her out as being different, and that would be bad. “Do you?” she replied dully. “I do not remember…” Not remembering was a safe answer.
“Are you from my village?” He looked around at the others like him. “We all seem to be here. I think something happened, although…” Now it was his turn to trail off his words as uncertainty washed over him.
Hmm, he might not even remember dying. “What village is that?” she asked as if she really did not care.
“Inari,” he said promptly. “This is Inari. Although…it does not look like Inari.” He faltered. “I do not remember Inari having this much fog.”
“I am not from Inari,” she replied quickly. “I do not think you could know me.” She sidled away from him before he could ask many more questions, leaving him staring at the half-finished net in his hands.
She moved farther along, down something like a path, to the next village. The people here displayed similar signs of death by freezing. With luck, this was the second village that had been the Icehart’s victim. This time, her quarry was a woman doing laundry, washing out shirts that showed no sign of dirt, spreading them to dry on gray-leaved bushes,
Once again, she waited until the woman herself asked, “Do I know you?” It seemed this village had been named Purmo. Again, the villagers had no idea what had killed them, or even that they were dead. It was enough to make anyone weep with the pathos of it, but Aleksia did not dare show any such signs of emotion.
The third time, although the village was obviously the third victim of the Icehart’s power, it took several tries before she could find anyone to talk to her. These villagers were already forgetting who and what they had been; most of them ignored her as if she was a buzzing fly. Finally, one of the children spoke to her; its little face contorted into a mask of concentration as it tried to remember just where it was supposed to be. This was the village of Kolho, or rather, this was what the villagers thought should be Kolho.
Now she had the names of all three villages. Unfortunately, no one had seen what it was that had killed them. For that matter, most of them were not yet aware that they were dead.
She made her way back to the riverbank, slipping around the villages, avoiding the spirits as much as she could. Now was the time to run, and swiftly, before she was unmasked; she had gotten what she came for, but this was the hardest part of the quest.
Getting back. Because the things guarding Tuonela were not to keep things out, they were meant to keep things from escaping. Why should the guardians here be concerned about anything getting in? Whoever tried would only end up dead and remain here anyway.
Not always true…but true enough. Some of the great Heroes of Sammi legends had tried to come here and had died here. Of course, being great Heroes, according to the legends, they did not necessarily remain dead—but that was legend and not fact.
Now if she ran afoul of Tuonela’s guardians…it would not be good.
She was going to have to deal with them and get past them without actually fighting them; the point was that she not be surprised, that she meet them on her terms and not theirs.
This would take some very careful maneuvering.
She went as far as the edge of the river before pausing. The moment she set so much as a toe into the water, the guardian would be alerted, but according to all three of the stories she had read, it was at the cave’s mouth that she had to beware the most. Carefully, she looked around, made sure that there were no spirits nearby to catch her at what she was about to do, then took one of three tiny bundles that appeared to be a packet of leaves wrapped up in white thread out of her sleeve. She set the first down at the water’s edge.
“Blood of my blood, my semblance be, Let them see you and not me.”
A kind of pillar of smoke arose from where the packet had been. A moment later, it was not a pillar of smoke anymore. An identical twin to Aleksia stood there, regarding her thoughtfully, as she was regarding it. It looked uncannily intelligent—thank goodness it was not—it was nothing more than a mindless, soulless copy that would do exactly what she directed it to. But this was goo
d, because she was about to be very, very cruel to it.
“Dip a toe into the water,” she whispered to it, as she passed her hands across her own face, rendering herself invisible. “Then, when the spirits come to tear you apart, run.”
She withdrew a little way, and watched as the simulacrum obeyed her. As if the contact with the water had been a signal, spirits, eyes bright with anger, swarmed out of the fog to converge on the hapless duplicate. And, as directed, she ran.
She fled along the shoreline and was soon out of sight, with the uncannily silent mob in hot pursuit. The moment they were gone, Aleksia slipped into the water.
It was numbingly cold. The chill was somehow worse than being in a cold river up in the world of the living. The cold seemed to penetrate somehow, and the water itself made her clothing far heavier than it should have been. Such light garments should have floated weightlessly, but instead, they felt as if they were made of stone. She struggled as she swam, keeping her eyes fixed on the farther shore. Halfway over, she saw what she had hoped not to see; the huge Swan approached, gliding here and there through the mist, its neck outstretched as it peered among the reeds and then returned to the center of the river, and it looked as if it was searching for something.
Quickly, she took out the second of her packets, whispered her spell, and let it go, saying “Swim away! Swim fast.”
The simulacrum obeyed, heading upriver, against the sluggish current. Since it was white against the gray of the water, it took the Swan a moment to spot it. By then, it had a substantial head start.
The Swan uttered an angry hiss, and paddled furiously after it, as Aleksia herself continued for the farther shore, swimming as hard as she could without making any splashing sounds.
She almost fainted with relief when she felt the gravel of the river’s edge beneath her toes. She dragged herself out of the water, her limbs feeling like lead, and her teeth clenched to prevent chattering. It was all she could do to muster the energy to create a warming spell and dry her clothing, and for a very, very long time she simply sat on a stone in on the bank, chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, getting her energy back. Because the final guardian was going to be the most difficult of all to pass.
And this was going to take very good coordination indeed. She had only one more of her decoys, and if she misjudged…
Walking silently, and very, very carefully, she moved up the bank to the cave-mouth. She examined the ground ahead of her minutely, not proceeding until she was satisfied it was safe to do so. Finally, as she drew nearer to the rock wall that marked the boundary of this place, she spotted what she was looking for, a curved row of white pebbles across the path.
She backed away, slowly and carefully, and waited. Had it heard her? Sensed her? Her heart pounded in her throat, and her mouth was dry as she waited for a sign that she had been detected.
Nothing.
She leaned down and placed the leaf bundle on the ground, and thought her spell at it. Once again, the pillar of smoke sprang up from it, and then turned into her duplicate. She gave it a tiny shove between the shoulder blades to start it moving toward the hole in the rock that would lead to safety.
The simulacrum crossed the row of white pebbles.
And the enormous jaws of the monster that was the last guardian of Tuonela snapped shut on it.
That row of pebbles had been the tops of its lower teeth! The upper teeth were the stalactites that appeared to protrude from the ceiling of the cave. When the jaws slammed shut, it became clear that the cave’s entrance was nothing more than the monster’s mouth and throat. And that anything walking into it would be devoured.
But Aleksia had been waiting for that moment, for the stories all said that it was much harder for the monster to get its mouth open than to slam it shut. She leapt for the snout, putting all her strength into her legs, a new burst of energy coursing through her, fueled by pure fear. Her left foot hit the creature’s snout, her right landed between its piggy eyes, each the size of a feasting platter. Her left impacted the middle of its neck, and then she was through, into the real cave, running as hard and as fast as she could for the entrance, with terror and elation in equal parts singing in her veins.
She did not stop running until she was in the cellars of her own Palace again, dismissed the spell and stood there, barefoot, bedraggled and exhausted.
9
ALEKSIA STUMBLED UP TO HER ROOMS SHAKING WITH COLD and reaction. And yet, deep inside, there was a sense of elation. Elena was right; she had never yet “done” anything herself, and really being active made her feel like nothing else ever had. For the first time ever, she was a part of something. Instead of merely guiding the tale, she was in the middle of it. It was exciting and frightening all at once.
“Godmother!” her attendant exclaimed as soon as she entered the door. “You are going to catch your death of cold! Let’s get you out of that—what is that thing? It looks like a shroud!” The little Brownie scowled at her as if she had committed some terrible faux pas. Perhaps in the Brownie’s eyes, she had. This damp concoction was hardly the sort of thing a Godmother of the Snow Queen’s stature should have been wearing.
“It is a shroud,” Aleksia replied wearily. “I have been to Tuonela to speak with the dead. If they did not think I was one of them, they would have torn me to pieces.”
The Brownie’s eyes grew large and round. “You? Went yourself? Is that not the task of a seeker? Or a Hero or Champion at least? Should you not have sent Kay?”
She laughed weakly. “This is not Kay’s tale, my friend. I might have asked if any of you were willing, but there are no Brownies in Tuonela. Therefore, it must be me, and I very much think that I am going to have to enter this tale further. The truth is, someone is masquerading as me, so I believe I am going to have to take a personal hand in this story.”
The Brownie shook her head. “Better you than me, Godmother. Better you than me.”
“Well, for now, I must tend to Kay’s tale, and I need warmth and tea.” She paused and realized just how empty she felt. “And food.” She sent a moment of thought to her big mirror in the throne room, telling it to find Gerda for her. She would need to look in on the girl once she was feeling better.
With the Brownie’s help, she pulled off the damp, cold and rather mildew-scented gown and once it was off, she realized at the same time that the Brownie wrinkled up her nose that it was not just the gown that smelled of mildew and algae.
“You’re having a bath,” her attendant said. She was not in the mood to argue. The mirror, and Gerda, could wait. It was not as if the girl was in any danger with the Bear there. At this point, Aleksia could probably tie the whole tale up once Kay was well and truly ready.
Without a moment of hesitation, she went straight through her bedroom to the bathroom, which, like the rest of her suite, was a haven of warmth. Tiled in golden marble, lighted by an oversized Mage-light in the center of the ceiling that also gave off a warm, golden glow, the chief feature was a huge bathtub carved of honey-colored, translucent stone. To be honest, her bathroom was one of her favorite places in the entire Palace. Whenever she felt overwhelmed and tense, a good long soak always made her feel better, and this above all was the place where the contrast between her old life as a Princess and her life as a Godmother was the greatest. Even as a Princess, hot baths were labor-intensive affairs that involved a great deal of hot water being carried to a hip-bath in pails; the water never stayed hot for long, and a hot soak was a great indulgence. Therein was the great contrast. Perhaps this was equally indulgent, but she sacrificed so much already by living up here, and what was the use of having magic if you couldn’t have a steady supply of hot water whenever you wanted it?
It did not take the Brownie very long at all to draw the bath; within moments, Aleksia was able to sink up to her neck in glorious hot water, scented with jasmine and lily. The tub was of a unique design that allowed the bather to recline against a slanted back and put her head back so th
at her hair fell into a separate, deep basin for it to be washed. Aleksia’s hair was not as long as some, only reaching halfway down her back, but this arrangement was as much practical as it was indulgent. Right now, her hair smelled of waterweeds, and the Brownie made disapproving noises over it. As Aleksia let the heat soak into her very bones, and nibbled at the batter-dipped sausages and bits of vegetables that had been brought to her, the Brownie poured more hot water over her long hair, soaped and washed it, then repeated the washing until she was satisfied it was finally clean.
“I cannot imagine what you were doing, Godmother,” the Brownie said in a scolding voice. “Your hair was positively green.” She worked snow-lily scent through it, combed it out and spread it over the back of the tub to dry, fanning it to speed the process. Aleksia closed her eyes with a sigh. She was full, warm and floating in scent, and there was no reason to move. All was well for the moment.
“I was swimming,” Aleksia explained. “It was the only way to leave Tuonela once I was done with my business there.”
“In this weather?” her attendant gasped.
“In Tuonela, it is not Winter.” She cracked open an eye to see the Brownie’s baffled expression. “Tuonela is the Sammi Underworld,” she elaborated. “There is a river about it, a ferry takes you over if you are dead—or if the spirit thinks you are—but there is no way back save to swim the river.”
“And a nasty river it must be.” The Brownie sniffed. “You may be sure I am never going there.”
“You are not likely to have to.” Aleksia chuckled, and closed her eyes again. “As I said, there are no Brownies in Tuonela, only the spirits of the Sammi dead.” She could easily have fallen asleep in the tub. She could certainly have stayed there until her fingers and toes were wrinkled and white and her dinner wore off.
[500 Kingdoms 04] - The Snow Queen Page 16
