Gwylly started, clutching her hand tightly. “Faeril, oh Faeril, you’re awake.” He kissed her and clutched her other hand.
She was in a bed, not her own, but a stranger’s instead. Her throat was dry. But before she could say anything, Riatha moved into view. Aravan, too. The Elfess held a chalice to Faeril’s lips, and a minty aroma wafted up from the cool water. Eagerly she drank, easing her terrible thirst. Riatha gave her another cup, and then another; this last the damman took in her own hands and sipped.
“Where?” she whispered, setting the chalice aside.
Gwylly answered. “You are in the healers’ quarters, love. We brought you here three days ago.”
Faeril’s eyes widened. “Three days?”
Riatha nodded. “Thou wert as if fevered, though no fever had thee. Thy consciousness was fled from thee. Gwylly found thee so, on thy doorstep, three evenings apast.”
“Oh, Riatha, I was in the crystal”—her voice gained strength—“it was beautiful.”
Gwylly squeezed her hand. “Oh, love, I thought…well. I didn’t know what to think. But you are back, and that’s all that counts. You’ve returned.”
“In the crystal?” Riatha looked at Aravan. The Elf shook his head, for he had not heard of such in all his years.
“Yes, Riatha. In the crystal:” She pulled Gwylly’s hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “Oh Gwylly, I tried to see what the future held for us. But I failed, my buccaran, for though images glittered past, no vision of the future did I see.”
Gwylly stroked her fingers again. “Perhaps not, but you did call out something.”
“I did?”
“Aye. In Twyll.”
“What did I say? Did you understand it?”
“Oh, yes, I understood the words, though I don’t understand their meaning. It was as Riatha first examined you You opened your eyes and looked straight at her and said;
“‘Ritana fi Za’o
De Kiler fi ca omos,
Sekena, ircuma, va lin du
En Vailena fi ca Lomos.’
“If my Twyll is correct, it means:
“Rider of Impossibility,
And Child of the same,
Seeker, searcher, he will be
A Traveller of the Planes.”
Faeril looked at Riatha, hoping for an explanation. Riatha slowly shook her head. “I know not, wee one. It would indeed require an impossible rider to travel among the three Planes. The ways are sundered for those not of the blood and pattern, and none has the blood of all three Planes.”
Aravan fell into deep thought but said nothing, keeping his counsel unto himself.
* * *
The next morn, Riatha came alone to speak to Faeril. Heed me, wee one: I know not how to counsel thee true, yet this do 1 say: What seemed but moments to thee in the crystal was three days of time without. The journey thou didst take was mayhap a most dangerous one, and though thou didst safely return, I would ask thee to refrain from stepping along those pathways again without a learned guide…one who knows the ways of crystals and seeings, else thou might get lost within and not return at all.”
Long was the damman silent, reflecting, remembering the beauty of the crystal, the feeling of peace and well-being, the golden images of her soul and the visions beyond, remembering as well the look of anguish upon her buccaran’s face. Sighing, at last she agreed.
* * *
Faeril rapidly recovered from her days of entrancement, seeming no worse for the experience. The damman was eager to take up the crystal again; even so, still she resolved to heed Riatha’s warning, intending to wait until she could find someone experienced in the ways of a seer. But though she resolved to wait for a teacher, her thoughts were ever and again drawn unto the glittering, shifting luminous panes and to the tinkle and ting of wind chimes.
Summer came with the solstice, and the days waxed toward the harvest and then waned toward fall. In the month that summer began, word came to Aravan that a ship would be awaiting them at Ander to sail on the autumnal equinox and bear them to Innuk. And in the waning weeks of summer, some thirty-five days ere the first of autumn, they took their leave of Arden Vale to begin their journey to Aleut.
On the day they prepared to go, as they saddled their mounts and bundled their goods on a pair of packhorses as well as their steeds, Inarion sought them out. And he gave unto Gwylly a leather bag of silver bullets for his sling, the shot crafted by Inarion’s own hand, saying, “I deem thou might need such, whither thou art bound.”
Gwylly accepted the bullets and bowed to the Elf and said in Sylva, “Vi danva ana, vo Alor.”
Inarion then gave over to Faeril a silver dagger in a tooled black leather sheath, these too made by his own hand. “This will give thee a blade somewhat like unto the one the Dwarves made for thy ancestor Petal, long past.”
Faeril smiled and with a curtsy accepted the knife, saying in Sylva, “Alor Inarion, vi eallswa danva ana.” Faeril then hefted the dagger and compared it to the ancient blade of the Dwarven smiths. Although the new was not identical to the old, still they were a fine pair: even so, she slipped the dagger and sheath onto the belt at her waist, leaving the one scabbard empty upon her crossing bandoliers.
Inarion then addressed both. “Heed, ye will always be welcome in Arden Vale, be it for an hour, a day, or a thousand years.”.
The Warder of the Northern Regions of Rell then knelt and embraced each Waerling. And with a nod to Aravan and Riatha, he stepped back.
As they rode up and out of Arden Vale, packhorses trailing behind, following the path up the west wall of the gorge and through the tunnel, they heard the horns of Elves sounding in farewell. And when they emerged, all was silent, and the vast stretch of Drearwood lay before them.
* * *
They fared across the Land of Rhone, following along the northern fringes of Drearwood, passing over the River Caire at Drear Ford. Then northerly they swung, up into Rian, riding up the plains lying between the river in the distance to the east and the far Signal Mountains to the west.
The golden time of summer lay upon the land, and long, lazy days and pleasant nights accompanied them on their way. On the fourteenth day of travel it rained, and as the chill drizzle fell, they passed through the Argent Hills, the high-mounded tors running from the Dalara Plains in the west to the Rigga Mountains in the east. There in the Argent Hills they came to the trade road between Challerain Keep lying southeasterly and the Dwarvenholt of Blackstone to the north, and they set the hooves of their mounts along this way.
And as they rode, Riatha mentioned that Blackstone had been besieged by one of Modru’s Hordes during the Winter War, yet the Drimma—the Dwarves—had held out to the end, when the Dimmendark collapsed.
Faeril then began telling Gwylly the various legends of Sir. Tuckerby Underbank, the Bearer of the Red Quarrel. And thus they whiled away their time as they fared toward the Boreal Sea.
Two weeks and four days after leaving Arden, they came to where the trade road swung sharply east, running straight for Blackstone in the Rigga Mountains, and there the foursome left its track, continuing on northerly across the Realm of Rian.
There were few settlements along their journey, though now and again they passed through a hamlet. When they could, they stayed in an inn, luxuriating in whatever beds it offered, taking hot baths as well. At other times they put up at farmsteads, usually sleeping in byres, where their beds were made of hay. And always the innkeepers and farmers would goggle at these fey folk, at the Warrows and the Elves, for seldom did they get even ordinary visitors, much less travellers such as these.
But for the most part they camped—in thickets or coppices or stands of forest trees, though now and again they slept in the open, while hoping it would not rain.
And slowly they wended north, covering some twenty to twenty-five miles a day, some seven or eight leagues ’tween sunrise and sunset by Elven measure.
Twenty-six days had passed in all in the waning summer when the
Boreal Sea came into view, the waters seeming and and grey in the distance. Even so, Gwylly and Faeril were stunned by the sight of water reaching unto the very horizon and beyond.
Down they rode toward a small port town in a sheltered harbor along the shores of the sea; they had come to the town of Ander, where Aravan’s messenger had arranged for a ship to meet them. And there was yet a week and a day ere the autumnal equinox would come.
* * *
The ship they sailed on was a round-bellied knorr, a cargo vessel of the Fjordsmen making its last run of the season, for soon the Boreal Sea would rage with winter storms. Even in the best of times the Boreal was fickle, but in the worst she was brutal.
The day they sailed was pleasant enough, with a brisk westerly wind. Still the waters were chill, and the air scudding across the waves blew cold, and rope and canvas and timbers creaked and snapped and groaned in response.
Faeril and Gwylly stood at the rail and watched the land recede, while Riatha and Aravan spoke with Captain Am.
“I hated to leave Blacktail behind,” said Faeril. “Dapper, too. But I suppose the place where we go is too cold for horse or pony.”
Gwylly put his arm about the damman. “Worry not, my dammia, for they will be waiting for us at Arden Vale when we return.”
Faeril nodded, saying nothing, for she knew that Aravan bad arranged for a rider to take the horses and ponies to Challerain Keep and deliver them to an Elven caravan master to be taken to Arden Vale. Even so, she had tended to Blacktail since the filly’s birth and did not wish to part from her.
* * *
Northeasterly they sailed, the ship wallowing and groaning, faring along the coastal waters of Rian and then Gron. They turned northerly after a full day to pass around the Seabane Islands and avoid the suck of the Great Maelstrom, there where the Gronfang Mountains plunged into the sea. Throughout this second day it rained, and the bosom of the sea rose and fell. Below decks neither Gwylly nor Faeril felt well, a dull nausea rising in their throats, and they ate and drank most sparingly. For two more days they felt thus, though walking about the deck and breathing in the brisk salt air helped. The following day their appetites returned with a vengeance and stayed with them thereafter. Their course had hewed northerly and then easterly, along the coast of the Steppes of Jord and toward distant Fjordland.
During this time the crew of the knorr—Hvalsbuk was her name—looked upon the Warrows and Elves with wide eyes, for these were Folk seldom seen. It was Faeril who broke the ice, however, by asking what Hvalsbuk meant.
A crewman scratched his head, searching his mind for the Common tongue words, then replied, “Whale’s Belly, miss, that be her name. Whale’s Belly.”
Faeril doubled over laughing, as the Hvalsbuk wallowed and creaked and groaned and bore her cargo easterly.
In late afternoon of the eleventh day, they docked at last in Vidfjord, sailing round the curve of the wide-mouthed bight and into the high-walled fjord, travelling some six miles in all to come to the fjordside town.
* * *
The very next morning again they set sail, this time in a swift Dragonship, the Bølgeløper, which Faeril discovered meant Waverunner. Eighty feet long and open-hulled she was, with twenty oarlocks down each side. Her sail was square and could be angled to catch the wind by a long whisker pole, called a beitass by the captain. Crewed by forty, they rowed down to the sea, then set sail east-northeast for a day or so, then easterly for another.
Fleet was this ship running o’er the waves, like a Wolf loping o’er the snow. Yet no Wolf this, for she never grew weary and ran as long as the wind blew. Aptly was she named, for running day and night, in just over two days she crossed some four hundred miles of water, to swiftly come to the shores of Aleut.
* * *
Winter came, frigid beyond expectation, at times the wind hammering for days on end. The land froze and the sea as well, as far as the eye could see. Ice covered all, that or snow. And Faeril and Gwylly and Riatha learned what Aravan already knew; the arctic was not a fit place to dwell, given nearly any other alternative.
Yet the Aleutans thrived on this land, if land it could be called. But even they in the long winter months seldom ventured far. For storms came unexpectedly, savage in their fury, and to be trapped or lost in such often led to death. And so they sheltered in coastal vales in earthen houses crafted from sod and stone and logs of vale pine, smoke hole in the roofs, bare dirt floors within. Also sheltered in the deep vales were the gathered herds of ren, deerlike and antlered, wealth of the Aleutans. But even among the pine forests in the vales, winter was harsh and living hard.
Even so, still the foursome learned to cope, living among the Aleutans in the sod and stone huts as they did, lacking the amenities of life they had become accustomed to in Arden. And swiftly they discovered that even the winters of Arden had been mild compared to wintering in Aleut, where the brumal wind of the Boreal Sea hammered harshly down upon them and hurled blinding snow and stinging ice horizontally across the land. Here it was in these conditions that they learned arctic survival, taking lessons from the villagers—eiders and youths alike.
And as the short days and long nights passed, they came to know the Aleutans, and the coppery-faced folk treated them with deference, for these were Mygga and Fé, straight out of the legends. Did they not have the bearing of Chieftains? Did they not charm the dogs? Did they not carry upon their persons weapons of terrible might, weapons of steel and silver and starlight and crystal? Surely only the Mygga and Fé would have foe so powerful to need killing with such.
Shortly after their arrival, they spoke with the elders and arranged for transportation by dogsled unto the Great North Glacier, some seven hundred fifty miles away, the trip to be made in the waning days of winter ere spring came to the land. And the elders gathered and considered who would be chosen—who the tribe would honor by assigning them to bear the Mygga and Fé on their mysterious journey. B’arr and Tchuka and Ruluk were selected, for they had the best three teams.
In the long, long nights they made their final plans, seeking the advice of the three sledmasters. As the foursome had discussed in Arden Vale, they did not wish to arrive too early, for then their wait would be extended and they would risk discovery by the Foul Folk there in the Grimwalls. On the other hand, they knew that some time during the days of spring the words of the prophecy would fall due, and so they wished to be on the glacier by the time of the vernal equinox, on the glacier some seven miles north of the abandoned monastery, For that is when the “Light of the Bear” last had been seen by Riatha, the glow now trapped in a slowly grinding eddy of the glacier, a vast, creeping churn of solid ice trapped in a wide, shallow col along the eastern edge of the ice field, an eddy turning once every seventy years or so, as it had done for the past two centuries. Here the foursome intended to set watch until the prophecy was fulfilled—assuming that they would know. When not at the eddy, the comrades intended to stay at the monastery, the cloister providing shelter as the winter passed and throughout the spring.
B’arr told them that the terrain was such that the dogs could make the journey in fourteen or fifteen days, barring storm delays. Tchuka and Ruluk agreed, holding up seven fingers and announcing “Sju synskrets hver isaer dag…” and B’arr translating, “Seven horizons each day…can dog do long.” Faeril concluded that given the height of the Aleutans and the distance they could see to the horizon, they meant fifty miles a day was well within the capability of the dogs over many days’ time. Then she laughed, saying, “I’m glad it’s Human horizons and not Warrow horizons, else we’d be twice as long on the trail.” Hence, it was decided that the trip would begin in the final month of winter, some three weeks ere Springday. This would give them a sevenday buffer for storm or other things unforeseen, and should the journey be swift, then they would only be a week in the monastery ere spring commenced. Of course, exactly when the prophecy might fall due no one knew, though as Aravan said, “The Eye of the Hunter will not ride th
e night sky for the full spring. It comes some twenty nights ere Springday night, growing brighter and longer with each darktide. Then comes the equinox, and the harbinger lasts for twenty nights more. Then does it course into the day to run invisibly with the Sun; where it goes thereafter is not known, for it cannot be seen, but surely it must flee back whence it came and dwell there among the millennia until it is time to bring its dooms again. Hence, if the rede be true, we should spend but some twenty or thirty days at the glacier, no more. Then will the sledmasters and dogs return from their place of safety two days north, when the Eye of the Hunter can no longer be seen.”
And so their plans were laid in the long nights of winter as ice and snow hurtled over the land and the north wind howled in savage fury.
But there were other nights as well, when the wind blew not and the skies were clear, and spectral lights draped in folds of shifting color across the vault above. And on these nights when the ghostly light shimmered and shifted o’erhead. Faeril’s thoughts were strangely drawn to the silk-wrapped crystal shut in a box of iron. Yet she yielded not to the temptation, but left it tucked safely away.
And on one of these Boreal nights as the skies above ran red and the four stood beneath and marvelled at the display, Aravan canted an ancient chant of the Fjordlanders, one that had been sung by them for as long as their Dragonships had roamed the seas:
“In the long and icy winter nights,
when the skies above run red,
and Men dream their dreams
and scheme their schemes
of vengeance for the dead,
of great deeds of derring-do,
and of feats of arms and skill,
of the gold and silver they will win
with each and every kill…
Aye, these are the nights that the Women fear,
when their hearts run cold with dread—
The Eye of the Hunter Page 20
