“Kevla, what do you see?” asked the Dragon.
“They…they didn’t leave,” she said in a trembling voice. “They’re still here.”
Six of them sprawled on the bedding and floor. Two men, three women, and one child, bodies emerging from the blanket of snow that had mercifully hidden them. Kevla’s first thought was that somehow they had frozen to death, but as the snow melted, it began to turn red. Blood once frozen began to thaw and drip from wounds that gaped like open mouths. As Kevla stared, unable to tear her gaze away, she saw that the corpse of one of the women had been hacked nearly in two.
She backed out the door quickly, almost running into the Dragon. She looked up at him, knowing her face told him more than her words would.
“Marauders found them,” Kevla rasped. “They were—they were killed.”
“When the land does not provide enough to eat,” the Dragon said in a low voice, “some take what they need from others. By any means they can.” He craned his neck and looked around. “There are other lumps in the snow out here as well. More victims, I would think.”
Kevla looked where he had indicated and shuddered. “Are the men who did this still in the area?” Kevla asked. She was torn between apprehension and a furious desire to exact revenge for the brutality she had witnessed.
The Dragon sniffed the air. “No living flesh is nearby.” He frowned. “I have seen no tracks, either. Not so much as a squirrel’s.”
Kevla was too agitated to ask what a squirrel might be. She tried to calm herself, pressing her hands to her temples and breathing slowly and deeply.
“If the Stone Dancer was ever here, he is not now. I think—I think I would know if any of the other Dancers were dead.”
“You and I would not be here if any of the others were dead,” said the Dragon. “The Shadow comes with haste, once a champion of the world has fallen.”
Kevla looked at her friend. “The bodies are thawing,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. “We need to burn them.”
The Dragon shook his head. “We don’t have time,” he said. “We must press on.”
“No,” Kevla said quietly. “They deserve to have their remains respected. I would imagine there are predators in these woods, similar to the desert dogs or simmars. I won’t have these people gnawed on like—” A wave of nausea washed over her, but she forced it back. “Will you help me or must I do this by myself?”
The Dragon sighed. “Let us be about it quickly, then.”
The Dragon had been right. When Kevla melted the snow in the clearing, several more victims were revealed. She went into each house, melting the snow she found within. Every dwelling had its share of corpses. Her heart breaking for them, she gathered pieces of furniture and piled them in the center of the clearing. The Dragon removed the roofs from the little houses, gently brought forth the butchered bodies and placed them on the pyre. As she worked, Kevla realized that there was at least some comfort to be taken. She was in the right place to find the Stone Dancer, for each body that was piled atop the pyre had milky pale skin and tresses as yellow as the desert sand of Arukan.
“So many,” Kevla murmured. “They must have killed everyone in the village.”
She walked toward the pyre and gazed at the broken bodies with compassion. “This is probably not your rite for the dead,” she said aloud, as if they could somehow hear her. “But I won’t leave you for carrion. May the winds carry you to whatever gods you believe in.”
She closed her eyes, extended her hands, and thought: Burn.
With a whumph, the pyre exploded into flames. For a moment, Kevla watched the crackling, curling fire, recalling how she had lit a similar pyre not so long ago for her own people, after the battle with the Emperor.
“You have done what you needed to do here. We must go.”
She nodded, knowing the Dragon was right, but for a moment unable to stop staring at the conflagration. The often-pleasant scent of burning wood was becoming tainted with the stench of flesh as the bodies began to be consumed. Kevla deliberately turned away, and once again climbed atop the Dragon’s back.
They found nothing else the rest of the day, and the night seemed to come on more quickly than usual. When Kevla commented on this, the Dragon said, “We are continuing to travel north, and it is winter. The sun does not shine strongly now, and night lasts many hours. In some places it lasts for months.”
As he came to earth, the sun slipped below the horizon. Kevla slid off into the snow and realized that there was no place that was not piled high with the stuff.
“I cannot sleep on wet snow,” she said, hearing how petulant her voice sounded in her own ears.
“The trees keep the snow from falling on the earth in the forests,” the Dragon said. “You can pile up some branches and make yourself quite a comfortable bed.”
Her rhia was again soaked. The slender straps of leather that served her for sandals were utterly insufficient to the task of walking through the drifts. She stared at him, her arms folded tightly across her breasts, knowing that she looked like a lost child. It was not altogether inappropriate; after what she had experienced, she felt like one. It was a strange feeling. She had hardly had a sheltered childhood, calling for men to come and pay to visit her mother’s bed, and she had negotiated the tricky intricacies of Clan politics successfully for many years. But this—the combination of being away from everything she knew, the strange, sinister aspect of this snow-draped land, and the corpses she had seen had unnerved her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt vulnerable. The strength of will that had enabled her to build a pyre and burn the bodies had long since ebbed. She was physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and hungry. Again she wished they would find the Stone Dancer quickly, so that she could step back into the supportive role she was more comfortable with.
The Dragon trundled over to some trees, snapped off huge branches as if they were twigs, and shook them free of their blankets of snow. He then cleared an area and arranged the branches. Curling himself around the pile, he said, “Come then, little one. Sleep next to me.”
The branches were hard and their needles jabbed her, but Kevla uttered no word of complaint. She would rather sleep next to her companion on a pile of stones than in a soft down bed in the ominous forest.
Now that they were out of the Emperor’s demesne, Kevla felt it safe to light a fire. It sprang to cheerful life, burning brightly despite the wetness of the wood, and Kevla found comfort in its yellow-orange flames.
She could do more than summon flame; she could scry in it, or use it to transport her from her fire to that of another’s. A thought occurred to her.
“I’m going to see if I can locate the Dancer.” If she could see him, she could speak to him—and find him.
“Excellent idea,” rumbled the Dragon, leaning his head in for a better view.
Kevla gazed into the fire, letting her gaze soften. “Show me the Stone Dancer,” she said.
Nothing. The fire did not change. Disappointment knifed through Kevla. Somehow, she had simply assumed she would be able to locate him.
“He may not have built a fire yet,” the Dragon pointed out.
“It’s getting dark,” Kevla retorted, frustration making her words sharper than she had intended. “Surely there is a fire in his home by now.”
“And he may simply not be beside it,” the Dragon continued reasonably. “Your powers are great, Flame Dancer, and they will only increase as you perfect them. But even they have limits.”
Kevla sighed and rubbed at eyes that had seen too much today. “You speak sense, Dragon. But still, I had hoped…”
He bent down and brushed his chin against the top of her head in as gentle a nuzzle as he could manage. “Keep hoping.”
The next day, they saw more clearings. Kevla and the Dragon both tried to extend their senses, and listen for the “little voice” of which the Dragon had spoken. At first, she sensed nothing, only the stillness and emptiness of winter. Bu
t when they flew over a clearing which boasted a small cluster of houses, something inside Kevla jumped. Her heart sped up as she remembered what she had beheld the last time they had seen such a falsely pleasant image. She was not happy about the prospect of descending and investigating this village, but somehow she knew that they needed to try.
“I think we should go down.”
“Do you sense the Stone Dancer?” the Dragon asked.
“I’m not sure what I’m sensing. This is all still so new to me. But something is telling me we need to land here.”
“That’s enough for me,” the Dragon said. As the Dragon searched for a place to land, Kevla noticed there was something else in one of the smaller clearings, on the top of a hill. Several somethings, in fact; dark and unrecognizable from this height, standing in a row and moving slightly in the wind. A faint sound reached her ears as the Dragon glided over the hill to land in another open area not far from the ones that contained the houses.
“You will have to approach on your own, Kevla,” the Dragon said as he landed on the cushioning snow. “I cannot make it easily through the forest.”
She nodded her understanding. “Perhaps it’s just as well. You would probably terrify them. Wait until I call for you.”
Kevla slid off him into knee-deep snow. At once, her rhia was soaked. Not for the first time, she wondered how people managed to travel at all in the substance. Resignedly she slogged through the white stuff, thinking that if she had to do this often her legs would become powerful with muscle.
The strange, but not unpleasant, noise increased as she ascended. It sounded like music, but if it was, then it was made by no instrument she had ever heard and the notes seemed to her ear completely random. She stumbled more than once, going down in the fluffy whiteness and clambering to her feet again. By the time she crested the hill, she was panting, her eyes down at her feet to make sure she didn’t slip.
When she reached the top, Kevla glanced up. She uttered a startled cry and almost fell again. She was staring at corpses suspended from pikes stuck in the ground, twisting slowly in the wind.
The relief that washed through her as she realized that the “corpses” were only slaughtered animals made her legs feel weak. The blood that had dripped when the meat was still fresh had frozen into small, scarlet droplets. The flesh was gray and likely quite hard to the touch now.
Kevla was not unfamiliar with such a practice. She realized that the people here needed to rely on the wind to dry the meat, not the heat of the sun. She now also saw what had made the bright, singing sound—strips of metal hung together. When the wind blew, the metal pieces were jostled against one another, and the pleasant sound was produced. It was probably to keep animals away.
She stared a moment longer at the swinging, musical metal and frowned. Helpful to keep animals away, yes, but surely a people as hungry as these snow-people must be would not trust to that alone. They probably had someone watching—
Kevla whirled around.
9
There were at least two dozen of them, and they looked like no other people Kevla had ever seen. Tall and swaddled so thoroughly in fur that they first seemed to be part animal, every one of them carried something that was clearly intended to be used as a weapon. They wore head coverings and strange footgear—poles and wide shoes that seemed to be strapped to their feet. Like the corpses, these people all had pale faces and yellow hair. Those white faces now wore expressions of open hostility. Even as Kevla stood wondering what to do next, they closed in and formed a circle around her. Her eyes searched the crowd, hoping to find the familiar face of the Stone Dancer.
Kevla was not alarmed, although she was outnumbered several to one. An array of torches and wood-and-metal farm tools would be no match for her powers. There were a few archers among them, arrows nocked and ready to fly, and a handful of swords. Even those were no true threat, not to her.
I could destroy them with a thought. But she was not here to fight them.
Kevla drew herself upright and looked at them calmly. “I am Kevla-sha-Tahmu,” she said. “I have come from the land of Arukan in search of the man known as the Stone Dancer.”
The wall of strangers continued to clutch their weapons. It was as though she had not spoken. She tried again. “I am no threat to you,” she said. “But I must find this man.”
Again, there was no reaction, other than a shuffling of feet and a few exchanged glances. Kevla looked around, trying to find the group’s khashim.
“Take her,” came a woman’s voice. “But don’t harm her.”
The circle began to close in on Kevla. She tensed. She had no desire to hurt these people, but she could not permit them to take her captive. Perhaps a demonstration of what she was capable of—
“Burn!” she cried, and immediately the trees closest to her burst into flame.
The pale-skinned people recoiled and cried out. Some fell to their knees. Others turned and fled, the peculiar things on their feet enabling them to speed over the top of the snow instead of trudging through it. But one woman did not flee. Instead, she called after the others, “Would you abandon weeks of food so easily, you cowards?”
A woman stands her ground in front of such a display of power, Kevla thought. The words of the Dragon floated back to her: The people of this land may never thirst, Kevla, but it is likely that they are cold and hungry.
Apparently the woman’s argument was a compelling one, for those who had started to run halted and turned, obeying the implied order of this fair-haired woman who clutched a scythe and trembled visibly and who yet did not flee.
Kevla thought the woman’s courage deserved acknowledgement. She bowed, waved her hand, and at once, the fires scorching the trees were extinguished.
“You are very brave,” Kevla said impulsively to the woman. The stranger’s blue eyes narrowed.
“You make the trees burn to frighten us, taaskal. Are you now attempting to enchant me as well?”
Kevla stared. The woman’s response made no sense at all, unless—A troubling thought struck her. Keeping her eyes on the woman with the scythe, Kevla sent a thought to the Dragon.
Dragon, what is going on?
They do not understand you, he replied.
Kevla’s eyes widened. Somehow, this had not occurred to her. But we must speak with them!
I can speak their tongue. Although if they are frightened of you, they will be utterly terrified of me.
Still, you had better join me. How do you know their language? Kevla asked, her eyes never leaving the woman.
She felt the Dragon gather himself to fly the short distance as he answered her. The Dancers and their Companions would have a hard time of it indeed if they were not able to communicate. You already comprehend this language. Soon, you will understand how to speak it.
Kevla heard the familiar sound of the beating of powerful wings. Her would-be captors looked up and, if such a thing were possible, went even paler. Some of them moaned, soft and low, and fell to their knees in the snow. But they did not flee this time. Either they were terrified past action or the woman’s courage inspired—or shamed—them into staying. The Dragon flattened several trees as he landed, and the earth trembled from the impact. Quickly, Kevla went to him and stroked him, letting the villagers know that he answered to her.
“So, what would you have me say to them?” The Dragon turned his piercing golden gaze on the crowd. “They do look rather distressed.”
Kevla chose the words carefully. “Give them honorable greetings. Tell them I am the Flame Dancer and that you and I come as friends, seeking one who will know us.”
The Dragon relayed the information, and again Kevla frowned. She understood everything the Dragon had said, yet somehow she knew he had not spoken in her native tongue.
This time, it was clear to Kevla that the villagers understood. The Dragon’s greeting, however, did not seem to put them at ease.
“Monster of the sky,” the woman with the scythe said in
a deep voice, “we do not fear you or the taaskal who commands you. Leave our land and our food, or we will fight.”
Kevla wondered what a taaskal was and continued to admire their courage.
“Monster of the sky, indeed,” the Dragon muttered to Kevla. “These Northern folk are quite rude.”
“They’re afraid,” Kevla said compassionately. “Tell them, their bravery brings them honor, and we are no threat to them. We don’t want their food. We have come to this land in search of a man who might be known to them as the Stone Dancer.”
Again, the Dragon spoke for both of them. The woman listened, but shook her head. “That name means nothing to us.” She jerked her yellow head in Kevla’s direction. “Why does she not speak to us?”
“Tell them I cannot, though I understand the conversation.” Kevla hoped that the Dragon was right, that soon she would be able to speak this strange language as easily as he seemed to. This method of communication would grow tiresome quickly. “Tell them I will learn their language. They will find us helpful,” she added. “As they have noticed, you are able to take to the skies. You can assist their men in the hunt.”
The Dragon repeated everything she had said. For some reason, it was the wrong thing to say. The woman gripped her scythe more tightly. “We need no assistance.”
It was then that Kevla realized just how few men there actually were in the crowd. Most of the adults were women, all as grim-faced as this one who apparently led them. There were two or three old men, whose weapons appeared to be as much for support as defense, and a few boys with their first growth of beard.
“The men are gone,” Kevla murmured to the Dragon. “Otherwise they would be here, to fight the threat they think we pose.”
“Perhaps the men from this village were the ones who attacked the other homes we saw earlier,” said the Dragon.
It was an awful thing to contemplate, but Kevla knew it needed to be considered.
“It is possible,” she agreed, “but it is equally possible that their men are victims of marauders as well.”
In Stone's Clasp Page 9
