Kevla felt a rush of sympathy for a man she had never met. “What happened?”
“The snow,” Altan said, simply. “He was off with a group of hunters, trying to call some animals for food. The storm came so quickly, so unexpectedly…. It looked as though the wind had broken down the door and the snow had come in too fast for them to get out. It seems impossible—but then again, once I would have said a winter that lasted a year was impossible, too.”
He swallowed hard. “I was the one who found them,” he said. “I was worried about them…they lived too near the mountains for safety, I always told him that….”
Mylikki squeezed his arm. Altan gave her a sweet smile, but his eyes were still sad. “I wanted him to come live with me, but he left that night,” he said. “Not a word to anyone, not even to me.” He shrugged. “So I decided to try to find him myself. I’m worried about him.”
So am I, thought Kevla. “He’s not dead,” she said aloud to reassure Altan. “I’d know it if he was. We…we all would.” She told him about the Dancers, about their task, and again asked hopefully if he knew any Lorekeepers. He shook his head.
“This is all new to me,” he said. “Wonderful and fascinating, but new. I have never heard of anyone having the dreams you speak of, Kevla, or any visions. There must not be many Lorekeepers in Lamal. But as you know, we are a scattered people. We used to trade with other villages, but since the snow and the madmen came…well. I have been to some villages where they did not even honor the Huskaa Law. I was shocked.”
So, apparently, was Mylikki. “Really? They would not open their doors to you?”
“No. Some just kept their doors closed until I went away. At one village I even sat on the snow and played for them, to prove I was a huskaa.”
Mylikki seemed stunned. She sat back, pulling her cloak around her, confusion on her face. Even more than an endless winter and killers in the forest, this seemed to shock her to the very core.
Kevla felt a prickling. “The Dragon comes.” She could see him now, a small but growing speck against the darkening sky.
Altan looked up and his eyes widened. His mouth opened slightly. He, too, got to his feet, still holding his kyndela in one hand. Kevla watched for the look of fear, but saw only wonder. As the Dragon grew closer and finally landed, folding his massive wings against his side, Altan’s lips curved in a faint smile.
“I begin to think I have died after all,” he said quietly, “to behold such things.”
The Dragon cocked his head. “Rather not dead, I think—you are looking much better than the last time I saw you,” he rumbled. “You are a fortunate man, Altan. I hope you are properly grateful to Kevla.”
Still gazing rapturously at the mighty creature, Altan said, “Indeed I am, Great Dragon. Indeed I am.”
The Dragon sighed and opened his forepaws. “Poor hunting today, I fear. A few birds I snatched out of the air. I saw nothing on the ground.”
“This will be a wonderful meal,” Kevla reassured him, her mouth watering at the sight of the three large birds with gray-white plumage and long, slender necks.
The Dragon again dug a shelter into the snow while the meal was prepared. Mylikki and Kevla plucked the birds, then cut the flesh into small chunks and added them to the soup. Altan, still not fully recovered from his ordeal, drowsed again, reviving some time later. He sniffed appreciatively.
“Since I have begun traveling,” he said, “the only meals I have had when I was not in a village have been cold dried meat and water. This is a feast!”
Sheltered beneath the protective covering of the Dragon’s huge, warm body, they ate their fill of the scrawny birds that Mylikki called gahalgeese. It truly was a feast. Kevla hoped they would continue to be lucky enough to obtain fresh meat. Both Altan and Mylikki still seemed so thin to her. When they were done, Mylikki cleaned out the pot and Altan reached for his kyndela.
“I assume you have heard Mylikki play and sing?” he asked Kevla. “She is quite accomplished.”
Mylikki blushed, her eyes glowing with pleasure from the compliment. “I had a good teacher,” she said.
He grinned at her affectionately. “If you were a man, I’d have taken you as a huskaa-lal, you know.”
Mylikki’s delight seemed to abate. “I know,” she said, softly, returning her attention to scrubbing the cauldron.
“Mylikki performed the song that made me think there might be Lorekeepers here,” Kevla said, “the one called Fighting Back the Shadow.”
“Ah. No one sings that better than Mylikki. We spoke earlier of the Ice Maiden. Have you heard any of the songs?”
“She asked me about them,” Mylikki said, “but I told her to wait until we had found you.” She did not mention she had sung one of the crueler verses to Kevla last night.
His face softened. “If you had not come for me, Mylikki, no one would have ever found me,” he said. “Thank you.” Turning his attention back to his instrument, he added, “Even my fingers are still whole, so that I can play. Truly a miracle.”
Kevla scooped up some snow into the freshly cleaned cauldron and increased the fire’s heat. She dropped some dried herbs into the pot for tea.
Altan began to play.
A stranger came a-riding,
And thus he me did greet:
“I seek the cold Ice Maiden,
A challenge for to meet.
I’ve sought the maid no man can move
For ten months and a year,
And now my search has reached an end—
They tell me she dwells here.”
I gazed upon the rider,
A noble lad in truth;
But overbold and reckless,
As I was in my youth.
Though strong, he’d not be strong enough,
I knew he must not stay,
And so for tender pity’s sake,
This I to him did say:
“She is called the Ice Maiden,
And she’s perilous fair;
There are stars in her eyes,
And the sun’s in her hair.
Though her lips be wine-red,
You may take it from me—
There is ice in her breast where
A warm heart should be.
Kevla was captivated by the silvery sound of the instrument and the clear purity of Altan’s youthful male voice. He was a wonderful performer; it was no surprise he was a full huskaa even at his tender age. The song, though, was disturbing to her in a way she could not articulate, and the melody haunting.
“You see me as I stand here,
An old man now I be.
But not so long ago, lad,
I was as young as thee.
’Twas then the Maiden claimed my soul,
And sod beneath the snow
Is warmer than her icy touch.
Believe me, lad, I know.
“There’s some that call her spirit,
Claim deep woods are her home.
Some say she’s but a lassie
Whose lad left her to roam.
But me, I say, she’s nightmare born,
And others think so, too—
All those of us who’ve felt her gaze,
And know what it can do.”
As he repeated the chilling chorus, Kevla felt her skin prickle, but not from the beauty of the melody, not this time. There was something very real about this song, folktale though it was. Perhaps it was just how the human heart could turn so dark and cold after a bitter disappointment. She herself had never wandered down that particular path of revenge and hatred. For who could she blame for her pain but herself? No, her pain had been and was still hot and fiery, not icy.
The song continued to a conclusion that Kevla dreaded.
“For twenty years and longer,
No village girl has wed.
Marry some sweet maiden,
Take her to your bed.
Raise you a family, love them well,
And lay this quest aside.
She’ll never be your bride.”
He laughed then, long and hearty:
“Old man, you’ve made me smile.”
He tossed a coin and left me,
The Maiden to beguile.
And I have not seen that poor lad since,
And this was long ago;
But of his fate, I’m certain,
What happened, ah! I know!
He has seen the Ice Maiden,
And she’s perilous fair;
He has seen her eyes shine,
He has seen her gold hair.
Now he thirsts for wine lips—
He’s become just like me,
And there’s dust in his breast where
A heart used to be.
The last silvery note floated into the icy night air and hung there for a moment. No one spoke.
Finally, Kevla broke the silence. “That was beautiful, Altan. But now I am very sad.”
“I think I have had enough of ice maidens and snow songs,” the Dragon said. Mylikki and Altan jumped, startled to hear his deep voice, and Kevla chuckled good-naturedly. Apparently the two Lamali natives had forgotten that their “shelter” was the Dragon, and he had heard everything, including the song.
“Perhaps something more cheerful, to send us to sleep with peaceful dreams,” Kevla suggested as she served the tea. Both Altan and Mylikki closed grateful fingers around the warm ceramic mugs. As she sipped the hot beverage, Kevla tried to put a name to what she felt. It was with some surprise that she realized she was cold. Not physically; but her heart was cold. The song had chilled her emotionally, and no amount of hot tea could take away the sensation.
Where are you, Jareth? she implored silently, as if somehow he could sense her thoughts over the unknown distance that separated them. I don’t know this land. I don’t know these people, these songs. This is your place, not mine. I need you. This world needs you.
Altan and Mylikki sang a sprightly, silly little duet, their voices blending perfectly, their faces smiling and happy as they gazed into one another’s eyes. Kevla relaxed against the wall of hard-packed snow, but she couldn’t shake the image of the Ice Maiden and what she did to young men’s hearts. Was the song literal, as Mylikki seemed to think? Did the Maiden replace warm, beating, human hearts with a chunk of ice? Or was it figurative, as Altan maintained—rendered them incapable of loving anyone ever again?
Either way, she thought, it is a terrible fate.
17
While they waited another day so that Altan could continue to recover, Kevla revealed more to her companions about the Dancers and the Lorekeepers. They were both enthralled, and as she spoke, Altan actually reached for his kyndela and began to accompany her. Kevla was embarrassed at first and asked him to stop, but both he and Mylikki encouraged her to continue.
“This is how we honor the great stories,” Altan said. “This is why the Huskaa Law was established, so that we can learn the songs and stories, and they can continue to be told.”
Kevla shyly relaxed into the camaraderie, speaking of Arukan’s desert landscape and harsh environment. She told them about the splintered Clans, about growing up haunted by dreams of the Dragon, about how her Lorekeeper—she did not name him—and others like him had also had dreams. She felt again a pang of disappointment that she had not yet encountered any Lorekeepers here in Lamal.
“Memories,” breathed Mylikki. “Memories disguised as dreams. Memories that could cost you your life.”
Kevla nodded. “Our people feared two things—the Great Dragon, the keeper of our laws, and the demon kulis.” She was lying against the Dragon’s side as she spoke, her hands clasped behind her head, and turned to smile at him. “Neither was what we thought they were,” she said.
“Still, I would not want to be your enemy, Dragon,” Altan said, inclining his head respectfully.
The Dragon harrumphed, sending twin spirals of smoke from his nostrils to the sky. “You are wise as well as talented, Altan. I am a part of Kevla, and she of me. You would be unhappy indeed to be the enemy of either of us.”
“I’ll do my best to be a good traveling companion,” Altan said lightly.
The words reminded Kevla of the reason they were here. It was pleasant to sit and talk, but she hoped Altan would be sufficiently recovered to move on tomorrow. She knew that while she was not physically in the lands the Emperor commanded, there was a possibility they were all still at risk.
“The Dancers do have an enemy,” she said. “I warned Mylikki about him and I must tell you as well, Altan. He is called the Emperor, and he rules the land that lies between Arukan and Lamal. He is bent on destroying the Dancers, making sure we cannot complete our task of saving this world. It was he who sent the army over the mountains to attack the Clans, and while I was traveling here, he tried to…to get inside my head, to command my thoughts.”
Altan had stopped playing and Mylikki said, “But you said he hasn’t been able to find you since you entered our land.”
“True. Nor has he interfered with my powers. I think we are safe from him, or else I would not have involved you in this journey. But I cannot guarantee it. If you wish the Dragon to return you to your homes, he will.”
Altan returned to playing, a soft, subtle tune he improvised as he went. He shook his fair head.
“You and I share a quest, Kevla,” Altan said. “I set out to find Jareth, too. If he has indeed lost his abilities, he will be as vulnerable as anyone in the wilds. I have been searching for him for many months. We’ll find him together.”
“I will stay, too,” Mylikki said. “You said that the Emperor sent his troops over the mountains to fight the Clans?”
“Yes,” Kevla said. “He attacked the Clans one by one, conscripting them to serve in his army.”
“Then it sounds like if he decides to attack, we wouldn’t be safe anywhere,” Mylikki said bluntly, surprising Kevla with her logic. “I’d rather be with you and the Dragon than in Arrun Woods. Although,” she said, “I am worried about my family.”
Altan looked at her with compassion. “We have been worrying about our families and homes for almost a year now, Mylikki,” he said. “Our villages are enduring an endless winter and attacks from marauders already. Possibly we can help Kevla put a stop to all of that.”
The night was cold and clear, and they huddled around the fire looking at the stars for a time instead of immediately moving to the shelter the Dragon so obligingly provided. The two huskaas huddled close to the fire, eating the boiled gahalgoose with their fingers. Kevla leaned back and looked at the stars, permitting herself to relax and notice the night sky for the first time since she had embarked on her travels. It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for; apparently being so far north changed the night skies.
She pointed. “In my land,” she told her friends, “that collection of stars is the First Clan Leader, and he is bowing before the Great Dragon, right there.”
The Dragon craned his neck. “I don’t see the resemblance myself.”
“I see it,” Altan said. “We know that collection of stars too, and to us it is the Huskaa and his kyndela. See the strings right there? That chain of stars?”
Kevla laughed in surprised delight as her vision shifted. What had seemed to her firmly to be a kneeling khashim and the Dragon become a player holding an instrument.
“Yes,” she said, “I can see it now. Over there, we have the Sand Maiden, who—”
Suddenly she gasped and rubbed at her eyes. Did she really see that strange wave of color that washed over the night sky? A heartbeat later, she had no doubt. The sky was on fire! Brilliant hues of red, green and blue chased one another around the night sky. They shimmered and pulsed.
“It’s the lights of the gods,” Mylikki explained. “They are playing with one another, and this light sparks off their fur. It is an omen.”
Kevla gazed at the shimmering, magical lights, drinking it in. She
had seen the occasional shooting star, while she wandered the deserts of Arukan searching for the Dragon, but had never beheld anything like this.
Altan said nothing, transfixed by the celestial display. He was a singer, a teller of tales. He, more than most others, could appreciate the startling beauty of the god-lights, Kevla thought. The colors danced across his pale, upturned features, making him look magical too.
“They are beautiful,” Mylikki said. “But somehow they frighten me now.” She shivered and leaned more closely in to Altan for warmth. “They’re different. The colors are different—there’s so much red now—and we’re seeing them much more often now. I wonder if it has to do with the winter.”
Altan gave her a glance, and contempt curled his lip. “Stop being such a coward,” he said, and shifted so that she was no longer touching him. He said nothing further, gazing in rapt silence at the shifting colors.
Mylikki pulled her cloak more closely around her and lowered her head, pretending not to be stung by the rebuke. Kevla said nothing more, but wondered why at some times Altan seemed so sweet and amiable, and at others, a callous churl.
He was gliding smoothly on a pair of skeltha. She had a name for him now—Jareth. As he sped away, Kevla tried to follow, but her bare feet slipped in the snow and she fell. When she struggled to her feet, he was nowhere to be seen.
“Jareth!” she cried, hearing the name echo in the stillness of the dark trees and white snow. There was no response. Suddenly the light dimmed and bright colors began to dance in the sky. Kevla watched for a moment, and then she realized that Altan was right: the heavenly display of color was the gods dancing and playing with one another.
Except there weren’t several blue tigers, chasing one another around like cubs. There was only one, but it moved so quickly that it seemed it must be more. She screamed as it suddenly gathered itself and leaped from its place in the firmament to land in the snow before her.
In Stone's Clasp Page 16
