“Sad?” Kalessa said, clearly not sure if she should be mollified or insulted.
“You have faced all the enemies you need to face,” Old Aunt said. “It is time for you to leave, and I’m sad.”
“Leave?” Aisa put a hand to her mouth. The entire idea seemed strange. She had been living here for so long, the rest of the world had all but faded away. Abrupt, new questions crowded her mind, questions she had been meaning to ask but hadn’t done so because she’d been too tired or too busy or too occupied talking about herself.
And there was one enemy she hadn’t faced yet. When she thought of it, the hunger, which rumbled quietly in the back of her head, came to greater life, and the desire for her former master’s touch swept over her so hard she swayed.
“Old Aunt,” she began, “what about—”
She touched Aisa’s cheek and withdrew. “You have earned your face, child. You have the strength to face the world on your own.”
“My … face?” Aisa put a hand to her bare cheek and thought of mermaids.
With a creaking of joints, Old Aunt stood up. “But first, you must have the reward I promised.”
“Reward,” Aisa repeated stupidly, trying to push the hunger aside. It was all the harder because she hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping until now that Old Aunt would take the hunger away.
“Reward. When you arrived, you pointed out that you had met many powerful beings—three giants, Death, a trollwife, and me—and that they were all women. You said that we women are doing a terrible job of controlling everything if we allow the men to kill and rape and steal and do anything else they please. I also said that your question told me much and that I would answer it for you.”
“Oh.” Aisa had all but forgotten. “I see. What’s the answer, then?”
“I think you know already,” Old Aunt said in that maddeningly affable tone. “Tell me.”
Aisa forced herself to think through the hunger. She thought about the three creatures who had come for her, all of them pieces of her own thinking, all of them people who had hurt her, all of them men—except for the piece that had been Mother. Why was Mother there? She was a woman. But Mother hadn’t hurt her on purpose, like the others. The others had chosen. It was about choice, wasn’t it? And what had Old Aunt said about those who got into Valorhame?
“The women I met don’t run the world,” Aisa said slowly. “But the men don’t, either. Everyone makes their own choices. We get into Valorhame by our own choices. When men do dreadful things, it is through choice, not because fate forces them. We all are people, not monsters, and we tip the Tree with our own choices.”
“Very good.” Old Aunt nodded. “Oh, the Nine and the Fates and a few other entities may throw a few … suggestions your way, but in the end you have to decide what to do. You decided to help the elven child live, and you ended up here as a result. You decided to forgive your family, and we’re having this discussion as a result. I truly had no idea how this would come out when you walked through my front door. By men’s choices, you were hurt. By your own choices, you became strong again.”
And Aisa felt a small tremor beneath her shoes. Kalessa glanced sharply about.
“The Tree tips,” Old Aunt said. “We must move along. First to you, my dear little orc. You must choose.”
“Choose what?” Kalessa asked.
In response, Old Aunt gestured with her pipe. On the walls blazed a dazzling treasure—swords of all sizes, shields of all shapes, suits of armor, ornate jewelry boxes, wands with runes of silver and gold etched into them.
“You may choose one object from my house,” Old Aunt said. “Anything you like.”
Aisa couldn’t imagine how anyone could choose. Everywhere she looked, more and more sights awed her senses. She realized that each incredible, impossible object had been there from the beginning, but she had somehow failed to notice them. It was like looking at a picture of a tree and suddenly realizing it was a woman’s face, and had been all along. Kalessa’s mouth fell open in astonishment. She wandered among the treasures, reaching out to touch this sword or that lance, but not quite doing so.
“Come on, come on,” Old Aunt said. “Before you’re gray.”
“Great lady!” Kalessa gasped. “I am not worthy of any of it.”
“Don’t insult me,” Old Aunt said peevishly. “Choose.”
Abashed, Kalessa looked at a long sword with a green emerald set in the hilt. Gold runes marched up the blade. She ran her hand along the iron, then set her mouth.
“I have done little here, and my honor will not allow me to take such a weapon.” She strode to the kitchen table and snatched up a knife. It was the one she had stabbed Hamzu with. “This is more appropriate. I have used it, and it should be mine.”
“Are you sure?” asked Old Aunt archly. “The choice, once made, cannot be unmade.”
Kalessa slipped the knife into her belt. “I thank you.”
“Very well. Now you, girl.”
“Me?” Aisa clutched the stick to her chest, taken aback. “I have had my reward. You answered my question. That was our bargain.”
“No. You answered your question, not I.” Old Aunt gave her a small grin. “Therefore your reward is still forthcoming. Choose. Don’t be shy.”
Aisa glanced at the shining treasure. Any one object would make her a wealthy woman, or a woman of great power. But that was assuming she could even figure out how to sell a singular object, or wield its magic. And in any case, Old Aunt had already given her something even more powerful than treasure—her choices. Nothing that hung on the walls came close to being that important. Aisa turned her back on it all and looked at Old Aunt’s lined face and her wild white hair. A rush of affection swept over her. This was a woman of true power and wisdom. Her eye went down to the old, stout stick, the one Old Aunt used to poke the fire with every day, the one Aisa now gripped in her own hands, the one Aisa had held to face her family. It was an ordinary chunk of wood, worn smooth with use, as thick as Aisa’s wrist and as long as her arm. One end was black with ash.
Aisa said suddenly, “I want your stick.”
Old Aunt pursed her lips with surprise. “My stick?”
“Yes. It will remind me of you and all that you gave me when I stir my own fire every day.”
“But it’s worth nothing, child.”
“To me,” Aisa said firmly, “it is worth everything.”
Old Aunt shrugged with shoulders like stone. “You’ll find your things by the door, then. Mind the Twist when you leave.” And she stumped out of the kitchen. The treasure faded away and vanished, though it was also somehow still hanging on the walls.
“That is all?” Kalessa said.
“It would appear.” Aisa looked about the kind kitchen one more time. “We should go. Everyone must be worried to death.”
They opened the door, crossed the threshold, and felt the Twist take them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Danr had prepared himself for a long, dull council meeting filled with speeches and arguments and discussions. It didn’t quite go that way.
Kalessa’s father, Hess, introduced Danr to the Council of Wyrms, eighteen lavishly dressed orcs who sat around the round stone table at the bottom of the crater. A fire burned in an open area in the table’s center, giving both light and heat, and the shadows danced across Danr’s face as he nervously rose to tell about the Stane coming from under the mountain. The fact that the trollwives were using draugr as power to open the doors and intended to use them came out fairly quickly, and Danr braced himself for shock and horror, but the orcs’ reaction startled him.
“The dead live on to fight for the living!” roared one councilor.
“The more we kill in the battle, the stronger our armies will become,” shouted another.
“Even our own dead will give us power!” declared a third.
“Uh … it will be so,” Danr said, exchanging a quick look with Talfi, who was clutching Danr’s old pouch at this
throat. “And furthermore, the Queen Under the Mountain sends gifts as signs of her respect and admiration.”
With that, he took out the stone box and from it produced treasure—coins and gems and gleaming swords and bejeweled daggers and more. He piled them on the table, and orcs pounded the stone in appreciation.
“Orcs of Xaron,” boomed the councilor woman from the First Nest, “shall we go to war with the Stane against the Fae?”
The result was a resounding “yes.” Talfi barely seemed to notice. He was holding Danr’s pouch beneath his nose with one hand and fingering his silver medallion with the other. A strange expression slid across his face and he stared at Danr, then down at the table, then at Danr again. Danr wondered what on earth was going on now.
Almost as a side note, the Eighth Nest was promoted to Seventh Nest, which upset the former Seventh, as they were demoted to Eighth. And the meeting started to break up.
“One last thought, please,” Danr spoke up, and everyone turned to look at him, including Talfi. Danr tensed. No matter how often he had spoken lately, he couldn’t get used to all those eyes on him. “I’m seeking the Iron Axe. It’s in three pieces—the head, the haft, and the power. A wise woman told me the Fae have the head, but I could find the haft among the orcs. Do any of you know where I might find it?”
The councilors murmured among themselves. Danr waited, trying to be patient, but gritting his teeth all the while. Without meaning to, he glanced at the sky. Night had fallen fully during the meeting, and the crescent moon, called Kalina’s Chariot in this phase, rode high in the sky.
At last, the leader of the First Nest spoke. “We have never heard of the haft being hidden among the orcs,” he said. “But, Prince Hamzu, we would be pleased to help you find it, if we can.”
And the meeting ended. Danr trooped out of the crater with Talfi and the chattering councilors, trying to hold on to optimism and failing. The orcs had no idea where the haft was, and Danr had no idea where to look now, with only a few days left. What was he going to do?
At the top of the crater, the councilors scattered to their own nests to bring the news, and cheers erupted at campfires all over the great camp. Hess and Xanda declared a great celebration for the new Seventh Nest. Danr truthfully pleaded tiredness and withdrew. Talfi came with him.
“That was certainly easy,” Talfi remarked. “I can see why we needed to get here ahead of Earl Hunin’s envoy. I mean, Filo said Hunin sent all kinds of gifts to bring them to his side, but the orcs really just want to go to war.”
“The orcs were waiting for an excuse,” Danr agreed quietly, “and they’d ally themselves with whoever showed up first to—wait!” His mouth fell open and he stared at Talfi, who returned the look with guileless blue eyes. “Filo. That was before you were … before you lost your memory again.”
“We killed a wyrm together,” Talfi said. “I ran and ran, and you smashed it with a rock.”
“You remember?”
Talfi grinned. “Later, we were in the stable and everyone came for you about those brothers who got killed, and then we met the draugr and you were put on trial.”
“Rolk and Vik!” Danr wanted to dance with glee, but the orcs were still emerging from the crater behind them and he didn’t want to create a spectacle. “You do remember! How?”
“Wonderful speaking, Prince Hamzu!” Hess appeared from the twilight and clapped Danr hard on the shoulder. “You acquitted yourself well!”
“Thank you, sir,” Danr said, wishing the orcs weren’t quite so exuberant.
“Have you seen Kalessa?” Hess twisted his head around as if she might appear from the shadows. “Usually she’s in the middle of everything.”
“I haven’t. But I’ll let her know you’re looking.”
Hess wandered away. Danr drew Talfi aside, nearer the grove of trees, so they could have some privacy among the spreading branches. “How?” he asked again.
“This.” He extended the pouch on its thong. “And you.”
“Me?” Danr blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“This pouch is a part of you, isn’t it?” Talfi said. “I have strong memories associated with you. All that lifesaving and best friend being and … stuff. It all hovered at the edge of my mind, and it got stronger whenever I touched this pouch. Or smelled it. Like the way smelling certain foods makes you remember a holiday from when you were little.”
“How do you know that if you don’t remember anything from when you were little?” Danr asked.
Talfi thought about that. “I just do. Anyway, the memories just hovered there like hummingbirds, and at the meeting, I started really trying hard. The smell of the pouch and holding this medallion broke through, and I remembered. All at once.” He leaned against the tree while insects chirped in the background. “It’s a weird feeling, like I should have always remembered.”
“Do you remember anything from before you came to Skyford?”
Talfi shook his head. “One thing I do remember—you and Aisa finding out from Bund that I’m regi.”
“Oh.” Danr’s face flushed hot, and he automatically glanced around to see if anyone were within hearing. “Yeah. Uh …”
“You didn’t say anything to me about it when we were talking about my past,” Talfi accused. “No little thing for a truth-teller.”
“Well … no … ,” Danr stammered. “But … did you know?”
“Of course I knew!” Talfi crossed his arms. “That’s not the kind of thing you forget, even with … whatever my problem is. But you didn’t tell me the truth about what you knew, even though I asked. It’s a slap, you know?”
“Sorry.” Danr looked down. He had gotten into trouble by telling Aisa the truth, and now he was in trouble for not telling it to Talfi. He couldn’t win. An uncomfortable silence fell. Danr felt he should say something, but he couldn’t find good words.
“All right, look,” Talfi said, “let’s put this truth-telling stuff of yours to some actual good use.”
Danr put up a hand. “Hey, I don’t think—”
“How do you feel about me?” Talfi interrupted.
And Danr had to answer. “I like you. You’re like a brother I never had. I’m nervous that you’re mad at me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Talfi said. “How do you feel about me being regi?”
Oh no. The words piled up, pricking behind Danr’s eyes. He tried to keep them back, but they wouldn’t be kept in. His mouth moved. “It’s strange and sometimes it makes me shudder, but other times I think, so what? You can like whomever you want, and why should I care?”
“All right,” Talfi said, looking a little relieved. “That—”
But the words kept coming. “And I’m worried that you want me in your bed.”
The words hung there in the dark, black and ugly. Danr turned his head, feeling heavy and more than a little nauseated. Why did the truth always come out so nasty? Why couldn’t the truth ever bring beauty and light?
But to Danr’s surprise, Talfi didn’t turn away. “I figured it was something like that. You’ve been jumping around like an orc with a snake in his boots. It was the only thing I could think of that might be bothering you. Look, Prince Under the Mountain, that orc girl might think you’re pretty handsome, but to me, that nasty mask you wear is about as handsome as a sheepdog with mange.” He slugged Danr lightly on the arm. “You’re not for me. Check me with your left eye, if you don’t believe it.”
“I can’t,” Danr said, and for the first time he was relieved to be called ugly. “You disappear in my left eye.”
“I do? You never said.”
Danr hurried to explain, and the awkwardness was smoothed over. “Why do I disappear?” Talfi said. “Does anyone else disappear?”
“I don’t know,” Danr said, forced to answer. “No one else does it that I’ve noticed.”
“Huh.” Talfi scratched his nose, his foxlike features showing simple consternation, as if he were being confronted by a child’s ri
ddle. “It probably has something to do with me coming back to life, right? We’ll add it to the pile of mysteries we’re carrying around. Maybe you can ask Death, if you see her again.”
“That’s a thought,” Danr admitted, then yawned. “Huh. You once told me that you dream about someone who loved you. Was that a man? A regi man?”
Talfi flushed a little. “In the dream, yeah. He has red hair. I reach for him but can’t touch him, and when I wake up, he’s gone. I don’t know what to do.”
Danr tried to be sympathetic, but he yawned instead. “Sorry. I’m too tired.”
“Me, too. You don’t mind still sharing a tent with a regi, do you?”
“Long as you keep your hands under your own blanket,” Danr said.
“Hey! Just what do you think I’m doing under there?”
They both laughed, and the last of their tension evaporated.
“Where’s Aisa?” Talfi said as they approached their tent. Someone had built a small fire for them in front of it. “We should tell her what happened.”
“You know she’s been avoiding me,” Danr replied, not sure whether he should be angry or sad. He settled unhappily on both. “I think she’s made it clear she’ll never talk to me again.”
“Hamzu!”
Danr spun. A woman in white stood behind him. A loose hood covered her hair, though dark tendrils curled out from beneath, and she leaned on a stout walking stick. Her face was beautiful in a way that made Danr’s heart jerk. It took him two breaths to recognize familiar brown eyes. Disbelief rocked him to his toes.
“Aisa?” he gasped.
“I have returned,” she said, and smiled. Her smile reflected the moon itself, and all of Danr’s anger evaporated. Joy overtook him. For another of those smiles, he would Twist across the continent nine, ten, a thousand times. “Did you miss me?”
He had to answer. “Every moment!” Danr rushed over to embrace her, then checked himself. “Why—? Your scarves—your clothes—what happened?”
Now he noticed Kalessa standing behind her, looking puzzled. “Were you not worried for us?” she asked.
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