Sanyare: The Winter Warrior (The Sanyare Chronicles Book 4)

by Megan Haskell

  Judith helped guide Daenor up the stairs. His legs functioned, but his consciousness had fled. Vegard and his wife arranged the baskets in a semi-circle while Rie removed her cloak and Daenor’s coat, then led him to the center to sit next to her. She pulled his shirt over his head, as if he were a toddler being readied for bed. He didn’t protest. He didn’t say a word. He just gazed at the world with empty eyes.

  The skin of his collarbone was an angry dark red, infection having set into the bite marks over his shoulder and neck. Why had he not said anything? He’d been so focused on Rie’s health, she’d never realized his own wound was festering.

  Rie searched through her memories for Garamaen’s treatment of Solvi, her vision switching over to the magical plane. Black threads had invaded every inch of Daenor’s system, like roots beneath his skin. The area around the bite was solid black, extending down his chest and nearly to his waist. Though his aura still beat against her senses, the color had faded and thinned, his fire magic being eaten away.

  Rie dropped the berries into the mortar with three drops of water, mashing them with the pestle in a clockwise motion. She began to hum, the sound emanating from the back of her throat almost without her intention.

  Good, a voice whispered in her ear. Focused as she was on her goal, she almost didn’t hear it. Now the mushroom.

  Who was that? Where was the voice coming from?

  You are my child, I will guide you.

  Was that the soul of Angeni? Garamaen’s human wife and the shaman who had taught him this treatment in the first place?

  I was once known by that name, yes. But you must hurry. Daenor barely holds on, and Garamaen needs your help. He will not survive long in Fenrir’s paws. The wolf already takes his vengeance, and my love is close to giving up.

  Rie swallowed. So much at stake. So much rested on her shoulders.

  With Angeni’s instructions echoing in her brain, Rie completed the salve.

  Now, when you rub the salve into the wound, it will hurt him. You must not let him stop you. Not until the poultice has burned itself out. Use all of what you have mixed.

  Rie’s heartbeat fluttered. She was going to have to hurt him to heal him, but what if he protested? What if, in his addled state, he didn’t realize who she was or that she was trying to help. Would she be able to control him without hurting him further?

  Pushing aside the fear, she tried to meet Daenor’s eyes. He wouldn’t look at her, his gaze clouded and uncertain. But he’d followed instructions so far. She prayed to all the gods that she could bring him out of this.

  Scooping the thick mixture out of the bowl, Rie felt its weight, the density somehow more than it appeared.

  “Stay still,” Rie said. “Don’t fight it.”

  Daenor didn’t respond, not even a flicker of an eyelash in her direction. It was now or never. Rie pressed the salve to the wound. In her magical Sight, the mixture burned like a furnace, the poison its fuel.

  Daenor screamed, his back arching away from the pressure and the pain, but Rie kept the clockwise circular motion, rubbing the thick concoction into every crack and crevice of the bite. Daenor shoved at her. Rie straddled his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. She hugged him with her left hand even while her right continued its motion. The guttural wordless chant vibrated against his chest as she pressed her cheek to his healthy side.

  She wasn’t letting go, and she wouldn’t let him either.

  Slowly, his body stilled. His breathing came easier. Rie checked the magical plane once more. The black had receded, still thick in his chest, but no longer reaching down into his legs. The poultice had nearly burned itself out, only a few embers remained to consume the poison. She wouldn’t stop until every last one faded.

  Daenor’s hand caressed Rie’s back. She lifted her chin to gaze into amber eyes. A relieved smile. Rie held back the tears with effort, her heart near to exploding.

  Finally, the poultice was done.

  Rie touched Daenor’s face, a watery smile spreading across her own lips.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Tired,” he replied. “But I can think again.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  A very good sign. He should rest. In a few hours, you will need to repeat the treatment, Angeni said.

  Thank you, Rie mentally replied. Please stay, I have more questions for you.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I WILL STAY, but you must treat the girl next. The poison still eats at her, and she is in pain. Angeni replied.

  Rie looked up, realizing for the first time that they weren’t alone. Vegard sat with Felman and Solvi not ten paces away, watching Rie and Daenor with avid interest. Judith rocked Bren in a swaddle, while a woman looked on, her own child tucked into a sling not so different than the one Rie had made to hold Bren. Children gaped at the scene from behind the corners of the buildings, awe written on their faces.

  Cheeks flushing, Rie untangled her arms and legs from around Daenor. For a brief moment, he tried to hold on, then perhaps realizing their situation for himself, he let her go.

  “Solvi, it’s your turn,” Rie said.

  “You won’t sit on me, will you?” the girl asked.

  The assembled crowd chuckled, releasing the tension that had built up in the small open space.

  “Don’t fight me, and I won’t have to,” Rie replied with an embarrassed shrug.

  With Angeni’s help, Rie once more crafted the poultice and treated Solvi’s face. Compared to Daenor’s, the invasion of Fenrir’s poison had been minimal, and it hadn’t seemed to progress much since Garamaen’s first treatment, at least not as fast. Though her face was still physically black and blue with bruises, the black tendrils eating through her magic had mostly remained contained to the injured cheek and side of her head and neck. Nothing had moved below her collarbone that Rie could see.

  When the embers died down, the poison was trapped in the wounds themselves, even the longest tendrils no longer reaching below her chin.

  “How is your magic?” Rie asked after wiping Solvi’s face with a cloth. She supposed it was a little insulting to wipe the girl’s face clean for her, but she couldn’t help the action. Solvi was so small and fragile, she almost seemed like a toddler needing a bit of extra attention.

  She closed her eyes. “I can feel the goats in their pens again.” Her shoulders relaxed and a beatific smile spread through the good side of her face. The wounded side hardly moved.

  “The physical wounds are beyond me to heal,” Rie said, reaching out to touch the slack skin with gentle fingertips. “Is there anyone of your kind who might help?”

  Vegard shook his head as he came up to stand behind Solvi, a protective arm around her shoulders. “Our healers can clean and bandage, cure infection and ease pain, but their abilities are mundane, not magical. They have done the best they can for her.”

  “Send her to Éostre in the Autumn realm then,” Rie replied. “She will help, I’m sure.”

  Éostre is a good choice, Angeni chimed into Rie’s ear. She taught me much after Grandmother died.

  Rie couldn’t respond to her ancestor out loud, but as far as she knew, Éostre was one of the most powerful healers in all the realms.

  “Maybe,” Vegard said. “But now I’m certain you’re hungry. My wife has prepared a great delicacy for you. Goat milk and lichen stew. We will eat in the communal hall if that seems acceptable.”

  Rie yawned, her jaw cracking. The day was catching up with her.

  “Yes, but first I’d like some time to . . . ah . . . meditate on the day.”

  Daenor glanced in her direction with a lifted eyebrow. She’d tell him about Angeni later. Right now, she didn’t want the barbegazi thinking she was any crazier—or scarier—than necessary. She was already in enough trouble for interacting with the souls of the dead.

  “Do you have a quiet private space I can sit?” Rie asked

  “Of course. You may use my home, if you don’t
mind crouching. We can set out pillows for your comfort.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Rie replied.

  Vegard’s home was indeed comfortable. Decorated in what Rie had come to understand was the standard white fabric made out of the goat hair, rugs, tapestries, and cushions lined every flat surface. The front parlor room was easily large enough for Rie and Daenor to sit next to each other, and Vegard’s wife had even taken it upon herself to light a small fire in the grate.

  “I apologize for the size of the fire. I’m sure you would like a little extra warmth, but our hearth is for cooking. We don’t need much heat,” Vegard said.

  “This is fine,” Rie replied. “Better than fine. I truly appreciate all you have done and provided for us.”

  “Then I will take my leave to prepare the communal hall for the grieving.”

  On those grim words, Vegard turned and left the dwelling, closing the door behind him.

  As soon as Vegard was out of sight and hearing range, Daenor slumped, leaning his head against her shoulder.

  “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  “Shh,” Rie replied. “I need to be able to hear her.”

  “Hear who?”

  “Angeni, my great-grandmother and Garamaen’s human wife.”

  I was a lot more than that you know. In my time, I was a great shaman, much sought after for my wisdom and guidance, as well as my skills with the herbs of the forest, Angeni said.

  I apologize, Rie replied. Of course I know that, Greg has told me quite a bit about you, and about your children. But Daenor will not know you as the Shaman.

  I understand, Angeni said. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it now and then.

  Rie hadn’t expected a sense of humor from her grandmother. How did you find us?

  I’ve been watching you for some time now. I’ve watched you grow and change over the years, become a talented warrior and a good person. I must say I’m quite proud.

  Thank you, Rie replied. But why haven’t you said anything, until now?

  Alive or dead, love does funny things to us. But the truth is, you didn’t have soulspeech until recently and I’ve been busy trying to keep Greg’s spirits alive.

  What do you mean? Rie asked.

  Garamaen is ready to give up. To give in. He’s tired. I haven’t been willing to leave his side.

  Then why now?

  He needs your help. You are the only one who can pull him out of this death spiral he’s in.

  Rie got a sense of Garamaen lying on the floor of a cave, bound in chains at neck and wrists. She couldn’t fully See the image—there was too much interference from the wolves, but she could feel the despair and resignation.

  Don’t you want to be reunited with him again? In the afterlife? Rie asked.

  A part of me does, yes, but another part—the larger part I hope—knows he is needed by more than just my soul. The realms will need the guidance of a strong seeker of the truth in the coming years. Sanyaro is more than a title, it is a calling. Don’t you sense it?

  Rie blew out a breath. Of course she sensed it. It was a drive to see the weak protected and justice served. To fight chaos with order and discord with harmony. The only real question was whether she was strong enough to live up to the role.

  I have only ever seen him like this once before, when he first came to the Human Realm, Angeni continued, not waiting for Rie’s response. Interestingly, he came to us after he’d lost his hand to Fenrir and was infected with the poison. Same as now. I fear the bite does more than strip you of your magic, it strips you of hope and your will to live.

  Rie glanced over at Daenor, who rested with his back to a wall and his sword in his lap. Already, his color had improved and his gaze was alert. He must be feeling better if he was keeping watch, protecting her as she communed with the spirit of her grandmother. But the most notable difference was the determination and resolution that marked his expression.

  Rie could see what Angeni meant. She’d even felt it herself in that cave, though it hadn’t seemed to affect her as strongly as Daenor.

  Returning her gaze, Daenor lifted an eyebrow in question.

  Your man is strong. Stronger than most, both physically and emotionally. He will survive. Two more treatments and he’ll be back to full strength, Angeni said.

  “Angeni says you’ll survive,” Rie grinned. “You just need another poultice or two.”

  “Ah. Good. Looking forward to being burned from the inside out,” Daenor replied.

  Rie grinned, the sarcastic remark releasing the tension trapped in her shoulders. It was a good sign that his humor had returned.

  “Has your fire returned at all yet?” Rie asked.

  Daenor gazed down at the shining steel laying across his legs. A thin flicker of orange flame licked across the metal, then died.

  “It’s there, but it feels trapped, like it’s being smothered by a thick blanket.”

  Rie set her chin. “We’ll set it free.”

  But you must also rest, Angeni warned. Though it’s not magic in the way that the elves use it, the healing still requires a great deal of energy.

  So I need to rescue Garamaen urgently, but I also urgently need to cure Daenor and Solvi of their bites, and also rest.

  I didn’t say your task would be easy. Rie could hear the laughter in Angeni’s voice, even if she couldn’t see the woman’s smile. Or that it would make sense. But if you want to become Sanyare in truth, you will have to make choices like this and worse. And do it quickly.

  Rie pursed her lips and gave a single decisive nod. Then we must prepare.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  IT HAD BEEN two full cycles since they’d arrived at the city within the mountain. While Judith wandered the cavern and played with the baby, the others had rested . . . and grieved. A few more injured barbegazi stumbled in from the battle, but many had been lost. Even knowing their souls would have returned to the Daemon Realm, Judith empathized. The living would never see the dead until their own mortal end. She did her best to reassure and comfort the few who came to her for a peek into the afterlife. It was the least she could do.

  The worst part was the bodies of the dead couldn’t yet be recovered. Buried under tons of snow, the barbegazi would have to wait until the final spring melt before they could be found.

  On the brighter side, the healing was going well. Judith was impressed with Rie’s skill, though she suspected she had assistance from the Daemon Realm. Technically, Judith should probably report the breach to the Moirai, but she had no proof. She couldn’t see this soul, so she suspected Rie hadn’t called her. Someone else must have. Namely, Lord Garamaen Sanyaro.

  And if Sanyaro was still alive and well enough to aid Rie at a distance, Judith didn’t want to interfere. Especially given the nature of Apprentice Sanyare’s task.

  It had taken several more treatments, but Rie had finally removed the last traces of Fenrir’s poison from Daenor’s and Solvi’s wounds. Their magic had returned in full, and their physical health had improved with sleep and food.

  Even the pixies—the three that had survived—were doing better, flitting and darting around the immense cavern when they weren’t irritating everyone around them. Thanks to the magic of her enchanted khukuri knives, Rie looked fit and fresh, better than anyone else who had fought in the mountain pass.

  Now Judith sat on a low stool, surrounded on all sides by allies and warriors. Rie had called the meeting, but the entire city had been on edge since their arrival. It was time to excise the rot in this realm and remove the wicked souls from their stolen homes. If only the others would see it that way. But Judith feared the barbegazi would hesitate to wage open battle on the frost sidhe, and Apprentice Sanyare would choose her mentor over the safety of the realm.

  “We’ve taken a breath. We’ve healed and rested. Now it’s time to rescue Garamaen. He’s at the mercy of a sadistic wolf set on vengeance. We can’t leave him there,” Rie said, to no one’s surprise, least of al
l Judith’s.

  Judith studied her ally. The woman’s violet eyes drew you in, made you want to listen, while her obvious physical strength and diplomatic grace captured attention. She stood at the head of the long communal table, her spine straight but without the formal rigidity of so many who pretended to social graces. She exuded charisma. Everyone wanted to help her, Judith included, despite the trouble she caused.

  Judith fought not to curl a lip, disgusted at her own reaction. The woman was an ally, yes. Maybe even had the potential to be a friend. But she pretended to greater wisdom and authority than she should claim. Yet, Judith had to admire Rie’s composure, and she wished that she could project that same diplomatic air . . . but these people didn’t follow her the same way they followed the human.

  Was it the wings?

  Judith placed her hands on the table, drawing attention to her next words. “The way I see it, we have two main problems. First, Fenrir and his wolves have Garamaen, and that must be remedied. But we also have to deal with the general. It is my belief that his body contains two souls, his original born soul, and the essence of one of the wicked that escaped in the Battle of the Arches. We know he returned to Crystal City. We cannot let him resume power.”

  “Garamaen needs to be handled first,” Rie argued.

  Judith shook her head. The woman was short-sighted. It was how she’d gotten them all into this mess in the first place.

  “If the general is allowed to continue as he is, the current situation will only get worse. We can assume he was the one to free Fenrir, and they are working together. It is also reasonable to assume that he doesn’t want Garamaen free, that he sought Fenrir’s help to bring us all here to this realm. He needs to be dealt with first, to eliminate the possibility of once more joining forces with the wolves. If he is what I believe, we need your soultouch to separate the conjoined souls and my sword to send the wicked to its final death.”

  “The general has already fallen back behind the walls of his great city. Getting to him will be near impossible,” Rie replied. “And I still can’t See his future. No matter how hard I try to call a vision, it won’t come. Meanwhile, Garamaen is being tortured. If we can free him, he can help us with the general.”