FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  The Elves began singing again. Saeun stayed and listened, laughing at the song that next honored Alarien’s spirit, weeping again at another that clearly conveyed the gaping hole she’d left in the hearts of those who knew her. She left quietly midway through the next, unable to take in any more of the Elves’ grief.

  She took the left hand way at the first turning, then followed the next twist to the right, glad she’d paid careful attention to her path. Nine hundred years. Is loss so rare an event among the Elves that they nurture their grief? Their songs were more than a memorial. They ripped the wound open to bleed anew. Perhaps their hearts are stronger than ours. They must be. Their long lives force them to carry their loss far longer than I could bear. Her mother had been dead these five years, feasting with Baldur. A blink of an eye, by Elf standards. The pain had faded, but Saeun still missed her. Would still miss her in nine hundred years if she lived that long.

  As she would Ragni.

  Her heart clenched like a fist. He was as good as dead to her, never to be seen again. Never to hear his teasing, or feel his touch again. It would be nine times nine hundred years before she forgot him. She was glad she was only mortal, with a mortal’s short span of years.

  She stopped. The corridor didn’t look familiar. She could still hear the singing, so she retraced her steps. Or thought she did.

  The hall with the singers wasn’t where she expected to find it.

  She could call out, but she didn’t want to disturb Rien and the other mourners.

  “I need a guide,” she murmured.

  Two eyes opened in one of the twisted trunks across the hall from her, blinking sleepily. Saeun took a step back and steadied herself with a hand against the wall. These were different from those that shared her room. Older.

  Saeun pulled in a deep breath. “I’m lost. Would you help me find my room again? Please?”

  The eyes blinked. Then looked down the left hand corridor.

  “This way?” Saeun gestured in that direction.

  They blinked again.

  Saeun curtsied as she would to honor someone of great age, then sidled away. “Thank you.”

  At the next juncture a different pair of eyes opened and looked their guidance. And the next. It was almost like a game, until an uncomfortable thought occurred to her. “Do you watch me all the time, or only when I ask for your help?”

  The gray gaze at this crossroads just stared at her unblinking.

  “Please don’t think me ungrateful. I appreciate your help very much. I’m just not accustomed to being watched all the time.” The gray eyes closed.

  Oh, no! They hadn’t shown her which way to go yet. “Please come back. I need your help.”

  The eyes opened again.

  “Thank you,” she said, as they pointed the way.

  At last she was back in familiar territory. When she rounded the last corner to approach her room, she saw that Treskin was waiting for her.

  *

  By afternoon the weather had cleared as if in blessing. Ragni joined the others who were going on the Spirit Walk in one of the private courtyards. There would be ten of them going on the quest. Che’veyo and Tiva’ti would be accompanied by the Tewakwe warriors Tocshe and Masale. Magnus was sending Rovdir along to guard Utta, and Fender would escort Celia. The armsman Brol would go along as well, partly for additional security, but especially because of his Talent as a Weather Watcher. They gathered in a circle cleared of snow around a design drawn with sacred corn meal on the stone pavers by the Tewakwe Shaman. Magnus and the other Jarls stood back against the walls of the courtyard, observing but not participating.

  Ragni hadn’t been asked to assist Che’veyo with this ceremony. Wirmund accepted the political necessity of Ragni’s passive participation, but Dahleven had been offended on his behalf, until he’d explained, saying, “The Tewakwe called for this Spirit Walk, Dahl. I have to be there, but it should be their ceremony. Besides, it gives me a better vantage to see Che’veyo in action.”

  No animosity stood between Ragni and Che’veyo, only an acknowledgment that each priest knew best the way to address his gods. Wirmund wasn’t present. As his Second, Ragni represented Baldur’s priesthood without Wirmund seeming to give too much approval to the pagan Tewakwe rites.

  The Shaman stood in the center of the circle with the two Tewa leaders, Dahleven, and Gudrun. He lit a long pipe and blew the smoke into the sky. Che’veyo passed it to each of the leaders and then around the circle. Ragni felt Celia’s distaste, but she puffed on the pipe when it came to her, then passed it on to him without making a face or coughing. Ragni drew softly on the stem. The flavor was spicy, and he savored it a moment before blowing a smoke ring heavenward. A Tewa warrior beat a pulsing rhythm on a drum. The Tewakwe all lifted their feet in time with the drum, and soon Ragni and the other Nuvinlanders were doing the same.

  When each participant had smoked, Che’veyo began to chant as he used the glowing dottle to kindle a flame in the center of the circle.

  “Haliksa’i!

  Hear us, Sotuknang!

  Hear us, Tiowa!

  Hear us, Spider Grandmother!

  Haliksa’i!”

  Che’veyo paused and blew another puff of smoke skyward.

  “Hear us!

  We are pure of heart

  Bringing prayers and offerings.

  Hear us!

  Our kopavi are open.

  Hear us!

  Accept our gifts.

  Hear us!

  Bless our quest.

  Hear us!

  Guide our steps.”

  His voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the drum. Ragni felt as though his pulse were keeping time.

  The Shaman moved around the circle, handing two carved and painted prayer sticks to each of the Walkers, speaking softly with each. Che’veyo grinned as he handed Ragni his pahos. “I’m glad you’re here to lend us your strength, but will Baldur not be jealous if you share our prayers?”

  Ragni grinned back. “Baldur knows my heart, these prayers notwithstanding. May they rise and be heard swiftly.”

  His fingers tingled and grew warm as he accepted the prayer sticks. Lord and Lady! It was an echo of the feeling he got when working a ritual. He glanced at Che’veyo, now speaking softly with Celia on his left. He has real power.

  Celia stared wide-eyed at the sticks in her hands, though she still kept the drum’s rhythm with her feet. He felt a wave of awe roll from her. I’m not the only one who feels it, then. He opened himself, wondering if the others felt it too, but there was nothing more in their hearts than curiosity.

  Che’veyo completed the circle and took up the chant again. At intervals he sprinkled dried herbs on the fire and wafted the sharp smelling smoke upward with the fanned wing of a great raptor. The Shaman’s mind and heart were completely focused on his petition, filled with a pure loyalty and honor.

  Che’veyo raised his arms as he completed the fifth cycle of his chant. The drum stopped. Feet stilled. The absence of sound left Ragni feeling adrift. For the space of twenty heartbeats, nothing happened. Then down from the sky a redbird swooped, its crimson plumage startling as freshly spilled blood. It flew around the circle five times, then landed in front of the Shaman. After feeling the tingle of magic in the prayer sticks, Ragni wasn’t surprised that Che’veyo’s petition was answered, only that the response was so quick. He reached out with his Talent, curious if this was what the Shaman had expected. He wasn’t in the least surprised, but Dahleven and the other Nuvinlanders were.

  Che’veyo lowered his arms and spoke to the bird. “Thank you for coming to our aid, Redbird. We value your assistance.” Then he placed additional prayer sticks in front of the bird. “Carry our prayers for us, if you will, to the gods.”

  The redbird mantled, spreading its wings out and dipping its head as if bowing. Then it flew off, taking the pahos with it.

  *

  Celia gathered with the others at dawn the next morning down in the basement storeroo
ms below Quartzholm, near the iron gate that led to the tunnels. Porters had assembled the necessary supplies and equipment the night before. Only those setting out on the quest and a few others were present. Solveig, Hafdan, and the other lords had already left for their own holdings, taking advantage of the break in the weather.

  They did a quick inventory of their gear, then loaded up the three reindeer. The relatively short animals made excellent beasts of burden. Underground, the hardy creatures were small enough to fit through the tunnels even with their antlers, and their disproportionately splayed feet would serve them well as built-in snowshoes when the party exited the mountain.

  Just before the Walkers departed, Dahleven pulled his dagger from its sheath and presented it to Celia on outstretched palms. Flickering light from the myriad torches glinted off the blade. “May this protect you as I would. Use it valiantly, and return it to me in honor.” He took her dagger in exchange.

  Celia knew the gesture must hold more meaning than she understood, but now was not the time to ask. Beyond Dahleven, she saw Fender’s brows rise. He was obviously impressed. Even without knowing the full importance of it, Celia felt tears prick her eyes. Dahleven no doubt knew how poorly her knife training with Fender was going, yet he was publicly showing his confidence in her despite this. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but Dahleven stepped away to unlock the gate.

  “Very pretty, I’m sure. Can we go now?” Baruq stood with his little fists planted on his hips.

  Celia frowned at the pinnsvin. He’d resumed a glamour so as not to alarm the few servants who were present. Of those in the store room, only she and Dahleven could see him as anything other than a small yapping dog.

  Baruq actually looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to spend any longer underground than I have to.”

  The pinnsvin had been persuaded to guide them to his masters. It was either that or the iron cage, Dahleven had said. Celia had argued against using torture as an incentive, but all she’d effectively done was play the good cop to Dahl’s bad. And it had worked. Baruq even seemed to feel he owed her some small amount of courtesy since she’d come to his defense.

  It was amazing, really, how well the others had taken the surprise of Baruq. She and Dahleven had gathered them privately the evening before. Che’veyo and the other Tewakwe had taken Baruq’s assistance as a fulfillment of the Shaman’s prayers for guidance. Ragni was curious and quizzed the little Fey servant about the religious practices of the Elves until Baruq shut him down with, “Do I look like a Lios Alfar? Ask them yourself!” Only Brol had hesitated. “That—thing—will guide us? How do we know he won’t lead us right off a cliff?” But Dahl had assured the armsman that Baruq had given his parole and could be trusted—at least in this.

  Perhaps in other ways, as well. At her request, Baruq had privately given Dahl the means to contact the other minions of the Lios Alfar, should the need arise. And the need could arise. Celia had tried to Find the minion of the Dark Elves that had escaped, but to no avail.

  Dahleven raised his hands. “Baldur’s blessings on you all!” he shouted, echoing the more formal blessing that Ragni had given earlier. “May you return in glory!”

  That was it. No final kiss. No hug. He had loved her thoroughly the night before. Now he was sending her off as if she were one of his warriors instead of his lover. She wanted to kiss him goodbye, but he was holding himself so rigidly that she thought better of it.

  The first leg of their journey would be the easiest. They wouldn’t have to fight the snow. Instead, they’d walk unhampered through the tunnels and exit on the side of the mountain around mid-day.

  They filed through the iron gate and into the tunnels that connected Quartzholm with the closest holdings of the province. The most difficult part was getting the reindeer down the half-flight of steps from the gate itself. After that, Utta led the group. Che’veyo walked by her side, Baruq sitting on his shoulder. Half of the party carried torches, but with Utta’s Darksight Talent, she was the logical choice to lead. Ragni and Rovdir were not pleased that she was on point, and kept close.

  It seemed as though they walked for a long time. The air was close and musty except right next to where the ventilation shafts came out. The torchlight cast distorted shadows on the walls and their footsteps echoed until they sounded like an army on the march.

  Ugly memories of the tunnels flashed in Celia’s mind. She’d never wanted to return, even if the tunnels were where she and Dahleven had first made love. But here she was. She made herself focus on the present. This was nothing like before. They were on their way to meet the Elves. On purpose.

  It was hard to gauge the passage of time in a world circumscribed by the light of a torch. The blackness seemed to press in on the torchlight, squeezing it, as the sound of their footsteps echoed into the dark. Utta said something and Ragni signaled a halt. Fender moved forward, spoke with the others, and looked into an opening off the main tunnel. Celia followed him.

  “We have to go in there, I tell you,” Baruq whispered fiercely.

  The group bunched up, except for the armsman who was leading the reindeer.

  “What’s the problem?” Celia asked.

  “Our little friend wants to go into that fissure there,” Fender growled.

  “I don’t want to go into it, you dolt,” Baruq said from his perch on Utta’s shoulder. “But it’s the way I know. Why did you force me to lead you if you aren’t going to take my advice?”

  Fender glared at the pinnsvin.

  Celia sighed. “He has a point.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Look.” Fender bent low and took half a dozen steps into the fissure before thrusting his torch out before him. Another dozen paces further on the walls narrowed to less than two hand spans across. Neither they nor the reindeer would ever make it through. “Or does your sight show this is a Fey illusion?” he asked softly.

  Celia almost wished it did, even if saying so would reveal her Fey-marking to the others. “No. This is impassable.”

  “Well, if you were a normal size, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Baruq huffed, but his defiant posture deflated, and he looked a little relieved. “It’s just as well. With your great galumphing feet, every Dark One in Alfheim would know we were near.”

  “Does this mean we have to go back?” Celia asked when they’d backed out of the fissure.

  “Not if we can get out to the surface fairly soon,” Baruq said.

  “Where one path is closed, another will open,” Che’veyo said.

  “There’s an exit to the surface a candlemark’s walk farther on,” Fender said.

  “Can you find your way from there?” Ragni asked the pinnsvin.

  “Of course!” Baruq puffed himself up again.

  “We should trust the guide given us by the gods,” Che’veyo said.

  “Baruq?” Celia put a warning into her tone.

  “Probably. If we haven’t gone too far astray.”

  Fender looked like he might strangle the little creature. Celia took Baruq on her shoulder and moved back in the line while Fender stayed forward with Utta to look for the exit. Little more than an hour later, they found the opening and bundled up to face the cold.

  Celia trudged along behind Ragni and in front of Fender under a clear blue sky, her snow shoes squeaking and crunching along with everyone else’s. She was starting to get the hang of the awkward footwear. She and the Tewakwe had fallen on their faces more than once when they’d practiced the day before. She was doing much better now. Only occasionally did she trap one shoe beneath the other.

  Baruq no longer rode someone’s shoulder. He walked in front, wearing his own little snow shoes. “You copied them from us,” he’d said, “when we still lived in Midgard.” He was certainly much more adept in their use than she was. But somehow she’d thought he ought to be able to run lightly over the snow. That’s what the Elves in the movies did, anyway.

  The cold air nipped at her nose and her breath fogged. They’d
been trudging through the snow for hours. Che’veyo walked just behind Baruq. Two Tewakwe warriors followed him, with Tiva’ti in between. Rovdir walked in front of Utta, who preceded Ragni, and Brol brought up the rear, leading the reindeer, and as far away from the pinnsvin as he could get.

  They all wore several layers of clothing. Celia patted her chest, but could barely feel the bulge of the Dream Door in the pouch hanging from her neck. She felt a little better, knowing that Dahleven could be that close.

  Not that he’d miss her. No, that’s not fair. It had been hard for him to let her go. But what was with that impersonal, “Here’s my knife, see ya later,” goodbye? She wouldn’t be able to ask until tonight when she used the Dream-door. Celia sighed and tried to think of something else.

  She went over her mental checklist again, not that it would do any good if she remembered something now. But she hadn’t forgotten anything. None of them had. They were as well prepared for this strange trip as anyone could be.

  She had to trust that Baruq knew where he was going and that the Tewakwe knew what they were talking about. They all did.

  She almost hoped they were wrong. Loloma and Nai’awika thought this quest to appease the Elves was the reason she was here, the reason their portal had opened and brought her to Alfheim. What if it is? What was she supposed to do? The Nuvinlanders seemed to think saving Quartzholm had been enough of a reason. But what if it wasn’t?

  Ragni half-turned and waited until she came even with him, then continued as he spoke softly. “Celia, you must stop this. We are as well prepared as we can be. Whatever comes will not be changed by worrying. You’ll only make yourself crazy,” he said with a gentle smile. “And me along with you.”

  Celia smiled back ruefully. “Sorry. It’s just that my last hike had such unexpected consequences.”

  Ragni laughed, then spoke more quietly. “And don’t let your parting from Dahl trouble you, either. It’s unseemly for those left behind to fuss over warriors departing for battle. I’ll wager it was harder for Dahl not to kiss you than it was for you not to be kissed. Think instead on the loan of his knife—that was a great honor, you know—and whatever warm words he gave you last night.”