by Gabi Moore
Backtracking seemed no less than impossible. As difficult as the path forward was becoming, it was as though the mountain ceased to exist behind her, as if going back… simply didn’t exist.
***
Without looking back, there was no way Laova could have possibly seen Taren follow her.
He’d noticed her strange behavior in the tent, but hadn’t imagined she’d do something as silly as leave alone. It had taken him so much by surprise when he saw her gather her gear, for a moment Taren had assumed he was dreaming.
This wind! Taren clung from tree to tree. At times he had to drag himself onward. Taren was skinny, but Laova was shorter, and without much more meat on her bones. How was she moving so quickly through this blasting snow? He’d been able to catch up at first—before the snow grew heavy. Now he went terrifying periods without even catching sight of her. He’d been following the deep trough through the forest floor that she’d left behind, but soon that would start to fill with snow.
This was stupid. If he thought she might hear him over the wind, Taren would have called out to Laova. He should have called after her from the beginning. He’d had a moment of delusion, of catching up to her. He’d even dreamed that perhaps it was Nemlach she was running from. He’d been foolish, and he was afraid that this time his foolishness would be the end of him.
Fear was growing closer. Taren’s teeth chattered with it and the cold, and he hated that he wished someone were here to tell him what was right. He could go back and save himself. The wind was fierce, but the shelter was close enough to reach again. But if he left her out alone, Laova would surely die.
What would Nemlach do? There was a time when Taren had liked Nemlach and admired him greatly. That was before he noticed how Laova watched his booted steps, how she anxiously peered out into the forest with ridiculous frequency when the hunters were away. It wasn’t terribly long ago that Taren aspired to be a man like Nemlach.
But Nemlach wouldn’t have been dumb enough to walk out into a snowstorm. He would have found another way. He would have stopped Laova, or woken the others. He was older and wiser, and Taren hated that in himself this piece was missing. It was the piece Laova loved in Nemlach; it was what she couldn’t find in Taren.
It was futile, but Taren tried anyway.
“Laova!” he shouted.
She didn’t hear him. She didn’t slow; he glimpsed her tiny form up ahead, and it was moving, moving, without a lapse in pace.
He shouted after her again, but to try without hope is as useless as shouting against the wind.
***
“We can’t leave them,” Nemlach murmured.
A babble erupted; everyone spoke at once. Rell’s voice boomed above them, indignant and skeptical. Her face was almost as red as her hair; Khara and Bamet both took a step back. Rell was one of the most levelheaded of the village leaders. It was rare and disturbing to see her scream, but scream she did.
“They left this tent freely!” Her voice filled every space like a physical force.
Nemlach didn’t answer—for better or worse.
“I will not give our lives for two fools who don’t value their own!”
Nemlach waited.
“I can’t protect anyone from themselves—I don’t want them to die, but neither do I want to kill anyone else! I won’t ask my hunters to pay their lives for Laova and Taren’s error, no matter how grave.”
Nemlach crossed his arms.
Rell narrowed her eyes and stepped forward until her face was inches from his. “I am the Hunt Leader. And I forbid you from stepping from this tent.”
Calm as ever, Nemlach nodded.
Rell relaxed a little.
“As a hunter, I must defer to my Hunt Leader,” Nemlach agreed.
Her breathing began again; the high color retreated from Rell’s face, and she sighed.
“Nemlach—”
He picked up his pack and his spear and turned to the door. “Consider me rogue, then.”
“Stop!” Rell ordered.
Nemlach shook his head. “No.”
Rell stared. Khara and Ghal and Bamet stared.
“No one will tell me to leave two of our number to die. No one.” Nemlach pulled back the tent flap. Stunned, the others watched him hunker out into the dark, and in a blast of deathly and sinister cold, he was gone.
Chapter 10
Was this a dream?
Laova was walking with ease. Every step took her higher and higher into reaches unknown, to places no mortal had travelled. Her village told stories about the Elder Men and how they would climb mountains for fun, as if to challenge the gods, claim this land as their own. Laova was no Elder Woman, and she knew with thrilling, uneasy certainty that the way should be growing harder.
The trees were falling away, now. This must be real—in her dreams, the wind was always gentle and coy, never harsh and bitter as it was tonight. The moon shone bright on the mountain, in her dreams, and the gods’ lights glimmered above. It was cloudy now, indication enough that it was her living legs that carried her upward.
And to what? The question was becoming more important.
Laova still didn’t know. But it seemed to her that if she looked quickly enough, a tiny figure would slip out of sight just before her eyes landed upon it.
A larger shade prowled the woods beside her: the wolf, of course. He’d appeared to guide her way some time after she’d fled the warm shelter of her fellow hunters. If she strayed, he nudged her back onto the path. If she fell—and she did, more than once—his hulking, bristling nose would burrow under her arm and goad her back to her feet. She would have certainly gotten lost by now without him.
Still, his presence frightened her. He’d been sent, ordered. What called to Laova so imperiously held sway over the beast, as well, and she feared her will might fare no better when the time came.
The snow slipped underfoot again and Laova sprawled out in the snow. It pressed against her face, cold and biting but also claustrophobic, and she fought to separate from the press of white. She was practically smothering on shadows on this moonless mountainside.
As she knew and feared he would, the wolf had dug his snout under her midsection in moments. He snuffed her over with a grunt, and Laova hugged his neck so she could be pulled upright.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. Perhaps thanks were unnecessary. If the wolf could even understand, he did not act according to his own will. Laova turned and began to trudge on.
He was not acting according to his own will.
Was she?
***
There were gods in this world. That was what Nemlach had always held true. He’d prayed to them often; he felt them near when his strength waned, and they had favored him with their help on occasion. He was a spiritual man, and if he’d shown the signs he would have accepted a place in the Grandmother’s house without complaint.
There were gods in this world, and they had not been overly cruel to him. His parents were dead, but such was the way of life; perhaps he’d lost them too early, in his teenage years, but he did not feel a victim. He asked the gods for little, and was not disappointed. After all, nothing is free, and when you ask for too much, Nemlach knew, perhaps you’d find the price is also too much.
There were gods in this world, and Nemlach honored them. But tonight, this meant nothing. Tonight, the gods meant to see him struggle after that which he wanted.
Snow blasted and his thick hair was whipped across his eyes. The wind shrieked and crashed through the waving trees. The sky was black with heavy snow clouds, and the jagged silhouette of Star-Reach towered above.
That was where Laova was going. Nemlach knew in his heart. He just wished he knew why.
Tonight, ‘why’ was not important. Nemlach struggled on carefully, following the near-invisible trail of bent branches and broken underbrush, signs and marks that could have been left by anything. Perhaps by holding Laova close he had asked for too much. But there were gods in this world, and he truste
d them, and climbed.
***
“Laova.”
It was more than a voice. The sound rolled and grated like low thunder. It was a rumble in her chest. Laova stopped, stunned, and looked up at the spirit lights cresting Star-Reach, finding herself closer than ever. The trees were far below, and the mountain expanded in spotless silver. Only the ripples of red and green and glorious purple touched here.
But then, there was also Laova. And above her, standing less than a dozen paces up the slope…
“Come to me, Laova.”
She tried, but her feet were still. Was it a man? She was so close, Laova felt sure she should have seen him clearly. The only feature she knew was his voice. She’d heard it before; it was the sound of wind, high in the clouds. It was the hiss of rain, and the silence of stars.
“I’ve brought you here to join with me, Laova.”
She shivered. Did he mean what she thought he meant?
“Come to me. Meet me here.”
She wanted to ask him to wait, to ask him to explain. But then, she understood enough. In her gut, she understood what it was she was needed for.
***
Warm fur welcomed Laova back into the waking world. Still dark, still night, and still spitting snow. She burrowed into the wolf’s heat just a little longer. Her heart thudded and strained with what she had learned.
He was a god, surely. What else could he be?
And he wanted her, as Nemlach wanted her.
Laova lay there for a time, listening to the wind howl. Should she feel guilt? Was it a betrayal to Nemlach that she went now to lay with a god?
There was no question of refusing, guilt or no guilt. Laova was not afraid, she was not reluctant. It seemed as if, perhaps, she had known for some time that this day would arrive. She was curious and entranced. There was no refusing—she had to know.
With a groan, she shambled to her feet and felt the cold close in all the places where the wolf had curled near. It pierced her skin through her many layers of hides and skins, and Laova began to shiver almost instantly.
The beast that guided her seemed little bothered with the storm. He stretched and yawned and unfolded his body out of the cold rock crevice they’d nestled within. Laova watched him with envy; it might have been a balmy summer afternoon, for all he was affected.
Night stretched on, and the wolf gazed at Laova expectantly with his great green-gold eyes.
“Let’s go,” she breathed.
***
It was the first sound besides wind he’d heard in hours, and it shocked him with horror and dread.
Nemlach lurched forward after the faint shout. Instinctively, he wanted to shout back and assure the bodiless voice that he was looking for its owner, but it would be a waste of what precious breath he could snatch up here, high on the mountain’s slope. Instead, he listened more closely than ever before, straining to catch another snippet of sound besides the hand of winter crashing about.
Visibility was practically gone; the clouds hung so low on the mountain that Nemlach actually stood within them now, like a fog. The trees were becoming scarce as he climbed, which meant struggling upward through blank stretches of lonely wind-blown snow. The mountain surface was not smooth here; ravines dropped and crags rose, and Nemlach felt sure that if he didn’t find Laova soon they would both end up dead, buried beneath a white and frozen shroud.
He’d gone thirty struggling paces when he heard the voice again, much clearer. It wasn’t Laova.
“Taren!” he called.
“Help!”
“Keep yelling!” Nemlach scanned the snow, but didn’t see the boy. “Where are you?”
“I slipped down a ravine!”
Nemlach’s stomach dropped into his boots. How far had Taren fallen…? “Are… Are you injured?”
“No, I’m stuck! The snow—it’s too heavy—I can’t get out!”
At least his legs weren’t broken. Nemlach dug through his pack, searching for his rope. He wondered how he would have explained to Laova—if he ever saw her again—how he had left Taren to die. There was no way to get an injured man out of a ravine, much less back down the mountain safely. Not in this weather.
“Are you still there?”
“Here.” Nemlach followed the voice cautiously. He caught sight of a dip in the snow, and the closer he approached the deeper it became until he stood perilously close to the edge of a blessedly shallow ravine. In the dark, he could just make out a figure, mostly buried at the bottom. No wonder he couldn’t get out; Taren’s legs were both securely rooted. It was lucky he’d fallen in such a position. It would be fairly easy to drag him straight out.
“Nemlach!”
“Here.” Nemlach threw down the rope, and Taren tied it under his arms.
“What are you doing out here?” There was a crackly suspicion to his tone that made it sound less appropriate for the lucky recipient of a rescue.
How grateful of him to ask, Nemlach thought with a sigh. He labored to drag Taren free; the boy was relatively light, but still burdened with snow and heavy clothes. Nemlach had to take one step at a time, gasping for air all the while. His gloved hands held the rope tightly, but he still almost dropped it twice when his grip unexpectedly slipped.
Slack appeared in the line, and Nemlach rotated his head on his neck to try and see past his hood and hair; Taren had gained the ledge, and his arms were scrabbling for purchase. With the end in sight, Nemlach drove further still, dragging on the lightening rope until Taren lay spread-eagled in the rising snow.
“Are you—all right?” Nemlach asked again. The air this high on the mountain was wispy and insufficient. It was the opposite of trying to breathe water, or mist; it felt as if he drew in nothing. Nemlach looked up at the mostly-obscured crags of Star-Reach and tried to guess how far up Laova might be. She might do better than himself, being smaller. He had hoped the cumulative weather and thinning air might slow her down enough for him to catch up.
Taren, meanwhile, fought to his feet. The wind nearly blew him back down the ravine, but Nemlach scrabbled for a grip on his coat and dragged him safely away.
Impatiently, Taren batted his hands away. “You—shouldn’t be out—here.” Taren was feeling it, too. Just the strain of getting to his feet had left him laboring.
“Neither should you,” Nemlach replied.
Taren glared at him through the dark; their night-sight was good. Not as good as a wolf’s or a snow-panther, but better than an elk or deer. Elk or deer didn’t have to try and read each other’s faces, however, and with his scarf pulled up to his nose, Nemlach only had Taren’s flat and impetuous eyes to go off of.
“You should—go back,” Taren said.
Nemlach stared at him. The snow railed down, endlessly, blinding them to anything beyond twenty paces or so. He almost physically felt something in his chest snap back, like a child who’d been hanging on a tree branch and finally let go.
In a half-wild flurry, Nemlach flew at Taren. He couldn’t remember, later, what had gotten into him, but he punched Taren straight across the nose and felt a crack, even through three layers of gloves. Taren staggered backward.
Nemlach froze. “Gods, why did I do that?” he muttered with a sigh. He stepped forward carefully. “Here, let me see—”
Nemlach doubled over as Taren delivered a clumsy, heavy kick to his abdomen.
“That’s for Laova,” Taren hissed.
Oh, we’re doing this, are we? Nemlach glared up at Taren, and couldn’t imagine a more inconvenient time or place for this particular scuffle.
But the gods rarely give us a choice in when events boil over, and Nemlach had had enough of Taren’s moody sulking and little fits. Taren wanted to fight; Nemlach was surprised to discover that he wanted to, as well. It was a relief, as he and the boy swatted and battered back and forth at each other in the barren reaches of the gods’ territory.
They didn’t have a barest extra breath to talk or jeer at each other; that was unnecessa
ry. The fact that they were losing time and Laova was getting further away seemed less vital, as if perhaps she was waiting politely for them to hash out their differences before proceeding with her escape into the night. There was a desperation and an urgency in the physicality of battle, even a minor one such as this, and by the time both of them were panting and gasping for air in the swirling—and worsening—snowfall, it seemed as though some tension had broken lightly into pieces and vanished.
Taren tried to swing another comically slow punch; Nemlach saw him coming without difficulty and waved him away, rasping. Taren didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped his arm and refocused on the task of getting air into his lungs.
It was some time before either of them had the breath to speak, and by the time they did, Nemlach’s blood had fully cooled and he grimaced at all the time they’d lost. Laova could be a half a league ahead, by now. Of course, Nemlach wasn’t aware that at that very moment, Laova was curled up in a rocky nook with a mountain wolf, sleeping, warm and safe. If he had known this, perhaps he’d feel less crushing guilt at acting the fool now, pummeling this confused youngster on this frozen slope in a malevolent, darkening gale of storm and snow.
“I wish--she’d never—met you.”
Nemlach glanced over at Taren. Both their face-scarves and hoods had been knocked askew, and finally Nemlach could see Taren’s face clearly.
“But she—did,” Nemlach replied, hardly loud enough to hear over the wind in their ears.
They stared at each other, waiting. With a sigh, Nemlach spoke again.
“She isn’t… yours. She isn’t mine, either. We were—weren’t made to be—owned or poss—possessed.” Nemlach took a moment, breathing deeply. “You have no right… to be angry at her… for choosing me.”
