Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  Suvi said, “Nels, please—”

  “She can’t possibly mean to make you abandon your kingdom,” Nels said. “For what?”

  “You didn’t hear me. Eledore as it was is gone,” Ilta said. “If you travel to the World’s Pillar now, there’s a chance of the kingdom’s being reborn. If we do anything else, Eledore won’t be the only nation doomed.”

  Nels turned to Ilta. “How could you even ask this of me? You’ve finally lost your mind.”

  Ilta flinched. The jibe had hit her every bit as hard as he knew it would.

  Stop this, he thought. Apologize to her. Now.

  “Nels, please,” Suvi said. “You’re only making this harder.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Too much had happened. “You believe her?”

  “She’s the Silmaillia,” Suvi said. “Of course I believe her.”

  “Fine. Go,” Nels said. “But do it without me. I’m not leaving my troops to die.” Not again.

  “I need you,” Suvi said. “I can’t perform the ritual without you. Please.”

  “The hells you can’t,” Nels said.

  “I’m telling you, I can’t,” Suvi said.

  “What kind of ritual is it?” Nels asked. “Is it magical? If so, I’ve nothing to contribute. Remember?”

  “That isn’t true,” Ilta said. “And you know it.”

  “I won’t do it. I—”

  “As your queen,” Suvi said, “I hereby command it.”

  And there it was. The one thing with which he couldn’t argue. Nels blinked and then he lowered his voice. “Suvi, please don’t do this. You don’t know what it’ll do to me.”

  “Are you refusing to obey your queen?” Ilta asked.

  Swallowing, Nels turned to look at his platoon. That was it. If he refused his sister, everything was lost. If he followed her wishes—

  If I leave them behind, they can take back the palace. Then we can come back and—

  Suvi’s tone was gentle. “You can leave the others here to dig. If we—” She paused. “When we succeed, we’ll need to get back into the palace. You’re right. But you must come with me to Keeper Mountain. It’s our only real chance at starting over.”

  Trapped. He stared at his boots. His jaw felt tight. “I will follow orders, Your Highness.”

  “Nels, please—”

  “Do I have time to perform the death rituals for our father?” He met her gaze with a hot glare. The question seemed to hit Suvi like a slap.

  She blinked back tears. “How long will it take?”

  “I can finish the short-form ritual in a quarter of an hour, Your Highness. The longer—”

  “The shorter ritual will have to suffice,” Suvi said.

  “And the prisoners?” Nels asked. “What do we do with them?” He could make the decision for her, but he was done making things easier.

  Suvi paused. “What do you suggest?”

  Most of the platoon hadn’t brought ryggsacks. There wasn’t enough cold-weather gear or other equipment for everyone, but there was enough for a small group to hike up the mountain. It would mean leaving the remainder of the platoon with no supplies. They would need to dig fast. “The prisoners can dig. It’ll be easier on the platoon. We have to take Marcellus with us, no matter what,” Nels said. “Of course, if Your Highness would rather not bother with—”

  Ilta said, “Marcellus should accompany us. He must see the crack in the world.”

  “Why would he care about such a thing?” Nels asked.

  “Nels, just do as you’re told,” Ilta said, and walked away.

  Why is she being so awful? What have I done? Nels bit back a retort by counting to a hundred, or, more accurately, twenty-five. Then he ordered Moller to take charge until he returned. The news that they would take Marcellus with them caused some conster­nation among the Acrasians.

  “You have my word that your general will come to no harm,” Nels said.

  Marcellus arched an eyebrow. “The word of an Eledorean?”

  “I don’t have any other kind to give,” Nels said.

  NINE

  Nels forced himself to focus on the rope binding Marcellus’s hands behind his back, while Suvi and Ilta went through the things that Ilta had brought for the ritual. Above all, Nels did not look over his shoulder and down at Jalokivi. The last time he’d done so, it’d taken all his will to keep from sprinting down fifteen miles of mountain trails. The Waterborne blizzard now engulfed the city. There was no way of knowing how well Viktor was doing, or if those Nels had left behind had taken back the palace. Flashes of light and low rumbles were the only signs that the battle was continuing. He thought he’d glimpsed the Eledorean flag flying above the main tower, but he wasn’t sure.

  I’ve left them to die. I abandoned Viktor.

  Nels didn’t think he’d ever forgive Suvi or Ilta for what they’d made him do. There’s still a chance. I might get back in time. I might stand with the others. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that his mere presence would change the outcome, but he felt like a coward for leaving—even more so after Merta. “How long is this supposed to take?” he asked no one in particular.

  The large, rough stone obelisk that Suvi had called the World’s Pillar glistened with a thin layer of snow and ice. The ancient carvings scarring the canyon wall stared back at him accusingly.

  “Not long,” Ilta said.

  The sun was nearing the horizon. He shuddered, sensing a foul undercurrent of rot originating from the cave. The stench of death was everywhere. The clearing was quiet, making each movement or sound the four of them made stand out like a foreign intruder. The feel of powerful magic emanating from the earth beneath his feet set his teeth on edge. He didn’t like the place one bit. He’d like it even less in darkness. Of course, no one else seemed to like it either, even Marcellus. It was interesting to see the discomfort in the general’s face.

  This place is awful enough that an Acrasian can sense it, Nels thought.

  Neither Ilta nor Suvi had bothered to inform him of his part in what was ahead. At this point, he didn’t care. Then he’d remember the lives being lost, and it was enough to make him wish he could punch someone after all. He felt worse than he had in his entire life. I’ll do whatever it is she demands from me today, he thought. And then I’m riding into Jalokivi alone if I must. Let her piece together what remains on her own. I’m finished.

  Savior of Eledore, he thought, ripping at old wounds. What was Saara thinking?

  “The book,” Suvi said. “Oh, Goddess, we don’t have the book.”

  Ilta placed a hand to her belt. “The knife and the lantern are the only magical tools necessary.”

  “I don’t have the ritual memorized,” Suvi said.

  “You’ll remember what you need. It’ll be enough. The precise words aren’t important,” Ilta said. “The intent is.”

  “How do you know?” Suvi asked.

  “I know. In any case, I can help with the few words that are significant, if your memory fails, but it won’t,” Ilta said. Facing the cave with its worn statues of gyrfalcons, she took a deep breath. “The blood will tell.”

  Suvi laughed. “Neither of us is an Ilmari. You know that.”

  Nels could detect fear in her voice.

  Ilta asked, “May I ask you something?”

  “Go on,” Suvi said. She didn’t appear to be looking forward to whatever was in the cave either.

  “Do you honestly believe that the Ilmari line is unbroken? That the whole point to this is about royal blood?” Ilta asked, just loud enough for Nels to hear. “That never once in the whole history of the royal Ilmari house did a lover lie about who they’d slept with when? That every child presented to the kingdom as a royal heir was truly that beyond the name? Given the political games played at court for centuries, you honestly believe the truth was told in this one aspect of royal life? Do you really believe your mother was the first to be forced to bind with someone she wasn’t in love with?” She le
t out a short laugh. “Honestly, the stories people in power tell themselves to justify their station.”

  Nels blinked.

  “It’s the power that matters,” Ilta said. “The power that you and your brother have together. Blood is only to be used as bait. Blood draws the Old Ones. It gets their attention.”

  “Oh,” Suvi said.

  Ilta said, “Nels, it’s time. Bring Marcellus.”

  “What did she mean about ‘talking blood’?” Marcellus asked in Acrasian. “What will you do with me?”

  “I have no plans for you, outside of ransom,” Nels said in Acrasian. He wasn’t certain who he hated more, himself or the man who’d killed his father and was responsible for the fall of Eledore. It was cruel to toy with Marcellus’s anxiety, but Nels found he couldn’t help it. “The bleeding is merely a bonus.” He felt ashamed at once. “Let’s get this over with.”

  They passed beneath the stone gyrfalcons’ wings, Suvi with the lantern at point and Ilta taking the rear. The disparity between the cavern beneath the palace and the cavern of the World’s Pillar hit Nels at once. The World’s Pillar was haunted. He knew it in his bones. When they passed a particularly scarred section of stone wall, Nels heard Marcellus whisper.

  “What did you say?” Nels asked, keeping his voice low. Whatever slept here was something that he had no interest in waking.

  “Powerful malorum walk here,” Marcellus said.

  Nels recalled the conversation with Corporal Petron. “I suppose they do.”

  “Then it is true,” Marcellus said. “Your kind worship evil.”

  “What? No!” Nels winced as his objection bounced off the cavern walls.

  Suvi stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t …” He shrugged. “Just get on with it.” He waited several paces before whispering to Marcellus in Acrasian. “We do not do any such thing.”

  “Then why are we here, boy?” Marcellus asked.

  The cavern tunnel abruptly opened up into a vault with a high ceiling. Nels’s head began to ache with the low buzz of over­whelming magical power. The force of it made him stagger. He gagged on the taste of old blood flooding his mouth and nose. Suvi didn’t seem to sense it, at least not on the level he did. She didn’t stop until she came to what appeared to be a rough altar table. A huge crevice split the wall behind it. Chunks of sickly pale clay smeared with what looked like old gore crusted the edges and were scattered on the ground. Parts of the seal—and it was easy to see that the clay had once been such—were intact but not enough to block the hole. Nels couldn’t bring himself to look directly at the blackness. Things moved in the darkness on the other side—things he had no wish to see.

  “Gaze upon the crack in the world,” Ilta said, pointing. “Trans­late for the Acrasian.”

  Nels did so, but he wasn’t sure Marcellus heard.

  “Now lead the Acrasian there,” Ilta said, pointing to a place near the altar. “And bind his legs.”

  “He’s my prisoner,” Nels said in Eledorean. “No matter what he’s done. I won’t harm him. I can’t.”

  “He is only here to bear witness,” Ilta said. “He’ll be as safe as we are.”

  “I’ve some news for you,” Nels said, not liking her formal tone. “We’re not that safe.”

  “When you’re done, join hands with Suvi and myself in front of the altar.”

  Nels turned to Marcellus and spoke in Acrasian. “Come on. You might as well get comfortable.”

  “What is going on?” Marcellus asked. He was making a good effort at hiding his terror.

  Nels decided to have a little mercy. “You’re here to watch. So, watch.” He took up the slack in the rope he’d used to lead Marcellus and then used it to tie the general’s feet together.

  Ilta and Suvi made room for him between them, and Nels took the place provided. Suvi reached for his hand, but she looked him in the eye before she did. It was the first time she’d dared to do so since demanding that he abandon Jalokivi to the Acrasians.

  Her guard dropped. She was his sister again. “I’m so sorry. There really wasn’t a choice. Do you see that now?”

  He glanced at the crack in the world and paused. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her that easily. Not yet.

  “I’ve asked too much, I know,” Suvi said.

  “You didn’t ask,” he said.

  “I am sorry. You’re my brother. I love you. If it means anything, I understand how you feel. They’re my people, too. All of them—not only the army. All of those who are dying at the hands of the Acrasians now that you aren’t there to protect them. You’re all the family I have left. And now I’ve been forced to sacri­fice even you.” She let out a deep breath. “For the sake of the world.”

  Her apology hammered at the knot in his chest, and he found himself forgiving her after all, but he couldn’t say it. He wouldn’t. Too much was in the way. Instead, he took her hand in his and hoped that would be enough. Her skin was cold.

  Ilta whispered, “The time has come to shed self-doubt.”

  “Sure,” Nels said.

  “You have to understand. We absolutely can’t do this without you,” Ilta said. “We tried. Last spring.”

  Nels blinked. “Well, it remains to be seen whether or not you can with me,” he said. Like Suvi’s, Ilta’s fingers were chilled. He could feel her tremble.

  “You’ll see,” Ilta said. “Give me your right palm.”

  Suvi squeezed his hand once before he let go. Ilta took the curved knife she carried and cut a shallow line across the inside of his hand before he had time to tense up.

  “Ouch. Did I do something to deserve that?” he asked. The question included more than the physical cut.

  He caught the specter of a smile on Ilta’s lips. It gave him some hope.

  “Just hold Suvi’s hand and be quiet.” Ilta sounded so much like her old self that he didn’t hesitate. After she opened up his left palm she passed the bloodied knife to Suvi.

  Suvi directed the blade’s point to the ceiling, closed her eyes, and recited in domination magic–laced court speech, “In the eight names of the Great Mother and the Great Father, and by the power of the blood within myself and my brother, I command thee to sleep.”

  Nels stumbled as a surge of immense power passed from him to his sister through their clasped hands. The breath was forced from his body, and he gasped. Ilta staggered and dropped to one knee. The only thing that kept her from falling was his grip on her hand. He remembered the long-ago riot at the Commons Hospital, and suddenly it all made sense.

  “Focus on what Suvi is doing. She needs you,” Ilta said. “Help her.”

  Turning to his sister, Nels watched as she let go of him long enough to slit her palm and place the knife on the altar. Grabbing his hand once more, she pressed her bleeding palm flat against the wall inside the Great Mother’s circle carved at eye level next to the open crevice. Nausea twisted Nels’s guts. He got the impression that the stone drank his sister’s blood. It wanted more, so much more.

  It wanted him.

  “Nels, please,” Ilta said. “She needs you.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the power flowing through him. Not all of it was his own. A great deal of it came from Ilta and the earth beneath his feet. A lot of the magic poured into Suvi, but it felt scattered. He could feel her shrinking from agony.

  It’s too much, he thought. I’m hurting her. Without under­standing how or why, he gathered up all the power. Instead of aiming it at his sister, he directed it at the crack in the world through Suvi. The earth gave a violent shudder in response. He wondered if they’d all be buried alive in this terrible place. He felt Suvi break contact with the wall. Ilta released his hand.

  Without thinking, he forced the excess magical energy back into the earth, where it would do the least harm. He stood alone and blinking, not certain what to do. Then he spoke the words, “In the eight names of the Great Mother and the Great Father,
and by the power of sacred silver, I command thee to sleep.”

  The crack in the world had closed. No more than a hairline seam remained.

  “Well,” he said. “That wasn’t what I expected.” And with that, Nels passed out.

  TEN

  They spent the night in the clearing outside the cave. After the ritual, the area seemed peaceful in the same way that the night felt after a storm has passed. It was a relief. He didn’t have enough energy to sit up, much less walk down the mountain. To his great embarrassment, Suvi and Ilta had had to carry him when it was over. Marcellus had followed without a single word.

  Lying wrapped in a blanket, Nels watched the campfire cast shadows on the others. Suvi kept getting up and searching the valley below for signs of what was happening. The Waterborne storm still gripped Jalokivi like a fist. Ilta whispered what he assumed were reassurances. As for Marcellus, Nels had the impression that he was still considering what he’d seen. Ilta had untied him in exchange for his promise not to attempt escape. In turn, Suvi gave her word she wouldn’t magically compel him to stay.

  “May I speak with you?” Marcellus asked in formal Eledorean.

  “I’m too exhausted to sleep,” Nels answered in Acrasian. The truth was, residual magical energy was still coursing through his system. Every time he closed his eyes to rest, he remembered a new, more intimate aspect of the interior of his sister’s mind. Any distraction was welcome. “What do you want?”

  “I wish to propose a temporary truce,” Marcellus said. “Between my army and yours.”

  “You’re assuming I have an army remaining with which to negotiate,” Nels said.

  “I give you my word,” Marcellus said. “Your people will be allowed to leave and take shelter where they will.”

  “We aren’t leaving. This is our homeland, not yours.”

  “You’ve lost the war. This land belongs to the Regnum of Acrasia now.”

  “You would exile us from Eledore?”

  “It is the only way you will be free.”

  “Free to starve, you mean.”

  “No, I—” Marcellus paused, frustrated. “I’m trying to grant you the best terms that I can, given the situation. I can’t withdraw from Jalokivi. But you and your people can take whatever supplies they need and—”