by T L Greylock
Finnoul’s shout was joyous and her grin wide. Aerath looked away as Finnoul clasped Raef’s forearm.
“You have said nothing of my promise to you,” Finnoul said.
“My words would mean little if I gave them for a price.”
“Nonetheless, I will show you the way home.” Finnoul knelt again before the unconscious alfar. “We need to get them to safety. Take Thannor.” She hoisted one over her shoulder but before Raef could follow with the other, Aerath stepped in front of him.
“I cannot promise that I will help you a second time.” The rain had eased up and the clouds were thinning, letting grey light filter through and reach Aerath’s face.
“I know.”
“Then you put your life in her hands?”
“My life is in my own hands, Aerath. But I believe she is right.”
“She seeks to destroy everything we know.”
“She seeks freedom. And I know you see it. As you see the way she looks at you.” Aerath’s cheeks flushed with color and he turned away. Raef walked to the orange dragon-kin, who looked ready to fly once more despite the damage it had sustained. Finnoul waited on its back, Annun resting in front of her. “Is it safe to travel with them like this?”
Finnoul grinned. “We are capable of flying slowly when we must.”
The journey to the underground cavern was peaceful and uninterrupted. As the dragon-kin floated through the damp air, Raef watched the sky change around them, a burst of purple and orange revealed behind the wake of the storm. Underground, Ylloria’s medicine burned his tongue but the heat was welcome after the chill of the storm. Food was passed and Finnoul found Raef a pair of blankets. They ate in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts, until Raef’s eyelids grew heavy and he felt the strong pull of sleep. He drifted off to the sound of water dripping and under the light of the stone stars twinkling above.
SEVEN
“There.”
Raef squinted into the blue sky and dazzling sun, trying to pick out which dragon-kin Finnoul had in mind. “The red one?”
“Yes. He is strong-willed. Fierce.” Finnoul grinned. “And dangerous.”
“And what must I do?”
“Ride him,” Finnoul said, as though it were a simple task.
Raef watched the beasts, a dozen or more, circle above, calling to each other and catching the wind beneath their wings.
Finnoul pointed south. “See that ridge? They like to catch the last rays of sun up there before twilight. We will wait for them there.”
The rocks were warm to the touch when Raef sat down to wait for the dragon-kin to land on the ridge. They came quietly, their raucous cavorting in the air now subdued. One by one they stretched out, wings spread wide to soak in every last drop of sunshine. Raef waited near the trees with Finnoul, who had sent her orange beast away.
“Approach them slowly. They already know you are here but forceful movement will spark their anger.” Finnoul looked at the red one, draped across the rocks and seemingly asleep. “He will watch you and he will let you get close. Only when you touch him will he show his strength. Then you must be quick.”
“You speak as though you have seen this before.”
“I have seen others try and fail.”
“Is there not a better quarry? One less likely to bite my head off?”
Finnoul grinned. “He would be worth it. He has ruled here since the day I first rode a certain orange kin who did not wish to be ridden.”
“You call them dragon-kin because of me. Will you tell me their true name?”
Finnoul’s face turned serious. “No. Forgive me, Raef, but this I will not do.”
Raef nodded. “And yours?”
“You already have it.”
“It is a strange thing that you would share one name and not the other, but,” he continued as Finnoul began to speak, “I will not question it and I am glad to have the one I have.”
“It is time, Raef. You must act before the light fails.”
Raef’s steps were slow and steady, his feet light on the ground. He thought of Vakre in that moment, as he walked across the rocks between the drowsy creatures, of the way Vakre moved on the hunt, and wondered if he would live to tell the son of Loki of this moment.
Though the gathered kin stayed still, eyes that mirrored the sunset followed him along the ridge. The red watched, too, unblinking, as Raef approached. When Raef was four paces away, he stopped and the beast lifted his head from the ground. They stayed this way for some time, the kin’s back rising and falling in even breaths. Raef remembered the eyes of the smoke-colored kin, the curiosity there, and saw none of that in this one, only calculation. At last Raef moved again, easing his way alongside the creature. Raef inhaled once, then leaped onto the kin’s back.
He was upside down before he knew it, but somehow clinging to the smooth skin. The beast twisted and writhed, eager to throw the unwelcome weight from his back. When Raef got his bearings, he saw they were no longer above the ridge. Empty sky yawned beneath him and he was losing his grip.
Raef caught sight of the jutting, half-dead tree too late to avoid it. Swooping in close to a sheer wall of rock, the kin twisted at the last moment and the tree tore Raef from the kin’s back. Feeling nothing but air beneath him, Raef grasped at the branches, but they crumbled in his hands and gave way. Above him, the red dragon-kin screamed in triumph and Raef began to fall.
An answering scream sounded and Raef was caught up in the outstretched wings of another kin. They tumbled together for a moment, wings clutching Raef tight to its belly, the ground drawing ever closer, but then a foot latched on to Raef’s leg and with a sharp snap the wings caught air beneath them once again. Only then did Raef see that his rescuer was the color of smoke.
The kin returned him to the ridge, setting him down gently on the rocks while hovering above. Raef could see Finnoul in the distance, clambering over the rough ground. The orange kin flew nearby, but it was the grey one that had come for him in time. Their eyes met and Raef stretched out his hand, just as he had while in the hall of the Guardians. The kin backed away and showed its teeth, then took to the sky. It dove into the valley.
Finnoul ran to Raef’s side. “Are you hurt?”
“Only a little.” Raef kept his gaze on the grey kin far below. It soared along a river and then disappeared into the trees.
“I have never seen a riderless kin act in this way.”
“We have met before.” Raef explained to Finnoul how he tried to share moss with the smoke-colored kin while waiting for the Guardians. Understanding came to Finnoul’s eyes.
“She is once-ridden.”
“She?”
“Yes, I recognize her now. Her rider died not long ago. Some kin return to their kind, to the wild, when this happens. Others remain among us.”
“Do they accept other riders?”
“Not often.” Finnoul looked at Raef. “Perhaps she is seeking one.”
“Then why not stay? She fled.”
Finnoul shrugged. “She may be unsure about what she wants. She may not understand what you are. But if she is drawn to you, you will see her again.”
“And the red one?”
“Was not meant to be. I have seen him refuse many. You need not be ashamed.”
Raef felt many things at that moment but shame was not among them. “You do not wish me to try him again?”
Finnoul laughed without humor. “To do so would be certain death.” She hesitated but Raef’s frown seemed to prompt her on. “They accept the first confrontation. It is as much a part of their understanding as it is ours. We were made to test each other and to form the bond if it is right. But they do not tolerate a second confrontation with the same rider.”
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the world in twilight. Raef took a deep breath. “What now?”
“You have risked enough this day. It is time we had a feast under the stars. There are many who wish to meet you and there is much to talk about.”
The feast was held on an island in the middle of a shallow lake north of the painted hills. Sleek, narrow boats took them across the water, poled by silent, hooded alfar in dark clothing. Torches burned bright and fiery reflections danced in the water alongside the stars. There was laughter and music and all of it carried over the water.
“Do you not fear attack?” Raef asked Finnoul as they stepped from the boat onto the island.
Finnoul pointed to the night sky. Raef saw nothing at first, then spotted several winged silhouettes. “We are more protected than you know. But more than that, we are far removed from the lands my people know best. The core of our homeland is to the west, the forest you saw when Aerath took you to the Guardians. I have known some of my people who seldom venture beyond those trees. We are well away from them, isolated, and they do not know where to look.” Finnoul accepted a shell, wide and shallow and unlike any Raef had seen, and handed it to him. The liquid within caught the moonlight as Raef brought the shell to his lips. It had a strange but not unpleasant taste, and it tingled on Raef’s tongue.
“Lorcan. Does he search for you?”
“He does. He is determined to prove that we hide out in the fells of the north.” Finnoul seemed pleased with this fact.
“Something tells me you have helped him reach this conclusion.”
Finnoul grinned and took a shell for herself. She held it out and the grin vanished. “To victory.” Raef touched his shell to Finnoul’s and downed the contents, but it was not victory that occupied his thoughts. In his mind he drank to home and a summer’s eve in Vannheim.
The food was plentiful, the drink even more so, and the faces around him were bright and joyful, but as the night went on, Raef realized he did not feel as cheerful as he should have. Finnoul’s people were kind and polite, but their eyes remained distant when Raef was near. Finnoul was swallowed up in the crowd and Raef found he was content to remain on the fringe. He was an outsider, and even Finnoul’s friendship and trust would not change that.
Raef slipped away to the water’s edge, the noise of the feast fading as his mind traveled far across the nine worlds to Midgard. He thought of Vakre, Siv, and Eira, and wondered where they were and if they believed him to be dead.
It was there that Finnoul found him much later. The island had grown quiet and many of the torches had burned out. Raef had watched the boats traverse back to the mainland, quiet shadows walking on water. With their departure, the shadows in the sky also disappeared and it seemed to Raef the stars were now vulnerable and exposed.
Finnoul appeared next to Raef and sat on the cool grass beside him. She said nothing.
“I have been a poor guest,” Raef said. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive. It is my fault. My people did not welcome you as I had hoped.”
“They were kind.”
“Kindness is not enough. But it is not in our nature to embrace strangers.”
“Would you have embraced me if you had never seen the carvings in your mountain home? If you did not think I, a Midgardian, was brought here for some purpose?”
Finnoul did not shirk from Raef’s gaze. “No. I will not lie to you, Raef.” Finnoul plucked a stone from the shore and tossed it into the water. The ripples spread and sent plumes of green and blue across the water. Raef looked to the sky and saw it blossom with color that seemed to move and flow like the lake below.
“What is that?”
“You do not have this in Midgard?”
Raef shook his head and stared in wonder.
“It is the aurora.”
Raef watched the green and blue play across the stars, expanding, receding, dancing. The night sky was alive.
“A gift from Freyr, who is most dear to us of all the gods.”
“It is beautiful.”
They watched the lights in silence until they faded and all was darkness once more.
“Come,” Finnoul said. “The others wait for us.”
The alfar who remained on the island sat in silence around the last burning fire. They were thirteen in number and the joy of the feast was gone from their faces. Finnoul went around the circle, touching each on the forehead and calling them by name. When she at last took a seat, she placed Raef by her side and though the pale eyes around them were wary, not a word of protest was heard.
Finnoul looked to one alf and spoke. “What news, Maelys?”
“The day has been set.” Maelys, seated across from Raef, answered in a low voice. “Four nights will pass. Then the Guardians will make the journey to the barren land.”
“Who goes with them?”
“The wardens will accompany them. Even now the Guardians seek the sacrifices that will please the gods most.”
“Thank you for this information, Maelys. You have done well.” Finnoul looked around the circle. “They will be vulnerable on the journey. It is our best chance to strike.”
“Lorcan will expect an attack.” This came from the oldest alf in the circle. Her white-blind eyes stared hard at Finnoul.
Finnoul nodded. “He will. We will have to be precise and quick. Annun, are you well?” The alf Raef had helped retrieve from Lorcan’s grasp nodded. “You must discover the route they intend to take. There are many ways into the barren land. We cannot spread ourselves thin to cover them all. We must be able to concentrate our strength.”
Annun smiled. “It will be done.”
“Our time is at hand.” Finnoul was solemn but Raef could see the eagerness that wanted to leap from her. “We have waited long for this. We need only endure for four more days.” A shell, larger than all the rest, was passed, starting with Finnoul and moving left. Each took a sip until it came to Raef, empty but for a drop to wet his lips. The liquid burned as it trickled down his throat and seemed to set fire to his chest. He gave the shell to Finnoul who threw it onto the ring of stones that contained the fire. It shattered with a crack, like thunder in a storm, a promise made to the gods.
Little more was said. The alfar went their separate ways, some on the backs of dragon-kin called out of the skies, others across the silent waters until at last only Finnoul and Raef lingered.
“You mean to ambush the Guardians?”
“There is a day that is sacred to us. It comes perhaps once in the lifetime of a man such as you.”
“Perhaps?”
“The date is never set. The sky must be read and the earth heard. I have heard that once this day did not come for nearly three hundred years. But it is upon us now. In time, it has been twisted from its original purpose. What was a celebration of life has become a demonstration of power. The Guardians now choose sacrifices to be sent to the gods.” Anger simmered in Finnoul’s face, and alongside it, grief.
“Your own people?”
Finnoul nodded rather than give voice to her assent. “Worse, most go willingly, believing the vile lies the Guardians tell them, believing they go to save us.”
“Do you mean to kill them?”
Finnoul did not answer right away. When she did, her voice was quiet and ragged, as though she had to tear the words from within her. “I do not know.”
“And my part in all this?”
Finnoul was quiet again, this time for so long Raef began to wonder if she would speak. “I will not keep you against your will, Raef,” she finally said. “Tomorrow, I will show you the way.”
“I gave you my word. Willingly.”
Finnoul brought a hand up to Raef’s shoulder but did not touch him. “Your heart sings to you of home. I should have helped you there long before this. Instead I have burdened you with my own grieving heart, my own songs of the home I dream of.”
“I gave you my word,” Raef repeated, firmly this time. “If I cannot help us both, let me at least help you.”
Finnoul frowned. “You speak as though something is lost to you, as though time is slipping through your fingers.”
Raef shook his head, trying to take back the words he had let loose. “I meant no
thing by it.”
“Tell me.” There was no question in Finnoul’s voice and the faded blue eyes demanded the truth.
Raef was uncertain where to begin but the words began to flow from him. “I have seen dead men walk, I have burned a frozen lake, and I have looked into the eyes of a Valkyrie and seen my death reflected there, but all this does not compare to what is coming. Shining Balder is dead, Finnoul. The events that lead to the end have been set in motion. The wolf-age is coming.”
Finnoul was still for a long moment, her eyes not leaving Raef’s. “You are certain?”
“Have I heard it from the mouth of Odin? From the crones sitting at the roots of Yggdrasil? No. But I know it in my heart.” And Raef told Finnoul of Loki, of Freyja’s army woken by Torrulf Palesword, and of the storm that showed him Thor’s raging grief. “No man can know how much time is left to us.”
“If what you say is true, your time is better spent in Midgard, not wasted here.”
“I do not count it wasted. I have but one desire that I wish to see fulfilled before the sea swallows the earth. But even that is far out of reach and I know not where to begin. Perhaps this is where I am meant to make my end.”
“What is this desire you speak of?”
The words caught in Raef’s throat, as if disuse made them more difficult to say. “Justice. Vengeance for my murdered father. But I have only ghosts to chase. The man responsible is faceless and nameless.”
“If our time is short, you ought to be with your people.”
“If I go back on my word, I will regret it. I will stay.”
Finnoul accepted this with a nod. “We will visit the kin again tomorrow. It is time you flew.”
The rocky ridge was deserted when Finnoul and Raef returned at sunset the next day. The red sun warmed the rocks but the sky was free of winged shadows.
“Strange,” Finnoul said. “Only in storms have I seen them give up their favorite place to sun bathe.”
“Are we early?”
“No. The sun has nearly set. Perhaps they are hunting.” Finnoul shrugged her shoulders. “Come. I will show you the way to the barren land so you might be familiar with it when the time comes.” They remounted Finnoul’s orange dragon-kin and headed south. A stiff, relentless breeze assailed them from the west as they flew over green woodland. Small lakes pocked the land but it was not long before Raef could see that ahead lay a very different landscape. The trees ended abruptly, cut off by dry ground that rose and fell in small, ragged peaks and then tumbled down into deep, twisting crevices where the sunlight would not reach. There was no water in sight. The kin slowed and hovered high above the barren waste.
