by J. V. Jones
“Look.”
Raif quested for his lore. A raven etched in stone marked the way.
FIFTY-FIVE
A Cavern of Black Ice
Cassy Lok woke to the smell of smoke. Beth, came the thought straightaway. She’s been up making honey cakes again and forgotten how many she put on the fire. Cassy huffed in her pillow, determined to go back to sleep. I’m not saving her this time. I don’t care how many honey cakes have fallen through the griddle and caught light . . . and I hope she gets fat from eating the ones that turned out. Fat and spotty with big rot holes in her teeth.
Cassy closed her eyes as tightly as she could, then scrunched up her face for good measure. Just this morning she’d caught Beth trying on the good blue dress Father had brought back with him from Ille Glaive. Her dress. And she wouldn’t have minded much—well, not that much—if it hadn’t been for the fact that Beth was prancing in front of the looking glass at the time, pretending to be a fine court-bred maiden, nibbling on sweetmeats rolled in gold leaf and sipping wine through a crust of rose-scented ice. For sweetmeats Beth had used hazelnuts coated in cinnamon. For wine she had used plum juice. Plum juice! Cassy gritted her teeth. And when this fine court-bred maiden had found herself caught in the act, the first thing she’d done was twirl around to face her elder sister, holding the cup of plum juice in her hand!
It didn’t bear thinking about. Mother said the stain would come out. And Beth had spent the rest of the day following her around with a kicked-dog expression on her face. But still. Father had bought her that dress, and it fitted so well, and it was a grown-up dress, without any of those silly girlish frills that Father knew she hated, and it didn’t really matter that she had nowhere special to wear it until spring.
“I’ll take you dancing in it when I return from the North, Casilyn Lok,” Father had said as he’d handed her the package. “And that’s a promise as binding as I’ve made to any man.”
Cassy unscrunched her face. Perhaps she’d been a bit harsh on Beth earlier. The smell of burning was growing worse, and if she didn’t know better, she’d imagine a whole tray of honey cakes had fallen onto the fire.
The chimney. Cassy sat bolt upright. What if more bricks had caved in and blocked the flue? It was windy enough for it. And the roofer hadn’t come today, as he was supposed to, and the whole stack was held up by only a couple of pinewood struts.
Quickly and in complete darkness, Cassy found her slippers and shawl. As she stepped toward the door, a sleepy voice spoke out from the deep shadows at the far side of the room. “Cassy? Is that you?” Beth.
A small shift took place in Cassy’s chest: not fear exactly, but the first stirrings of it. There were no honey cakes on the fire. “Beth, put your coat and slippers on. Quick now.”
Sheets rustled in the darkness. “You’re not still mad at me, Cassy?”
Cassy shook her head. Then, realizing her younger sister couldn’t see her, she said, “No. Not much,” out loud.
“What’s burning?”
“I think the chimney’s caved in.”
“But—”
“No buts, Beth. Do as I say.” Cassy was surprised at how sharp her voice sounded. Bare feet thudded onto the floor. More rustling followed. A moment later she felt Beth’s shoulders knock against her arm. “Here. Take my hand.” Beth’s hand was warm and sweaty: She always fell asleep with her fists clenched. Cassy led her toward the door. “You didn’t put anything to cook on the hearth tonight, did you?”
“No, Cassy.”
“Good girl.” Cassy lifted the latch and opened the door. A wave of smoke and heat puffed through the room, making the shutters rattle behind their backs. “Come on. Let’s wake Mother and Little Moo.” This time she made sure her voice sounded calm.
“It’s hot.”
Cassy felt her way through the darkness, her hand now closed tightly around her sister’s. “I know. Let’s just get to Mother’s room and you can tell her how you found your way in the dark.” Even as she spoke, Cassy felt heat push against her face. A cracking noise sounded from the floor below. Beth flinched. Cassy pulled her sister firmly in the direction of their mother’s room.
Mother and Little Moo slept in the room directly above the kitchen. Heat from the fire warmed the floor through the cold months of winter, and two large windows let in great squares of sunlight in summer and spring. Cassy felt a wave of relief roll over her as she saw the pale corona of light around the door: Mother had kept a lamp lit. Little Moo didn’t like to sleep in the dark. She said something called beemies lived under her bed. No one but Little Moo knew what beemies were. Cassy suspected that Beth had frightened Little Moo with tales of beasties and monsters and other fey things, and Little Moo had taken this information and invented a whole new class of baby peril from it.
Cassy’s fingers found the latch on first try. Warm air rushed past her as the door opened, pressing her nightgown flat against the back of her legs. Light stung her eyes. Smoke rolled into the room, greasy and nearly black. Cassy felt its hot little fingers slip around her ankles, grasping like hands without bone. Beth began to cough.
“Cassy?” Darra Lok sat up in bed. The beautiful honey-colored hair that she normally kept pinned in a simple knot spilled over her shoulders like dark fire. For the first time ever, Cassy noticed gray strands within the gold.
“Mother. I—”
Darra Lok nodded her eldest daughter into silence, her eyes on the smoke. Reaching over, she plucked the sleeping form of Little Moo from the opposite side of the bed. Little Moo’s head rolled onto her mother’s shoulder, and she made a soft gurgling noise but did not wake. Darra spoke soft words to her anyway as she kicked the blankets from the bed and rose to her feet. Beth tugged on Cassy’s arm, wanting to go to her mother, but Cassy held her firm. Darra Lok sent her eldest daughter a look that said many things. Cassy nodded.
“Come on, Beth. Let’s go downstairs.” It was easier to sound calm now that Mother was here. As she pulled Beth from the room, she heard Darra Lok take the lamp from the washstand and follow behind with Little Moo.
Beth shivered as Cassy guided her into the smoke that rolled up the stairs like a wave of black foam. Cassy felt like shivering too, but Mother had sent her a look saying, Be strong now, for Beth and yourself. So instead of shivering she tugged her younger sister forward and said, “This is no worse than looking for mushrooms in the mist. Remember that time you found those big brown ones under the dogwood, and everyone else had already looked, but you were the only who could see them? Remember that?”
Beth nodded. Her small face looked pinched.
Cassy continued guiding her down the stairs, one step at a time. “And you said that no one could spot mushrooms better than you, and even Father agreed.”
“He said we couldn’t eat them. Said they were rabbits’ bane.”
Cassy managed a dim smile. She could clearly hear the low roar of fire now, coming from the front of the house. Wood snapped and popped as it burned, and Cassy imagined fang-shaped flames eating away at the house.
“Cassy. We’re going to the back of the house, to the kitchen.” Darra Lok’s voice was firm but calm. “Can you see the way ahead?”
“I can! I can!” cried Beth.
“Good. Stay close to your sister and help her find the way.”
Smoke was gouting along the corridor that linked the front entrance to the kitchen. Scorched bits of matter sailed on the warm currents of air that blew around the house. Flaming embers, ducking and darting like little red fishes, floated past Cassy’s face. The fire sounded like one long continuous roll of thunder now, a storm bearing down on the house. Still she could see no flames. Perhaps the fire was burning from the outside in. Perhaps the chimney flue had collapsed and the wind had showered sparks over the roof.
Little Moo woke as Cassy and Beth made their way through the chest-high smoke in the corridor. The baby made a frightened, snuffling sound and cried the words, “Mize. Mize.” Cassy hoped her eyes weren’t s
tinging. Mother hushed her, and she was quiet for a while, but her breaths came in hard little wheezes.
Beth was first to reach the kitchen. There was less smoke here than on the stairs and in the hallways, and the hardwood embers glowing in the hearth provided a second source of light. As Darra and Little Moo entered the room, a mighty crack shook the house. Hot air beat against Cassy’s back. The stench of burning wood sharpened, and when she sucked in breath, crispy little cinders caught in the back of her throat.
“Cassy. Beth. Get the door.” Darra rocked Little Moo on her hip. “Hurry now.”
Cassy and Beth ran to the door. By unspoken agreement, Cassy pulled the top bolts while Beth took care of those at the bottom. Cassy’s hands felt like clumps of clay. Stupidly she found herself thinking about the blue dress. Father would never take her dancing in it now.
The heavy door needed a good shove to start it swinging, and when the final bolt was drawn both sisters put their shoulders to the wood. It gave a little, then jerked back suddenly as if something were blocking its way. They tried again, but the door would open only so far. Cassy glanced at her mother. “It’s jammed.”
“There’s enough room to squeeze through, though,” cried Beth.
“One by one,” Cassy added in small voice.
Darra Lok looked from the door to the encroaching tide of smoke at her back. Little Moo began to cry. “Beth. Squeeze through and see if you can find what’s blocking it.”
Beth sucked in her chest much farther than it needed to be sucked. Cassy could see the outline of her ribs beneath her nightgown as she forced her way through the foot-wide opening. Her eyes were sparkling; this was now an adventure to her. “It’s so dark I can’t see anything,” were the last words she said.
Darra called to her, but the roar and crackle of the fire drowned out any reply. They waited, but Beth did not return. Cassy went to follow her out.
“No,” Darra said sharply. “Here. You take Moo. I’ll go after her.”
Little Moo did not want to leave her mother’s arms. Her pudgy fingers clutched at the fabric of Darra’s dress, raising little nubs of wool as Cassy pulled her away. It was very hot now, and a great quantity of thick black smoke was pouring into the kitchen. Cassy moved so her back was to it, shielding Little Moo.
Darra took the three steps toward the door, hooked the lamp on a nail hammered into the frame, then turned to look at her daughters. The lines around her mouth were the deepest Cassy had ever known them to be. Her eyes had stopped being blue and were as gray as steel. She looked strong and utterly beautiful to her eldest daughter. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said.
Cassy almost called her back. She would remember that afterward, and it would tear her apart. She almost said, Mother, please don’t go. But she didn’t, and Darra Lok forced her way through the opening, and Cassy never saw her again.
There was an intake of breath, sharp, as if Darra meant to scream, then silence. “Mother!” Cassy called, rocking Little Moo against her chest. “Mother!”
Somewhere inside the house hot air exploded, punching out shutters and glass. A low ripping noise sounded, as hot plaster peeled off the corridor walls. Suddenly Cassy could no longer see the glow of orange light that marked the hearth. She jigged Little Moo against her chest, saying nonsense things to her in a voice that was ragged with fear.
Quickly she glanced at the door. The foot-wide opening was dark with shadows, and strings of smoke poured into it like water into a ditch.
One by one. Cassy shivered as her own words came back to her. Hardly aware of what she was doing or why, she moved from the door to the nearest window. Both sets of shutters were barred and bolted, and she had to set Little Moo down on the floor while she dealt with them. Why were there so many bolts? Frustration made her careless with her fingers, and she gouged her knuckles on a raised nailhead as she pulled back the first set of shutters. The pain was surprisingly easy to ignore. The second set of shutters proved easier, and she had them done in less than an instant. Cool, clean air wafted against her face. Outside in the farmyard all was dark and still. Shaking with relief, she bent to pick up Little Moo.
Only Little Moo wasn’t there. Cassy turned her head. A wave of sickness and fear rose in her throat. No!
Little Moo had crawled to the door. Her fat little fist was in the opening, and she was calling softly, “Mama? Mama?”
Cassy moved faster than she had ever moved in her life. Her hands reached out for Little Moo’s blue-socked feet, but other hands beyond the door found her first. Little Moo was pulled through the opening. Cassy clutched . . . and clutched . . . touched the soft wool of Little Moo’s socks . . . and then nothing but cold air.
Cassy stared at the space her sister had left behind. Stupidly, ridiculously, she couldn’t stop clutching at thin air. Her heart was dead inside her chest.
Mother gave the baby to me.
She breathed in that thought, took it deep inside herself, deep into the place where her heart had ceased to be. And then she stood and stepped away from the door. Someone on the other side wished her dead. Someone had lit a fire at the front of the house and then dragged something heavy like a stone or a piece of timber in front of the back door, so the Lok family would escape one by one.
Like a ghost Cassy moved through the smoke. Sweat was pouring down her face, turning the neck of her dress black and making it steam. The silver chain she wore at her throat burned like hot wire. Touching the lamp was like touching a hot coal. The little copper disk that covered the opening to the oil chamber swung back with a single flick. As she pulled a nearby chair under the window and stepped onto it, droplets of pine oil sprinkled the floor. She made no effort to disguise her movements as she hefted her body onto the windowsill: Let those hands that pulled Little Moo come for her. Let them burn in hell.
She saw the shadow moving toward her as she pushed her body clear of the frame. Dark and fluid it came, moving like spilled ink. The hands were gloved in shiny leather, and they held the plainest sort of knife. The blade was immaculate, but Cassy wasn’t fooled. She had skinned rabbits and spring lambs before now. She knew how easily blood wiped clean. Time slowed as the blade slid through air. A second stretched to an impossibly thin line as Cassy swung the lamp. The knife touched her, and she was glad of it, glad because the lamp and its free-spilling oil crashed into those gloved hands.
Fire whooshed into existence, creating a wall of blazing light. Suddenly there was no air to breathe, only hot, stinking gas. Cassy heard her hair crackle like dry twigs as smolder fell upon it, yet she hardly cared. The gloved hands were burning in a cauldron of bloodred flames.
Finally they came to a place where the walls were planed smooth. The corridor of rock widened and heightened, and they could pick themselves off the ground they had crawled over and stand erect on two feet. Raif pulled Ash up. The lynx coat she was wearing had shed fur at the elbows and knees, and it was matted with a greasy spume of mineral oil and ice. The palm sides of both her mitts were bald. One was torn, and there was blood around the frayed edges. There was blood on her cheek, too; sometime earlier she had stumbled into a spur of rock that had sliced a thumbnail’s worth of skin from her face.
Raif had lost all sense of time’s passage. He no longer knew if it was day or night. How many hours had passed since they had left the Hollow River was something he would never know. If someone had told him he had spent thirty hours on his hands and knees, crawling through openings no bigger than a doghouse door and along passages so jagged that they had torn his dead man’s cloak to shreds, he would have nodded and taken it as truth. His hands burned. Once during the journey he had made the mistake of biting off his gloves and probing the bandaged flesh. It was like prodding a waterskin; fluid oozed around his fingers, lukewarm and yellow as beaten eggs. He had pulled the mitts back on and not looked since. Pain alone was easier to live with.
As he worked the soreness out of his legs, he looked at the smoothly planed corridor ahead. A vision of
the night sky had been tattooed into the rock. Stars and constellations glittered overhead, and night herons and great horned owls soared the cold currents beneath a moon of pure ice. Shadow creatures with fingers of charred bone and eyes as black as hell rode wraith horses from a rift cut deep into the stone. Raif switched his gaze to another section of rock, only to see a second rift with things that had no place in the world of men spilling out like maggots from an old kill.
Kill an army for me, Raif Sevrance.
Softly Raif said to Ash, “Dim the light.”
She did, and when he took her hand in his it was warm with the lantern’s heat. He knew she had seen the same things he had, and his heart ached at her strength. Never once during the journey had she stopped and rested. Never once had she spoken about fear. He loved her completely and could no longer imagine a world where she was not at his side. He had to protect her for always. She was clan.
In this smooth new corridor there was enough room for them to walk side by side. Briefly Raif let himself imagine a future where he and Ash lived on a croft in some distant corner of the clanholds. Effie would be there too, and Ash would love her like a sister, and he would teach them both how to fight and hunt, and together they would plant a good bed of oats and another of onions and keep six head of sheep for wool and milk. And Drey . . . Drey would ride there twice a week and be closer than a brother to them all.
Raif breathed hard. Bit by bit he shredded the dream in his mind until there was nothing but torn bits left. It was a childish fantasy, and he was a fool to imagine it, and the only thing that mattered was the Cavern of Black Ice.
Noooooooo.
Ash flinched as the scream ripped along the corridor. The voices had been quiet for some time, and Raif had hoped against hope they had gone. Yet even as the tail end of the scream faded into freezing air, a second scream came, and then another. And then the wailing began.
Please, mistressss, no, mistressss . . .
