by Katy Winter
"No," he answered decisively. "She'd be better dead. Anyone would." Asok smiled gently at him.
"Quite so," he agreed. "Soji moves as soon as she can."
"Does Sagi know?" asked the healer, after a long pause.
"No," said Asok definitely, "and she won't, Adept." Setoni bowed his head in acquiescence, his respect for Asok's omniscience growing.
Asok would only wait for five days before he insisted, unreasonably, Sagi thought, eying him sourly, on a move. Soji was carried in a litter, so warmly bundled in blankets and furs all you could see of her were the eyes. Setoni rode beside her.
Carok and Jonqi stayed with their father, who alternated their care with Sagi and another steppewoman whom Jonqi liked. She answered to Saffro. Asokin was always there ready to help, his closeness to his elder brother picked up very early by Jonqi cycles ago. She often trotted at the boy's side, her hand in his and her eyes looking up adoringly at him.
Soji took a long time to heal, but she didn't worsen and within weeks was astride a horse again. Their struggle over the series of passes was fraught with peril and difficulties, their trail ill-defined and the weather rapidly closing in to winter bitterness. Sagi saw Asok, further ahead, reconnoitring for the best direction to follow, his eyes scanning a hostile environment of snow and ice. The days were very short and it was imperative shelter was found before darkness fell, so their progress was painfully slow. All would perish if left exposed. They managed two of the three passes, before a blizzard stopped any further progress. Asok merely shrugged, calling for a complete halt in a huge ice cavern. In there, they had to set themselves up for an indefinite stay.
Soji walked easily, admitted to fewer aches and said she tired much less easily. While she was still too pale, still Sagi thought the girl looked noticeably improved. Soji wanted her children and her mate. It was with delight that, one evening, the others heard, while they played at board games, Soji break into laughter at something Leontok whispered to her. When Sagi expressed her pleasure at this to Asok, he looked patiently at her, his face impassive in a way that made Sagi want to shake him, until she saw the appreciative twinkle in his eyes.
When the storms blew themselves out, the weary trek over treacherous ground began again. If Asok felt they were endangered by the conditions, he called for halts. Because of the heavy fresh falls of snow, they constantly lost the main trail and often ended up having to retrace their steps, grim determination and pain from the cold etched on faces of folk unused to such severe conditions. Their mountain plateau cities knew frozen, icy seasons, and the steppes could be freezing when the winter winds blew hard across them, but this was different. This environment was life-threatening. Asok was under no illusions about that.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Indariol and his small group of Shadowlanders camped along the forest edge that skirted the untouched boundary between the Shadowlands and southern Ambros. It was a mountain chain that separated two peoples who knew regular contact in ages past, until the Shadowlanders drew unapproachably back, their efforts at communication become fewer as each cycle passed. Finally, they no longer traded with those beyond their borders. They became hostile to intruders who may've gone into their forests. Few went back. And those from the south no longer made the northern trek. They, too, drew back.
The Elkin folk of the forest became self-sufficient in the way of the Sinhalien and the Gnosti, their culture and wisdom carefully and jealously nurtured, so it could be passed down from generation to generation. As time went by, their society broke into two groups, those who were city-dwellers and those who were like their progenitors, nomads who wandered freely across the Shadowlands with their horses and intos. Horses gave them mobility if they no longer wished to run but ride, and the intos gave them meat and clothing.
The nomads came to the cities over the cold season, to stay with city kin, though it was rare for any Shadowlander to feel the cold of an ice and snow-bound winter. They came to give the animals shelter, but it was a good excuse for the Shadowlanders to lump all their festivities to coincide with the nomadic influx. Maturity rites, seasonal rites and mating rituals were always enjoyed when the shadow folk came home.
Kin was the binding link between peoples who were spread across northern Ambros, those to the east developing their idiosyncrasies in much the same way as those in the west. Those in the central Shadowlands were those at the cradle of forest Elkin civilisation and were those destined to preserve and maintain it. Allegiance and respect were owed to the direct descendants of Chloronderiel, led by the Aelkin, who was the eldest of a venerable line. His word was law. That was universally accepted throughout the Shadowlands. The Aelkin answered to Indariol.
While they travelled, Indariol and his group were recognised and welcomed. If the eastern Elkin were surprised to see the Aelkin so far from home, they made no comment, but instead listened to his advice and warnings readily and willingly. Without hesitation, they offered food, shelter and companionship, accepting the band as if they lived among them. No one watching Indariol sitting in front of a fire of an evening, would have thought he looked at all out of place.
For the last five days, Indariol and his people were with a small nomadic settlement very far east. It was a contented time. Indariol clearly understood why his people had once been nomadic. It was a life that had charm and was attractive, something he acknowledged as he sat this evening, watching with delight as first the children danced, then the women, clapping and circling with abandoned pleasure. He applauded when musicians played. He sang along with everyone else. He listened to the bard recount their history, the oral tradition of what made them the people they were never failing to inspire. He took the communal bowl, from which he drank deeply, before he passed it to his neighbour. He smoked from the communal pipe, too, his pupils dilating and a very likeable smile coming to his face. He had great charm and a magnetic personality. He and those with him were welcome.
Completely relaxed, he joined the dancing, his long chestnut hair cascading about him, laughter not far from his lips. Finally, exhausted, he lay next to the fire, his eyes staring upwards at nothing, until he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. When he saw the girl smile down at him he went contentedly with her.
The next morning, Indariol awoke to find himself next to a girl, her long tawny hair tousled and shrouding her face. She didn't stir when he rose, dressed, and went outside into snow that gently floated and blew in the wind. Indariol didn't notice the snow and it didn't touch him. He just knew it was time to move. When he and his companions were ready to leave, the nomads gathered about them and offered food as gifts before they quietly turned away. Indariol and his people reluctantly rode slowly towards the very edge of the Shadowlands where none of them had ever been and was an area avoided. It made them nervous, though no one voiced that.
They set camp and waited, all but Indariol content to wait. He was restless. The others whiled away the time by betting on horse races through the heavy snow. Indariol watched them with amusement though he didn't participate, his eyes watching the riders at full gallop through the trees.
When he stood alone on the second day, he felt a presence and turned sharply, drawing in his breath at the sight of a man standing only feet away. Indariol stood very still, his hand at his knife hilt, his stance one of alertness and threat. The stranger didn't move either. He just smiled, his green eyes warm and mildly amused. His voice was deeper than any voice Indariol had heard in his life. It was even deeper than the Ancient One's. At that he thought suddenly of Bene and his warning.
"Indariol, Aelkin, eldest son of the line of Chloronderiel?" the man asked courteously. Indariol took his hand from his knife and walked gracefully forward, his head inclined in a gesture of greeting.
"I'm Indariol," he acknowledged, with a formal and quaint bow. "To whom do I speak?"
"You may call me Oreth."
Indariol looked at the green-eyed man, noticing his breadth of shoulder and his height. He sensed no aggress
ion and only kindly friendship.
"Do you seek me, Oreth?" The smile in the green eyes deepened.
"Indeed I do, young one. It's not so long ago that you spoke to Benhloriel, known to you as Burelkin or Ancient One." Indariol eyed Oreth cautiously and his reply was non-committal.
"Perhaps."
"And," continued Oreth, "he told you of a woman and child who'd be entrusted to your care, didn't he?" Indariol took a wary step back, gave a helpless shrug and his answer was a trifle grudging.
"Why do you ask, stranger?" Oreth gave him a long and penetrating stare that Indariol met fully, though he drew in his breath. "I don't know you, Oreth, and I've been warned of the unexpected. A mage can come in many forms and the guise of friendship is a common one. I won't imperil my people needlessly."
Oreth gave a deep sigh and sat down under one of the trees, well out of the line of snow that began to fall in gentle swirls. He pointed to the dry ground beside him.
"What must I tell you to convince you my intentions aren't such that they'll endanger your people, Indariol?" Indariol sat quietly and cross-legged beside the big man.
"Who you are," he suggested. He saw the rueful shake of Oreth's head. "Then, Oreth, tell me about the woman and her child. Can you name them?" Indariol saw the smile creep back into the green eyes.
"Very well. The girl's name is Soji and she's the daughter of a Churchik warrior. She was forced to bear a child who resembles the father - the child's name is Jonqi. With them is a healer from the Conclave, by name, Setoni."
"But doesn't he have another title, Oreth?"
"Yes," murmured Oreth amused. "He's an Adept."
"And the name of the child's father?"
"His name, Elkin, is Luton, as you already know."
"And where's Ortoriol?" Oreth's head came up in complete surprise, then he laughed, a rich, mellow laugh that shook him.
"Benhloriel!" he exclaimed, when he got his breath. "He's always shrewd, our Benhloriel," Oreth murmured. "Yes, young Elkin, that's a good question. He'll soon be back on Yarilo, having spent Ambrosian cycles with a girl who'll come to you. Does that satisfy you?" A smile crossed Indariol's face and his eyes met Oreth's.
"I don't know who you are, Oreth," he said placidly, "but I'll do what you ask." Oreth's faint smile broadened in response.
"I ask that you come with me to fetch the girl and the child, Indariol. I know the girl suffers and may die if she stays in the mountains. You'll find you have much to do if you're to help the healer nurse her back to health. She lacks physical strength and must be got to warmth. There are troublesome times coming to northern Ambros, young Elkin, that will sadly touch you and yours, so delay's unwise. I can't delay either." Indariol rose immediately, though he gave a shiver at words that echoed those of Burelkin.
"I'll organise at once. May we offer you food and drink?" Oreth looked up.
"That, young man, would be doubly welcome."
~~~
The travellers struggled to make any headway over the third pass. The men Asok sent ahead, to scout for shelter, came hastening back through thigh high snow as fast as they could, with news that a body of travellers headed south, directly in line with themselves.
Asok immediately called a halt. He asked if there was shelter close by that was defensible. When one man shook his head, Asok stood still. Sagi couldn't remember having seen her mate so tense, as his eyes travelled from Soji to Jonqi. He spoke sharply to two men beside him, who nodded and began to back their horses, preparatory to a return down the trail they'd so laboriously climbed.
"Go with them, Sagi," instructed Asok tersely. "Take the girl and the child. Keep them back at all times. Dress the child as a boy and take the healer." He waited to see that his instructions were followed and then turned to Leontok. "You know what you have to do, Leon. You know, too, what you'll be forced to do if the threat's what I suspect it may be. You won't hesitate if I give the order." Leontok licked lips that froze instantly and fingered his knife suggestively.
"It'll be done with love, Pasangan," he whispered hoarsely.
"I know that, son. Let's hope this is unnecessary." Leontok nodded. "I won't have them tortured, or worse, captured."
"It will be done. They'll feel nothing."
"Leave your mother, brother and the healer to me."
Leontok spoke to a small group of steppemen beside him, who listened intently, then swung round as best they could in the drift that encompassed them, to follow Sagi. Leontok was close behind.
Jonqi saw changing clothes as a game until she saw her mother's face, then she quietened and silently drew on the leggings, then the shirt and the heavy smock that came below her knees. The sombre faces of the men sobered her too.
"It's not a game we play, little one," said Soji seriously, gathering the long, black locks and pushing them up into the cap Jonqi now wore. "I want you, if I tell you to, to be a little boy. Will you do that for me?" The dark eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Yes, Masangan."
"That's my good little one," murmured Soji, holding the little girl close.
~~~
Since there was no obvious shelter where they'd trailed that morning, they had to go back to the cavern where they'd spent the previous night. During their struggle to get there Soji said nothing, having learned long ago not to ask questions. She allowed Asokin, who was now quite tall at nearly thirteen cycles, to take her reins. She glanced down at him and he lifted his head to grin carelessly back at her. Responsively, she bent forward to touch his ice-rimmed hood. Seven steppemen kept the small group moving, Soji the only one mounted. She watched as the horses either slipped on ice, missed a footing and stumbled, or floundered at times up to their bellies in snow drifts. She was nearly thrown more than once when Asokin missed his footing, too, and tripped. Sometimes he had to be pulled from the snow he was so deeply sunk into it, but he always laughed.
The route back to the shelter was as tortuous as it was to leave it. Snow had fallen and become heavy enough to obscure any footprints they'd have found useful. Their breath iced on contact with the air. All around them was achingly white, beautiful and deadly. If it could be seen through the snow, the sky was an even gray; at the moment visibility was nil. Soji took in a deep breath of sudden panic and was shaken by a cough. She saw Setoni, ahead of her, look back briefly.
When they reached the cavern, Soji sank down and accepted a cup given to Leontok by the healer and drank. Though she had nothing to do with the children, she was happy to be held securely in her mate's arms from where she could watch them. She barely sensed Leontok's acute tension. The potion already made her a little drowsy and certainly calm. It warmed her too. She vaguely noticed the children drank as well and they were now very quiet.
The remainder of the steppefolk arrived soon after, in twos and threes, faces grey with exhaustion and cold. Few words were spoken, but gestures and shivers were eloquent. Asok came in last. His face was graven and tired, but his eyes were clear and surprisingly untroubled Sagi noticed. He finally sought her out, after organising a guard at the cavern entrance.
She went to him quietly, waited for him to speak, then, when he pushed his hood back, he took the cup she held out to him.
"Sagi," he said gratefully, a hand touching her face.
"The weather's worsening again, isn't it?" she asked, her eyes meeting his. He nodded. "Can we move on?"
"Not for the moment. You can see nothing out there."
"Have we lost anyone?"
"Not yet, but if this worsens I have concerns about that, yes."
"What do you wish us to do?" Sagi took the empty cup he held out to her.
"We've no choices, my love. None at all. We're trapped," he replied calmly. Sagi thought he looked remarkably placid. There was no concern or alarm in the gray eyes.
"What do you know that I don't?" she whispered. A curious expression crossed his face and a faint smile touched his eyes.
"We'll sit it out," he said quietly, ignoring her question.
"How's Soji?"
"She's holding. Setoni's given her dai, the children too."
"Then that's all that matters."
~~~
Asok turned to the entrance casually, then his pose stiffened and his eyes were wary and alert. The men on guard hadn't spoken, but Asok could read every move they made as if he himself had made it. He strode quickly to them, his head tilted as he, too, listened.
Whoever the group approaching were, they made no effort to be quiet and didn't seem hampered by the appalling conditions. Asok could've sworn he heard singing. The muffled sounds passed and now Asok could hear voices, quite clearly, as travellers made their way through the drifts, their talk and laughter carrying easily on the still air. He estimated there were about ten or twelve in the group and relaxed, bidding the men at the entrance to do so as well. The group were still some distance away, though the clarity of sound was deceptive and made them appear very close.
Asok squatted with the other men, his hood pulled up and his face inscrutable. While he listened, he was sure these people headed south were certainly not Churchik, weren't connected with the southern sorcerer, and were certainly not mounted. They travelled lightly and on foot. He was intrigued. They also obviously found it easy to follow a trail Asok and his men had lost some time ago. Asok waited, his interest piqued. These were unusual travellers indeed.
Nearly an hour later, Asok knew they were outside the cavern. He didn't know how he knew, he just did and that they stood there, waiting. There'd been no sound from them for a while, but still, Asok knew. He rose, signalling his men to stay where they were. He heard a barely audible protest from Sagi when he stepped outside the shelter of the cavern, the snow drifting onto him and clinging tenaciously.
Asok took a deep hissing breath. In front of him, standing quite still, were twelve people, their features indistinct and their bodies part-shadow and part-substance. The snow didn't touch them - all round them the ground was clear. Asok could see they were tall and slender, built like the steppefolk, their clothing light and all of them, but one, was barefooted. This one man was taller and broader and he wore boots. The snow didn't touch him either. He was also less indistinct.
