by Resa Nelson
Terror struck him like lightning. Gershon sank deeper into panic.
No. I can’t lose control. I have to be in control!
He’d learned at a young age to recognize the world as a wild and dangerous place. Survival required being in control of every situation at all times. His own father had been murdered while traveling to sell furs. Another merchant had discovered the body and a dull dagger clutched in the dead man’s hand. Clearly, Gershon’s father had failed to take the time to use a whetstone on his blade after skinning a catch, and the lack of a sharp edge meant he’d had no control during the attack.
Always carry a sharpened blade. That was Gershon’s motto. But now he found himself in a situation where no number of sharp weapons could help him because he’d lost control over his own body.
It made him feel betrayed by his own skin.
If he could have moved, Gershon would have jumped in surprise at the touch of a wet tongue that barely grazed his temple.
The dragon. It’s come back to eat me!
But whatever licked his face didn’t bite.
Even though Gershon couldn’t move a single muscle, he sensed a new tension tighten throughout his body. Why would a dragon lick him without biting him? It made no sense.
The unfamiliar male voice spoke again, sounding as surprised as Gershon felt. “Norah? Are you all right?”
Who is Norah? Gershon wanted to shout. And why do you ask if she’s the one who’s all right? I’m the one who’s being attacked by a dragon!
A strange and calming warmth spread throughout Gershon’s body, the same sensation as coming home on a wintry day and sitting down to eat a bowl of hearty stew after working from sun-up ‘til sundown. Gershon recognized the sensation of being wrapped inside a cozy, soft blanket.
The tongue left his skin, but its wetness lingered. Now Gershon noticed a new lightness, the same lightness that came after hauling a heavy load of furs on his shoulders and putting them down on a table. As if someone had lifted a tremendous weight off of him.
Without giving it a single thought, Gershon opened his eyes, too surprised to rejoice when the force paralyzing his body dissolved. The world seemed far too bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut again to keep all the light out. Although Gershon felt as though he were moving through molasses, his eyelids fluttered rapidly while his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the house. After the minute or so it took for his vision to settle, Gershon stared wide-eyed at the woman standing above him.
She appeared to be a small and slight thing. She wore her long black hair wild and unkempt, looking like she’d just walked in from a windstorm. He saw the same wildness in her eyes, a look he knew all too well from his work killing and skinning animals for their fur.
This was no woman—she could be nothing but a creature of the wild.
“Scalding,” she said to him, “fears nothing.” She relinquished a knowing smile. A smile with power behind it, the power of holding information that no one else can possibly know.
“Gershon!” One of his longtime colleagues rushed to the bedside. “We thought you was lost to us for good. You slept for days!”
A new understanding hit Gershon with the certainty of sunrise. He gazed at the woman, finally seeing the wildness in her as a thing of great beauty. “She lifted the poison out of me,” Gershon said softly. “She saved my life.” He lifted one hand weakly toward Norah, wanting to touch her arm.
Norah hissed at him, stepping back.
“Apologies,” Gershon said, jerking his hand back. Of course. It all made sense now. She had to be a wild creature. A divine creature. An agent of the new god Krystr. Only a saintly messenger could have saved him from the dragon’s bite.
Looking at him with suspicion etched across her face, the woman said, “Scalding fears nothing.”
“I know you fear nothing,” Gershon said. “I recognize you.”
“Not Scalding!” the woman cried out.
The small man standing by the god’s messenger spoke up. “This is Norah. She’s not a Scalding, but we’re looking for one by the name of Astrid, and we believe you know her.”
Baffled, Gershon shook his head.
The man continued, “She’s a young woman who carries a dragonslayer’s sword.”
“I’ve only seen a merchant with such a sword.” Finally, a true shudder raced through Gershon’s skin, giving him relief at last. “A boy with an ax and dagger accompanied him.”
The ends of Norah’s mouth curled up. “Not boy,” she said. “Scalding.”
“Astrid is a woman,” her man said helpfully.
Gershon’s head spun. None of this made sense. Unless—
He’d assumed the boy was a boy because he wore men’s clothes. If Astrid Scalding wore such things she’d be punished for having the audacity to sport male clothing. And the most likely punishment for her crime would be cutting off her hair.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
If such a woman persisted in committing this crime and conspired not to be caught again, then she would pretend to be a boy.
In that case, it had to be Astrid Scalding’s dragon that had done this to Gershon. It must be her fault he’d been paralyzed and nearly died.
“Yes, a woman,” Gershon said. “I believe I do know her.”
The man brightened. “Can you lead us to her?”
“To kill her?”
“No!” The man paled with horror. “Of course not!”
Norah looked squarely at Gershon. “Not kill,” she explained.
Gershon sighed. He was disappointed that his heavenly savior chose not to avenge him. But he understood. He accepted his manly duty to avenge any wrong done against him with his own hands. To expect someone else to seek revenge—even an agent of the god Krystr—would be a womanly act. A cowardly act. Ignoble and without grace.
“Yes,” Gershon said. “I can find Astrid Scalding.”
CHAPTER 35
Furious, Margreet paced the ship’s deck. “How dare you?” she shouted at Vinchi. “You promised to return me to my husband and then you force me back onto this ship? Where are we going?”
Vinchi gestured toward her appointed corner. “Sit and get out of the way. Unless you prefer to go below deck again.”
Still steaming, Margreet plunked herself down at the back of the ship, preferring fresh air and light.
Vinchi’s ship changed course. When it left the sea, the crew lowered the sail and rowed down a river flanked by fields and forests.
Margreet shivered, huddled in her corner. The seamen rowed slowly and steadily, heading for the riverbank.
This seemed a strange place to dock. Here, trees crowded alongside the river, but rolling fields lay beyond the shoreline, lined with furrows of harvested crops. In the distance, low mountains spread across the horizon. Margreet suspected they still might be in Daneland, but she wasn’t sure. She knew very little about this part of the world.
Margreet hated Vinchi and the boy for breaking their promise to reunite her with Gershon. As she’d pointed out to Vinchi during the past few days, she hadn’t asked for help and certainly didn’t need any. What happened between Margreet and Gershon should remain their business, and no one had the right to interfere.
She touched the simple silver ring on her finger that Gershon had given to her on their marriage day. It marked her as his property. It meant she belonged to Gershon and no one else. Why didn’t these fools understand?
Perhaps they see you belong to no one but yourself, a small voice whispered inside her head.
Margreet was startled by the voice because it hadn’t spoken to her for years. Why had it suddenly started talking during the past day or so? Her mother had taught her to listen to that voice and follow it without question. Her mother said it was a light within that would guide Margreet like a beacon.
But like everyone else Margreet had once known, her mother had listened to her own inner voice only to be led to her death by it.
No. Margreet would no
t follow that path. The only way to survive was to ignore the voice.
The ship jerked to a halt and gently rocked while a few crew members jumped onto the riverbank, tethered the ship to a tree, and put the wooden board in place, making a walkway to shore.
Margreet jumped to her feet and stayed on Vinchi’s heels. “If you don’t take me back to Gershon this instant, I will make sure he kills you!”
A pained expression crossed Vinchi’s face fleetingly, which surprised Margreet. This marked the first time she’d said anything so harsh to Vinchi, but he should have expected it. She couldn’t imagine what pained him.
“He’ll kill me whether you tell him to or not,” Vinchi said, supervising the landing.
The boy interrupted, asking Vinchi a question in the Northlander language. In response, Vinchi rolled his eyes and shook his head. The boy cast a disappointed look at Margreet.
“Tell me what you are talking about,” she demanded of Vinchi.
He ignored her, gesturing for the boy to leave the ship. Turning to Margreet, he said, “You’re next.”
She folded her arms and stood her ground. “I’m waiting right here until Gershon comes and finds me.”
“Then you will stay in the company of the crew, and I will not be there to keep them in line,” Vinchi said quietly. He turned his back to her and followed the boy off the ship, leaving Margreet alone on the deck.
She took his point. Margreet had been safe among men who were used to bedding any woman they chose, regardless of the woman’s wishes. She’d been safe because Vinchi had told his crew the moment they’d set sail that he’d personally throw any man overboard who dared to touch her.
She hurried to catch up with Vinchi, following him along the wooden board until her feet landed on dry ground. “You’ve always been pleasant to me in the past. Why are you so cruel to me now?”
Vinchi turned sharply to face her, and Margreet didn’t have time to slow her pace. She bumped into him, and then took an embarrassed step back. “Perhaps,” Vinchi said coolly, “it has something to do with your plan to order your husband to kill me.”
Oh. The man had a point.
“I apologize,” Margreet said, meaning it. “I promise I will not tell Gershon to kill you. But I am not responsible for the decisions he makes on his own.”
The harsh expression in Vinchi’s eyes softened and he smiled sadly. “That,” he said, “I already know.”
The boy called out to them, gesturing for them to follow.
“Let’s go,” Vinchi said as he walked toward the boy.
Glancing back at the ship, Margreet saw the crew watching her. One of the men gestured for her to join them on deck, and the other men smiled.
Suppressing a sudden shiver, Margreet ran to catch up with Vinchi. “And what of the boy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will he keep his hands off me?”
Vinchi laughed until tears streamed from the corners of his eyes.
Margreet frowned, peering with even greater suspicion at the boy waiting patiently for them in the harvested field. She couldn’t imagine what Vinchi found so amusing.
“Trust me,” Vinchi gasped while he tried to catch his breath from laughing so hard. “The boy poses no threat to you.”
* * *
They traveled for days. Fields that had radiated vibrant greens and crimsons and ambers weeks ago now lay wasted, their hacked stalks and vines now dry and brittle after savage frosts. The ground they walked upon, once soft and forgiving, felt hard and unyielding through the thin soles of their shoes. Instead of appearing bright and pleasant, the sky looked weary from bearing the weight of thick, gloomy clouds.
Astrid jumped in surprise at the strike of an ice pellet against her face. Last night, a farmer’s family gave them a warm place to sleep along with enough food to get them through the next day or two. The icy wind blasted across her face and through her clothing. Astrid wished she’d accepted the farmer’s offer to stay and blacksmith for him, mending his damaged plow, making nails, and repairing other tools that had gone too long without attention.
But what about Margreet, trudging by Astrid’s side? They’d stolen the woman away with just the clothes on her back, and she’d been shivering since they’d left the ship. Vinchi had quickly given his cloak to Margreet. It measured far too long and dragged around her feet, threatening to trip her.
And now Vinchi had started shivering, even though they walked at a steady pace that would have caused anyone to break out in a sweat only a week or so ago. Now armed with Falling Star only, Astrid had traded her ax and other daggers to the farmer for food and a good cloak for Margreet, who wrapped it tightly against her body. An ice pellet bounced off the top of Margreet’s exposed head, and she flipped up the hood to cover her hair.
Vinchi squinted up at the sky and then pointed across the field at a line of trees. “There’s the entrance. Going through the forest is the fastest way.”
Concern creased Margreet’s forehead when she asked Vinchi a pointed question.
At first Vinchi shrugged, taking a quick glance at their surroundings. He answered, but Astrid understood just one word: “Aguille.”
Margreet shrieked and backed away.
Vinchi spoke to Margreet calmly, gesturing to the hail that now came down in sheets, white icy pellets the size of pebbles bouncing off the hard ground.
Margreet shook her head in vehement disagreement, holding out an open palm toward him as a warning to keep his distance from her.
“What’s wrong?” Astrid asked.
“Margreet doesn’t want to enter the forest.”
“Why?”
“It’s a place that upsets her.”
Margreet kept up a rapid stream of babbling, but once more Astrid understood one word.
“Limru!” Astrid said. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Vinchi.
“Limru is deep inside the Forest of Aguille,” he said. “She doesn’t want to go anywhere near Limru, but it’s our most direct and safest route.”
“There is a well in Limru—”
“The Dragon’s Well,” Vinchi said.
“You know it?”
“I know of it.” Vinchi paused, glancing at the forest.
Good, Astrid thought. The water from the well can help us. It can heal us. Make us stronger. We’ll need all the help we can get if Gershon catches up with us.
Margreet spoke more firmly, pointing at the forest.
Astrid followed her gesture, squinting. There seemed to be something odd about the entrance to the forest, but she found it difficult to see from this distance, especially through the hailstorm. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Vinchi said. “She said something blocks the way into the forest, but I can’t tell from here. We’ll have to get closer.”
Vinchi spoke quietly to Margreet, pointing to the stormy sky. Her face drawn with fear, she nodded.
Astrid winced with every step while they crossed the hail-covered field, wishing her shoes had thicker soles to protect against the sharpness of each ice pellet. They walked with their heads down, pulling hoods close to their faces to protect from what seemed like a never-ending onslaught.
Approaching the edge of the Forest of Aguille, Astrid looked up briefly. A towering wall of brambles formed a natural wall around the forest, leaving only a narrow gap that formed an entrance. What she saw next made her cry out, causing them all to come to a sudden stop.
Dozens of men and women stood in front of the entrance to the forest. They were solid, but they had no color at all. They were completely transparent.
Frozen in place, they looked like people who had been turned into ice by some type of horrific magic.
CHAPTER 36
Astrid stared in wonder at the dozens of ice people blocking the entrance to the forest.
The ice people stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a startling barricade. Hail pellets still rained down, adhering to their still forms and making them appear more solid and
real. Frozen in place, each held up their hands, seeming to warn the living to stay away from the forest. Many had open mouths, as if shouting silent caution to those with warm flesh.
“What is this monstrosity?” Vinchi said.
Margreet shrieked at the sight of the ice people, flinging her hands across her face in horror.
Fascinated, Astrid took a step forward. It looked as if a master carver had created statues from ice instead of stone, an impossible task. Although the weather had been growing increasingly cold, the temperature hadn’t reached the point where it could freeze blocks of ice the size of people. And there certainly hadn’t been enough time to carve dozens of lifelike statues.
Margreet cried out, pointing at the ice people. She spoke rapidly to Vinchi, who translated for Astrid. “Margreet says she saw them move.”
“That’s impossible.” Astrid approached the ice people slowly, watching them closely with every cautious step.
But then she saw it, too.
One iceman appeared to lead them. He stood in front of the group with a sword held high above his head, looking ready to cleave in two anyone who dared come close. Astrid didn’t see his frozen body move. Instead, she witnessed the hail striking the iceman’s skin and running down before freezing into place.
But she also saw movement within the iceman like fog rising on a warm spring morning after the rain. Like a mist drifting behind his transparent skin.
Understanding hit Astrid like a punch in the gut. Turning to Vinchi, she said, “Step closer and look at his face.”
“I’ll stay where I am.” Vinchi wrapped an arm around Margreet’s shoulders. “Are you mad? Don’t you recognize danger when you see it? This is the work of a powerful sorcerer.”
“No,” Astrid said. “It’s not. It’s the work of someone who knows we’re being followed. Someone who knows how to scare the living away from the forest we need to enter.”
Vinchi shook his head, rejecting her opinion. “We have to go back.”
“Look at him,” Astrid said. “The man in front. The one with the sword raised over his head.”
Vinchi squinted. “I am already looking at him.”
