by Jon Sprunk
“You all right, Caim?” Aemon asked, riding up close.
“Go on,” Caim grunted. “Ride ahead of us. But no light!”
He bent over his horse's neck until the disorientation passed. The new strength thrummed inside him like it wanted out. It felt foreign, and yet now a part of him. He didn't know if that was a good thing. He sensed the shadows around him. They wanted something. Maybe for him to turn around and revisit the slaughter. But he pushed them away, and to his relief they left him in peace as he followed his comrades into the night.
Dray hissed and took another pull from the mead-skin as the needle emerged from his upper arm, dragging a trail of catgut. “You ever heard of being fucking gentle?”
Aemon chuckled. “Hold still. I'm almost done.”
“Well, hurry it up!”
“There.” Aemon cut the gut string with his teeth and tied it off. “Good as new. Caim, you got any wounds that need sewed up while I got the needle out?”
Caim shook his head as he wrapped up the wedge of hard cheese he'd been eating and thrust it back into his satchel. They had ridden all night and into the next day, but he felt good. Rested. Almost like his old self. While they rode, the shadows had come stealing back to him, covering his various injuries with their chilling kisses and taking with them all the pain and all traces of the illness that had plagued him for the last few days. Yet, glad as he was for the assistance, Caim couldn't forget the look on Wulfgrim's face as he lay bleeding on the floor of the longhouse, the expression of horror as the last dregs of his life were drawn out and—for lack of a better word—devoured.
Their camp was set against the lee of a steep hillock. Caim figured they had come about fifteen leagues, but it didn't feel like enough. He imagined the Snow Lions prowling on their trail. You'd make better time on your own.
Caim winced at the thought. It wasn't the first time it had occurred to him that this entire endeavor would be easier if he were traveling alone. Like the old days. But it went deeper than that. He didn't like feeling responsible for others, and he had a nasty suspicion that this mission wouldn't end well. For any of them.
Snow crunched beyond the circle of firelight, and the others reached for their weapons, but Caim didn't stir. He'd seen the man coming from three hundred paces off.
“Egil!” Dray barked. “I almost killed you, you dumb shit.”
Malig laughed and lowered his axe. “We thought you ran off, boy. Never to be seen again.”
Egil unslung his rucksack and knelt by the fire. “I got out when I saw them kittens coming across the snow with you.”
Dray sat with his bare sword across his knees. “Kittens?”
“The Snow Lions. That's what we call them. They were a great tribe back in the day.” He pointed up to the murky sky. “Before this happened, they controlled most of the central lands. But they resisted when the dark lord came, and now they are all but gone. Anyway, they won't be bothering you again. They had unexpected company.”
Caim took out his seax knife and a whetstone, and worked on the blade's edge. “The other Northmen approaching the village?”
“Aye. Bear tribe. Near a hundred of them. Old Wulfgrim must've been shitting his breeches. Anyway, the kittens ran off as fast as they could ride, heading west by south.”
Dray spat into the fire. “They were free with their words when they had us all penned up like lambs for a Godsday feast, but they run out at the first sign of real trouble.”
“I don't know,” Aemon said. “That Wulfgrim is a canny one. If he survived what Caim done to him, I'd not want to be within fifty miles of him.”
Dray looked to Egil. “So what tribe are you from?”
“Fox. There aren't too many of us left anymore either.”
“And the Bear people,” Aemon said. “What are they like?”
“They come from up north.” Egil pulled a greenish-yellow bulb from his rucksack and took a bite. “They always had a reputation for being an ornery bunch, but with the coming of the dark lord, it got worse. Now they have their run of the wastes. No tribe will stand against them. Those who dare are crushed and their lands taken.”
“Like the Lion tribe,” Aemon said.
“Aye. Like as not we've seen the last of them.”
Caim held up his knife. The edge gleamed like a ribbon of silver. He slid it back into the sheath. “What can you tell us about this lord?”
Egil finished his fruit, or whatever it was, and threw the stem into the fire. “Hard to say. What do you want to know?”
“Have you ever seen him?”
“Nah. I don't know of anyone who has. He don't leave his fastness in the north.”
“Never?” Caim asked.
“Not that I've ever heard. His soldiers swing through the villages about once a season, but if you're right with your tithes and make no trouble, they're no worse than other landlords.”
“Does he rule this entire country?” Caim asked.
“Not sure what you mean by country, but he holds all the wastes in his grasp. From ocean to ocean, people say, though I've never been to the great waters, so I couldn't swear to that. They say he rules a fair bit of the Southlands, too.”
“They lie,” Malig growled. “Eregoth is free.”
Egil shrugged. “As you say, but that's what I've heard tell. The dark lord's been in power for most of my life.”
Caim did the figures in his head. By that reckoning, this tyrant had come to power roughly two decades ago. That made for a chilling coincidence, considering his own history. Caim had more questions. How far away was this fastness and what was it like? How many soldiers did the ruler of the wastes employ? But he kept them to himself. Egil was no fool.
Caim stood up. “Aemon, take first watch. I'll be back.”
No one questioned him. Aemon was the only one to look up, and he just nodded and sat cross-legged by the fire.
A bitter wind swept over Caim as he left the tiny circle of light. Without any real plan of where he was going, he let his feet carry him around the base of the hill until he found a gentling of the slope. He began to climb. It got steeper the higher he went, until he was half climbing, half crawling at the end. The top of the hill was relatively flat and covered in icy snow. Below, the wastes spread out in an ocean of white and black shadows. To the north, the darkness was absolute, denying him a glimpse of what lay ahead, but the calling remained, the droning hum in the back of his head, pulling him in that direction.
The plains to the south were brighter, if just by a hair, but it was enough for him to see to the horizon. Somewhere beyond his sight were the mountains, and then Eregoth and Nimea, stretching all the way down to the Midland Sea. What was Josey doing right now? Did she worry about him?
A soft light showered across his shoulders and pooled around his feet. “It may not be a fancy hotel, but at least we can be alone up here.”
He braced himself as Kit's ethereal arms wrapped around him. Her lips made little electric jolts on the back of his neck. “You okay, Caim? You've been quiet lately.”
“I'm just tired. I'll be all right.”
She floated around to face him. “You always say that, but you never let me in.”
He looked past her. Through her. Seeking something else to focus on. How to explain what he felt inside? He didn't understand it himself. “Things are changing, Kit. Everything is different. My past. The shadows.”
Her eyebrows came together. “What about me? Am I different, too?”
“I didn't mean—” He lifted a hand, but she hovered out of his reach. “Kit, it's been tough. You and I haven't had a lot of time together since we left Othir.”
“Whose fault is that? I've tried again and again to be with you, to get you alone, but you always have excuses.”
“Well, here I am!” He winced as the words carried louder than he intended. “I'm here, Kit. And this may be as much privacy as we're ever going to get.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well, then. I suppose I'll ha
ve to make the most of it.”
“What's that supposed to—?”
Kit grinned at him, and something changed. At first Caim couldn't put his finger on it. Then he realized—he could no longer see through her. She looked almost solid.
“Kit.” He reached out. “What…? How are you—?”
Just before his fingertips made contact, her smile collapsed, and the light of the distant stars shone through her again. Kit sobbed, and Caim wasn't sure what to say. For a moment it had seemed like she was almost real. He stepped toward her. “Kit, are you all right?”
She retreated off the side of the hilltop, her face hidden within the silver curtain of her hair. “Stay away!”
“Kit, I almost thought…I mean, it looked like you were…Will you please tell me what's happening?”
When she didn't answer, Caim lowered his voice. “Kit, talk to me. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on.”
She took her hands down from her face. She was wholly ethereal once again. “Why are you here, Caim? This place is wrong. I know you feel it, too. I see it in your eyes. Let's just leave.”
“I can't, Kit. It's too late for that.”
“What do you mean? What are you planning?”
“I don't know.”
“Caim, if you think I'm going to stay around and watch you do something foolish just to satisfy some manly—”
“No one's asking you to stay if you don't want to.”
Kit drifted closer. “You said you loved me. And that means you have to tell me things.”
“Then maybe I was wrong.” His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth after he said those words, heavy as an iron clapper.
Kit stared at him. What would come next? Tears? Angry recriminations? Why did I say that? I'll take it ba—
Without a word, she vanished from sight.
“Kit? Kit, I didn't mean that. Come back!” He looked around, but her glow was gone, leaving him once again in dark. Now I've gone and buggered it up good. But what did she expect? Roses and serenades? She knows me better than that.
Kit and Josey, the two people he cared most about in the world, and he'd wronged them both. But just like with his comrades below, he couldn't push them away for good. And as for Josey, he'd been running from her for too long. He could settle it, if he had the courage.
It didn't start off as a conscious thought, more of a hunch. Or a fantasy. He pictured himself back in Othir with Josey as he had last seen her, dolled up in a gown and jewels that cost more than all the money he'd ever made, her hair piled on top of her head like a silky tower. She was gorgeous. Perfect. There was a connection between them. Perhaps it was because of what they'd gone through together, the trials by blood and fire, but if she called, he knew he would go. It was as simple, and as complex, as that.
The pain started in his chest, a sharp tearing like he had swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. His skin felt like it was being torn from his bones with red-hot pincers. He stepped back, almost tumbling off the hilltop, as a loud snap rent the air. A hole appeared before him. The portal wavered in the darkness, and then an image formed inside, of a long marble corridor lit by flambeaux in bronze cressets.
It was the palace at Othir.
He had run down that same corridor—it seemed like a lifetime ago—chasing after Josey. Now it was only a step away. Did he dare?
With a shiver, he took a hobbled step. And then another. The skin of the portal was ice-cold as he pushed through.
Caim staggered against the wall, waiting for the blinding pain in his skull to abate. He stood in the stone corridor he'd seen through the portal. He was back in Othir.
It didn't seem possible, to travel such a long way in one step.
Caim doubled over and spewed his dinner onto the floor. The racking heaves didn't stop until his stomach was long past empty. When he stood up, however, his head had cleared. He glanced both ways down the corridor to get his bearings. No soldiers in sight, for once. Maybe my luck is changing.
Caim started off toward the northeast wing, avoiding the pools of light cast by the ensconced torches on the walls. The shadows welcomed him, and he slid into their cool embrace.
He climbed three flights of stairs, twice avoiding guard patrols. The hallways on the top floor were wider and more opulent, with golden accents and fine pieces of artwork adorning the walls. Walking through them filled him with a host of memories, many of them quite pleasant, but it also wrapped his guts in knots.
He stopped at the doors to the imperial suite, almost wishing an army of soldiers would arrive just so he would have an excuse to leave. What am I going to say to her? Time to find out.
Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle and peered inside. The interior was unlit. He entered. A quick search revealed that the interconnected chambers were empty. In the bedchamber, Caim stood over Josey's big feather bed, recalling the time spent with her. He wanted to reach out and touch the bedspread just to make sure it was real, but his hands remained by his sides.
Not sure whether to be relieved or concerned, Caim left the suite and padded down the corridor. There was someone else he needed to see. Yellow light spilled from under the doorway. Caim put his ear to the wooden panel, but heard nothing. He lifted the latch.
Several hanging oil lamps illuminated the room beyond and lent the large chamber a musky scent. The floor was polished parquet wood with a tasteful burgundy rug in the center. Caim's target sat in a leather-bound chair behind a huge mahogany desk piled with stacks of papers and scrolls. He looked older, probably due to the deep circles under his eyes. There was some new gray in his hair and scattered in the short goatee he sported. His pen stopped scratching as he looked up. “Who—? Caim? Is that you?”
Caim stepped into the light. “Hello, Hubert. It looks like you've done well for yourself.”
Hubert chuckled as he stood up, rubbing his lower back. “Actually, I'm the lord regent now. Some climb from the Duke of the Gutters, huh? When did you get back to Othir?”
“Tonight.”
“You're looking…well. Have a seat and tell me about your travels. Would you like a drink?”
Caim went over to a picture on the wall opposite the desk. Josey looked regal sitting on a purple divan, gloved hands folded on her lap. He studied her features, captured so well on the canvas. Their time together seemed like so long ago. “Where is she?”
“She's gone, Caim. She went north to investigate some problems we've been having on the border, but I suspect she really went to find you. You've not seen or heard from her?”
“No. But I've been…moving around. Did she intend to go as far as Eregoth?”
Hubert shuffled through a pile of papers. “Her last letter was sent from a village just south of the Wyrkan River.”
The interior door opened, and a young woman appeared, a candle in her hand. Her long, blonde hair fell over the front of her long nightdress. “Who is it, Bert?”
“It's all right, Ana.” Hubert went over to her. “Just catching up with an old friend. Go back to sleep.”
But the woman peered around him. “Won't you introduce us?”
Hubert made a strained smile. “Of course. Caim, this is my fiancée, Anastasia Farthington. Ana, this is Caim.”
“The Caim? I've heard a great deal about you, sir. I wish I could say all of it was good.”
“I wouldn't believe it if you had.”
“You're here for Josey,” Anastasia said. “But you're too late.”
“Yes,” Hubert said. “I was just telling him—”
“She's lovesick over you,” Anastasia continued. “Do you know she cried for days after you left? Do you know about the attempts on her life?”
A rush of red-hot rage filled Caim at the thought of someone trying to hurt Josey. “Who was behind it?”
Hubert rubbed his hands together. “A foreign sorcerer and a few locals. They've been taken care of, Caim. Really, it sounds worse than it—”
“Were they working alone?” Cai
m pressed.
“Well, that seems to be—”
“You're not sure,” Caim said in a lowered voice. He had to stop his hands from reaching for his knives. “And now Josey is off in the north where she could be targeted again, and without even the protection of the palace. Dammit, Hubert. You were supposed to look after her. Not let her go off on some crusade.”
“Josey is the empress of Nimea,” Anastasia said. “She can take care of herself.”
Hubert put a hand on the lady's shoulder. “It's true, Caim. The empress isn't the same girl you took from her foster father's home.”
Hands balled into fists, Caim turned and took a step toward the door. He stopped before he reached the exit. “You'd better hope so, Lord Regent. Because if she comes to harm, I'll hold you responsible.”
Caim created a portal in the hallway. The effort was almost more than he could manage, the pain incredible. As footsteps echoed in the room behind him, he stepped through and let the portal close before they could catch up.
Kit couldn't see through her tears as Caim disappeared through the shadowy gate. She had followed him back to Othir, hoping she was mistaken, but it was plain to her now that the mud-woman still had a hold on him.
Invisible, Kit floated up through the ceiling. It wasn't fair! She had known Caim for most of his life, long before he met the mud-woman. They shared countless memories. She'd tried to show Caim how much she loved him, how special he was to her, but it was clear she couldn't compete with the flesh. Without the ability to touch and hold him, their love was doomed.
The lights of the city glittered below her feet as she emerged from the palace roof. Kit could only think of one place to go. Swallowing her tears, she focused on a place far away, a place between this world and the Other Side. A quiet place. The world tilted around her to the sound of distant chimes.
The lapping of gentle waves greeted her arrival. Kit blinked against the crystalline sunlight washing over the pearl-white sand beneath her toes. Sapphire waters stretched to the hazy horizon. A little house stood farther up the beach on a sward of grass, shaded by a mesicante tree. An old woman wearing a large wicker hat worked in the garden behind the house.
