by Jon Sprunk
With a hoot of joy, Kit wiped her cheeks dry and ran to the house. When the old woman straightened up from her plants, Kit waved and yelled, “Ealdmoder!”
Kit laughed. The warm sand felt good under her feet. She ran up the path of smooth stepping stones around the side of the little house and stopped before the arbor. The old woman squinted at her, and Kit held her breath until the old woman rushed forward and gathered her in her arms. She was taller, even taller than Caim, but slim as a cypress tree.
“Kitrine, child. I've missed you!” Kit's grandmother held her out at arm's length. “You're even more beautiful than I remember.”
Kit laughed and kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Not as beautiful as you, Ealdmoder.”
“Come, dear. Let's sit.”
They went around to the back of the house. Nothing had changed. The garden was as immaculate as she remembered, with beds of flowers in every hue—roses, lavenders, chrysanthemums, orchids, lilies, irises, and more. The temperature was neither too hot nor too cold, but exactly right. The breeze was soothing and fragrant with the scent of growing things. It was a perfect day. Too perfect to be real. And it wasn't. Among Kit's people it was common, when they had lived long enough, to retreat to a personal world of their own making, designed in their own ideal of perfection. This was her grandmother's refuge.
Her grandmother pulled her down onto a wooden bench. “You've been away so long, I was beginning to think I would never see my favorite grandchild again. But I can see you've been crying.”
Kit rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go. I was upset and needed someone I could talk to. I thought…”
Her grandmother squeezed her hand. “You are always welcome here, Kitrine. Tell me what is troubling you.”
“It's—” Kit felt guilty all of a sudden. She hadn't bothered to visit since she went to the Brightlands, not once, and now she regretted not being a better granddaughter.
“It's a man,” her grandmother said.
Kit swallowed a sob. “How did you know?”
“Only a man can cause tears like that, child. Which family does he come from? Don't tell me he's lowborn. Your father would never—”
“He's a mortal,” Kit blurted in a rush, and then held her breath, watching her grandmother for a reaction.
The old woman stared at her for several slow heartbeats as the color drained from her face. “Kitrine, tell me you're joking. Child! You haven't changed at all. Oh, I don't know why you ever went to that dirty, drab world. It could only bring you sadness.”
The old woman sat back against the back of the bench, shaking her head. Kit exhaled softly. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come.
“I'm sorry, Ealdmoder. I'll leave now.”
Her grandmother held onto her wrist. “No, stay. You have already disturbed my kwa. There's nothing to be done for it. But you can tell me about this…man.”
“His name is Caim, and I love him. I think I've loved him since the first time I saw him. But I can't have him because…”
“Because he is human and you are Fae.”
“Yes. I've tried to be…with him, but it's impossible.”
“Oh, my darling Kitrine. You are so young. You have millennia to find your true mate. You'll soon forget this fleeting obsession.”
Kit sobbed. “I love him! He's been my best friend, my only real friend, for so long, I would do anything for him.” She took a deep breath. “Ealdmoder, I want to become human.”
Her grandmother sighed. It was the most awful sound Kit could imagine at that moment, laden with disappointment. “Child, child. You don't know what you are saying.”
Kit couldn't stop the tears from falling. “I do! I understand what it means, but I can't live without him.”
“Come with me.”
Kit stood up, struggling to control her emotions. She followed her grandmother into the garden, to a bright yellow bush with clusters of tiny pink berries. The old woman plucked a berry and held it up to her mouth for a moment. Then she offered it to Kit. “Eat this.”
Kit looked at the fruit. “Why?”
“You wish to have a future with this human man?”
“Yes.”
“Then taste that life before you choose.”
Kit accepted the berry, which was firm with a velvety skin. Looking to her grandmother, she placed it in her mouth and bit down. The cool juice splashed on her tongue, and then her mind exploded as she was deluged by waves of colors and sounds more complex and beautiful than anything she'd ever known before. They surrounded her and lifted her up to the gleaming sky.
Kit blinked. She stood in a dim hallway. Faint rays of light filtered through the lattice of a high window, casting silver diamonds on the hardwood floor. She looked down to see that she was clothed in a long dress. It was stylish and sleek, though with a higher neckline than she usually wore, but it was somber black with no adornment. She started to concentrate to change the color and shorten the skirt, but then realized she was wearing shoes—stiff, leather things—and she could feel the floor. She was solid again!
Excited and anxious and afraid all at the same time, Kit looked around. Where was she? The hallway gave few clues. There was a door a few steps away, but before she could approach it, a young woman in a simple black smock came around a corner with a steaming cup on a fine porcelain saucer.
“Your tea, madam,” the young woman said as she held out the cup.
Kit started to reach for it—she'd never had human tea before—but something didn't feel right. Her stomach hurt fiercely as if it had been beaten with a stick, and a sour taste rose in the back of her throat. “No,” she said. “Where am—?”
The door opened, and a man in a long black coat exited. He carried a leather satchel and a straight walking cane. “He's resting now. I gave him a tonic of figwort and comfrey root for the pain, but it's only a matter of time. In fact, it's a miracle he's lasted this long. I'll send my man around tomorrow to settle accounts.”
Kit didn't understand anything the man said, but the girl in the smock said, “This way, Doctor.”
Kit watched them go. Then she leaned toward the door, which stood ajar. Inside was a lofty room. The décor was rather opulent, like some of the rooms she used to spy out back in Othir's mansions when Caim was working. Coffered ceiling, wooden chests against the walls, a tall wardrobe and dresser, and a cheval mirror set in a bright brass frame. And, of course, the bed, which was huge, big enough to sleep three or four people, but there was only one person in it now.
Kit went inside for a better look. Still unsure where she was, or how she had gotten here, she moved around to the side of the bed. The occupant was an old man. His silver hair was full, but cropped close to the scalp. His face was creased with deep lines like old leather. Kit leaned closer, and the breath caught in her throat as she recognized a resemblance through the drooping, wrinkled flesh. She swallowed, afraid to speak.
He opened his eyes. “Kit?”
Through the hoarseness and the straining, she could hear his old voice, the voice she'd loved for so long. “I'm here, Caim. How did this—?”
Kit stopped talking as she reached for him and saw her own hands. Instead of smooth and elegant, they were withered, the skin along the backs sunken to where she could see the bones. A large brown spot covered the knob of her left wrist. She pulled the hands—her hands—back and tried to hide them in the laced sleeves of her dress. “Caim, what's happened? You're so old, and I'm…”
She turned to the glass, the movement slow and stiff. The face that looked back at her was ancient. Her violet eyes were hidden within deep pockets of wrinkles. “I'm horrid!”
“No.” He coughed. “No, my love. You're as beautiful as the first time I saw you.”
Kit sat on the bed and touched his arm. The firm muscles she'd once fantasized about, wanting to hold her, were shrunken to thin cables. “How did we get so old, Caim? I'm a mud-woman now, but I don't remember how I got this
way.”
He shook his head. “I'm sorry. I know I promised to never leave you, but I don't know…”
His eyes closed as his voice drifted off.
“Mistress?” The girl had returned. She stood at the door. “Can I get you anything?”
Kit shook her head and looked back to Caim, resolved to wake him for some answers, but he exhaled a long, quiet breath before she could shake him. His chest seemed to shrink in upon itself, falling lower and lower. She waited for it to rise again. One heartbeat extended into a second, but his chest did not move. Kit clamped her teeth shut to hold back the wail that clawed up her throat. The room grew dimmer as the walls closed in around her.
The sun was in the same place in the sky when Kit returned to her grandmother's retreat. The flowers of the garden swayed to the breeze, surrounding her in a thousand heady scents that all smelled of ashes. She looked for her grandmother and heard the door to the cottage close. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they did not spill.
Kit walked back down the stony path to the water's edge. Standing in the sand, she thought about what she'd seen. Was it the future, or just a nightmare? A gust of wind blew through her hair. Small waves capped in white foam scudded across the water's surface as Kit pondered her destiny and the man she loved.
Caim groaned as he rolled over. The return journey from Othir had been rougher than he expected. He hurt all over.
Blinking up at the soot-black sky, Caim pushed aside his stiff blanket and sat up. Freezing rain encrusted the ground. Dray, bleary-eyed and slack-jawed, sat beside the campfire from which rose a few tendrils of smoke. Caim scooted closer to the warmth of the coals. “Do we have any more wood?”
Dray shook his head. “That's the last of it. And I doubt you'll find much dry timber around today. Been raining since midnight.”
Caim rubbed his hands together. A cold breakfast was the least of his worries. Josey was somewhere on her way north, to find him, of all things. From what Hubert said, she'd been through a lot since her ascension to the throne. Would he even recognize her anymore?
And then there was Kit. He'd been cruel last night. He wished he could say it was an isolated incident, but he'd been distracted for weeks, not giving her the attention he knew she wanted. Things had changed between them during their time in Eregoth. He needed to acknowledge that and make things right between them.
Caim studied the terrain to the north. The tugging in his head was strong this morning, as strong as it had ever been. And it had a strange texture, too. The droning buzz had changed to an insistent whine behind his ears. Why was that? Maybe it's me. Maybe traveling back to Othir, stretching my powers like that, did something to my head.
As he tried to figure it out, the others crawled from their blankets. They ate as they packed up the meager camp. Caim went to Egil and pointed in the direction of the pulling. “Keep us heading in that direction.”
The guide scratched his beard, which was flecked with small pieces of ice. “As you say, but the farther north we go, the better the chance we'll be seen. The Bear tribe is thick all through this region.”
“I understand. Do the best you can to keep us out of their way. Unless you'd rather head back. You didn't sign up for this.”
“Nah. This is a good-paying job. Anyway, I'd feel bad if you got lost up here and froze yourselves to death.”
Caim smiled, though it made his cheeks ache. As they headed out single-file after the guide, Caim stayed to the rear. It wasn't long before he heard Malig complaining again, but then Dray pulled something from his saddlebags. A long-necked bottle. Malig snatched it and popped the cork. “Damn!”
“I've been saving it. Good, eh?”
The two of them passed the bottle back and forth a few times before offering a swig to Aemon, but he declined with a shake of his head.
“Just have a nip, Aemon,” Dray said. “Maybe it will yank you out of the rotten fucking mood you've been in.”
“And if not,” Malig said, “at least it'll make you more interesting company.”
Dray said something Caim didn't catch, and both he and Malig guffawed with laughter. Then they started up a drinking song. While they sang, Aemon plucked the bottle from his brother's hand and took a long pull. Caim squinted ahead into the wind, but there was nothing to see except the stark flatness of the wastes. Then he spotted something far ahead in that distance, a slight darkening on the horizon. Not much to go on, but it was the only landmark in sight.
Caim nudged his steed into a canter that carried him up to the drinking Eregoths. Dray held out the nearly empty bottle to him. “Want the last bit?”
“Keep your voices down,” Caim said. “And your eyes open.”
Dray stared at him, but said nothing. They rode onward in silence, battered by the frigid wind and occasional flurries of snow. After Dray and Malig finished their liquid amusement, they both leaned forward in their saddles, eyes closed. After a candlemark of riding, Egil fell back to offer them a break. Everyone dismounted to give the animals a rest, but they kept walking at Caim's insistence.
When Malig complained, Caim said, “Moving will keep you warm. And we still have a ways to go before nightfall.”
Malig snorted. “Nightfall? In case you haven't noticed, it's always night in this frozen slice of hell.”
Caim felt the muscles in his arms contract. His fingers itched. Bracing himself as the frozen saddle met his thighs, Caim swung back up on his horse and cantered ahead. When he was a hundred yards ahead, he slowed his pace. He was edgy without knowing why. All he could think of was getting to the forest and finding the source of the sensation in his head. The snow lessened enough for him to see the horizon, where the darkness had resolved into a mass of trees. They appeared normal at first, except that they were the first trees he'd seen in the wastes. Yet, as he led his horse farther, small details emerged that gave him pause. The trees were gargantuan in size, even bigger than the mighty oaks of northern Eregoth. And then there was their hue, which was sable black with ash-gray leaves.
Caim pulled his steed back to a slow walk as they entered the forest. Thin, twisted branches entwined in a canopy over his head. Everything smelled bitter and dead. He waited for the others just inside the tree line. The pulling had grown more insistent, urging him forward.
“This might be the place,” he said when his crew caught up. “Keep your wits about you and your weapons close at hand.”
Aemon pulled on the hilt of his sword. It took him three hard yanks to loosen the frozen blade. Seeing this, the others looked to their weapons as well. Caim reached behind him, but his knives came free at a touch. He led the party deeper into the woods.
Trees blocked out all but narrow patches of the dark sky. There was no trail or path, so Caim made his own, leading his horse around the massive boles. Egil hiked beside him, navigating the woods with ease.
“You have any idea where we are?” Caim asked.
“Some, but no one I know has ever been this far north. If you get caught hunting up here, you're like to lose your hands, if not your head.”
“Great,” Malig said. “This place just gets more and more inviting. You thinking of building a little house up here, Caim?”
As Caim opened his mouth to make a terse reply, he saw something through the trees ahead. A plinth of stone rose from the snow fifty paces away. “There's something up ahead.”
The others squinted in the dark. “What is it?” Dray asked.
Caim shushed him and slid down from the saddle. He didn't sense danger, but it was all too quiet. The wind had dropped away as if the forest was holding its breath.
Caim tossed his reins to Aemon. “Follow close and stay quiet.”
Moving across the frozen snow, which crunched under his heels no matter how he tried to be quiet, Caim approached the plinth. It was taller than he first assumed, being about twice the height of a man. It was made of green-gray stone, worn and mottled with lichen. Looking through the trees to either side, Caim saw another, shorter
plinth fifty paces to the east, and a pile of tumbled stones beyond that. Their positions lined up almost perfectly. He stepped back with a fresh perspective. These stones had once been part of a wall extending through the forest. Then he saw a building beyond the plinth, half-shrouded by the trees. It was difficult to make out, but he thought there were more structures beyond it. Caim pulled Egil aside.
“I don't know about any towns this far north,” the guide said. “Not except the dark lord's citadel.”
Caim peered through the trees. Was this his destination? He didn't see any inhabitants. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen any animals since entering the forest either, nor heard their cries. The woods were quieter than a graveyard.
He shook his head to clear away these distracting thoughts. He knew what had to be done. Caim glanced at Aemon and the others. “I'm going in. Count to fifty and then follow me.”
Caim moved ahead with careful steps, hand on the pommel of his seax knife, as he followed the pull's tether toward the buildings. He reached the outer corner of the first structure without trouble. The roof and two outer walls were collapsed, leaving half a shell made of the same stone as the plinths. Square windows gaped at him. The next nearest building was a score of paces away; three of its walls still stood, along with half of an interior partition. The snow between them was unbroken. Caim was about to cross the distance, but something held him back. He looked out at the expanse of whiteness, and then it hit him.
The shadows.
They were all around, clustered in the trees, in the windows of the shattered buildings. Their voices whispered in his ears. Caim exhaled a cloud of steam as he watched them. Whatever this place used to be, the shadows were very interested in it, and that didn't reassure him. But the others were catching up. He kept moving.
From the cover of the next building, Caim saw more broken constructions ahead, dozens of them ranging in size from modest homes to sprawling edifices that could have been palaces. The structures were lofty, and the existing stonework was elaborate with scrollwork and other decorative touches, unlike anything else he'd seen in the north. There was an open space farther down from his position with a few broken columns visible through the gloom. The ruins looked centuries old. What had happened here? Plague? War was the most likely answer, but none of the tribes they'd encountered were capable of this level of architecture. Had another people lived in these lands once? In the tales he'd been fed as a child, the Northlands were supposed to be the abode of goblins and spooks, but this city was real enough.
