Kiyo frowned. “Yeah, but this place ... well, it’s not in great shape.”
Dorian caught on where I didn’t. “Do you think they’re desperate enough to attack and take our supplies?”
“No,” said Kiyo. He nodded to the armed soldiers. “These people aren’t in good enough shape to face them either, and I think they know it. I just wanted you to understand what we’re walking into.”
“Fair enough,” said Dorian. “But there are few other options.”
We set out, and all the calm I’d managed to achieve in Kiyo’s absence vanished now that he was with us again. I think the only thing that made his presence bearable was that he accompanied us in fox form, since that was a quicker mode of travel.
The village really wasn’t that far over the second border, which Dorian confirmed was the Palm Land. The settlement sat a little ways off the road and looked like something from the set of South Pacific, with lightly thatched huts that seemed completely absurd against the wintry backdrop. The palm trees that had given this land its name were unnaturally big, but that hadn’t saved them from the cold. They were all dead, unable to cling to life as the trees in the Rowan Land had. Some of the Palm residents came out to watch our approach; some peered out at us from the safety of their snowy huts. I had a weird flashback to the time I’d first inherited the Thorn Land, when my own villages had suffered from drought.
Some of them had been in pretty bad shape, but they were nothing compared to this. My people back in the Thorn and Rowan lands were on rations right now, but beside these gaunt, starving people, my own kingdoms were practically feasting every day. Likewise, the cobbled-together winter attire I’d seen on my people was downright luxurious next to the pathetic scraps of the Palm Land’s residents. The clothing barely covered their bodies. An uneasy feeling spread over me.
“Are my villages like this?” I asked to anyone who would answer. Since my return, I’d only talked to those who worked in my castles, not those who lived elsewhere. Those in the castles always had a little more than those in the villages and towns.
“No, Your Majesty,” said Danil, the guard, coming up beside me. “I’ve been to this kingdom in the past—before the blight. It was prosperous and lush. The weather was so mild that fruit and plants grew in abundance. You could walk outside your home and pick dinner. They had no need to save for winter or trade.”
“And so they had nothing when the blight came,” I guessed. Things had been far from easy in my kingdoms, but a few things had helped us through this disaster. The Thorn Land had to import a lot of food normally, meaning there were always extra supplies in storage. When the blight had destroyed most of the food found in the wild, there had been some of that backup to go around and share between both of my kingdoms. Likewise, the Rowan Land’s more temperate climate meant there’d been warmer clothing and supplies already in production to share back to the Thorn Land, whose residents (like the Palm Land’s) would normally never need anything more than the lightest of attire.
“They must be terrified of us,” I murmured as we reached the town’s center. “Most seem to be hiding.”
Rurik glanced at me, just before he dismounted. “Most are probably dead.”
He walked ahead to do our negotiating. I wondered if he was our wisest diplomatic choice, but no one else offered protest. I couldn’t hear all of the conversation, but someone who seemed to be a leader gestured to some huts while talking to Rurik. The same man also kept glancing warily at our weapons.
“He probably wants to demand food in exchange for lodging,” said Pagiel. “But knows he doesn’t have a way to stop us if we don’t heed his demands.”
“I wish we could give them food,” I said. I saw a few children’s faces watching us from inside the huts, and they broke my heart. I kept thinking of Isaac and Ivy and what it would be like if they too were in these conditions. “I’d take a cut in my rations.”
“I’d encourage you to,” said Dorian, not unkindly. “That is, if I knew exactly how long our journey will last. The supplies we brought were just a guess. If they were accurately measured out, you shorting yourself a day or two wouldn’t matter. But for all we know, we’re two weeks low on food. We can’t risk it—not when we have the chance to undo the blight altogether.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, but that didn’t stop me from feeling bad.
Rurik returned, looking puzzled. “They say we can stay in a bunch of huts they have. They’re empty.” He didn’t need to point out the grim reason as to why there was so much empty lodging.
“What do they want in return?” asked Kiyo.
“That’s the weird thing,” said Rurik. “They didn’t ask for anything—just to protect them while we’re here.”
I raised an eyebrow at this. “Protect them from what, exactly?”
“Well, they weren’t exactly clear on that. Mostly all I got from them was ‘the storm,’” said Rurik. This, naturally, made all of us glance skyward. Nothing too different showed itself above, and my senses didn’t really pick up on any impending blizzard. With the blight’s nature, it was hard to say what might happen. “I agreed to whatever they wanted.” Rurik glanced at us for affirmation.
“You did fine,” I told him. I climbed down off my horse, unsurprised to find my body stiff and sore from riding. I knew I’d adapt in a couple of days, but they were going to be long days. “Let’s check out our accommodations.”
There were plenty of huts to go around. We each could have had our own, though Jasmine assumed she and I would share. I honestly think she didn’t want to leave me alone with Kiyo around. The huts were deceptively small, but as we entered ours, it was obvious this had once housed a family. There was plenty of space and even partitions to create common and sleeping rooms. We had clean cots and a dining table, and mercifully, no personal items of the lost family remained. The walls and roof looked as though they’d been built to keep out any breezes or tropical rain but had little effect on temperature control. A fire pit that had been intended for cooking was going to be our heat source.
We’d barely been in there a minute when a young woman came scurrying in behind us. She looked no older than Jasmine, yet at the same time had a haggard appearance from harsh living that had aged her beyond her years. She knelt by the cooking pit and began to deftly light a fire.
“Oh,” I said, “you don’t have to bother with that. We know how to make a fire.” It was a skill one had to acquire in a world devoid of lighters and kerosene.
“It is no bother, my lady,” the girl replied, not meeting my eyes.
“Eugenie. My name’s Eugenie.”
“I know who you are, my lady.”
The fire roared to life and caught so quickly that I suspected our helper probably had some sort of magical fire ability. Definitely a skill to possess in these times.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Rhona,” she said, getting to her feet. With her facing me now, I was able to get a better look and could see just how harshly the blight had treated her. Her cheeks were sunken in, and there were bags under her eyes. The scraps she wore to stay warm were hardly adequate and showed a figure that was mostly ribs. I also noticed she was missing two fingers off of her left hand and wondered if that was the work of frostbite. The hand had bandages on it, indicating a recent injury.
In that moment, I so badly wanted to give her food that my hands began to move of their own accord toward my travel pack. Dorian’s words came back to me, and I forced myself to look ahead. Giving her something—even a strip of dried meat—seemed like such a small thing. But what if that meat would keep someone in my party alive when we reached the Yew Land? What if it meant the difference between stopping the blight and failing?
Making a decision, I reached for my pack—and pulled out a sweater.
“Here,” I said. “Take this.”
Rhona’s brown eyes went wide. “Lady, I cannot. It’s too fine.”
Fine? It was one of the items I’d
scraped together at a secondhand store in Tucson, a red wool Christmas sweater with white snowmen on it.
“I insist,” I said, summoning my most imperious, queenly voice. “It will be a grave insult if you don’t take it.”
My bluff worked. Rhona snatched the sweater and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you,” she kept repeating. She backed out toward the door, bowing over and over. When she was gone, Jasmine sighed.
“You shouldn’t have done that. What if you need it later?”
“I have a couple others. And she needs it a lot more.” Noting Jasmine’s skeptical look, I added, “How can you see all that and not be affected by it?”
“I try not to see it,” she said bluntly. “Or think about it. It’s the only way I’ve gotten by these last couple months.” It sounded harsh at first, but then I realized I could understand her reasoning—and didn’t like that I could. She tossed her pack unceremoniously on the floor and stretched. “I’m going to go hang out with Pagiel for a while.”
I knew Pagiel had his own hut for the night and wondered if I should be attempting some sort of chaperoning. In the end, I let her go without a word. She’d become a lot more responsible in our time together, and besides, who was I to deny her some happiness in these times? I pulled a chair as close to the cooking pit as possible and warmed myself while trying not to ruminate on what Isaac and Ivy were doing right now.
A knock sounded behind me and I called a welcome without even glancing back. A foolish move, as it turned out.
“Eugenie?”
I jumped up and spun around as Kiyo entered. I had set down most of my weapons already but still had an athame in my belt. I pulled it out and held it out between us. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned.
He shut the door and then held out his hands beseechingly. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to talk.”
“I have no interest in talking to you,” I said. “I don’t want to hear any more explanations about how you’re on this journey to help us and have buried the hatchet in order to save the world.”
“Actually,” he said, “that’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh. Then are you here to apologize for trying to kill me? Because I don’t really want to hear that either.”
“I’m not really here for that either,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ouch. I’d meant it that I didn’t want to hear any pleading, and really, no apology could make up for what he’d done. Still, there would’ve been something, well, decent about an attempt at remorse. “Then I really don’t see why you’re here.” I sat back in the chair, turning it to face him, but kept the athame out. I wasn’t about to let my guard down but wanted to project cool confidence.
“I wanted to talk to you about your children,” he said. “Word is they were born early.”
I gestured to my stomach. “Obviously.”
“And they’re alive?” The clinically detached way he asked that was shocking.
“Yes,” I replied. “Alive and well.”
Kiyo sighed in dismay. If he’d said, “That’s too bad,” I probably would’ve punched him then and there. Instead he said, “Eugenie, you must know how dangerous they are. Especially the boy.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know that, actually. What I know is that they’re innocents who have come into the world with their whole lives ahead of them, lives which they—not some prophecy—will shape and which I intend to make happy and meaningful.”
“That’s nice in theory but also naïve. I’m sure your father started out as an innocent too. Look how he turned out.”
Anger was kindling in me, far hotter than the blazing cook fire. “They’re nothing like him. Neither am I. And nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. It didn’t work when I was pregnant. It’s not going to work now.”
He took another deep breath, like he was waging a mental battle to try to seem reasonable. “I’m not trying to be cruel here. I don’t want any of this. I’m just trying to save this world and the human one from a lot of grief and destruction.”
“You’re not being cruel?” I exclaimed. “You’re all but suggesting the death of a child—a baby! And for what? Some prophecy which probably isn’t true? These two aren’t even going to know about the Otherworld! They’re far away from any of this, and I intend to see they stay that way.”
A glint of annoyance showed in his eyes. Maybe whatever anger management he’d been practicing wasn’t working so well after all. “That’s the attitude everyone has when they try to stop a prophecy. You know the old stories. Trying to avert prophecies just makes them happen. Destiny fulfills itself in ways you never expect.”
“Our actions and choices shape our destinies,” I growled. “Otherwise there’s no point in living. I can’t believe you don’t see that! You were always so reasonable in the past—at least until you decided to kill your own children. You have no business saying my son’s the monster here.”
He flinched at those words, as well he should have. A funny look came over his face, one I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t guilt or chagrin, like I would have expected. Before I could ponder it further, the door opened without a knock and Dorian strolled in as though he’d lived here for years.
“Why, hello,” he said cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. I was just passing by and thought I’d see if your charming hovel needed any patching. My magic’s quite good at summoning dirt and rocks for convenient household usage.”
He had that typically guileless look and tone, but I wasn’t fooled for an instant. Dorian hadn’t just wandered by. He’d either seen Kiyo come in or heard about it from someone else. My suspicions were confirmed when Dorian put his hands on his hips in a way that opened his cloak and revealed the sword at his waist.
“Everything’s fine,” I said, with a tight smile. “Kiyo was just giving me his latest explanation about how my son is a terror to be feared.”
Dorian scoffed. “Little Thundro? A terror? Hardly, unless perhaps we’re discussing diapers.”
Kiyo’s hardened expression momentarily faltered. “Wait. You named your son Thundro?”
My response was preempted by a high-pitched shriek that split the night and made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was neither human nor gentry. I got to my feet and immediately began grabbing my weapons. Dorian and Kiyo were already moving for the door.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, knowing perfectly well they had no idea either.
Outside, darkness had fallen, with only well-placed torches to give us light. The terrible screech sounded again, echoed by smaller, terror-filled cries from the Palm residents as they scurried for shelter. A flash of red caught my eye, and I grabbed Rhona’s arm as she ran past.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. Even in the flickering torchlight, I could see she was as pale as the snow around us.
“The storm,” she cried. “The storm is coming.” She tugged desperately against me, and I released her, more confused than ever. Others hurried past, and within a couple minutes, no one stood outside in the village—except for me and my traveling companions.
“What’s going on?” said Rurik, coming to my side. “Are they being raided?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “They keep saying that—”
I heard the roar again, and this time, its owner came into view. My jaw dropped.
“That’s the storm?” I asked.
If you could take every stereotype and caricature of the abominable snowman and roll them into one archetypal snow monster, you’d have what was standing before me. It was about twenty feet tall, covered in white shaggy fur. Three curved horns—one on each side and one in the forehead—protruded from its head. Its eyes were large and black, as were the six-inch claws on its hands. When it roared, I caught a glimpse of a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.
Dorian drew his copper sword. “Rurik, my friend. The next time you barter for our lodging, do get a bit more information on what exac
tly we’re paying.”
“Yes, sire,” muttered Rurik.
Seeing as we were standing out in the open, I would’ve thought the Storm—because really, it deserved a capital S—would come charging toward us. Instead it stopped by one of the huts and ripped off the building’s roof in one fell swoop. I heard screams from within. It occurred to me then that perhaps cold and starvation weren’t the only reasons for this place’s low population.
Dorian made the smallest of motions, and the ground beneath the Storm began to ripple. It wasn’t enough to make the creature fall over, but it did stumble and turn its attention away from the hut and its inhabitants. The fighters in our group—Rurik, Alistir, Keeli, and Danil—wasted no time in charging forward. They stabbed their swords into the Storm’s leg—or rather, they attempted to. Whatever the monster’s hide was made of, it was too tough and thick for copper to pierce. I wasn’t even sure steel would’ve done it. The Storm glanced down irritably and knocked aside Danil and Rurik with one easy motion. Kiyo, in a large and vicious fox form, was right behind the fighters and attempted to sink his teeth into the Storm’s leg. The monster brushed him off as well.
The Storm began stomping toward the rest of us. Dorian slowed it by manipulating the ground again. At the same time, I felt Jasmine’s magic flare, and a sheet of snow flew into the creature’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. It was clever. Her magic spoke to water, which responded to her even when frozen. Still, I knew this wasn’t going to be enough.
“We’re just annoying it,” I said.
“Can you banish it to the Underworld?” asked Dorian.
“Not easily.” Creatures in worlds they didn’t belong in—like gentry and spirits—would be pulled into a gate back to their own worlds. I could also force entities somewhere else, like the Underworld, which would bring about instant death. “For something this big, I’d need to mark him with a death symbol. I don’t know that I can get close, let alone get the symbol on him. Her. Whatever.”
As though proving my point, a brave Keeli jumped forward and again tried to slash the monster with her sword—and again proved ineffectual. This time, at least, she was able to skillfully dodge his angry swat, thanks largely to more distraction from Dorian and Jasmine.
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