by Tara West
“I think you are a good father,” Markus blurted out, hardly realizing he was sharing his feelings with Jon before it was too late.
He paused, feeling the heat creep into his chest and face as he stole a glance at Jon. The man was smiling back at him, and he had that same caring look in his eyes that he gave to his own children.
Markus dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “My father would’ve beaten me to a pulp if I had spoken to you as Ryne had.” Or, even worse, his father would’ve beaten Alec to a pulp and forced Markus to watch.
Jon leaned over and clasped Markus’s shoulder. “A father need not beat his son to teach him a lesson.”
Markus nearly choked on the rising tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, thinking about the unfair hand that life had dealt him and his brother.
If his father had only been more like Jon, how different their lives would’ve been. Mayhap he wouldn’t have felt the need to take out his frustrations on animals and he would have never evoked Madhea’s wrath. Ura and Ryne did not realize their good fortune.
“I wish my father had been more like you,” he said.
Jon leveled Markus with a knowing expression in the tight lines around his eyes. “Did he beat you often?”
“Nay, he beat my brother,” Markus rasped, but could say no more.
“Alec?” Jon asked.
Unable to form words, Markus simply nodded. He leaned forward and clutched his chest, overcome by an arrow of shame that pierced his heart. What would Jon and his family think of him if they knew how Father had beaten Alec while he did nothing? Then he remembered Dianna’s accusations that night of his celebration: that he would grow into a monster, just like his father. He had already brought a curse upon his family. His mother was dead; his brother alone and possibly dead as well.
“Do you miss him?”
Markus looked at Jon through a misty gaze. That was when he realized he’d been crying. He swiped at the moisture beneath his eyes and turned away, ashamed to have shown his weakness. “Aye, it pains me to speak of him,” he replied, wishing Jon would leave him in peace, so he could bottle his dark thoughts and cease his foolish tears.
Behind him, Jon heaved an audible sigh. “You have a good heart, son.”
A bitter laugh escaped Markus’s throat as he glanced back. “I do not think so.”
Jon dropped his hands to his sides as his eyes grew cloudy. “The icy fortress you’ve built around your heart will thaw as your wounds heal.”
Markus peered down at his wounded arm, still bound in a sling.
“Not those wounds, son,” said Jon. “Your father has wronged you and your brother, but that does not mean you must grow to be like him.”
The soft sound of footsteps crunching on ice could be heard from outside the dwelling. As if they were of one mind, both men looked toward the door.
Jon rose and walked across the threshold. Pulling open the door covering, he peered outside and then turned to Markus with a slight smile. “In time, you will see my words are true.”
URA WAS NOT SURPRISED to find her father and Markus waiting up for her when she returned home. While it brought her a measure of comfort to know she had a family who cared for her, she did not wish for any company right now. She only sought the solace of a warm bed and hoped they would not pester her with questions.
Father, having much experience gauging her dark moods, must have sensed her irritation. He simply kissed her on the forehead and wished her a good night before retiring to bed. Markus, on the other hand, glared at her from across the chamber where he sat atop a makeshift cot.
Markus was not her nursemaid, keeper or lover, so he had no right to look as if she owed him an explanation. She averted her gaze while crossing the threshold toward her chamber, and then swore when he stood up and blocked her path. She tried to swat him away, but he would not budge.
“Where have you been?” His tone was not stern or angry, but more like that of a wounded animal.
This land dweller was so puzzling. He was as solid as stone and as soft as moss. Ura heaved a frustrated sigh as she looked into his brooding eyes. “If you must know, I went to see Odu.”
“The prophet?”
She nodded.
“Did he help you?”
Ura rubbed her aching temple, but it did little to purge her puzzling thoughts. “I go there seeking answers, but mostly I leave more confused than before.”
Markus’s darkened glare softened. “So why do you go?”
Ura sank onto the cot. She’d had such a wearying day. Her brother’s homecoming should’ve been one of joy and celebration, but his troubling news only heaped more worry and sorrow upon her shoulders. That was why she had sought the prophet’s guidance. Fool she had been to believe this time the swirling mists would give her answers.
Ura hung her head in her hands and spoke toward the fur-lined floor. “Sometimes Odu sees things, Markus; things that may come to pass. I thought he might know what is to become of us.”
She heard Markus’s sharp intake of breath as he sat beside her. “And what did you find?”
“More questions. More riddles. More possibilities,” she growled, as the thick tension behind her skull threatened to break free. She wanted so badly to throw or hit something, or just run away.
Ura sat up and looked into Markus’s eyes, and for the first time she allowed herself to wonder what life would have been like for the two of them if she hadn’t once seen her own death in the swirling mists. Would she have allowed their touch to mean something more? She shook her head and purged all foolish thoughts of love.
“He sounds as frustrating as his brother,” Markus grumbled.
When Ura saw Markus reach out to clasp her hand, she sprung to her feet. “Yes, but he means well.” She paced the center of the chamber, across a snow bear rug, worn to a dull brown with age and use. “Did you know he was the one who saved the Ice People from Madhea?”
Markus arched a brow. “No. How?”
Ura stopped pacing and sank down onto the rug, her bones weary. Soon she would need to seek the comfort of her bed. “He was not from our village, but he came upon my ancestors soon after Madhea had unleashed her dragon. He brought the survivors to safety beneath the ice and gave warming stones to the four most powerful families.”
“So there are only four stones?” Markus asked.
“Five. Odu has one.”
Markus’s eyes widened. “Your family is fortunate to be one of the few.”
Ura swallowed before averting her gaze. “Before the Eryll Clan claimed the chiefdom, my family was once the most powerful in Ice Kingdom.” She hated talking about her past and how her ancestors’ sacrifice not only cost them their lives, but catapulted the Eryll Clan to power.
“What happened?”
Tears threatened at the backs of Ura’s eyes. “My father was just a boy when my grandfather and uncles first set out to prove the ice was melting. They never returned. Odu believes the witch destroyed them.”
“I’m sorry.” Markus’s eyes squinted as he tilted his head. “I don’t understand. Even then the ice was melting?”
“Yes, but at a much slower rate than it is now, and then it stopped for a time.”
Suddenly, Ura remembered the messenger who had come from the Council chamber with word of her brother’s meeting, and she scowled as a new wave of anger surged through her. “When I was with Odu, word came that the Council refused to believe my brother’s claims.”
“Aye,” Markus nodded. “The Chieftain said it was all a hoax to reclaim the family’s glory.”
Ura shot to her feet. A roar erupted from her throat. “That is a lie!”
“I know, Ura.” Markus held out his hands in what looked to be a calming gesture. “I can see your brother is in earnest.”
Ura turned down her gaze and clenched her fists at her sides, doing her best to regain composure. Letting her anger get the best of her would do her family no good.
“Thank you, Mark
us. It means a lot to me that you believe him.” Ura inhaled a shaky breath. Looking back at him, her hushed voice sounded much like a plea. “Now, how do I convince my people that Ryne speaks the truth?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Get up, land dweller.”
Markus awoke with a start when his bed was jostled about. Just as he poked his head out from beneath the warm furs and into the frigid morning air, he was met with a big, sloppy kiss from Tar.
“Yuk!” Markus spat, waving the dog away. He looked up to see Ryne scowling at him.
“Hope you slept well. You will need your strength for training today.”
“I did not sleep well,” Markus grumbled. “When your dog was not trying to climb beneath my furs, he was making all kinds of noise. I’ve never heard a beast lick himself so often.”
Leaning toward Markus, Ryne sniffed once and wrinkled his nose. “He prefers not to smell like an animal, which is more than I can say for you. Besides, what do you expect when you horde the warming stone beneath your furs?”
Markus wanted to reply that Jon had given him the stone because Ryne had forced him to sleep on the floor, but he knew that would only leave him open to more teasing. “You should have let your mutt sleep in your bed,” he replied instead.
“I tried, but he kept returning to you.” One corner of Ryne’s pale mouth hitched into a mischievous grin. “I think he likes you, though I can’t understand in all the Elements why.”
Markus answered by scowling. Usually, one of his dark looks was enough to silence those who dared to mock him, but Ryne only laughed. Despite the frigid temperature in the room, Markus’s blood began to boil. Even with an injured arm, he started conjuring images of knocking Ryne onto his backside.
Tar whimpered as he warily eyed both of them. Ryne knelt down and stroked him behind the ears. The dog ceased his whining and leaned into his master while wagging his bushy tail.
Ryne glanced at Markus. “Get dressed. Today is your first climbing lesson.”
Markus’s jaw fell open. “Climbing? I cannot climb with a broken arm.” He instantly regretted the pleading tone that slipped into his voice as Ryne did not need another excuse to taunt him.
Ryne’s brows hitched and his eyes filled with mirth. “Why, certainly you can,” he said with rather too much enthusiasm, “though it won’t be easy.”
“This is madness, brother!”
Markus turned to see Ura standing in the doorway, her hair falling in cascading, crystalline waves; a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. Markus gaped at her, too transfixed by her beauty to speak.
Ryne stood and folded his arms. “It is madness to send him back out there as an unskilled climber, because I can assure you, sister, that when his arm is healed, this fool will attempt to scale the mountain again.”
Ura shot him a look that could’ve melted stone. “Is that your plan, Markus?”
He slowly nodded. “Aye.”
“Do you know that if you do not die on the climb to the top, the witch will kill you?” Her voice cracked.
“Mayhap she will,” Markus reasoned, “but if I do not reach the top, her dragon will kill me anyway.”
Ura shook her pale head. “Her dragon cannot reach you here.”
“Aye, not as long as the ice is stable, but Ryne has already seen that it is not, and what of my village, Ura?” He slowly rose from his bed and faced her. “What of my brother? What will Madhea’s dragon do to them in my absence?”
Ura did not answer. Though Markus could have been mistaken, he thought he saw a sheen of tears well up in her eyes. Why would she cry over him? Why would she cry over a monster?
Ura stepped around Markus to face her brother. “Where are you taking him?”
Ryne bent down and slipped on his ice soles. “To the Gnull Tusks.”
Ura gasped. “Those spikes are too high.”
Ryne stood and patted his sister on the back. “Do not fret, Ura. I will try not to let him die on his first day.”
There was levity in Ryne’s eyes that bothered Markus, but not nearly as much as it bothered Ura, who responded by punching her brother in the arm. She stormed back to her room without giving either of them a second glance.
“Ouch!” Ryne laughed, rubbing his arm. “This is my reward for teaching my sister how to fight.” He picked up the worn, rabbit-feet ice soles and tossed them to Markus. “Put these on.”
Markus scowled down at the soles. “I cannot with only one arm.”
“Sure you can. My father and sister have softened you. Don’t expect any coddling from me.”
Markus grumbled and stormed off toward the brewing room. He made hasty work of relieving himself, returned to his cot and tried to stuff his feet into the soles with only one good arm. Markus swore as he struggled to slip on one boot. He leaned over, using the fingers of his broken arm to hold the sole in place. The movement caused his arm to ache, but he would rather go without soles at all than beg any help from Ryne.
After he finally finished the task of fitting into one sole, he looked up at Ryne as he reached for the other boot. The older boy was standing there, smugly smiling, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.
“By the time your arm has healed,” Ryne said, “climbing will be easy work.”
“Be back before luncheon. I will arrange a meeting with Odu,” Jon said as he emerged from his chamber.
“Odu?” Ryne scowled. “What can he do for us?”
“He still has sway among certain members of the Council.”
Markus’s breath hitched as Ryne rolled his eyes at his father. “Not among the members who will decide our fates.”
Jon merely shrugged as he grabbed the warming stone from Markus’s furs. He placed it inside what resembled a small, clay oven, closed the door and then set a pot of ice on top. To Markus’s surprise, steam rose up from it. Markus wondered how a mere stone possessed such properties to make broth boil. He wondered what other magical powers it had.
Jon then grabbed a handful of what looked like green slime and dumped it into the pot. Tar whimpered, and began salivating all over the fur-lined floor.
Ryne’s eyes snapped to Markus. “Hurry land dweller, I’ve seen slogs faster than you.”
Jon stirred the pot with a long, ivory-colored spoon. “You will need nourishment before you go.”
Ryne shook his head. “We need to make haste if we are to beat the others.”
In a way, Markus was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to eat green slime again. He thought about the meat sticks he still had in his pack. Though he knew he needed to conserve his own supply of food, the hollow, aching pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten much since he fell into Ice Kingdom. Markus struggled to slip on the second sole before reaching for his cloak.
Jon did not lift his gaze from the boiling pot. “You will return before luncheon.” Jon said it without inflection as he continued to stir the broth. Something in his unwavering tone said this was a command that was to be obeyed.
“Yes, Father.”
Markus arched a brow, amazed Ryne actually showed his father some respect.
“Good,” Jon added. “I have yet to hear what you have seen above the ice. I’m sure Odu wishes to know as well.”
Ryne scowled at his father’s back. “Why does he need my account when he has the swirling mists?”
Markus noted the slight fall of Jon’s shoulders. “You know the mists do not always answer.”
“Of course not! They only answer when it’s convenient for him.” There was no mistaking the venom in Ryne’s voice.
Jon dropped the spoon into the pot and turned to Ryne. A look of pain flashed in his bright eyes. “He has always supported you, son. Why do you despise him so?”
Ryne pushed off from the wall and threw up his hands. “Because he is an old, babbling fool.”
For a long, tense moment, neither father nor son spoke a word. Markus looked from one to the other. The void in the chamber seemed
to widen with each cold stare and every shallow breath.
Finally, Jon heaved an audible sigh. “Do not say such things. Ura and I...”
“...put too much faith in his prophecies,” Ryne spat. “I put my faith in facts.”
Markus was still struggling to slip his cloak over his broken arm when Jon came to his aid. Though he could feel Ryne’s scowl boring into both of them, he allowed Jon to help him finish dressing.
“Let us go, land dweller.” Ryne swung a large sack onto his back before turning to his father. “We shall be back before luncheon. I will speak to your prophet, though I doubt it will do any good.”
As Markus followed Ryne and his dog out of the doorway, he cast a furtive glance behind him. Jon was standing there, watching them go, looking ages older than he had the evening before.
Markus read sorrow in the older man’s eyes; somewhat similar to the baleful look his mother used to give Alec after one of Father’s beatings.
But, in that brief moment, Markus had seen deeper into Jon’s soul than he had in a lifetime of living with his mother. What he saw in Jon was more than just sorrow, longing or despair. In his eyes, Markus saw a man haunted.
MARKUS CHEWED ON A meat stick as he struggled to keep pace with Ryne. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the tunnel, Markus wondered how these ice dwellers could tell day from night while living in this chasm under the ground. He missed waking up with the sunrise and feeling its warmth on his face.
Taking another bite of his meat, Markus noticed Tar whimpering beside him, his eyes wide with longing. He laughed, watching saliva coat the dog’s jowls and then harden to ice. So much for Ryne’s assertion that Tar was loyal – he was only loyal to whoever held the meat sticks. Markus wished Tar would keep step with his master and wondered how long he would have to endure his bothersome begging.
“How much longer must we walk?” Markus asked, after he’d eaten the chewy meat. Wiping his hands on his pants, he showed his empty palms to the dog, hoping the mutt would go bother his master instead.
