by Tara West
When Odu frowned, Markus thought his heart fell through his stomach.
“It is too soon to tell,” Odu answered and bent over her chest. He straightened up, shaking his head, which made his lengthy, white beard sway with the movement. “Her breathing is shallow.”
Markus watched Ryne work a visible knot in his throat. “She was crushed in an avalanche.”
The prophet nodded solemnly. “I know.”
Jon raised a brow. “You saw it?”
“This past winter,” Odu answered, “on one of the many times she begged me to help find her brother. After the mists revealed the avalanche, she did not look into them again.”
Jon rose slowly to his feet, bearing down upon Odu with a thunderous expression. “You knew of the avalanche? Why did you not tell me?!”
Odu ran his hands along Ura’s extremities. “It was not for me to tell,” he answered plainly.
The murderous look in Jon’s eyes was frightening, even to Markus.
“Father?” Ura whispered.
Markus gasped as he looked down at her pain-stricken face.
Jon fell to his knees and reached for his daughter’s hand. “Yes, child, I am here.”
“Tar and Gunther?” she rasped.
Jon nodded. “They live.”
“Markus and Ryne?”
“We are here,” Ryne said, clasping his sister’s other hand.
“I could not breathe,” she said with an audible strain in her voice, “and it was so cold.”
“Are you pained, child?” Odu asked.
“It is still hard to breathe, but the pain is subsiding.”
“Jon Nordlund, you and your son have been summoned before the Council,” barked a male voice from inside the prophet’s dark threshold, “and Ven Johan and the land dweller, as well.”
Jon frowned as he looked at the Guardian standing in the doorway and then back to his daughter.
“Ura needs rest,” said Odu. “We will examine her for breakages, but I think the danger has passed now.”
All of the men heaved a collective sigh of relief. The heavy gloom that had settled over Jon’s darkened eyes seemed to melt away as he bent over and kissed his daughter’s forehead. Ryne, likewise, kissed the other side of her temple.
Markus’s heart warmed when Ura weakly smiled.
When Jon stood, Markus followed his lead. Though he was relieved that Ura would live, he was not looking forward to another visit to the Council when all he wanted to do was mourn the loss of his brother in private.
RYNE WAS DISGUSTED, but not surprised at the chaotic scene in the Council chamber. Ingred Johan towered over her cousin, Chieftain Eryll, and screamed obscenities while he wept into his hands. The other Council members had risen from their thrones and were arguing passionately amongst themselves. Several of the hunters were also there, yelling and waving their hands at Bane, who huddled behind a wall of four Guardians.
Everyone stopped and stared as Ryne’s party entered the chamber. Ingred left the Chieftain’s side and rushed to Ven, pulling him against her bounteous chest while sobbing into his hair.
“Mother, I am fine,” Ven said as he struggled out of her embrace. His pale skin darkened before he cast a wary glance at Ryne.
Ingred stepped back from her son and squared her shoulders while looking directly at Ryne. “Son of Nordlund,” she said. “We were wrong not to listen to you. Tell us what we should do about the melting ice.”
“How dare you speak for me!” Chieftain Eryll pounded a meaty fist against the arm of his throne. “I am still the Chieftain.”
Ingred turned toward him with raised brows. “Do you still insist that your son should not be judged?”
“He was frightened. He’s just a boy.” The Chieftain’s bottom lip trembled as he spoke.
Ingred’s wide nostrils flared as she turned up her nose. “Ryne Nordlund is two-and-twenty winters!” she said, waving a hand at him. “This man has traveled to the surface and back, and Bane is a year his elder!”
Chieftain Eryll’s expression fell, his fleshy cheeks rippling with the movement. “The Nordlund clan is impoverished and used to such hardships.”
Ingred planted both hands on her hips. “My son, who is five years Bane’s junior, stood his ground against the gnull. Your son is a coward and must be judged, and if you stand in the way of the Council, I must vote for your abdication as Chieftain.”
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
Chieftain Eryll’s face took on the color of an overripe apple. “You would turn your back on a member of your own family?”
Ingred folded her arms across her chest. “As your son did to mine and his own brothers.”
Another Council member, Willa Eriksson, a middle-aged, petite woman, shook her head as she broke away from the group. “We trusted in your leadership, Elof Eryll. We believed you when you said the ice was not melting. Now look what has happened.”
The Chieftain clutched a hand to his chest and rose slowly on wobbly legs. “I have already lost one son this day. You would add insult to my suffering?”
Ingred glared at Chieftain Eryll before turning to the other members. “I call for a vote of abdication. Who among the Council will support me?”
Slowly, the members began to raise their hands until every last one had sided with Ingred.
Willa moved to stand beside her and turned to face the two male Council members. “I call for Ingred Johan to rule as temporary Chieftain until the people elect another. Who among the Council will support me?”
The two lone men beside the dais again raised their arms and Elof Eryll wept into his hands.
Ingred angled her chin and marched up to Elof, before bearing down on him with a scowl. “As my first order of business, Guardians please remove Elof Eryll from the chamber.”
Two of the men flanked Elof and hooked their hands beneath his shoulders. They heaved his large body up and proceeded to drag him from the dais. Elof made no effort to stand or help the Guardians bear his heavy weight. Instead, he cried like a baby as they dragged him from the chamber. His sobs could be heard echoing off the walls long after he had been removed.
Ryne heaved a disgusted groan. How had this man risen to become their kingdom’s Chieftain?
“Guardians,” Ingred announced, taking her position on the Chieftain’s throne, “please bring Bane Eryll forward so that he may be judged.”
The two remaining Guardians lifted Bane to his feet, but he proved no more useful than his father and crumpled back to the floor in a heap of sobs. The Guardians had to drag him. They deposited him in front of the new Chieftain before taking a few steps back.
Long tendrils of snot hung from Bane’s nose as he cried into the ice.
Ryne groaned again and, much to his pleasure, he heard Ven swear beside him. Ven had always been Bane’s heavy-fisted hound. Ryne hoped the boy had now learned a lesson.
“Bane Eryll,” boomed Chieftain Johan’s deep, yet feminine voice, “you have been accused of abandonment. How do you answer?”
Bane answered by sobbing even louder.
The Chieftain leveled him with a beady-eyed glare. “I will take that as a guilty plea. The Council will adjourn to decide your fate. You will know on the morrow.” She waved to the two men standing behind Bane. “Guardians, please place him in a holding chamber.”
Bane cried into his chest as the Guardians dragged him away.
“Land Dweller,” Ingred commanded, “please step forward.”
HARDLY AWARE OF HIS own actions, Markus immediately moved to the front of the chamber when the new Chieftain called him. The gloom that originated in his heart had seized his chest like a vice and shrouded his mind in a heavy fog. Why couldn’t they just let him mourn his brother in peace?
Ingred tilted her chin and slowly looked him over. Despite her sharp, beady gaze, there was a touch of kindness in the tilt of her mouth. “We are told that you brought down the gnull with one spear.”
“Aye,” he replied with a
shrug.
Ingred’s mouth tilted the slightest bit more in what appeared to Markus as an unfinished smile.
“For that we thank you,” she said. “The Ice People will be eternally indebted to you for your bravery. If there is anything...”
“You will come up with a plan to find safety for your people,” Markus interrupted with a sharp edge to his voice. The sacrifice he had made today could have been avoided if there had been such a plan in place. “If the gnulls can reach you now, Madhea will reach you soon.”
Ingred’s subdued smile vanished. “We will consider a plan for Ice Kingdom.”
Ryne stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Markus. “You must do more than consider, Chieftain Johan, if you do not wish our people to perish.”
“What do you suggest I do, Ryne?” she asked, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Send a party with me to the top,” Ryne pleaded. “We will find a safer home for our people.”
Ingred’s expression fell as she coursed a hand through the pale roots of her hair. “Such a task would require volunteers.”
Ven Johan stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
Ingred gasped and jumped to the edge of her seat. “My son! Not you!”
Ven puffed out his chest while clenching his fists by his sides. “I will not stand by while others make sacrifices for our people.” He looked Ingred squarely in the eyes while tilting up his chin. “I am going, Mother.”
One of the hunters came beside Ryne. “I will go, too.”
“And I,” answered another.
Ryne could hardly believe his good fortune: three volunteers to go with him to the top! Such a party would be small enough to elude the witch’s notice, hopefully, but big enough to defend themselves against snow bears and other monsters.
The Chieftain settled back in her throne and folded her hands in her lap, looking far more solemn than she had just moments before. “Ryne Nordlund, you have your party.”
Ryne bowed slightly. “Thank you, Chieftain.”
Ingred then leaned forward while grasping her knees with whitened knuckles. “I am trusting you, not only with my son’s life, but with the lives of our people.” Her features hardened as she glared at Ryne through slitted eyes. “Do not fail us.”
Chapter Seventeen
Markus followed Jon back to Odu’s chamber while Ryne stayed with the Council to discuss preparations for the journey.
All of the prophet’s followers had left, leaving the luminous chamber virtually empty. Even Bane’s younger brother was gone. No doubt, his family had come for him.
Much to Markus’s surprise, Ura was sitting up and drinking broth. He noticed that the dark circles beneath her eyes and the sharp angles of her face had softened. Tar was sleeping beside her, his legs stretched out as he snored loudly into the furs. Markus smirked as the dog began to bark under his breath. Mayhap he was dreaming of fighting a gnull.
Jon sat on the other side of Ura and kissed her forehead, before clasping her hands in his own. She kissed him back on the cheek. Then, turning from her father, she gaped at Markus. “You do not wear the sling.”
Markus stood beside Jon and held up his hand. He spread his fingers while turning over his arm. “My bones are healed.”
Her eyes darkened. “You will leave us soon then?”
He nodded. “Aye, I must.”
So much had happened since they had shared a kiss earlier that day, but now, as Markus looked into Ura’s clouded eyes, he recalled the memory of her lips against his. What he wouldn’t give for their lives to have turned out differently. What he wouldn’t give to be able to stay with her.
Ura’s bottom lip trembled. “If the witch should spare you, will you return to me?” she asked in barely a whisper.
He nodded again, his throat feeling too choked up with emotion to let him speak. Ura wanted him to stay. If only he could forsake his honor and duty, and stay with her forever.
“You will not go to your brother?” she asked.
Ura’s words cut through him worse than any insult or injury, reminding him of the reason he had embarked on his quest to reach Madhea and how he had failed to keep his brother safe.
“My brother is dead, Ura,” he said, dropping his gaze. Tears streamed down his face and, despite the weight of the stares from Jon and the prophet, Markus refused to hide his emotions any longer. The person who meant most to him in this world was gone and it was his fault. What did a few tears matter now?
“You brother is not dead. I have seen him.”
Markus jerked his head up to see Odu pointing a finger toward the swirling vapors.
“The mists show you my brother?” Markus asked as a trill of hope surged through his veins. How could this be?
Odu waved him over. “Come, look.”
Markus struggled to his feet. Within a few long strides he, was standing beside the prophet, staring down into the raised pool of water. Several grey stones, many larger than Markus’s fist, protruded from the shallow depths. Pale wisps of air danced around them, making the mists seem alive.
A thought struck Markus: the wisps were alive, for they moved with a purpose. Soon, they all coalesced together and imprinted a faint image onto the surface of the pool. Markus’s jaw slackened as it became more defined.
The picture was of Alec stacking wood beside a hut. Amazingly, his brother looked healthy and strong, not like the person he’d left behind. This had to be some kind of trick as it was not the brother he knew.
Markus turned to Odu with a scowl. “This is an illusion.”
Odu shook his head. “A young witch took him in and healed him after you left.” Then he pointed to the image of a familiar-looking woman, thanking Alec for bringing firewood.
“Witch?” Markus asked as he gaped at the girl he had once admired. “Dianna? She is no witch.”
“She is, and a very powerful one. She has been blessed by the Elements.”
Odu waved a hand around the swirling smoke as he gazed intently upon the image of Dianna adding wood to her cooking fire. “I think that is why the mists favor her. For the past fortnight, they have shown me little else.”
But Markus was unconvinced. “My brother walks upright. He looks strong. How is it he lives?”
“As I said, the witch healed him. He lives with her and her brother.” Odu’s eyes softened as he turned his gaze on Markus. “He speaks of you often. He misses you.”
Markus swallowed. Could it be true? Was Alec alive and well? “Why didn’t Madhea kill him when I felled the gnull?”
Odu smiled. “The witch’s magic cannot touch you here.”
“Will you still go to the witch?” Ura called.
Markus spun around. Ura was staring wide-eyed at him, her brow furrowed and her mouth drawn. Jon sat beside her, clutching her hands within his own, and the lines framing his eyes were more clearly defined than before.
Markus read the plea in Jon’s haunted expression, but he could not be swayed. He had to reach Madhea.
He shook his head. “I have no choice, Ura.”
“Your brother is safe.” Her bottom lip trembled as her eyes watered over with unshed tears. “You are safe.”
Markus’s chest clenched and his throat constricted. He did not wish to make Ura cry, but he could not forsake his brother. “The dragon will awaken soon. What will Lydra do if she cannot find me?”
“She will destroy your village and Kicelin,” Odu said with a cutting finality to his voice. “If she cannot find you, the Ice Witch will seek revenge, perhaps on your brother.”
Ura cried out and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with convulsions as she wept aloud.
“Ura, please.” Markus was beside her in an instant. He knelt down and reached out to her, but she broke from her father’s grasp and backed away from both of them.
“The witch will kill you!” she cried.
“Not if he kills her first!”
Markus spun around to see Ryne standing in the doo
rway.
Tar groaned through a loud, sleepy snort and then jerked his head up. His tail thumped as his master stepped into the prophet’s chamber.
“W-what?” Markus stammered.
Ryne’s booted steps rang out across the cavern walls as he marched toward them. He pointed a finger at Markus’s chest. “One shot with your arrow and you could end her reign.”
“Brother,” Ura gasped, “this is madness.”
“If anyone has the power to kill the witch, it is Markus,” Ryne spoke through a clenched jaw.
“Is that true, Odu?” Ura looked up at the prophet, who was still standing by his pool of mists. “You said he was sent to us for a reason.”
Odu nodded. “I did.”
“Then what is that reason?” Ura asked.
“The boy must seek out his heart and find the answer.”
Ryne grumbled beside Markus, muttering something about “confusing parables.”
Ura turned to Markus and grasped his hand in her own. With pleading eyes, she asked in a breathy whisper, “What does your heart tell you, Markus?”
Dropping Ura’s hand, he turned his gaze toward the furs. Markus could not look at her or at anyone else, knowing what he had to say. For he knew that neither she, Jon nor Ryne would be pleased with his decision.
“My brother lives, though only moments ago I thought him dead. His life has been plagued by sickness. He is strong now, a man. If I fell the witch with my arrow, the curse will kill him. What right do I have to take my brother’s life when he has only just begun living?”
“What of the lives of the Ice People?” Ryne spat. “What of the women and children she will kill once the ice melts? What of Ura’s life? Did you save her only to watch her perish?”
Markus’s heart clenched before it began pounding out a wild rhythm. Images of Ura being forced to surface and then struck down by the witch’s dragon flashed through his mind.
“No,” he answered weakly, still not sure of the sagacity of his plan. “I will plead for Madhea to forgive the Ice People as well.”
Ryne threw up his hands. “When will you listen? She will forgive none of us!”
