Nimhea looked away.
“You’re going to Nava’s Ire?” Ioth asked sharply. His face had taken on a gray pallor.
“Yes,” Ara told him. “It’s the site of the next Loresmith trial. You know it?”
She watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Senn’s teeth. I didn’t think it was real.”
He shook his head as if trying to get his bearings. “Nava’s Ire is a place that children are warned about. Behave badly enough and Nava’s shadow will come to take you away and make you live in her Ire with all the other bad children. It’s supposed to be a place that is always cold, always lonely, where spring never comes.”
“Lovely,” Nimhea murmured, her eyes still averted. She was gripping Ara’s hand so tightly it was painful, but Ara didn’t pull away.
Ara kept her gaze on Ioth. “Do you know where it is?”
“Like I told you, I didn’t think it was real,” Ioth replied. “But I can take you to people who might know. If anyone does know, it will be the fisherfolk of the fens.”
Turning back to the princess, Ara said, “I don’t want to leave them either, but it is what we must do.”
Unbidden, her last exchange with Teth intruded on her thoughts. Her pleading with him not to lead the Vokkans down a different tunnel. The brush of his lips just before he disappeared into the dark.
Where are you, Teth?
Even suggesting the plan felt like a betrayal. If only there was some news, some scrap of information that hinted at her missing friends’ safety. But they couldn’t wait.
Nimhea was silent for several heartbeats before she nodded. “I know.”
* * *
The marsh spread before them, a sullen mat of greens and grays dusted by hoarfrost. The longer Ara stared at it, the more she wished their destination was anywhere else. In the far distance she could spot the frigid ocean that spilled salt water into the broad, flat expanse, etching out a maze of streams and pools amid spiked grasses and stunted trees.
The place where spring never comes.
The days and nights that passed on their journey from Sola into Kelden had been interminable. Had Ara been in a less stark state of mind, she probably would have enjoyed the transition from golden fields into rolling green hills that hosted orchards and hid lakes of deep blue. Ioth took pride in his homeland, pointing out sites of interest and offering impromptu history lessons about the province. She tried to listen but her thoughts insisted on running either to what lay ahead or what they’d left behind.
The same dream visited her night after night. She’d awaken to find Teth kneeling beside her bedroll, pulling her close, whispering that he was okay, and the sweetest relief spilled through her limbs. Then she would truly wake and realize he wasn’t there. Every dream left her with a deeper sense of loss.
Nimhea felt the same loss. Ara could see the strain on her face and sometimes noticed a red-rimmed, glistening eye. They didn’t speak of it. They didn’t have to.
Ioth seemed happy to do all the talking.
Now that they’d stopped on a rise to take in the whole of the ice fens, he pointed to a cluster of buildings in the valley below.
“That’s the village.”
Compared to the dullness of the surrounding environs, the lively hues of the village looked like a pile of gemstones strewn across dirt. The sight of it lifted Ara’s spirits, if only briefly.
The temperature plummeted as they descended toward the fens. What had been a warm, sunny day became chilled and blustery. Ara began to shiver. The air was much colder than it should have been for the season, but she sensed that in this place the weather of the outside world had little impact. The frozen air’s touch reminded her of iron left outside in deep winter. Of metal so cold it would tear skin from your fingers. She tightened her cloak around her. The sudden cold wasn’t merely unpleasant, it struck her as a disturbing harbinger of things to come.
They reached the village in the late afternoon; it consisted of a row of houses built of clapboard with black-shingled roofs that rose to a high peak. The houses were painted in bright hues that Ara perceived to be a sort of armor against the brooding colors of the fens. A rainbow wall that refused to be smothered by sullen clouds. The houses lined up smartly along a wooden dock that stretched the entire length of the village. A dozen or more shallow-bottomed boats bobbed and strained at their ties to the dock. At the center of the row of houses sat a building only slightly larger than the houses, bearing a whitewashed sign with sky-blue lettering declaring it Frog’s Folly Tavern and Inn.
A blast of warmth wrapped around Ara as they entered Frog’s Folly. The main room held modest groupings of tables and chairs along with the source of welcome heat—a giant stone hearth in which a peat fire smoldered. Ara felt as if she’d been wrapped in one of her grandmother’s quilts. A welcoming atmosphere suffused the space. The walls were clad with polished burled wood in hues of dark honey. Vases filled with wildflowers graced every table. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making Ara’s mouth water. Everything about Frog’s Folly whispered of home, of family. It made her heart ache at the same time she took comfort from it.
One of the tables near the hearth was occupied by a middle-aged man and woman and an older man with a white beard that rivaled a shrub. All three wore heavy flannel shirts and chest-high oilcloth waders. Their boisterous conversation ceased at the appearance of strangers.
“Good day to you.” Ioth stepped forward. “We’re in need of a boat and guide into the fens.”
The tablemates exchanged looks.
“What ye be wantin’ in the fens?” the woman asked. Her light brown hair was pulled tight in a knot at the nape of her neck, and her expression was curious rather than unfriendly.
When Ioth hesitated, Ara said, “We seek Nava’s Ire.”
Silence fell like speech had been stolen from the room. It was a long time before someone spoke.
“Nae,” the man with the bushy white beard said at last. His bright blue eyes were full of warning. “Ye’re not wantin’ to go there, and there’s none here fool enough to take ye.”
His companions nodded, watching the three visitors with disbelief.
The middle-aged man cleared his throat. Bits of straw-colored hair poked out from beneath his woolen cap. “If ye’re adventure seeking, I can tell ye of fine rivers and holes full of plump tasty fish that’ll give ye a fine battle if ye snag them.”
“Or ye could climb Hill o’ Hunt, where ye can see for miles and miles and in the night watch the dancing rainbows Nava paints onto the sky,” the woman added. She rose and tossed another peat brick into the fire.
The bearded man nodded enthusiastically. “Aye. All good ways to pass the time. But Nava’s Ire. No. Ye’ll find nothin’ there but trouble. Mind ye, this is our home, and we never set foot in that wicked place.”
“Perhaps someone could draw us a map and rent us a boat,” Nimhea suggested.
The three villagers gaped at her, then collapsed into gales of laughter.
“A map!” The middle-aged man banged the table with his fist. “Och, that’s brilliant!”
Ara waited with rising irritation until their laughter subsided.
“What’s wrong with asking for a map?” Nimhea snapped. It was clear she was just as irked and impatient as Ara.
The villagers fell into laughter again, but Ioth cleared his throat.
“Fens aren’t like other environments,” he said quietly to Ara and Nimhea. “They’re filled with floating clumps of earth, some the size of your hand, others large enough to be called islands, that shift with the current and the wind. A map drawn right now could very well be useless a few hours later.”
“Oh,” Nimhea said, chagrined.
Ara ground her teeth. “But if the fens are always changing, how could one of them guide us?”
“It takes years of ex
perience,” Ioth replied. “But the fisherfolk can learn the patterns of the fens, read the currents, know how the weather will move the canals.”
His answer didn’t make Ara feel any better. How could they convince these people to help them?
If it came down to it, Nimhea could intimidate the villagers with her sword, but the folk living in this place didn’t deserve even the threat of violence.
A stout woman with silver-streaked brown hair and cheeks red as plums burst into the room wielding a large wooden spoon like a cudgel.
“What’s all this fuss about? I canna cook when ye keep breakin’ me concentration.”
She caught sight of Ara, Nimhea, and Ioth and smiled.
“Guests! Och, we ne’er get guests in these dark times.” She clapped her hands with delight. “I’s a fair cook if I do say so meself. I can offer ye turtle soup, baked fish, and me famous brown bread. And, of course, frog legs. They’re the house specialty.”
Glaring at the trio sitting before her, with particular rancor for Bushy Beard, she said, “Have ye not invited them to sit down? Where’s yer manners, husband?”
“They dinna want to sit!” Bushy Beard objected. “They’ve come with a mad notion of findin’ Nava’s Ire.”
The cook gasped, then fixed her eyes on her new guests and shook her spoon at them. “Ye’ve no business in Nava’s Ire! ’Tis a sacred place, but a cursed one.”
“Please,” Ara said, exasperated. “We know it is a holy site and also a place of sorrow. The gods have guided us here, and it is Nava’s will that we find her Ire.”
“Nava’s will?” The red-faced cook took her time looking Ara up and down, then Nimhea. Her forehead wrinkled as she scrutinized the princess. She took a step closer, then another. “Ye. The tall one. Push yer hood back.”
Nimhea shot a glance at Ara, who gave a brief nod. What choice did they have?
When the princess pulled back her hood, it was easy to glimpse the flaming roots that had grown in since her hair was last dyed.
The cook’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a gasping breath. “It’s ye! I canna believe it. I heard the rumors but . . .”
She dropped into a curtsy and at the same time batted Bushy Beard on the shoulder.
“Get on yer feet and bow, ye eejit!”
“What are ye on about, woman?” Bushy Beard rubbed his shoulder.
“It’s her,” the cook hissed through her teeth, holding the curtsy. “Princess Nimhea. The lost heir.”
Bushy Beard didn’t leave his chair, but stared at his wife, then Nimhea, then his wife. The other man and woman drew sharp breaths, then rose to bow and curtsy to the princess, exchanging looks of wonder and disbelief.
“Pardon me husband, Yer Highness.” The cook’s curtsy began to wobble. “My husband, Tymas, he’s a right fool sometimes. The others are me son, Neff, and me daughter-in-law, Allamae.”
Nimhea stepped forward and took the woman’s hands, guiding her to her feet. “I’m honored, but you needn’t make a fuss.”
She took the time to smile and nod at each of them in turn. “Thank you for welcoming us to your village.”
The cook’s already red face managed to become even redder. “We’re loyal to the River Throne, we are. Always have been. Those Vokkans said you were dead, but I didna believe it. Didna I tell ye, Tymas? And to think ye’d appear in our little village after all this time. Blessed by Nava we are, surely.”
Through this exchange, Bushy Beard, aka Tymas, had been watching his wife and Nimhea with rising alarm. He suddenly jumped up and bowed so swiftly and deeply that Ara worried he would tip over.
“Forgive an ignorant man, Yer Highness,” he blabbered, blue eyes shining with awe. “ ’Tis my own shame that I didna recognize you. Ye’s a legend in these parts.”
“Please, sit down,” Nimhea told the three at the table.
They did so, but continued to stare at her with wide eyes.
“Now that you know who I am,” Nimhea said, “will you take us into the fens?”
The three tablemates exchanged disconcerted glances and shifted uneasily in their seats.
Neff took his cap off, twisting it in his hands. “It’s nae so simple, Yer Highness—”
“Course they will,” the cook pronounced, cutting her son off. “My name is Dilia, and my family is at yer service.”
“You have my deepest gratitude.” Nimhea smiled at her. “My companions are Ara and Ioth.”
Tymas eyed Ioth. “Ye’re Kelden born. Ye don’t happen to be Ioth Glenelk.”
“I am.” Ioth held the man’s inquisitive gaze.
“Heard things about ye.” Tymas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Interestin’ things.”
Ioth replied with a bland smile.
Neff and Allamae had bent their heads together and were whispering furiously.
“Huld yer whisht,” Tymas said to them. “There’s no need to draw straws. I’ll guide them.”
The pair stammered with embarrassment, but also looked immensely relieved.
“Thank you, Tymas,” Nimhea said. “We’d like to leave immediately.”
Tymas shook his head, frowning. “If ye go out yet this afternoon ye’ll not make it back before dark. No one in their right mind risks the fens after sunset.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Ara told him, and Nimhea affirmed her statement with a nod.
He sighed, scratching his beard. “I’ll take ye as far as the first split. That’s where ye’ll have to continue on foot to reach the Ire.”
Lowering his gaze, he said, “Forgive me, Yer Highness, but I canna follow ye there. I’ve me wife, me son and daughter-in-law, two more daughters, and my first grandchild on the way.”
Allamae blushed, her hand moving to a belly that hadn’t yet revealed her coming child.
“Don’t apologize,” Nimhea said crisply. “We wouldn’t have let you take us all the way even if you insisted.”
Tymas gave her a grateful smile. He cast a nervous glance at his wife, but she appeared happy with the arrangement.
Pushing up from his chair, Tymas gestured for them to follow him out the back door. His punt was tied to the dock right behind Frog’s Folly.
“Good ye’ve got a walking stick.” He jabbed a finger at Ironbranch. “Ye need to test the ground before each step ye take. Wha’ looks solid enough is often not.”
He looked at Nimhea. “Do ye have one, Princess? If not, I’ll lend ye one of mine.”
“I’d be grateful,” Nimhea replied.
Tymas nodded and went back to the tavern.
Ara expected Ioth to object when she told him he needed to stay in the village, but he was quick to agree.
“If your friends are found, they’ll be brought here,” he said by way of explanation. “And I need to keep an eye on the villagers. In a place like this I doubt you’ll find anyone loyal to the Vokkans, but it’s best to be cautious.”
When he saw Ara was at a loss for words, he added, “Besides, I’m a leader of the Resistance. We don’t go on magical quests. I’ll be here when you get back.”
He grinned, and she laughed.
Tymas returned with a slender, gnarled walking stick and handed it to Nimhea. His wife followed with a bundle of flannels and three lanterns.
“ ’Twill be fearsome cold come nightfall,” Dilia said, pushing supplies into their arms.
Tymas stepped lightly into the boat, gathering up nets and fishing poles and spears. He handed his work tools to Dilia, then helped Ara and Nimhea board the punt. The wooden boat was long and shallow, with enough room to accommodate the two young women, but only just. Tymas untied the boat and stood upon the platform at its stern, and after blowing a kiss to Dilia, pushed the boat away from the dock through the shallow waters.
The punt slid into one of the strangest places Ara had
encountered. The fens didn’t swallow them so much as they seemed to curl around them subtly, reeds and grasses whispering all the while. Canals wound through spits of land, islands, and floating mounds of earth. All featured plants that seemed trapped in a state of decay, but were clearly still alive. The scent of the fens wasn’t what Ara expected. She’d anticipated odors similar to the swamp in Vijeri, but here the air was rich with peat, cut by the sharpness of brackish water, all of it crisped by frost. The damp cold crawled beneath Ara’s cloak, and she was grateful for the flannel Dilia had loaned her.
Tymas was silent as he poled along the canals, and Ara sensed his taciturn state was a requirement for successfully navigating the fens. Nimhea remained quiet as well, her expression set with determination.
Two hours passed before Tymas maneuvered the punt toward what looked like a substantial outcrop of solid ground. He pushed the boat forward until its bow brushed up against the shore.
“This is the split,” he told them. “ ’Tis a wedge of land that divides the fens in two, and by all accounts ’tis the beginning of the path to Nava’s Ire. Mind ye, no one has ever followed that path to its end or at least come back to tell of it.”
Nimhea led the way out of the punt, tentatively testing the ground before stepping onto it. Ara followed.
“Thank you,” Nimhea said to Tymas.
Tymas nodded, and his gaze slipped to the west where the sun was poised to sink over the horizon.
“I’s decided to stay here for an hour past sunset.”
Nimhea opened her mouth to object, but he shook his head.
“When ye find yerself in darkness, ye may have a change of heart, and if ye do, come back straightaway. I know the fens well enough to make my way with a lantern.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Nimhea nodded. “We’re indebted to you.”
“Mind how ye go,” Tymas urged, blushing at Nimhea’s words. “The split is said to be solid, but the fens like to play tricks.”
Cast in Secrets and Shadow Page 30
