Embers in a Dark Frost

Page 11

There was dry amusement in his voice. The growing campfire highlighted the lines that crinkled around his eyes, lines that should not have been there.
He was aging.
The realization struck me with more emotion that I would have guessed. To think of a larger than life champion, a Fire Breather, felled by old age . . . it didn’t seem right or fair. But, as the Darkness grew, so did the aging process and our ability to heal most wounds. Innis Fail had been the land of youth. Once maturity was reached, we lived long, long lives. Immortal against aging, but still susceptible to violent acts, treachery and war, terrible accidents...
Some of our oldest citizens had chosen to roam other lands and times, or to release the ties of body to continue on a journey of the spirit.
I drew my legs beneath me as Balen removed bread and cheese from the leather bag. He laid them on the linen square they’d been wrapped in and placed it between us.
“Why would Nox attack the camp? With three houses gathered, he was outnumbered to begin with.”
Balen stretched out his legs and stuffed a torn-off chunk of bread into his mouth. “He grows bolder as the Darkness grows. What weakens us makes him stronger. He sees opportunity. The attack wasn’t about winning the war, but a message. A message to say he’s willing and able, that’s he’s not afraid or deterred by the numbers.”
“If he knows about your quest to regain the Light, he’ll put all of his resources into stopping you. He controls the Deadlands and the Void. The only gateway back into the human realm lies in his lands.”
“Aye, it does. Nox was smart to argue for his gate’s preservation.”
Balen spoke of the other gateways into the human world and the decision to destroy them at the close of the Old War, a war where Nox had been an ally not an enemy. One gate, it was decided at Nox’s urging, would remain. And that gate was in Nox’s territory, for if a human was to come through, they’d find nothing but desolation and death—enough to propel them back into the safety of their own world.
And it had worked, until my father stumbled through the gate and miraculously found his way across the Deadlands and into the Woodlands where Mother found him and loved him.
“The Deadlands are beyond the Bren Cara Mountains,” I noted quietly. “What’s it like, your home?”
“Jagged mountains. Green valleys. Hot springs and waterfalls from the snow caps.” The harsh lines of his face softened, his eyes growing wistful as he spoke. “Fierce weather. Not perpetual summer like here in the Lowlands. It’s wild and untamed like the eagles and ravens that fly overhead.”
“And when this is over,” I said seriously as I stifled my smile. “You will give me a job.”
He barked his laughter, nearly choking on a piece of cheese. He coughed so hard, that I jumped up and hit him hard between the shoulder blades as Lidi had taught me to do.
All I received for my effort was a grunt, an exasperated glance over his shoulder, followed by a soft chuckle. “You are an unusual female, Deira D’Anu.”
I stepped back, rattled.
Embarrassed.
My heart knocked hard and painfully in my chest as I smoothed my hands down my leggings and sat, studying the fire. His words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. Unusual in my world had always meant something bad, something feared. I didn’t want to be unusual. I wanted to be normal.
A finger touched lightly under my chin. I lifted my eyes, wondering why now, why must my damn tears start rising now, in front of him?
“I’m sorry. I have quickly forgotten the way it was for you.” A hard glint came into his eyes and his jaw went tight. “It was meant as a compliment.”
He was angry. Angry for me. I didn’t know what to say to that, since it was an altogether new experience. So I brushed it aside. “Well, you speak the truth. I am different, unusual. A Halfling. There’s a blight on my soul and—”
“No,” he said sharply. “There’s not. That is not who you are. You are our hope, a blessing.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply, looking into the darkness of the forest. “Perhaps that is my fault.”
“You’re fault?”
“We Sydhrs are a private people. Had I not kept the foretelling strictly within our own ranks, perhaps you would’ve been recognized for what you were from your birth and treated accordingly. We always believed the Light Bearer would be born to us since I’d be the one to lead her, and the foretelling came from one of our own.”
“I’m not sure any of the other houses would have believed you, had you shared the foretelling. A halfling to save them? They would not have taken that kindly.” I smiled. “Thanks, though, for the words. I’m not used to being seen as a good thing… Besides, it’s good you didn’t tell. Otherwise Nox would’ve been looking for me from the beginning.”
Balen’s expression grew serious. “I swear by the blood of Sydhr, you’ll always be looked after by my house. Always accepted. Always regarded with great value, no matter the outcome of our journey.” He handed me a chunk of bread. “You should eat more.” He waited until I obliged.
It was hard to swallow the bread when a lump had formed in my throat.
The outcome of the journey, according to the foretelling, was Balen’s death. Mine might not be told, but his—to him at least—was. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” I said at length. “You can fight, Balen. Sometimes it’s possible to make your own destiny, to change things, to not give in.”
“And how would you know, seirnann?”
“I just know. And what does seirnann mean?”
“It means Little Flame.” He gestured to my hair. “For your hair and your…” He grinned. “Childlike optimism.”
A very unladylike snort came out of me. He was teasing, the smile told me that, but I wasn’t sure how to take it. He was distracting me from the subject of fate and death, avoiding it. And I guess I couldn’t blame him. Who wanted to talk about their impending demise? But I wasn’t childlike. And optimism wasn’t only for the young.
I rolled my eyes and shoved his shoulder, before getting up and marching into the dark woods. “Stubborn,” I muttered under my breath as I headed for the stream nearby.
It was possible to change fate. It was. But who would believe me? I had no proof. Just conviction. I paused, realizing that Balen I were the same. We both had our beliefs and convictions, but neither of us had any proof—we just had faith.
That didn’t put me in a better mood. In fact, it was frustrating and made the sense of helplessness I felt even greater.
The trees’ long shadows stretched over the ground, cut by shafts of moonlight. The air had become cold and thin. I shivered, peering across the stream and into the black depths of the forest. The only thing that could stop Nox was the Lia Fail. If he discovered Balen and I intended to find it, he would come. He wouldn’t stop. He’d be unmerciful.
Nox’s misdeeds were legendary. He was King of Annwn, the Underworld. Of all the rulers of the five houses, he was the longest lived. He ruled over the territory of the Deadlands and the vast labyrinth of caves and hidden valleys of Annwn. It was whispered that while he committed terrible deeds, he also lavished wealth upon those who pleased him, mainly females. Females he’d stolen. Or tempted. Or enchanted. It was said that none could resist him. It was said that he was brutal and unforgiving in battle. That he was malevolent beyond compare. That his wealth and desires were decadent and obscene.
I crouched on the bank of the stream and drank, keeping my hearing trained to the sounds of the night. Then, I found a clump of bushes to relieve myself.
An Otherworldly, moonlit head craned over the bushes. “Fertilizing the forest are we?”
I yelped and nearly tumbled backwards.
Dear Dagda!
Hurriedly, I righted myself and jerked up my leggings, my heart pounding. “Some things are meant to be private,” I forced through gritted teeth, not bothering to move since the bushes provided a barrier between us.
“Why should privacy be reserved for such an inconsequential thing?” The War Raven cocked its head. Even with the close view, I still couldn’t tell if it was male or female in its Danaan-like form. “I do not hide it.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or congratulate it. “That is you’re right,” I said carefully. “Are you War Raven or Danaan?”
“Are you Danaan or human?”
“Both.”
It shrugged. “Your tunic is stuck in your britches.”
I bit back an angry retort and quickly fixed the tunic. “Is there something you want?”
Its luminous eyes blinked sluggishly. The long silver hair fell forward, framing its black face as it leaned forward to study me.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “What are you to Balen?”
Still it just studied me with child-like innocence, its big eyes a startling contrast to its power and the flash of wise mockery tugging at its lips. “I am Balen’s, that is why I’m here,” it replied with a sing-song voice. “I am his and he is mine.”
The snap of a branch cut our conversation short.
The creature straightened, lifting its chin. Its small nostrils flared and its eyes stared blankly ahead. My pulse quickened, but I remained still, poised to flee or fight.
The sound of running feet broke through the quiet.
Balen’s dark form dashed through the trees, sword in hand, armor on.
The creature’s eyes narrowed and glowed brightly. Its face stretched as its mouth opened to issue a vicious roar that rent the night air and sent the birds flying over head. I covered my ears, stumbling back, watching in horror as its teeth elongated and its body grew, dwarfing me as the dragon took shape.
Anger. So much anger swelled from it.
Then, a tremble began under my feet, building quickly. Through the shafts of moonlight, I saw them coming. Riders. The Fallen Warriors of Annwn. Nothing but sinister bones, tattered armor, and sharp swords. Sheer fright rooted me to the spot as Balen slid to a stop in front of me, shoving me behind him.