Solomon rekindled the fire, seeking hot coals in the ashes. Raven heard the dull clack of pieces of wood knocking together. The fire crackled and popped as it burst into flame. The fire pit was raised like a cairn and lined with blackened stones that radiated heat. A gentle orange-yellow light filled the cave, dancing across the walls. The cave looked old, as if it had been inhabited long before Solomon had made it his home. The rock had been shaped here and there, altering nature’s craftsmanship to be more suitable for human habitation. From where he lay, Raven could see two tunnels leading from the cavern but the light wasn’t bright enough to dispel the shadows beyond. He could see another bench opposite his own. It was covered with grey woollen blankets, clay pots and a wooden box.
Solomon hung a small iron pot above the fire and filled it with liquid from a jug. Soon, Raven smelled a savoury aroma. It reminded him of sage, browned onions and braised meat. Solomon ladled some broth into a cup. Kneeling beside the bench, he raised Raven’s head and put the cup to his lips. “Drink!”
“What is it?”
“Not poison. If I’d wanted you dead, I’d have left you in the snow.” Solomon tipped the cup and Raven tasted the broth. He recognised the flavour at once: mushrooms. Once Raven had emptied the cup, Solomon helped him to rest his head on the bench once more.
“Where is my companion?” Raven couldn’t see where Solomon directed his gaze as his pupils were lost in his dark brown irises.
“She’s fine. At least, I expect she will be, when she recovers.” Solomon peeled back his hood. His head and face were shaved, save his eyebrows, which were plucked into fine groomed lines. His eyes wandered over Raven’s face. “Did you expect a savage?”
The breath escaped Raven’s lips without sound.
“You have me at a disadvantage, brother,” said Solomon. “To have braved the mountain, I’m certain you must know who I am.”
Raven nodded. He felt light-headed and wanted to sleep.
Solomon’s eyes darkened. “Your name!”
“Raven.”
Solomon grunted a laugh. “Your name...?”
“Raven will suffice.” He slurred the words.
“Hmm.” Solomon placed the cup next to the fire and removed his robe. He had thin, sinewy arms. “Don’t fight the broth... Raven. Try to sleep while I attend to your injuries.”
As Raven drifted off to sleep, he remembered Windsong had already set his ankles in splints. He needed to know where she was but was too tired to ask.
* * *
Raven woke when he felt icy air brush his face. He forced his eyelids open. They were sticky, as if he’d been asleep for a long time. Solomon closed the curtains, shutting out the chilly air. He removed his robe, shook off the snow and tossed it over a bench. Raven tried to sit up. His body was stiff and sore. His ankles ached and throbbed in time with his pulse.
“Ah, you’re awake at last!” said Solomon. He helped Raven into a sitting position, his fingers gripping like the jaws of a beast. Raven breathed hard with the effort of sitting up. He rested his back on the cavern wall and waited for his breath to settle. Solomon loaded the fire with an armload of brown-black sticks. Thick resinous smoke curled from the fire pit and Raven coughed. Solomon was unaffected, breathing the smoke as if it were air. He filled a cup with the mushroom broth and held it out to Raven. “A mild dose. For the pain.”
Raven drank the warm, salty liquid and handed the cup back. In moments, he felt his legs go numb. Solomon took a larger pot, hung it above the hearth and added water. He lifted a wooden box onto the bench beside the hearth and began to sort through his supplies. “Why are you here, Raven?”
“To ask for your help.”
Solomon unwrapped a parcel of dried meat and broke pieces into the pot. “That much is obvious.”
“I seek a dark spirit named Acabar.”
Solomon nodded, stirred the pot with a long wooden spoon and rested it on the edge.
“Do you know of him?”
“Oh, yes,” Solomon replied. He found a carrot and sliced round chunks into the pot. “I don’t remember you, Raven. I remember your companion. She was a General... for a time. What is her name?”
“She called herself ‘Fourteen’ then,” Raven replied. “She is known as Windsong now.”
Solomon arched a slender eyebrow.
“How is she?” asked Raven.
“Asleep... still,” said Solomon. He peeled an onion and tossed the skin into the fire. “I knew her true name, but my memory betrays me... it has been such a long time.” He dropped a handful of dried herbs into the pot. The stew’s aroma permeated the air. Raven’s mouth watered and his stomach reminded him he had not eaten in many days. “Will she recover?”
Solomon blew on the steaming spoon and sipped the liquid. He added a pinch of salt to the pot and resumed stirring. “We’re Khryseoi. Our bodies always recover, even if our souls do not. You’ll have the pleasure of my company while you both heal. Your legs are broken in several places. There is more mushroom broth, if you need it for the pain.” He ladled some stock from the stew into a bowl and passed it to Raven. “Here, start with this.”
Raven sipped the liquid. The flavour was deep and rich with the vegetables, herbs and red meat. He finished the bowl and felt some strength return to his tired limbs. “Thank you... for rescuing us.”
“You were brave to test yourselves against the mountain. I thought you deserved some help.”
“So your sense of the epiphaneia is strong. When did you first know we were coming?”
Solomon clutched his robes below the neck. “Long before you started your ascent.”
“And Acabar? Can you sense him too?” Raven saw Solomon’s jaw tighten.
“Yes, I sense Acabar’s presence but he’s able to disguise his whereabouts from me.”
“Are you also aware he’s been killing the Khryseoi?” said Raven.
“Has he?” said Solomon. His eyes dulled as though he wasn’t interested in the subject. “Try to sleep. We’ll have time to talk.”
* * *
Raven woke the following day with a foggy head. He rarely drank wine and never in great quantities, but he felt as though he had consumed several amphorae in one sitting. He pushed himself into a sitting position. Once he was comfortable, he tested a leg, lifting and arching his foot. The smallest movement was enough to make him wince. “Hello?” he called out. There was no answer. “Windsong?” The fire crackled softly. “Solomon?”
The curtains flapped and Solomon appeared. “What is it?”
“My... my innards are working again. I don’t wish to soil myself but I can’t walk.”
Solomon collected a large pot with a wide flat rim and set it next to the bench. He held out his arms.
“There’s no need,” said Raven. “I’ll manage.”
Solomon scowled. “There’s no need for pride. I’ve already cleaned up after you several times.” He leaned closer. Raven caught a glimpse of a pendant hanging around Solomon’s neck, hidden under his robes. He nodded and let Solomon take his weight. Solomon waited patiently while he relieved himself. Solomon helped him back onto his bench afterwards and disappeared. Raven used the time to meditate. After some time, Solomon returned with a hunk of bread and a cup of water. He presented both to Raven.
“This is a civilised place, for a cave on a mountainside,” said Raven, chewing a mouthful of bread.
“I like to live alone but I see no need for squalor.”
“Alone?” said Raven. He wet his mouth with the water. “What about the bear?”
“His name is Mountain Paw the Undefeated.”
“That’s a curious name for a bear!”
“Raven is a curious name for a man.”
Raven finished his water and held out the cup for more. “You’re well provisioned. That’s all I meant to say.”
Solomon took the cup. “How are your ankles?”
“They ache as badly as the day I broke them.”
“Hmm,” said Solomon.
He warmed some mushroom broth over the fire and ladled it into a cup.
“I’ll be fine,” said Raven, shaking his head.
Solomon held the cup closer. “What have we learnt about pride?”
Raven sighed, took the cup and swallowed the contents. “How is Windsong?”
Solomon turned his back. “She has stirred once or twice. She is not as resilient as a man and will take time to recover. She is best left to sleep.”
“Let me know as soon as she wakes,” said Raven.
“You have my assurance!”
Raven lay down to elevate his feet. They ached bitterly. He closed his eyes and waited for the mushroom broth to take effect.
* * *
Solomon was distant for several days, only appearing to feed Raven and keep him comfortable. Raven’s ankles remained bruised and black beneath the splint and were swollen as thick as his feet. He tried to stand, fell down and lay there for many hours before Solomon arrived to help him up. Only the soothing broth brought him relief. He wondered how long he would be an invalid. That evening, after Solomon had cooked and they had eaten, he sat across from Raven with Xi’s sword across his knee. “Let’s discuss this sword,” he said.
“What do you want to know?”
“It’s of remarkable quality,” said Solomon, running his finger along the blade. “The shape, hardness of the metal, sharpness of the edge... far beyond any mortal sword smith! This was made by a Khryseoi, one who aspires to carry a blade worthy of Phylasso himself. Yes?”
Raven shrugged.
“Does it have a name?”
Raven shook his head.
“A sword this fine should have a name.” Solomon’s dark eyes flashed in the firelight. “I’m curious to know why you would need such a weapon to conquer a mountain.”
“Bears,” said Raven.
“Oh, they don’t attack people,” said Solomon. “Not unless they are provoked... or asked to do so.”
“And, have you asked?”
Solomon’s mouth twitched. “I may be Khryseoi but I am also a man living alone. As such, I need protection.” He held the sword straight. “May I keep this?”
Raven nodded. “Consider it payment for your hospitality.”
Solomon nodded politely. He carried the sword to the far side of the cavern and rested it on a ledge. “There’s a blizzard building outside. Tomorrow, we will talk of Acabar.” He warmed a cup of broth.
Raven took the cup, gulped the contents and handed it back.
* * *
By Raven’s reckoning, it had been a week since he and Windsong had been rescued. Solomon did not speak of Windsong and Raven’s legs had not improved. He wondered if the thin mountain air was to blame. Solomon was doing everything within his power to speed his recovery. After breakfast, Solomon made a pot of tea from wild mint and strawberry leaves. He was distant, staring beyond the wall as if he could see through it. “Acabar is one of Eurynomos’s most trusted and dangerous servants,” he said. “Eurynomos had many dark spirits at his command. They followed him into our world through the rift. The moment I learnt to feel the epiphaneia across great distances was a curious sensation for me. I felt such hatred for Eurynomos and yet I also loved him. His presence was overpowering. I couldn’t discern his servants individually.”
“It was a long war. Why hadn’t we heard about Acabar?”
Solomon sipped his tea. “We didn’t think you needed to know.”
“We? Do you mean you and Phylasso?”
“There’s no need to raise your voice,” said Solomon without looking at him. “Eurynomos was our priority. His servants were a distraction.”
Raven swallowed. “I can’t believe Phylasso never told us.”
Solomon snorted a laugh. “Phylasso, most beloved of Kronos, kept many secrets from you!” The firelight gleamed on his smooth skull.
For a moment, Raven remembered being in the Valley of the Shadow, listening to Guide speak almost those exact words. “We hoped you might know what has become of Phylasso.”
Solomon looked at Raven. “Phylasso has abandoned his children. He is no longer amused by the game.”
“A game! Phylasso saved all life. He saved us from Eurynomos!”
Solomon shook his head. “The great war was merely an entertainment for him and the Gods.” He pinched his cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “They don’t care for our petty flesh. The Khryseoi are doomed, as is all life. Fighting Acabar is pointless. They have already won. Eurynomos will satisfy his need for vengeance. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Then what do you suggest we do? Nothing?”
Solomon sat up straight. “Phylasso’s ‘gift’ to us was cruel. He robbed us of our lives. Your companion, Windsong, was robbed of her womanhood. Do you think she enjoys living in hardship with four men?”
“Is she awake? Have you spoken to her?”
Solomon looked away. “No. My memory is returning. That’s all.” He leaned forward and a smile cracked his lips. “Phylasso withheld the knowledge we need to transcend. He was careful not to pass on his power, to teach us how to be more than we are. I must learn The Unbinding. That’s the key. Once we unlock that mystery, we can be free.”
“You’d risk setting Eurynomos free,” said Raven.
Solomon’s eyes tracked Raven from head to feet. “Look at you,” he said, barely speaking above a whisper and as if he hadn’t heard Raven’s remark. “You can’t walk. If I told you I had the power of The Unbinding, wouldn’t you want to be freed from the prison of your body? Haven’t you lived long enough?”
Raven used his arms to shuffle along the bench and lay down. “My legs hurt. May I have a cup of the broth?”
“Of course,” said Solomon. “It’ll only take a moment.”
* * *
The next day, Solomon resumed his routine as if they hadn’t spoken. He attended to Raven with great care. Little was said. After they’d eaten the evening meal, Raven told Solomon he needed to ask a favour of him. “Can you carry me through to Windsong? I think seeing a familiar face will help with my recovery.”
Solomon blinked slowly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You’ve both been through a terrible ordeal. In a few days. Perhaps.”
Raven felt Solomon’s eyes upon him, even though he was looking in another direction. “I understand,” he replied. “I hope she’s improving.”
Solomon fetched the jug of mushroom broth and warmed a bowl over the fire. “I’ll tell her you’ve been asking after her... when she wakes.” He poured a cup and handed it to Raven. Raven raised the savoury liquid to his lips but didn’t swallow. Solomon waited for him to drink. He rested the cup on his lap. “Do you have any weaving materials? Reeds, cane or twine? It seems I’ll be stuck here for some time. I want something to do and I’ll need a new pair of snow shoes when I can walk.” He watched Solomon’s eyes glazing over as he spoke. When he was confident Solomon had looked away, he tipped the cup onto his lap and felt the warm liquid run down his legs. “Solomon?”
Solomon’s eyes focused and locked onto him again, regarding him intensely. Raven held out the now empty cup. “Weaving materials?”
Solomon was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said, taking the cup and turning away.
Raven pulled his blanket over his lap and slowly let out his breath.
“It’s good to have a task,” said Solomon. “I’ll see what I can find in the morning.” He set the cup aside, stretched his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows. Raven heard the gentle flap of the curtain being pushed aside and wondered what lay beyond. The fire burned low, giving off a soft orange light. For the first time since coming to the cave, Raven lay awake through the night. He pulled his blanket close around his neck, closed his eyes and listened. Outside, he could hear the wind stirring the curtains. Inside, all was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, slowly reducing a log to cinders. He slowed his breath, and imagined having his bow in hand, poised to draw the string. It kept his mind focused and stopped him
from falling asleep. After some time, he heard the soft swish of the curtains and the sound of bare feet padding across the cavern floor. He dared to peek from one eye. The fire had burned low. Raven, squinting, saw a shadow hovering over him. He felt the blanket being peeled away from his feet and strong fingers carefully undoing the knots holding his ankles in their splits. Raven concentrated on breathing, keeping his rhythm the slow and regular sound of sleep. Solomon gripped Raven’s ankles and carefully separated the fragile join. Raven felt a sharp, tearing pain and started. Solomon waited to see if Raven would stir. Raven wanted to cry out. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips tight. He heard a voice in his head, slicing through the pain. Rise above it. You are Khryseoi. Breathe. He exhaled slowly, waited a second, and drew a slow breath. Solomon broke Raven’s other ankle, carefully retied the splints and covered his feet. He drifted away as silently as he had appeared, into the bowels of the cave.
* * *
In the morning Solomon set about preparing breakfast with a degree of urgency in his manner. After, he helped Raven to the chamber pot. “Your sheepskin is stained,” he said, looking at the garment gathered at Raven’s knees.
“I had an accident,” said Raven, looking away.
Solomon nodded. “Don’t concern yourself. You’ll be better soon.”
After Solomon had settled Raven back onto the bench, he disappeared into another part of the cave. He came back minutes later with a small bundle of reeds and dropped them at Raven’s side. “Weaving materials, as you asked. You must amuse yourself today. I have work to do.”
Raven started to make a snow shoe, building an oval frame and securing the shape with radial spokes. Solomon did appear to be busy. He paced in and out of the cavern, sometimes carrying a pot or a bundle of cloth. He stopped sometimes and stood still, staring into the distance. Raven watched him from the corner of his eye. Whenever he felt Solomon’s gaze, he made sure he was weaving. While he wove, Raven wondered how he was going to deal with Solomon. Unable to walk or fight, he couldn’t escape the mountain. His concern for Windsong made his chest ache.
Valley of the Shadow Page 16