But it had not been so blinded that it could not continue to fight back. Even as the men closed in, swords swinging in deadly arcs, it swept its massive antlers at them and nearly knocked the swords from their hands. A shake of the head, and showers of ice exploded in every direction from it, like a thousand tiny knives. It lunged at the men, but this time they managed to split and attack it from the side.
Ilmari missed, Lemminkal hit, but his blade clanged and skidded on the beast’s flank without so much as scratching it, and it reared and whirled on its hind hooves and lashed at him with its forehooves. He stumbled backward and it began another of those long inhalations, preparatory to one of its icy blasts.
Urho slammed into it from the side. Both of them tumbled to the ground. The Icehart got up first, but it had lost its breath, and the Bear managed to roll out of the way of its hooves.
The Icehart was now at the far end of the clearing. The Bear shuffled back to the women, standing at their side, head down, a splotch of red blood making an ugly mess of the white fur of the top of his head.
Ilmari and Lemminkal crouched at the side of the clearing about halfway between the Icehart and the women. They were not making a protective stance to shield the women. They were pressed back against the tree trunks, panting, faces cut by the close passage of antler tips and flying shards of ice. They were half ice as well; beards and hair crusted with it, and ice glazing their chain mail. To Aleksia’s eyes, their movements were slowed. They had not completely escaped the Icehart’s breath, and they were showing the effects.
Her heart was in her mouth. They were all the worse for wear, and the spirit did not even look winded.
The Icehart stood very still. It was impossible to say who it was looking at, given those strange, clouded eyes, but it was not moving, and it was certainly looking at something—or someone.
Annukka was fumbling with the pack on her terrified deer, and in a moment had brought something out. Aleksia was going to caution her against using her bow, unless somewhere in there she had managed to get hold of arrows capable of destroying a spirit, but it was not a weapon that she brought out.
It was her kantele.
Before Aleksia could say or do anything, Annukka had struck the first chords, and with a look of fierce determination on her face, began to sing.
With the sound of the first bars, the two men roused themselves with difficulty and brought up their weapons, moving sluggishly.
She is going to sing a war song to strengthen them, but will that be enough? Aleksia wondered. She searched for the energies of The Tradition; they were here, but unfocused, and all but useless. So, anything she put into Annukka’s song would have to come from her own reserves, which meant she would somehow have to do that and create another ice-mirror shield if it came to that.
But with the first words, it was evident that both Aleksia and the men had been mistaken in Annukka’s intentions. This was not a war song.
It was a love song.
Or rather, it was a song of love lost, gone beyond all regaining.
As Annukka sang, a great lump came into Aleksia’s throat, and tears unbidden sprang into her eyes. She was not familiar with this particular ballad, but the subject was common enough. This was the lament of a woman left behind, her beloved gone—though this song made no reference to the circumstances, only the bereavement, the agony, the loss and the loneliness. The words hung in the clearing, sweet and mournful, bringing an ache to the chest and waking up the memory of every loss ever suffered in one’s life. Aleksia remembered her sister’s husband and she felt again the bitter agony of knowing that he and she were perfect for each other and yet she would never, ever have him. Was there ever any sadder situation than “I love you, but you will never love me”?
There is an empty space where you should be, the song said. It is a mortal wound that I will never recover from. Where are you? I would give all that I have to join you. Without you, the sunlight is dim. Without you, food is tasteless, flowers have lost their scent, birdsong has no melody. Without you, why is there Spring? Without you, life has no meaning. My friends try to comfort me, but there is no comfort to be had. I am alone in the darkness and cold of my own soul, and there is nothing good in the world without you.
Perhaps Annukka thought that, being a spirit, the Icehart might take pause at this song, and turn aside. After all, if this was a vengeful ghost there were generally only two things to be revenged to this extent—the loss of love or the loss of honor, and Annukka had a fifty percent chance that it was a loss of love.
But she surely did not expect the reaction that she got.
The Icehart itself froze.
The air around it chilled further, calling a flurry of ice flakes out of the air itself. A coat of frost formed instantly all over it, rendering it translucent. That bereavement in the song was amplified past all bearing, as if something in the Icehart resonated to it and sent it back out again. Aleksia wanted to fling herself to the ground and weep until there were no more tears left. Nor was she the only one; the men were weeping, Lemminkal silently, and Ilmari sobbing openly. Kaari’s face was wet with tears.
It turned its frosted eyes toward Annukka, eyes that glowed for a moment. Aleksia took an abortive step forward to put herself between the Sammi woman and the creature, fearing an attack.
But no attack came.
The Icehart suddenly raised its muzzle to the sky. It opened its mouth, but what came out was not its deadly cold breath, but a long, heartbroken cry, a moan that cut Aleksia to the soul and called a pain-filled sob out of her throat as well.
That note of agony hung in the air for a terrible, timeless moment.
And then, with a flash of blue-white light, the Icehart was gone.
Annukka ceased her song immediately, but the sorrow of it held them all captive, paralyzed with grief. Finally, Annukka strummed a few more notes out of her kantele—but this time, it was a child’s song.
Slowly, as she played, the sorrow ebbed, faded. Kaari dried her eyes, the men turned away, stiffly; there was a flash of heat and light, and then they were free of the overburden of ice and moving easily again.
“Well played, Wise Woman,” Ilmari said, gruffly. “Clever.”
Something gleamed on the snow where the Icehart had stood. Slowly, Aleksia walked to the place and looked down.
Nestled in the snow, gleaming in the blue-white light of the Mage-light, was half of a crystal heart.
Aleksia picked it up. It was cool, but not cold, to the touch. It did not seem to be made of ice—but what could it be? What could it signify?
She brought it back to Annukka and Kaari; the Wise Woman handled it carefully, then shrugged. “I have no more notion than you,” she admitted, then rubbed her temple a little. “But I know this. If I do not rest soon, my nose will be hitting the snow in no graceful fashion.”
Aleksia looked to Ilmari, after slipping the crystal into her pocket. “Are we safe for the night, do you think?” she asked the Mage-Smith in a low voice. He regarded her thoughtfully.
“I think,” he replied, in tones of surprising courtesy, “that between you women, you have frightened it, made it grieve as it never has. I think it will not touch us now.” He regarded both her and Annukka with a new respect. “One Mage to another, lady, whether you are a Godmother as you say or not, you made good use of your powers this day.”
“Powers!” She came to herself with a start. “Urho!”
She searched for the pack that Urho had brought with him, found it and unpacked it until she found the carefully wrapped vial that she was looking for, and the pot of salve with it. She took both to where the Bear was sitting next to Kaari as she started a fire.
Aleksia looked down at the girl, who was doing a good job of getting it going. “Kaari, do you feel equal to some wood gathering?” She glanced around the clearing, particularly at the two men, who looked very much as if they wanted to find a flat place to lie down.
The young woman looked up, with a
serious expression on her face. “Actually, I think we should move back to where we left the sledge and set up camp there. This is just to give people a place to warm their hands.”
Aleksia nodded approval. “You are wiser. Let me treat Urho, and then we can do just that.”
The Bear raised his head with a little difficulty. I am seeing double.
She patted his massive shoulder reassuringly. “I am not surprised. But you carried your own cure on your back the entire way here. Open.”
The Bear opened his mouth obediently, and she measured exactly three drops of the cordial onto his tongue. He closed his mouth, and suddenly his eyes, which had been scrunched up in pain, relaxed.
She cleaned the blood from the fur of his head as best she could, then carefully applied tiny dabs of the salve to the gash there. It began to close almost immediately, and by the time she was done, it was half healed.
The cordial and the salve were of true Fae make, from the Elves themselves. Every Godmother had a supply; tales did not always go well, and sometimes it was necessary to patch up Heroes and Champions as well as guide them. But these things were to be used sparingly. She had only one vial and one pot, and when they were gone, the only place to get more was from the Elves themselves.
She helped Urho heave himself onto his feet, and the entire group wearily staggered to where they had left the sledge and the other two reindeer. The deer were unmolested, greedily grazing on the sweet tips of young birch saplings. Urho volunteered to drag in wood, and since he was clearly feeling a bit better, Aleksia allowed him to do so. After all, he could bring in far more than they could, with far less effort.
Meanwhile the three who had put the most effort out in the fight, Ilmari, Annukka and Lemminkal, were made to sit on the sledge while she and Kaari made camp.
It was a very crude camp, and it was a good thing that no storms were threatening, because Aleksia very much doubted that the camp would have stood up to a storm. Neither of them could manage to get the hide tents up. But there was another reason why Aleksia wanted the others to allow her and Kaari to deal with making camp. She was, after all, a Godmother. And there was potential here for trouble…and potential for something other than trouble. So long as she set things up carefully.
So, she kept Kaari away from the men…and made sure that Lemminkal talked to Annukka. By the time they all rolled into their blankets, with the fire on one side, and the huge bulk of Urho providing warmth on the other, things were progressing to Aleksia’s satisfaction.
CHAPTER 15
IN THE MORNING, EVERYTHING LOOKED BETTER. THE SUN was shining, and although the frozen forest was still encased in ice, it was beautiful. The air, while still bitterly cold, was not laden with the deathly chill of the Icehart’s presence. Urho had been wonderful to sleep up against.
On the other hand, as soon as Aleksia moved, she wished she had not. The exposed skin on her face hurt. She had bruises where she would rather not think about. If this was being a Hero, she envied the stamina of those who did it all the time.
On the other hand, they had slept the night through undisturbed; Urho went out as soon as all the humans were awake and came back with four fish from a frozen stream. Aleksia would have felt very guilty had he returned with a rabbit or some other animal, knowing that it was still alive under that ice, and had been totally helpless, but she felt no sympathy for fish. Although she could not help with the cooking—the honest truth was that she was totally helpless when it came to that skill—she was at least able to create a subtle warming spell to make them all comfortable in the cold until the fire built up again. While the fish were grilling over the fire, Annukka declared that they were all going to be looked over and tended to.
It turned out they were all injured in some way or other. For one thing, all of them were frost-burned—like a sunburn, but caused by the Icehart’s freezing breath. The skin on their faces was sensitive at the least, painful at worst. In fact, the two men were lucky that they had escaped frostbite. Had it not been for their thick hair and beards, both Lemminkal and Ilmari might well have lost the tips of their ears. And in fact, Lemminkal did lose the bottom half of his long beard, for the hair had been frozen so stiff it had, to his chagrin, actually snapped off in the cold.
As it was, Annukka treated them all with salves to their tender faces, and warned them that the burned skin would slough off in a few days, and that they must be careful about further burns. Aleksia’s tender forehead and nose gave her problems every time she did something that moved the skin, although she knew from past experience that once she shifted forms a time or two, that would mend itself. That was another benefit of shifting; by doing so, one could heal oneself.
Urho, of course, had his head wound, which Annukka cleaned and treated again, this time getting most of the blood out of his fur and putting an herbal plaster over the gash. Both men had dozens of small cuts on face and neck from flying shards of ice, and both moved in a way that suggested they had more than a few bruises, and that they were a lot more painful than Aleksia’s. Honestly, they were all lucky that no one had broken bones, something that could be attributed only to the men’s skill as fighters. Annukka set up the hide tent and ordered them in, one at a time, with a bottle. Both came out smelling like pine-sap liniment.
By then, the fish was grilled, and they divided the fillets up, with the lion’s share going to the men, and Aleksia taking only as much as would satisfy her immediate hunger. She had ways of feeding herself that the others obviously didn’t. As they all picked the last bits of fish from the bones and surveyed the chaos of their camp, Aleksia finally spoke up, and began explaining herself.
“Well,” she said, dryly, looking about at all four of them. “You have probably gathered that I am not the ordinary sort of traveler.”
Ilmari snorted. “We are waiting patiently to hear just what sort of traveler you are.”
She nodded, and launched into her part of this tale. Or rather, she explained as much of herself as she felt comfortable revealing. The Sammi did not have Godmothers; Ilmari and Lemminkal might have heard of them, Annukka and Kari probably had not. She had announced herself as “Godmother Aleksia” and gotten no recognition from any of them, so she elected to leave that out. Knowledge of The Tradition, Traditional magic and Traditional paths was anything but common, and it was acknowledged among the Godmothers that it was probably best not to spread that sort of information too widely. Aleksia didn’t see any reason why this should change. Such information would do them no good, and might cause them to second-guess themselves at a moment when that was the last thing they all needed. So she glossed over the business of being a Godmother, leaving it as vague as she possibly could. And if she left them with the impression that she was merely a sort of sentry mounting a simple watch over the North, that was just fine. They gathered that she was considered a powerful and important Sorceress among her own folk, and that would certainly do.
“And you keep watch, why?” Lemminkal asked.
“To report troubles to those better able to deal with them,” she said easily, because that was certainly true. “Various Orders of Champions, for instance.” That was also true. “I supply them with information they cannot otherwise obtain.” She didn’t want the Sammi to get the impression that she was some sort of guardian who could be counted on to come to the rescue if any little thing went wrong. That was not what Godmothers did. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have quite enough on her plate as it was without starting that. Fixing things was the job of Champions and Heroes. Trying to make sure they wouldn’t need fixing—that was for the Godmothers.
“Bah. Champions.” Lemminkal snorted, but his eyes were twinkling. “Everyone knows that a true Hero goes up against incredible odds all on his own!”
“Perhaps that is true for the Sammi, but it is not so elsewhere,” she temporized, and went on.
However, when it got to specifics—well, she was quite willing to be specific.
“Mirror-magic,” she
told them. “That is my specialty, really. I can watch through mirrors, or any reflective surface. I can talk to people at a distance that way, if they are magicians or have a magic mirror, and sometimes I can work other magic through the mirrors. That was how I learned about the one you are calling the Snow Witch, how she had taken my name and even the look of my Palace. The harm she was causing! That was when I knew I must become involved.”
She was adept at reading body language, and when it came down to it, the two men were surprisingly simple souls. They trusted her now, and would continue to do so unless she betrayed them—the fatal Traditional flaw and strength of most Heroes. In that, The Tradition was working for her. Ilmari nodded. “Being able to do things at a distance—that is most useful.”
Kaari also trusted her, probably because Kaari’s nature was constructed on trust. Annukka was the only one more reserved, and for someone like Annukka, only time would help. That was fine. She suspected that they thoroughly understood each other. “The Snow Witch, at least, does not seem to use mirror-magic, so despite having my name, she does not seem to be using powers like mine. This means I can probably continue to watch her.” She hesitated, then added, “From all that I can see, she has learned all she knows from books, and has never ventured outside the magics associated with ice, snow and cold.” There. For a Wise Woman, a Wonder-smith and a Warrior-Mage, she had just delivered an enormously important piece of information. “I am not sure she can detect magic if it is not associated with those things. And I am also not sure she is looking very hard for magical opposition. She seems very…” she hesitated “…tired, is the only word I have for this. As if she has been doing this for too long.”
Ilmari pursed his lips. “Still, it does not do to take risks—”
“No,” she agreed. “It does not. I do not use magic if I do not have to. And I am not going to underestimate this foe. I know that I have not sensed anyone searching for magic since we fought the Icehart—”
A Tale of the Five Hundred Kingdoms, Volume 2 Page 58