by Tanya Huff
“Lucky I’m not going to be out here long,” he muttered, stumbling into a drift that reached his thighs. “Any sensible wizard,” he added, plowing forward, “would have built her tower farther south.”
His foot hit something hard and he tripped, falling against the object and burying his arms up to the elbows.
Righting himself, he shook the snow from his sleeves. “Well, it seems I’ve found the sleigh.” He followed the angle to where the lower, front end butted up against rock, clambered over, and out of the cut.
A solid wall of snow slammed into him and, if not for the rock wall at his back, it would have swept him up and away. Eyes closed against the wind, Raulin kept one hand on the mountain and staggered five paces from the camp.
“Far enough,” he decided, and did what he had to. When he finished, he reached out again to use the mountain as his guide. It seemed to have moved. He knew he hadn’t. He stepped forward, arms outstretched, expecting to punch his hands into rock. Nothing. His hands were numb with cold, but he thought they should be able to feel a mountain. He took another step. Still nothing. He squinted in the direction he knew he had to go. All he could see was storm. All he could see in any direction was storm.
“Okay,” he drew his hands up into his sleeves as far as they would go, “let’s just stop and think about this for a moment.” Closing his eyes again, for they certainly weren’t any help, he took two deliberate steps backward. “Okay, now I turn to the left and go five paces which will take me back to the . . .” He bent and flailed around. Nothing. No sleigh.
“All right,” he fought to keep his breathing steady; panic would help the storm, not him. “All right, I could’ve angled off a little. I turn left again and keep going straight. I’ll eventually hit either the sleigh or the mountain.”
Eventually didn’t happen in six steps, or seven, or eight.
When he tried to open his eyes, he found the lashes had frozen.
“CRYSTAL!”
His scream only added to the wailing of the storm.
Crystal and Jago slept on.
* * *
“All right, all right, I’m coming!” Doan stomped out into the storm and stood solidly against the wind. The voice that had imperiously roused him out of sleep had quieted and the Chaos-born storm blocked his sight. His eyes glowed red and a shadowy figure became visible about five body lengths away. He stepped toward it and it moved back.
“Don’t play your games with me, Mother’s son,” he grunted, for only Lord Death could walk unhindered through a blizzard, “I am not in the mood.” But he followed anyway, curiosity growing with every step, until the shadow stopped beside a body half buried in the snow. Doan’s brow furrowed. The body didn’t seem to have a head. He grabbed it and flipped it over. The coat had been pulled up in a turtle attempt at warmth. The man within still lived and he seemed vaguely familiar. Doan searched his memory for a name.
Raulin. That was it. One of the mortals whom the breezes had reported traveling with Crystal. His mouth twitched as he remembered the stories the breezes told. Their descriptions appeared fairly accurate, although Doan couldn’t understand the continuous jokes about the man’s mustache. When it wasn’t frozen solid it was probably quite respectable. But what was he doing out alone in the storm?
And why had Lord Death come to him?
The dwarf bent and hoisted Raulin up on his shoulders. The weight gave him no trouble, but he cursed a little at the length. Ah well, he thought, it can’t hurt bits of him to drag. Snow’s soft.
He paused before starting back and cocked his head at the shadow lingering at the edge of sight. “Why didn’t you wake Crystal?” he asked.
The shadow that was Lord Death vanished into the storm.
Thinking deeply, Doan carried Raulin to safety.
Once inside, he stripped the heavy outer coat off his burden and checked exposed skin for frostbite. Ears, the end of the nose, a patch on each cheek, and fingertips, he decided, all of them superficial although the ears were a close thing. He tucked Raulin’s hands up in his own armpits, and carefully began to warm the mortal’s face. Only the ears still showed white when Raulin finally opened his eyes.
I’ve been found! was Raulin’s first jubilant thought. Who or what is that? was the second. Thick red brown hair, eyes the same color deep-set under heavy brows, flat cheekbones, a pronounced nose, and a mustache that made his own look scanty made up the face which bent over him, concern and irritation showing about equally.
“Mom?” he asked for lack of anything better to say.
Doan laughed.
Raulin noted, that the irritation disappeared with the laughter although the man remained ugly—he took another look—and short. “You’re a dwarf.”
“You have a problem with that?”
Raulin thought of Crystal, Sokoji, a mountain full of wer, and the one-sided conversations his brother had with Lord Death. “No.”
“Good. Name’s Doan. You’re Raulin. Can you sit?”
“I think so.” He did and got his first good look around. Blocks of snow arched up over his head, high enough for the dwarf to stand straight. He lay on a low platform; made, he realized, of furs thrown over snow not cut away to form the walls and ceiling. A small campstove, much like his and Jago’s, burned and kept the place, if not warm, at least comfortable. “Where am I? What is this?”
“Snowhouse,” Doan explained, busy at his pack. “I built it when I sensed the storm coming.”
“You built this?”
“You think it grew here?” He turned and handed Raulin a small stone flask. “Here, take a sip of this and you’ll feel more the thing.”
Raulin looked at it and decided it was the kind of container that could hold only one liquid.
“Ah, alcohol and frostbite don’t mix.”
“You arguing with me, mortal?”
No, Raulin decided, he wasn’t. He accepted the flask, pulled free the stopper, and took a cautious sip. The top of his head blew off. Or at least it felt like the top of his head blew off. He swallowed again. Someone wrote a name in fire along his spine. The third mouthful turned to edged steel in his throat and cut all the way down. He returned the flask.
“Thank you,” he said, surprised at how normal his voice sounded. “I feel much better now.” And he probably would, the moment the world stopped bouncing. He definitely no longer felt cold.
Doan nodded, took a healthy swallow himself and stowed the flask away. “Centaurs brew it. They get a few snorts of this stuff in them and they become almost bearable. Now,” he shoved his hands behind his belt and rocked back on his heels, “what in Chaos were you doing out in that weather?”
“I was writing my name in the snow.”
Doan grimed. “About what I figured. Took one step too far and . . . You know, you’re one damned lucky mortal.”
“I know,” Raulin agreed, shuddering. When he’d fallen that last time, he’d been sure he wouldn’t be getting up again. His last thoughts, after he’d cursed the Chaos-born storm with every bit of profanity he knew, had been equally of Crystal and Jago; his one consolation that they would probably find consolation in each other.
“You have any idea why the Mother’s son came to me instead of Crystal when he wanted your ass pulled out of the storm?” The tone was only just conversational.
Raulin thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I can hazard a guess.”
“You gonna tell me? Remembering, of course, who pulled your ass out of the storm.”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
“Bullshit. You’re in this story up to your eyeballs. Tell.”
“He’s in love.”
“The Mother’s son in love? With Crystal?” Doan laughed. Suddenly, Lord Death’s actions made sense. Of a sort. “And it confuses him.”
“That’d be my guess. I don’t imagine love is
a usual emotion for Lord Death.”
“Is this common knowledge?”
Raulin shrugged. “Everyone seems to know but Crystal.” He paused and matched Doan’s grin. “And possibly Lord Death.”
“Why haven’t you told her?”
He shrugged again. “Because I’m not sure how she feels about him and until I am, I’m not going to mess up how she feels about me.”
Doan’s eyes twinkled and he clapped Raulin on the shoulder, knocking him into the wall. “I like you,” he said, “you think like a dwarf. Come on, let’s get you back before the wizard wakes up and brings the mountain down looking for you.”
“Okay,” Raulin slid to the edge of the platform and began pulling on his coat. “But I’ve no idea where back is.”
“No matter. I do. Dwarves don’t get lost. Ever.” Doan shrugged into his own heavy fur. “When we get outside, keep both hands on my shoulders and I’ll anchor you. We’ll move fast enough so you won’t freeze up again.”
Raulin nodded, then reached out and touched Doan gently on the arm. “Thank you,” he said.
Doan snorted. “Thank Crystal. I’d save a hundred mortals if it saved her one tear.” His gaze grew distant and strangely sad. “And this doesn’t make up for the one I couldn’t save.”
Outside Doan’s snowhouse, the storm had eased a little and by the time they reached the camp, the wind had died. It continued to snow, but softly, the flakes large and gentle.
Raulin turned to thank the dwarf again, but Doan had disappeared and the line of footprints stretching back into the night was filling rapidly. Suddenly, he was exhausted and, barely able to raise his legs, he climbed over the sleigh. He floundered through the drifts to the shelter’s entrance and tossing armloads of snow away, dropped to his knees and crawled inside, shedding the snowy overcoat like a skin.
The warm air smelled like sweat and wet fur and safety.
Shifting Crystal’s legs, he made enough room to pull off his boots and then he stretched out at her side. She grumbled a little because he was cold, but he whispered reassurances in her ear and she sank back into a deeper sleep. Seconds later, holding Crystal close and with one hand cupped around his brother’s shoulder, Raulin joined her.
* * *
When Raulin next opened his eyes, Crystal and Jago were discussing shoving snow down his pants to wake him. “Is it morning?” he muttered, rising up on his elbows.
“It is.” Crystal bent forward and kissed him briskly. “Jago’s been out and the storm’s over.”
Raulin fell back and tried to drag Crystal with him. When she didn’t budge, he yawned instead. “How come Jago never has to get up in the night anymore?” he wondered, remembering his near disaster, what had caused it, and how long it had been since Jago had woken him up by crawling over him to get to the door.
Jago shrugged. “Strength of character?”
In much the way it healed him, your power takes care of these things as he sleeps. Sholah sounded amused.
“What?” the brothers asked in unison as Crystal suddenly grinned.
She passed on Sholah’s explanation and Raulin threw up his hands.
“Figures. Some guys get all the luck.” He meant to tell them then, about the storm and his rescue and Doan, but Jago threw him his coat and the story got lost in the scramble out of the shelter.
Sokoji looked like a massive snow drift, angled up against the mountain.
“Is she okay under there?” Jago reached out and pushed a mitten-print into the unbroken expanse of white.
“I think so. The Elder Races don’t worry much about the weather.”
Raulin opened his mouth to tell them of the shelter made from blocks of snow, but the emerald of Crystal’s eyes grew momentarily brighter and she called the giant’s name. In the flurry of Sokoji’s awakening—the cut looked for a moment as if the storm had returned—the story got lost again.
During breakfast, he almost mentioned it, reminded of the centaurs’ brew by a burning mouthful of too hot tea, but Jago asked him something about the day’s route and the story wandered off once more.
He never did tell what happened. He never quite knew why.
* * *
“Saving the life of a mortal,” Lord Death buried his face in his hands, “I don’t believe I did that.” In memory, he saw Crystal laughing with Raulin, Crystal holding Raulin, Crystal and Raulin. He groaned. He knew, had Raulin died, Crystal would not have blamed him. But he knew also that every time she looked at him afterward, she’d be looking for Raulin’s face, torn between wanting and not wanting to see it on the face of Death.
If only he could touch her. If only he knew how she really felt. Sometimes it seemed her manner held more than friendship and sometimes it seemed not to hold even that.
“Why isn’t it this complicated for mortals?” he wondered. He remembered the goddess of love blessing the couples who knelt before her altars, blithely interfering in the lives of her worshipers. Thousands of years ago that had been, and things had certainly not been as simple since. The Mother’s son looked down at the shelter where Crystal lay wrapped in Raulin’s arms. It would take Avreen to straighten out this tangle, he suspected.
Avreen.
Crystal carried the goddesses within her.
And wasn’t sleep a small piece of the oblivion that came with Death?
He would have to be very careful he touched only the part of Crystal that was Avreen, but if he succeeded it would be worth the risk.
* * *
The ripe greens of summer swirled around him and Lord Death allowed himself a smile of triumph. He had managed to slip deep into Crystal’s sleeping mind, safely past the guardians that would have alerted her to his presence.
“Avreen,” he called softly, afraid that if he hesitated in what he’d come to do, he’d lose his nerve. “Avreen, I need you.”
“No need to tell me that, Mother’s son.” A throaty chuckle thrummed in the air behind him. “Your yearning is a blazing beacon to me.”
Lord Death turned, or perhaps the place turned around him, he couldn’t be sure. His jaw dropped and he froze.
Avreen smiled a lazy sort of a smile and pushed silver hair back off her face with a long fingered ivory hand. Thickly lashed lids half closed over emerald eyes. “What did you expect?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. “I wear the face of love and each sees in me what they most desire.”
It had taken Lord Death only a second to realize it wasn’t Crystal before him, Avreen was more . . . more knowing than Crystal could ever be. Forcing himself to really look at the goddess, he saw physical differences as well. Avreen’s features were Crystals ripened; fuller, lusher, inviting just by existing. He found the effect disturbing.
He wondered what, or who, Crystal saw when she looked on Avreen. He wondered, but he didn’t ask.
“What is it you want from me, Mother’s son?”
“I thought you knew.” How could she not know, appearing as she had?
The goddess smiled again and even Lord Death felt the power of it. He gave thanks he had been created more than mortal for he doubted a mortal man could survive Avreen’s personal attention.
“The rules state you must petition me. I cannot act without it,” she told him. “Although I warn you before you speak,” she added dryly, “my range of influence is not great at this time.”
“I want . . .” He paused. If he said it, especially here, to her, he made it real. He gathered up his courage. “I want Crystal to love me.” The words came out louder than he intended and barely under control.
“And you want me to . . .” Avreen prompted.
“Well, to make her. Love me.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Of course.” He tried to bury the confusion. “I’m here.”
“Ah.”
“You can, can�
��t you?”
“Yes.” The goddess’ eyes crinkled at the corners and she looked as if she thought about a very pleasant secret. “But why should I?”
“Why?” Lord Death waved his hands about in short jerky motions. Why? “Well, because . . .” Because I love her. He knew that was the answer Avreen wanted. He couldn’t say it. He could barely admit it to himself, he couldn’t say it aloud. “Just because. Will you do it?”
“Will she do what?”
Again the voice behind him. Not throaty this time, not low and seductive, but clear and sharp. Ringing. Like a silver bell struck with a silver hammer. He didn’t want to turn, but he did. They were, after all, in her mind.
“Crystal.” He carefully kept all emotion from his voice as he said her name.
Crystal stood and stared at Lord Death, one hand working in the loose fabric of her tunic front. He was no construct of her imagination, no dream—not this time. She took a step toward him, brows drawn down in puzzlement. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t have a reason he could tell her, so he remained silent.
“Will Avreen do what?”
He shook his head.
“How did you get here?” Crystal heard her voice rising. Why wouldn’t he speak? What did he hide?
“Death and sleep are cousins of a sort,” he said, grateful for a question he could finally answer. He felt like a bug, pinned under the hurt in Crystal’s eyes. “As I am the one, I can work with the other.”
“So you dropped in for a visit?”
He winced at the sarcasm and countered with a question of his own. “How did you know I was here? I kept far away from the Crystal part of you.”
“You took a chance.” She looked momentarily exasperated, but not, he thought, at him. “You lost.”
“Maybe.” The disembodied voice teetered on the edge of laughter. Maybe not.
Lord Death recognized the source of Crystal’s exasperation. He had dealt with the goddess of chance in the past. “Lady Eegri.” He inclined his head. “Why have you interfered?”
“Have I interfered?” She popped into sight and gave him a saucy wink. “I thought I helped. She says you lost the toss, not me.” Then only her giggle remained.