The Book of Snow & Silence

by Zoe Marriott

  I looked at Vangor’s scarred, grizzled face and then back at Uldar’s fresh, unmarked one, and wondered exactly how much ‘raising’ – night feedings, mucking out, training – of these great creatures the Prince had actually conducted himself. Vangor seemed to catch the look. He winked swiftly at me, then cleared his throat and squinted pale eyes at the sky.

  “Hope the rest of ‘em are getting ready to go soon. It’s setting in for a katturispar all right,” the old man said, making what I assumed was a warding gesture with the hand not currently grasping the bear’s reins.

  “A what?” I blurted, disconcerted by the unfamiliar word. I had thought my Silingan vocabulary almost complete. “I beg your pardon, Vangor; what does that mean?”

  Uldar laughed. His breath ruffled the long golden fur of the collar drawn up around his chin. “Ka-TAR-is-PAH,” he repeated carefully. “It’s an old Ll – er – an old-fashioned word. It means cat’s paws. A storm that tears at you like a wild hunting cat, you see?”

  “Freeze the skin off you,” Vangor agreed. “Seen men lose their hands, their feet, their whole faces in weather like that. Furst breck.”

  “Frost bite,” Uldar translated again, then seeing my bewildered and perhaps apprehensive expression, shook his head. “Skalluskar is less than a full day’s travel into the forest with my pets pulling for us, and our Wind Caster will make sure the storm doesn’t hit until long after we’re tucked up in bed. It’s nothing you need worry about.”

  The sandstorms in the dry season of the Yellow Desert could flay an unwary traveller, blasting their skin with sand until it peeled off and all that was left was bloody shreds of muscle clinging to the bone. I had seen such storms rage, from a safe distance. Now I imagined one made not of boiling clouds of golden sand but of ice – long white daggers of ice, like the icicles that dripped from the staircases of the Silingana’s ballroom. I shuddered.

  “Too late,” I said dryly. “You can’t tell me there are storms that can freeze a woman’s face off and then expect me not to worry.”

  But Uldar was already turning away, eyes sliding past me as if I had suddenly become invisible. I heard the Palace door clunk quietly shut, and knew exactly what the next word from the Prince’s mouth would be.

  “Shell!” he called. “I give you good morning! Come – come and meet my bears!”

  21

  I gave Vangor a brief, gracious smile, carefully avoiding his eyes so that I would not have to pretend to ignore a look of amusement, or worse, pity. I stepped away from him and his charges as casually as I could, making a show of adjusting my fur-lined cap.

  “...that boy hasn’t slept in his own bed for three nights...” the maid’s avid words echoed through my mind.

  In my mind’s eye I visualised the katturispar again. A storm of ice. Freezing and deadly. But this time I imagined those icy daggers engulfing a girl. A girl with glossy red-black hair and slender, muscular limbs. I imagined the storm closing around the gracefully twirling shadows of her as she danced, engulfing her until there was nothing to be seen anymore – then falling quiet, soft snowflakes parting to reveal nothing but picked-clean bones, white as ivory.

  I tasted blood again and sucked on my lip resignedly.

  Behind me the bear gave a low, mournful moan and then a harsh grunt. I glanced back to see Uldar guiding Shell’s hand to pat the creature on its nose, between its beady black eyes. I stared.

  She was wearing a long, thick fur like my own, though hers was in a deep red-brown that nearly matched her hair. But she wore no hat and – even odder – she was ungloved. Her fingers, against the animal’s streaky fur, were tiny and delicate. Through my gloves and muff I could feel the chill. I couldn’t believe her fingers hadn’t already shrivelled up from it.

  “Ah! Look, he likes you!” Uldar exclaimed.

  Skirpir was staring at Shell too. The animal’s eyes were fixed and unwavering and its entire huge body had gone utterly still, as if it were mesmerised. Liking? No, nothing so simple.

  It is – afraid. The bear is afraid of the girl. But also fascinated by her.

  How can that be?

  Shell withdrew her hand from the bear’s muzzle, shoulders suddenly straightening as if she sensed another’s scrutiny. Her face turned in my direction. I spun back to face the forest.

  “Princess Theoai!” Queen Miramand swept up to me briskly, ladies-in-waiting trailing behind. She took my arm with one mittened hand, ignoring my rigidity. I could barely feel the touch through all the layers of fur.

  “As I thought,” she went on. “These furs are exquisite on you. Come along now. Leave the prince to his little pets.”

  As one, the ladies-in-waiting laughed, although the Queen’s voice, sharp-edged, had not suggested humour. But I was grateful for their noise, their warmth, as they surrounded me like a fragrant honour-guard, gently manoeuvring me away from where my Prince stood with his Lady Silence.

  “Have you come to see us off then, Highness?” I asked the Queen, in a pretense at normality.

  Miramand’s brow wrinkled delicately, then smoothed. “Oh no, my dear. I am one of the party, of course – I cannot allow Uldar to run off on his adventures unchecked. Look what happened the last time he escaped my supervision.”

  The courtiers made a sad murmuring noise of agreement.

  I blinked. Had Miramand said before that she was coming along? I had assumed, wrongly it seemed, that the point of the trip was for Uldar and me to be as close to alone together as was possible. But her point was good; if Uldar had allowed Captain Volin to bring up his anchor and sail clear of the Numinast then maybe everyone could have survived the storm. Perhaps it was better for him to be supervised by someone he would actually listen to.

  Miramand leaned in a little closer, her hand sliding around my arm. “I am sorry about her. I tried my best, but Uldar can be so stubborn.”

  A hole opened up in the bottom of my stomach. She couldn’t mean...?

  “I’m afraid so,” she confirmed, seeing my face. “She’s not here to see us off. He insisted she would be lonely if he left her behind. He’s convinced himself she’s in love with him. Our feelings on the matter, apparently, are irrelevant.”

  The urge to leave the yard, march back into the Palace and fling myself under the covers again was strong. But only for a single breath. I had other business to attend to at Skalluskar, and I must focus on that. It was difficult, though. I could hear more people coming into the stable yard, all of them forming a captivated crowd around Uldar and Shell, while Shell coaxed the animals to snuffle tidbits from her fingers.

  Clearly, as far as any of them were concerned, I might as well not bother going at all.

  “No matter what I do, he seems to become more and more enamoured of her,” I said in a low whisper. “Perhaps I should try talking to him about this after all.”

  “Hold your ground,” Miramand murmured back, tone soft, eyes fierce. “Do not show fear before her. You are the sun. She is the dirt.”

  “But – ”

  “Back up now, back up!” Uldar was shouting. “Time to hitch the bears to the sleighs and be off, or we’ll never get to Skalluskar!”

  “I will engage her for the journey, never fear,” Miramand told me. “Only make his time with you pleasant and easy, and he will begin to forget her again in a trice.”

  She let me go as we were both swept into the preparations to depart. The yard teemed with uniformed grooms now, checking the luggage loads, re-adjusting the bears’ harnesses, helping guests into the waiting vehicles. I counted the members of the party. Uldar and I, Shell and Miramand, a pair of male friends of Uldar’s, a shrunken, older gentleman in a black fur who looked vaguely familiar, and a middle-aged lady of Miramand’s. The Queen smoothly drew Shell and the other woman into her sleigh, and the two young men and the old gentleman went into the third. Uldar and I had the first to ourselves.

  He did not, it had to be said, look entirely delighted about it.

  “I don’t know why Mot
her always has to be interfering and arranging things just so...” he mumbled, dutifully offering me his hand to help me step up into the sleigh’s thickly padded interior.

  “Isn’t that what mothers do?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Oh well.” Apparently unwilling to argue, he sat beside me with a close-lipped smile, taking the trouble to tuck the thick furs around my waist himself rather than leave the task to one of the grooms hovering nearby. He bore me no personal animosity for his having been separated from Shell, then. But nor did he make any effort to throw off the disappointment. He retreated to the other side of the back bench, leaning his chin on his hand and glaring moodily into the middle distance. With the frown carving deep lines into his face, he reminded me rather unfortunately of his Father.

  Drawing on Miramand’s encouragement – and sternly repressing my urge to lean over and seize the sulking boy’s ear for a well-deserved twisting – I asked lightly: “Are we to have any hunting at Skalluskar?”

  “We?” He turned to stare at me. “Women do not hunt.”

  Ha! And birds do not fly. “Yamarri women are great hunters. I would lay odds I can keep up with any man you choose on horseback, Highness. Even yourself.”

  “Oh, would you? Even in snow?”

  “Certainly. If I can ride through sand dunes I hardly think snow drifts would be a challenge,” I said coolly, though I was not entirely sure if that was true.

  “You’re on!” Then he drooped, sighing. “Not this time, though. It’s the wrong season. The snow is too deep for horses and all the big game are either hibernating or have young.”

  Did he always sulk this much? Once more the year separating us felt like a decade. Before I could try again to coax the Prince from his black mood, Vangor climbed into place behind Skirpir. The male bear’s breath was rising in eager, meat-scented plumes, drifting back to where Uldar and I sat, and the animal was shifting from paw to paw. Vangor hummed a short, soothing tune and then gave the reins a shake, setting the brass bells jingling.

  “Hip-hoooo!” he hollered.

  An answering cry went up from the drivers of the other sleighs. Uldar turned to gaze longingly over the curved back of our vehicle. Despite knowing exactly what he was looking at, I followed his gaze as Skirpir began to drag us, jouncing and jolting, over the cobbles.

  In the sleigh behind us, Shell sat with Miramand. The castaway’s face was open and untroubled, cheeks pink, hair blowing in charming tendrils around her temples. But she sat very straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap, and I wondered exactly what was occupying the mind behind that lovely face. Especially since Miramand was leaning toward her, talking intently. The lady-in-waiting had put herself as far to the right of the bench as possible and was – knitting?

  I could hardly keep in my seat with this rocking and bouncing. Manipulating sharp needles at the same time seemed a perilous hobby. Silingans were made of stern stuff indeed.

  Then we were out of the stable yard and the blades of the sleigh hit the white road of even, undisturbed snow beyond. Skirpir let out a bellow of pure joy. We took flight.

  The running bear was a thing of fearsome beauty. His great back, his whole body, became a sort of river of rippling fur, blurred with motion. Carried by the animal’s power, we were barely touching the surface of the snow. Scattered trees and houses flashed by on either side of us. The wind raked my exposed cheeks and tried to rip off my cap. Unbidden, a shout of exultation – a battle cry – erupted from my lips. Beside me Uldar laughed, eyes shining.

  Freed from the task of keeping Uldar occupied by the rushing wind, the crunching of the bear’s paws, the bellows-whoosh of its breath and the constant shushing of the blades cutting through ice and snow, my eyes devoured the unfolding landscape of Silinga. It was as new to me as the pages of a book I had never opened before.

  The forest thickened and then closed on the road, filling my nose with the moist, resinous scent of pines. Creatures fled into the trees as we skimmed past. I saw a pair of white hares with red tipped ears and paws, and a slinking white fox, much larger than its desert counterpart. A flock of tiny red birds burst from the pine needles, swooping and darting around the sleighs with an achingly sweet trill of song, then disappearing into the branches again.

  “Iceskirl!” Uldar shouted, pointing up. I jerked my head toward the sky and caught a fleeting glimpse of a triangular golden face – a cat – with black tufted ears and yellow eyes that glinted at us from the interlocking boughs that crisscrossed overhead.

  Almost as abruptly as it had swallowed us, the forest drew back again, thick green foliage parting like the velvet drapes at a puppet show. The fingers of the wind had swirled the snow around us into crisp wrinkles and trenches, and the still-rising sun cast black shadows across them, and tinted the tops in shades of red and gold. For a heartbeat I could almost believe I was looking at the dunes of my home at sunset. I felt a pang of homesickness so intense it turned my stomach.

  The road began to switchback sharply and the bear slowed a little; we were descending. The sleigh slid out onto a flat plain surrounded by low hills. Shreds of cloud rippled across their flat, forested tops like water. We soon began to pass settlements and farms, enclosed by wooden fences that stood out starkly against the white landscape, black thread stitched onto clean linens. Angular houses poked out of the snow, their thickly thatched roofs nearly hidden by crusts of icicles. Grey beasts with broad backs and melancholy faces – musk oxes, Uldar shouted – clustered in the shelter of open barns, seeming happy to huddle for warmth despite their savagely curving white horns.

  Large birds hopped and cackled at us from fence posts, entertained by our procession. Stark black and white at first glance, their feathers lit with fabulous, iridescent greens and indigos whenever the light hit them. I looked at Uldar, and saw him averting his face from them unhappily. But I knew the names of these ones without asking. They were magpies, which might bring either good or bad fortune, depending on the number you could see. I counted seven, but could not remember the part of the rhyme which would tell me what fortune it signified. All I could hope was that it was not as ominous as ‘one for sorrow’.

  22

  The first part of the journey barely felt minutes long, although when Vangor at last let out the bellow that called us to a halt, and I stood and stepped out of the sleigh, and stretched, my muscles had tightened up enough to make me groan.

  We had stopped at a small settlement built beside the road. From the colourfully painted buildings, the lit lamps hanging under the icicle-bearded eaves and the happy, welcoming faces of the half dozen folk who rushed out to greet us, I guessed this was a kind of way-station, making a living from travellers along the road. Royal visitors ought to compensate them well. No wonder their weathered brown faces grinned so determinedly under their multicoloured patchwork caps as they offered us tankards of foaming beer, dark little cakes filled with almond paste and studded with candied cherries, and baked red potatoes stuffed with butter, sharp cheese and crunchy specks of cured meat. I refused the beer, but gladly took a share of cake, and sipped at some warm, amber-coloured drink that tasted mostly of honey. I missed the spices of home, but there was no denying the Silingans were good at sweets.

  A group of children materialised as we wandered the little hamlet, eating and stamping our feet. Aged between eight and ten years old, clad in many petticoated, swirling dresses or baggy trousers, with silver bells that tinkled on their tall snowboots, they begged for coins, trying to sell us trinkets they had made. They were much darker of skin and hair than any Silingans I had met so far and reminded me of the enterprising children of the marketplaces at home, costing me another pang. The tiny wooden boxes, embroidered pincushions, dolls made of clothes-pegs and carved nutshells strung into necklaces looked even more delicate in their small hands. If I had owned any of the local coin I would have bought an armful of mementos just to make them smile. As it was, I had to watch as their parents quickly scolded them away, wary of o
ffending such wealthy customers with their pestering antics.

  Thwarted, the children slunk around the back of the sleighs to where Vangor and the other drivers had unharnessed the bears and were feeding the two females handfuls of dried meat. Skirpir, probably already fed, had moved a little way off on his own and was rolling on his back in a heap of snow, letting out crooning, rumbling sounds. The huge black pads of his paws waved disarmingly in the air. I felt a twinge of apprehension as the children approached him, giggling and squeaking.

  Uldar said they were completely tame, I thought, but I was unable to prevent myself from taking a quick step in that direction. I looked around for Uldar and saw him competing with his friends, laughing and flailing as they attempted to down tankards of beer in one gulp. No help to be had there. Perhaps I should...

  Before I could complete the idea, let alone turn it into action, one of the laughing children darted forward and poked the bear’s hind paw.

  Skirpir’s whole body jerked. He let out a roar of rage, flipping over onto his front so swiftly that the snow rose up around him in a powdery cloud. Huge paws swept down like scythes, yellowing fangs and black eyes emerging from the cloud like a monster in some blurred, sweat-soaked nightmare. Screaming, the children scattered – and I screamed with them – but Skirpir was too fast, lunging at the closest child with champing jaws.

  Then, though I had not seen her move, had no idea where she had come from, Shell was there.

  In one movement she bent, swept the child forcefully behind her and surged upright: facing the bear down.

  Skirpir’s teeth snapped shut on air less than an inch from the girl’s face. She neither blinked nor flinched. The bear roared again, its breath blasting Shell’s hair around her shoulders. She only stared back at it, silent, unmoving. Unmoved. In that moment her eyes seemed as black and predatory as those of the animal.