by Box Set
The winter wind whipped along Otec’s body, but his shiver came from a sense of foreboding. “Undon, we need you.”
The man shook his head. “You’ll have to do without.” He motioned to his men and they separated themselves and began moving away.
Otec watched them go, their passing kicking up the white snow to reveal black ash beneath.
“We’ll wait for tomorrow,” Destin said as his pale-blue eyes looked for support from the group of Argons and Shyle. “Then perhaps the Tyrons will be ready to go with us.”
Otec looked at his fellow clanmen, who were already starting to back away. “Sometimes you don’t have time to make plans and rest. You just have to move.” But they weren’t listening.
Seneth clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I agree,” he said loudly. “And the Argons will fight beside you.”
Otec closed his eyes in relief, feeling the snow melting against his cheeks, washing away the ash that coated his skin. He gave Seneth a subtle nod of gratitude.
Seneth motioned to his men. “Round up the horses. Let’s go.”
Otec glanced down to find Destin glaring at him. “Shyle, move out.” Otec pushed through the crowd, not checking to see if they would follow, but hoping against hope that they would.
He heard footsteps following him, but didn’t dare look back until he reached the horses hidden in a box canyon. All the men were there. Even Destin, who paused beside him. “This doesn’t have to be a fight. Step down and let someone with more experience take over.”
Otec tightened the cinch on his horse’s saddle a bit more forcefully than necessary. “Someone like you?”
Destin shrugged his wiry shoulders. “I fought beside your brothers. Fought under your father. That’s more than you can say.” He turned away to find his own horse.
Otec watched him go as the wind picked up, blowing with sharpness through the spaces of his coat. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against the saddle, and took in the familiar smells of horse and leather.
“Otec?” He looked up to see Seneth already mounted, looking down at him.
He took a deep breath of the biting wind and swung up into the saddle. They rode through the dark night, sticking to the road so the horses didn’t trip over their own feet in the rising snow.
In the gray light of morning, Otec ordered his men to surround their own village. Pushing through snow that reached the middle of his shins, he took in his home. He couldn’t help but think of Matka’s drawing of a cozy village brimming with life and comfort. Now many of the homes were burned-out ruins. The air still carried the acrid smell of burning, and tendrils of smoke rose from deep within the partially collapsed walls.
Otec moved into position, catching glimpses inside old lady Bothilda’s house, of her spinning wheel, still set up with wool from the spring shearing. As he passed the open door at the back of the house, a raven started and took flight. Otec glanced inside and realized the bird had been eating the old woman’s cat. One side of the cat was blackened to a crisp, the other side untouched. The cat’s eyes were missing.
A minute later, Otec took up position behind his clan house. Part of the roof had burned, but most of the building was still intact. The owl appeared again, hooting and flying out of sight behind the barn. For now, Otec didn’t follow it. He had to get inside the clan house, search for his family first.
When the signal came that the last man was in place, the clanmen darted out of hiding, silent as they slipped inside the houses to kill the Raiders sleeping in their stolen beds.
Readjusting his sweaty grip on his axe, Otec pushed open the clan-house door. The place smelled of days-old ashes. He wandered from one room to another, a breathless hope that he would find all of them inside. A burning dread that they would be dead. But in the end, all he was left with was hollow confusion. The house was empty.
Otec stumbled back into the early morning light and saw his men wandering around, clearly as bewildered as he was. Some were running, calling their loved ones’ names. There was no one. Even Otec’s dog was gone.
Seneth came jogging up to him. “The village has been abandoned. There are no Raiders or Shyle anywhere.”
“Where could they have gone?” Otec turned in a circle, hoping to see even one of the women. “They have to be here somewhere. Search every building. Send men out to the summer homes. Surely some of them escaped there.”
Otec looked around for the owl, but it was nowhere in sight. The snow came harder now. He hiked his coat up higher on his shoulders, his body shivering with exhaustion, cold, and hunger. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could force himself to go before he collapsed. He only knew that moment was not yet upon him.
Steeling himself, he checked the barn. Thistle and all the horses were gone. Otec exited at the back of the barn and squinted into the distance. To the west of the village, dark figures moved through the snowy fields. Judging by their size, they had to be women.
He started toward them, passing the old meat shed. But his foot slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. He could have sworn it wasn’t there when he’d placed his foot. He lay still for a few moment, trying to dredge up the energy to force his body up.
The owl was sitting on the meat shed, staring at him. His backside aching, Otec rolled to the side and pushed himself up when he noticed the shed door had been opened since the snow had begun to fall.
His eyes lifted to the owl even as strode forward and yanked on the door. But it was locked. With one swing of his axe, Otec broke through the old wood. Inside the barn, Matka hung by her hands from a rusted meat hook. Her clothes were torn and bloody, her exposed skin bruised and mottled with cold. Her head hung down, her normally dark skin as gray as ash-covered snow.
Otec rushed over and lifted her, but he couldn’t untie the knot around the meat hook. “I need help! I need help in here!”
There were running footsteps, and then the Argons came. Otec held Matka as they cut through the ropes. She collapsed into his arms, her body lifeless. He hauled her outside and gently set her down in the clean snow.
She looked dead. Her eyes were sunken into her skull, her bones sticking out. They must not have fed her at all in the days since he’d seen her last.
Otec held her face close to his. “Matka? Can you hear me?” No response.
Sharina, one of his mother’s assistant healers and friends, bustled over, her eyes wide.
“Where did you come from?” Otec asked in surprise, his voice breathless with hope.
Sharina knelt and pressed her ear to Matka’s mouth. “When they attacked the village, some of us escaped into the forest. The Raiders left yesterday morning through Shyle Pass. They took hundreds of villagers with them.”
That would have been right after Otec’s men had ambushed the Raiders. “Were any of my family with you?” he asked.
Sharina shook her head. “The Raiders took them out first.”
Otec had to fight to keep his dark emotions locked tight away. He stared toward the mountains he could barely see through the blinding snow. “We have to go after them.”
Seneth followed his gaze. “We push the men any harder, and they’ll start dying. Let them have one night of warmth, rest, and food. Then we’ll go after them together.”
“Who is she?” Seneth asked as he gestured toward Matka.
Sharina’s gaze locked with Otec’s, silent communication passing between them. “She’s a highwoman,” Otec said without hesitation. “The Idarans took her as a slave. But she managed to escape, only to find herself their captive again. And all to save a handful of clanmen.”
Sharina rested her palm on the girl’s chest. “She’s breathing. Her heart beats, but weakly. You must get her warm. It’s all any of us can do for her.” She pushed to her feet. “And now I’m going to go see if I can help anyone else.”
With Seneth’s aid, Otec lifted Matka into his arms. Her head came to rest against his chest. “I promised Holla I’d look after you.” The words nearly brok
e him. But he held himself together. He still had his family to save. “Please don’t die.”
Seneth stepped back, his penetrating gaze on Otec. “You care for her,” the older man said. When Otec didn’t deny it, Seneth offered, “I’ll handle everything tonight.”
Otec nodded gratefully and trudged through the snow to the hollow clan house.
“But Otec?”
He paused and looked back at Seneth.
“Tomorrow, you’ll have to be the clan chief again.”
“Yes.” Otec paused. “Stay in the Bends’ house. It looks intact and has enough room.”
In the clan-house kitchen, Otec lit a fire and built it up until it roared, then placed Matka as close to it as he dared. He shut the door to the great hall and stuffed blankets from the bedrooms under the door. He washed Matka’s face and hands with hot water and an extra blanket, then wrapped her in his own furs.
In the cellar, he stepped carefully over broken pots of dried herbs and righted barrels empty of the apples that should have seen his family through the winter. He ate some cheese he’d found under a tipped-over stool. Matka started to shiver, so he made some hot tea and got her to swallow some. Her color seemed better after that.
Despite the eerie silence, Otec couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He lay down beside Matka and curled around her shivering body to comfort himself and warm her. He fell quickly asleep.
When he awoke later, his whole body was stiff and aching. It was still dark out. He sat up to see Matka staring at the ceiling, her hands clutching the furs spread over both of their bodies. Her vacant expression nearly destroyed him. He didn’t think he could bear it if the Raiders had broken her mind.
“Matka?” he said hesitantly.
“They took Holla,” she replied in a monotone, her expression frozen in place. “They took all of them.”
Otec reached over her to toss more logs into the embers. “They were alive?”
Matka didn’t respond at first. “Your mother died fighting them. But the rest, yes.”
His father had been right. “What did they do with her body?”
“They burned them,” Matka said softly. “It’s how the Idarans deal with all their dead.”
A sob hitched in Otec’s throat. The ice encasing his emotions shattered at once, flooding him with such grief he couldn’t bear it. Matka held his hand until Otec managed to swallow his sobs and ask, “Why did they leave you behind?”
She stared at the ceiling. “Tyleze threw me in with the clan. They would have killed me. But Holla wouldn’t let them. When Tyleze came for my body and found me alive instead, he hauled me into the meat shed.” Her whole body trembled as if the memories were trying to break their way out of her skin.
“Because despite all they had done to me, they dared not kill me and they dared not take me with them. They knew if they did, I’d find a way to kill them. And they were right.” Matka let out a shaky breath. “So they decided to leave me in the cold, to let the Goddess of Winter finish me off.”
A single tear rolled down her bruised cheek. “Jore is dead, isn’t he?” Otec could only nod. She closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip. “I knew when I woke up and saw you instead of him that he was gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
She had no idea how sorry Otec was, but he couldn’t tell her he’d killed her brother. She’d hate him for it, and he couldn’t bear that.
Matka pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sobbed. Now it was Otec’s turn to comfort her. When she’d calmed down, he found a pot of grains on one of the shelves and made them some gruel and fried pork belly.
Then they slept again.
Chapter 14
Otec woke before dawn and began to gather his winter gear. He stepped into the kitchen to find Matka standing with her back to him before a bowl of steaming water, a soapy rag in her hand. He got a good look at the bloody welts criss-crossing her back before she shoved her arms into her tattered tunic and pulled it over her shoulders.
Feeling the urge to kill whatever man had done that to her, Otec dumped his gear by one of the chairs and began the arduous task of putting it on. “Take whatever you need,” he told Matka. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She dropped the rag in the water with a splash. “I’m coming with you.”
“Matka—”
“It’s my fault!” She braced herself against the table. “If I hadn’t trusted Tyleze, if I would have warned your family, the village could have fled in the night. Or maybe someone could have gone for help. Something . . .”
Otec studied this woman, took in her betrayal—consciously done or not—and was surprised he had only compassion for her. Would she feel the same if she knew he had killed her brother? For the briefest moment, he considered telling her. But what good would it do? Jore was dead. Otec’s father was dead. Nothing could change that. Telling Matka would only increase her pain.
Otec determined then that it was a burden he would bear alone. He reached out, taking her hand. “If I would have stayed, maybe I could have helped them get away. Or I could have died in the attack.” He shook his head, desperately wanting her to understand what he couldn’t say. “We have to let this go.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said firmly. “If I slow you down, you can leave me behind.”
Otec studied her haunted expression and realized she would never forgive herself if she didn’t do this. “All right. Finish washing your wounds—Mother always said that was important to preventing blood poisoning.” He stumbled back from the table that was still sticky and smelled like apples.
He paused before the door to tie on his snowshoes. “Take what you need and try to find us some more food. I’ll be back for you.”
Matka nodded wordlessly.
Otec stepped out into a full-on blizzard and made his way to the Bends’ house—it was one of the few that still seemed perfectly intact. He opened the door to find the floor covered with a mixture of Argon and Shyle clanmen sleeping in neat rows and columns. “Up!” he called to them. “Go through all the houses and find winter gear and food. We’re leaving at daybreak.” The men hauled themselves to their feet.
Pushing pale blond hair out of his face, Destin shot Otec a disapproving look. But with nothing to argue about, he gathered up his things and went with the others.
Seneth watched Otec from his place beside the fire. Judging by his bloodshot eyes, Seneth hadn’t slept yet. Otec made his way toward him, when someone shouted his name.
“Dobber?” Otec said.
The other man enveloped Otec in a hug. “You’re alive, Dobber! How?” He’d thought all the men in the Shyle at the time of the Raiders’ attack were dead.
Dobber pushed back, tears pooling in his eyes. “My father and I tried to fight them off. When I woke up, my house was burning and it was over. All I could do was hide.”
“What about your family?”
Dobber shook his head. “My father is dead. The rest were taken.”
Otec squeezed his shoulders. “We’ll get them back.”
After a moment, Dobber nodded wordlessly.
“Go into my family’s meat shed,” Otec said. “See if you can find any food the Raiders left behind.”
Dobber turned to go.
Seneth motioned Otec over to the fire and said, “Dozens of your women escaped into the forests. Most fled to the summer homes higher up the mountains. There’s no way of knowing for sure how many until the storm breaks.”
Otec sank into a chair. Already he was feeling too hot in his winter gear. “And the Raiders?”
Seneth leaned forward. “The story I’ve pieced together is that they fled with their captives as soon as we defeated the Idarans in the pass, though I’m not sure how they knew.”
Otec studied the storm through the bubbled glass of a small window. “We’ll catch up to them.”
Seneth tossed a log onto the embers, then prodded it with a stick to get it to start up again, but the wood was wet and
stubborn. “Otec, our orders were to stop the threat to our northern borders. After that, we were to return and support the cities still under attack.”
Otec blinked at Seneth, not believing what he was hearing. “You want us to abandon our women and children to them?”
Seneth blew out through his nose. “They started up yesterday just after daybreak. They took all the horses and wagons, so they were probably moving pretty fast. The storm came from the south, so if they beat it over the summit, they’re probably safely on the other side. And if they didn’t . . .”
“They’re trapped in this storm,” Otec finished for him.
“And right now, the snow’s too deep for the horses to break through. Your only option to go after them is snowshoes.” Seneth’s eyes were full of compassion. “What’s on the other side of the pass, Otec?”
Otec watched the steam sizzling out of the log that refused to burn. He’d traveled Shyle Pass with the sheep before, but never beyond. “The sheer cliffs of Darbenmore . . . the only ones who can navigate those cliffs are Darbens.” The Darbens had built their village into recessions in the cliffs. They were a solitary lot, living off the sea and a few crops they grew on the mountainsides.
“And apparently very, very desperate Raiders,” Seneth said darkly. He poked the stubborn log again.
Otec closed his eyes and spoke low. “Seneth, I don’t know if the Shyle will follow me without your support.”
Seneth tossed away the poker, which clattered loudly on the floor. “I can’t risk my family’s safety any more than you can. If the clan lands fall, so will they.”
Otec stared at the smoking piece of wood. “Destin already told me he’d do a better job of leading.”
Seneth grunted. “Had it been up to him, we would have spent the night freezing in the middle of the canyon and you would be another day behind your women and children.”
Otec watched the log finally catch fire. “Go, Seneth. Your place is defending your family. As is mine.”
Seneth lifted haunted eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Otec rose to his feet, sweat building up under his clothing. “I have a hundred clansmen, more than enough on my own. Know that the Shyle will always be in your debt. A debt we will repay if ever you need us.”