“We’ll call you if anything else happens,” Arvid promised. His heart was light with relief. He would have gone to war with Merroc over Martine’s life if he had to, but to have that threat lifted was almost enough to make him happy. If only they knew that Ember was safe.
After he had gone into the guest chamber and they were alone, Martine asked him, “What promise?”
“To kill you, if I didn’t,” he said, looking out the window. “The wedding fire,” he added in surprise. “It’s gone out.”
Fire Mountain
She was going to marry Nyr.
There was not enough ice in the world to cool what she felt for Ash, but she was going to marry Nyr, and save two peoples, and bring peace, and no matter what happened, that was the way it had to be.
It was like out on the ice: ice pole, step, slide, ice pole, step. There was only one path to follow, and she would follow it to the end, although her heart broke inside her.
But here, now, the path hadn’t yet begun.
She turned slowly to look at Ash, the dim light from the fire pool sending red and gold over his face, his hands. His felt coat was white and black and gray, and for a quick flash of a moment she wondered what Sight his Aunty Drema had, to give her a coat of red and gold and him one in a crane’s colors, the color of the air.
“Nyr,” he said, his shoulders hunched.
Ember’s lips trembled. She was hot, too hot, suddenly. She took off her coat and let it fall, threw her hat into a corner, paced away from the fire pool’s heat toward the passageway to the outside. Looked down it. Outside the sky was clouding over, and the passage was dim.
“How many people in Hidden Valley have the Ice King’s people killed over the last thousand years?” she asked.
“Politics!” he said, scornfully, but she’d learned to know him better on this trip and she heard the pain underneath. He dragged his hat off and stood twisting it in both hands, the cool gray turning to a rag underneath his fingers. Ember went to him and put a hand on his arm and he stilled, like ice, as though he were afraid to move.
“If I could,” she said, searching for the words, the right words, that would bridge the pain. “If I could I would fly with you.” A shiver went through him and he drew a long breath. “If I could, I’d bear your children, and live with you year long, wherever you wanted. If I could, I’d warm your bed each night.” The shiver this time was more like a shudder. He was fighting for control, for strength to withstand her voice.
“My father could marry where he chose, but I cannot,” she went on. “Not when I can bring Mountainside into the Domains. End a thousand year war.” She was struggling for control herself, now. “How can I not?” she cried, her voice breaking, tears welling over onto her cheeks. “How can I not?” she whispered. “Tell me, and I won’t.”
His arm came around her; warm, comforting. And then not comforting, as his mouth found hers, his hands gripped her arms, the heat of his skin scorching through her dress.
Her lips parted under his and he tasted, at first, of dust—bitter, for a moment, until their tongues twined and found the sweetness underneath. They were suspended, mouth to mouth, as though that warm, soft, desperate contact was holding them up. As though all that was alive in her flowed through her lips to him, and back again.
Her hands went to his chest and slid beneath the coat; her fingers spread against the muscles, hard, strong, so male that she felt herself soften, her body curve toward him. He gasped for breath and then bent to her again, one hand sliding up into her hair, against the sensitive skin of her nape. She shivered, and his other hand slid down, pulling her hips against his.
She ached for him; a real, actual, physical ache she’d never felt before. Pushing her hips against him, against the tantalizing soft hardness of his loins, made it worse, and she groaned.
He tore off his coat. His shirt went with it and he was no longer in bird’s plumage, but human skin. Her mouth touched his chest; her lips clung and he made a small sound in his throat.
Fire filled her clean and thorough, sweet as mead, hot and liquid. She tasted him again, perfect as the dewgift which had lain in her palm. His breath was Air in her ear, on her skin, sighing through her nerves to quiver on her fingertips as she touched him.
Her head dropped back to bare her throat to him and he answered the invitation, kissing down, pushing her dress open, fingers fumbling with toggles and sash until she helped him, both frantic to feel skin against skin, flesh against flesh.
He curved his hand around her breast and bent his head to her nipple and the fire mounted up so high she thought she would faint. But it was awkward, he was so much taller, so he kicked the two coats together on the floor and they eased down onto the only wedding bed they would ever know.
Under her hips the earth cradled them, welcomed them, but although the part of her that knew Fire recognized it, she could spare no thought for it. She had no brain to think with, only a body, breath driven into gasps by his mouth on her breasts, his hands on her thighs.
She touched him back, sliding her fingers down until they were frustrated by the waistband of his trousers. He pushed the trousers down and his body was bare beside hers. For a moment, one long moment, she simply looked at him. Ash. Not Osfrid, not Nyr, not any other male than this: the one she loved.
Tears scalded her eyes.
He looked startled, but then he leaned forward and kissed her, gently.
“Princess,” he said, yearning, comforting. She kissed him back, not gently at all, and then the fire overtook them both, and she was crying as they kissed, and laughing, and gasping, flushed and alive.
She wriggled out of her own trousers, and her boots with them, wanting to be truly naked, truly just herself. She slid down and pulled Ash’s pants and boots off, too, and he laughed and dragged her up until she lay full length, and then he half-rolled on top of her, his leg between hers so that she felt him against every inch of her skin on that side, nerves ablaze with his heat. The only fire she wanted.
Slowly, his eyes on hers, he slid his hand down over her belly and between her legs. She could tell that he was ready, even now, to stop, but all she wanted was for him to hurry, to touch her, take her, make the aching stop.
His skin was roughened, but she was so slippery it didn’t matter after that first, searing touch. Her back arched as he stroked her with movements as delicate as a breeze, as teasing; she fought for enough control to touch him back, to make him moan in turn, and was deeply satisfied when he gasped.
“Ember,” he said, voice ragged, breathing fast, “I—”
She stopped his mouth with hers and slid her legs fully apart, her hands on his firm buttocks, the muscles beneath her fingers bunching and coiling.
His penis was hotter than anything else, but so smooth, so soft, so good it felt, rubbing, sliding, opening her, filling her… He paused, once again making sure of her intent, and in frustration she pulled hard on his buttocks, wrapping her legs around him.
“Ow!” she said in surprise.
He paled in horror. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his hands gentling on her arm, her breast.
“Mam says it always hurts, the first time,” she said breathlessly, giddy. “It’s over now.”
That moment of pause allowed her to hear what was happening outside: the rising wind, and something else: a fine tremor in the mountain itself. Fire Mountain.
“We might not have to part after all,” she murmured, “if the mountain eats us alive.”
He laughed—that irrepressible laugh that had irritated and cheered her so often.
“It’d be worth it,” he gasped, and moved within her, to be with her, to join in the glory of Fire and Air. Every movement they made sent streams and rivers of fire through her, through him, and back again, as the hot breeze fanned the fire pool into streams and ribbons of light.
Even naked, they were too hot. The mountain was moving continuously now, fine repeated tremors which cumulatively shook their bones
and rattled their teeth.
Ember laid her hand flat across Ash’s chest and kissed his skin, licked off the sweat, enjoying the shiver that went through him. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him, breast to breast, nose to nose, and kissed her.
Warm and sweet and honeyed, his mouth was the whole world. She could stay here forever.
The mountain shook and the fire pit in the corner of the cave split open, the incandescent rock leaking across the floor toward them.
Ash leaped to his feet, pulling her with him, and together they dragged their clothes away from the deadly ribbon of fire.
There were sparks and smuts flying around the room. Ash put on his pants hurriedly. Ember sorted out her own clothing and followed suit, her heart achingly full of regret that it had all ended so soon. How soon was it? They had lost track of time.
“We’d better get out of here,” Ash said. He looked so young. So vulnerable, with his mouth red from hers and his eyes almost black in the dim light. He touched the back of his hand to her cheek. “The world outside…”
She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her own hand against his, so she could feel his flesh firmly, warm and human and alive. Then she looked into his eyes.
“I love you,” she said.
“Not going to say it,” he answered, the stubborn look she knew well coming into his eyes. “If I say it, I won’t be able to let you go.”
Ember nodded understanding and rested her head against his shoulder as his arm came around her. Her eyes were full of tears, again. How much crying had she done lately? More than in her whole life before. She just wanted to stay here in his arms. Part of her thought it would be better to die now than live without him.
The air thickened and stank of brimstone. They both began to cough.
“Now, princess,” Ash said. They went down the passageway, which had rocks and shards of stones scattered along it where bits of the walls had broken off. Ash looked at them grimly. “Time and past to leave,” he said.
It was dark outside; they had been longer than she had thought. Perhaps they’d fallen asleep for a while, in that long moment of perfect peace after—her thoughts stumbled on the memory of Ash being part of her, fire and air and human flesh melding into a lightning strike of desire and satisfaction. She couldn’t let herself think about that anymore; not now, or she would never be able to let him go.
The slit of sky they could see as they stumbled down to the end of the passage in the meager light from the fire pit behind them was swirling with wind, carrying aloft bits of—leaves, was it? When they got to the end, where the mountain fell away into its slope, Ash put out a hand and held her back.
It was not night. The swirling cloud wasn’t leaves, but ash and embers, and the whole world was orange, even the air the color of fire.
Hah! she thought. Ash and embers indeed. It’s thanks to us this is happening.
All of them, when children, had heard stories about fire mountains down south on the islands near the Wind Cities. Mountains which vomited up fire and liquid rock, which bled flame. She had expected Fire’s mountain to do the same; had expected to come out into a delta of fire. She couldn’t see any ahead of them. But the smoke was like fog, and the ash—everywhere she looked, there was black ash lying thick on the ground. On the ice.
Red flared through the smoke. They twisted to look up at the cone of the mountain, where a long tongue of flame mounted and fell, climbed and retreated like a fountain as Fire and Air danced together. It was beautiful. Ember felt for Ash’s hand, feeling her own desire for him return, climb with each burst of light. He slid an arm around her in response and kissed her temple; his lips were hot on her skin.
The sun showed a dim red circle through the smoke, but it was still high; only just afternoon. Ember was surprised they could still breathe; then Ash looked up at the sky and said, “Thank you,” and she realized that Air was sending tendrils of clean breath toward them from up high. To Ash, at least, and she got the benefit. But she said, “Thank you,” all the same, and Ash squeezed her hand. It was a surprise that the cuts on her palm hadn’t healed—it seemed so long ago, another life, that they had gone into the cave.
“I don’t understand,” she said to him. “I thought he wanted the mountain to explode so he could melt the ice.”
Ash was frowning, looking out over the blackened landscape. The fire above was fountaining ash, not flame. The ice, below, was covered with it. As they watched the wind took it farther, lifting great blankets of it up and laying them down on the ice field. What had been blindingly white was now deep black, the whole world somberly shrouded, the land drinking in light instead of reflecting it back to their eyes. The only color was the uncanny orange of the sky.
“It’s summer,” he said. “The summer sun will hit the blackened ice and melt it.”
“Not just here!”
“For miles,” Ash agreed. “All the way north, it may be.”
“They’re destroying Him completely. Why is She helping?”
Ash stood for a moment, a listening look on his face. “He’s been lying to Her, telling Her the ice hurt no one. But something—I don’t know, something’s been going on in the Last Domain that proved that was a lie.” He must have seen her face change, because he added hurriedly. “It’s all right now. They’re safe.”
“So She takes revenge for a lie, after a thousand years,” Ember mused. “Wipes Ice out completely.”
“He’ll be back in winter,” Ash said grimly. “But not like this—” He gestured to the ice field. “Not filling valleys and destroying everything. Ponds and lakes and small streams, that’s what His allotment is and that’s what He’ll have to be satisfied with.”
For a moment, the wind dropped as though Air heard his words and was saddened by them. In the momentary pause, the sound of water dripping, trickling, flowing became clear. Ember became aware of how dry her throat was, how parched her mouth.
“Let’s find ourselves a drink, then,” she said, and led the way down the mountain, trying hard, very hard, not to cry as she took the first step away from him.
Above the Ice
Cedar howled again, half for fun, half in hope that the wraiths would come back to him, and leave Ember and Ash alone.
He couldn’t see them anymore. Having led the wraiths on a long chase through winding mountain valleys, they were out of sight, although he could see the tall cone of Fire Mountain to his left. The smoke, darker in his wolf’s sight, was getting thicker, and he hoped that was a sign they had reached their goal.
It was very cold. He half-regretted the human clothes he had stripped off just before he changed. Tongue lolling, he laughed at himself. Better go to Starkling, he thought, and change back there. They’d be used to naked men suddenly appearing where an animal had stood. No doubt Elgir would give him some new clothes. He was the heir, after all.
An astonishing thought.
His muzzle came up and he sniffed. The wind had changed. It was blowing from Fire Mountain, and it was warm, bringing with it a complex interlacing of scents: brimstone, grass, hot stone, smoke, ash. Surely that was a good sign?
His wolf mind seemed to work more simply, but the worry he felt for Ash and Ember was no less. Or for the people left without fire, right across the Domains. Had they done enough? Had he done enough to help them?
He could feel strength coming up through his pads from Earth. Not a personage, as Fire was, but there, unmistakable in this form. A Power. His Power, presumably. Earth and Forest, Elgir had said. Perhaps he should go to the Forest before he headed back to Starkling, and see how different it was in his wolf’s black-and-white Sight.
He should move. But as well as strength, he was receiving a sense of waiting from Earth. Of expectancy. So he stayed where he was, and watched.
There was a tremble in the ground beneath his feet. From the top of Fire Mountain, smoke began to pour as he had once seen mist rise from the altar stone, flowing out and up, roiling. Flashes
of fire, like lightning reaching upward, came from the cone, and he felt the wind rise, streaming toward the Mountain, and he knew somehow that Air was moving, as well as Fire.
They can’t hope to melt it all, he thought in puzzlement. Then the fire and the wind began to dance on the mountaintop, a dance so joyous, so alive that he flung back his head and howled in delight. She’s there! he realized. They’ve made it, and this is Fire’s celebration.
High and wild, flame and wind climbed to the blue sky, seemed to climb right to the sun which stood above them, danced and clung and spun and flickered with joy.
The Mountain, in contrast, poured out black. Flakes of black, dancing like a stream of butterflies in the air.
The lower winds took it, flung it, spread it wide over the ice, and Cedar howled again, because he understood that each fleck of black was an arrow in Ice’s heart.
Epilogue
After her daughter was born, the first living thing outside the birthing chamber that Ember saw was a duck. A duck. She had insisted on coming out to one of the stone houses for the birth, and insisted, too, that windows be made in its circular walls. Martine had pulled aside the curtains and set the door wide so she could see out as soon as the afterbirth had been delivered and the cord cut, and there above was a flight of migrating ducks, coming north to breed for the spring. They were flying low, coming in to land on the lake which had formed to the north of Mountainside now the ice was gone. Flashes of green and blue came from some of their heads as they angled into the setting sun.
Duck, she thought drowsily as she brushed her lips back and forth across the baby’s downy brown hair. Not a good name for a princess. Her mind seemed to be working very slowly, and all she was conscious of was a deep joy and relief that the pain was over. Can’t call her that, but they have another name… Teal, that’s it.
Ember and Ash Page 40