Leaves of Flame

by Benjamin Tate

  He’d turned his attention toward the north, where he could see the ominous ice wall of the glaciers—­a lighter, ephemeral blue than the washed-­out color of the sky near the horizon—­when he felt someone grip his arm.

  He thought it would be Aeren, was surprised to find Siobhaen staring at him, concern etching her face.

  “You… faded,” she said. “Flickered.”

  He smiled in reassurance. “I’m fine. I was checking on the lights, trying to see what they were like with time slowed. It wasn’t what happened back in Gaurraenan’s halls.”

  Siobhaen’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded, stepping away. Colin caught Aeren watching from a distance and shrugged.

  A moment later, Vaeren stepped forward. “How far away are we? Where exactly are we headed?” His voice was muffled by the heavy scarf wrapped around his face.

  “You can see the glaciers on the horizon, but they’re deceptively distant. We’ll be there in approximately two or three days, depending.”

  “Depending on what?” Vaeren asked suspiciously.

  “Depending on whether we run into any trouble, such as wolves, or those strange lights, or a storm.” Colin shrugged. “After that, it will likely be another day or so until we reach the Well.”

  “I don’t understand how the Well could have been so close to where we used to live and be mostly unknown to us,” Siobhaen asked. “We only found references to it in the Scripts. There was no mention of it in the folklore of the time, except in passing. How could it have remained hidden from us? Why wouldn’t we have used its power back then?”

  “You’re assuming that the Well itself contained the Lifeblood back then. It didn’t. This is one of the Wells that Walter and the Wraiths reawakened recently. In fact, I think this is the Well that the acolyte Benedine found in his research, that he located for Lord Khalaek.”

  “How do you know that?” Vaeren asked, tightness in his voice at the mention of his previous lord.

  “I saw the rough map that Benedine passed on to Khalaek’s aide. Even though I couldn’t read the writing at the time, I remember the details of the topography.”

  “But you said that Khalaek refused to give Walter the information at the Escarpment. How did Walter find out about the Well?”

  “Does it matter? He found it, and awakened it.” He glared off into the distance, thinking about Walter and the knife wrapped in chain mail in his satchel. “Be careful,” he finally said. “And keep your eyes out for game. There are rabbits and such on the tundra, but they are few and far between. If you get a shot, take it.”

  Then he grabbed his staff and led them onto the flat.

  They halted that evening in the lee of a stand of rock, what had once been a watchtower at the corner of two intersecting roads. Heavy cobbles could still be seen, but the continual upheaval of the lands as water froze and thawed over the seasons had buckled and broken many of them, the cracks filled with brown grass. Throughout the night, they heard the howls of distant wolves.

  The wind died the following day, the snow it carried settling back to the ground. The sky was cloudless, a vivid wintry blue. Both the Flame and Aeren’s Phalanx spread out, searching for game as they moved, but Colin retained the lead, Vaeren close behind him. They were forced to stop early, the shimmering lights that the Alvritshai had begun to call iriaem—­ghost lights—­skating across the distance between them and the glaciers. The huge wall of ice now filled the horizon, stretching away on either side, even though Colin knew that it was still at least half a day distant. He frowned at it nonetheless, and at Aeren’s questioning look said, “It’s closer than it was thirty years ago.”

  The wolves returned that night, close enough that Petraen removed his pipe and began to play, tentatively at first, then louder, as if in competition with the howls from the darkness. Boreaus built up the fire, even though they hadn’t brought much wood from the forest with them; no one halted him. Colin watched the iriaem in the distance, the hackles on his neck prickling, his hands closing on the haft of his staff, even as the group broke out in uneasy laughter behind him. He massaged the wood, felt the intricate grain beneath his palm and fingers, felt the life-­force inside, but the wolves didn’t approach, and the lights that danced on the flatland never drew near. The rest of the party settled down, the Phalanx taking the watch tonight.

  An hour after the iriaem faded into the distance to the east, the real aurora borealis—­Aiean’s Nightdance—­appeared in the skies above. Colin watched the much grander and somehow more mysterious lights at the Phalanx member’s side, neither one of them speaking.

  The next morning, the entire group was somber, the somewhat relaxed attitude of the night before gone as they focused on Colin. Blades were kept within easy reach, ready to be drawn. It took a moment for Colin to realize why: they’d be reaching the glacier’s wall and no one knew what to expect.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and then struck out.

  No one responded, and everyone stayed close, on guard. Colin felt their wariness crawling across his back as he walked, tried to shrug it away. But he didn’t know what to expect either. He only knew that the wards he’d set in place the last time he’d been here were still active and undisturbed the last time he’d checked. Yet he still felt uneasy

  The glacial wall approached slowly, looming higher and higher into the sky, cracked and ragged at the edges, like a rocky shoreline. To either side, huge chunks of ice had broken free and plummeted to the tundra below. A ridge of stone and dirt and other debris had been plowed up at the base of the cliffs, while high above they could see a layer of fresh snow, the ice an iridescent blue beneath it in the sunlight.

  The cliffs reminded Colin of the stone Bluff on the plains far to the south and he shuddered. He didn’t have fond memories of the Bluff.

  Near midafternoon, he noticed the Order and the Phalanx getting edgy, their unconscious defensive group tightening up, their faces tense, hands resting more and more on the handles of their cattans.

  Then Petraen halted sharply and half drew his blade, crying out in warning.

  “What is it?” Vaeren snapped from behind Colin, his own hand on his blade.

  To the side, Eraeth and one of the Phalanx scanned the horizon where Petraen had focused, Boreaus in a half crouch… but Petraen was already relaxing. He let his blade slide back into its sheath, frowning as he shook his head and straightened.

  “It’s… nothing. I thought I saw something.”

  “What?” Vaeren demanded, stepping forward. “Where?”

  Petraen motioned with one hand toward the base of the ice face. “Movement to the west, near that collapsed section. I caught it out of the corner of my eye. But there’s nothing there.”

  Everyone considered the scattered chunks of ice he’d indicated, Boreaus rising slowly from his guarded crouch, until Colin said, “It might be the ward.”

  “What do you mean?” Eraeth asked. He kept glancing toward the debris.

  “We’re close enough to the ward for it to begin affecting all of you. It’s placed on the ice wall.”

  “So the Well is close?” Vaeren moved forward as he spoke, out ahead of Colin, searching the wall of ice as if looking for the Well itself.

  “No, but the entrance to the cavern that will take us to it is.” He moved to Vaeren’s side, but spoke to the entire group. “Stay here. You’re all already on edge, if you get any closer, it will only get worse as the ward takes hold of you. I’ll go see if it has been disturbed or tested in any way, then come back to retrieve you once I’ve taken it down.”

  He didn’t wait for their response, but headed straight toward the nearest section of the glacier and what looked like a solid wall of ice. But it wasn’t solid—­that was an effect of the ward. He could see the layers of the ward as he approached, the air growing colder as he passed into the shadow beneath the immense glacier, ice closing in around him. Long ago, he’d thought the Bluff was immense, but this was staggering. He could no longer see the top of t
he ice cliff, even leaning backward and staring straight up, but he didn’t try. He focused on the ward instead, on the illusion of solidness that he’d placed over the entrance to the cavern. Nothing seemed to have disturbed the threads of power he’d laid down at its center. The knot he’d used to tie it off was still secure.

  He stood back, glanced toward where the rest of the group huddled on the open tundra watching him, then back to the walls. Grunting, he began to follow the threads that spun out from the central knot, checking each one carefully as he moved, first right, then left.

  Nothing. No thread was out of place, no tie touched. As far as he could tell, no one had attempted to pass the ward, and he knew this was the only approach to the Well. He’d made certain of that before he’d left.

  Reaching forward, he pulled at the knot in the center and watched the entire ward unravel, the threads relaxing and settling back into their natural shape. As they did, the ice wall in front of him shimmered and collapsed, revealing the gaping mouth of a cavern. Someone from the group behind shouted as it happened, even as Colin felt the tendrils of tension that had radiated out from the ward and set the rest of the group on edge release.

  He turned and motioned Vaeren and the others forward. As Aeren and Eraeth approached, he said, “The ward was intact and untouched. No one has been here, as I said back in Caercaern. But we should check the Well itself, in case Walter or the Wraiths found another way in. There wasn’t one thirty years ago, but the glacier is moving. Something may have cracked or crumbled, opening up another entrance.”

  “Are you saying the Well is inside the glacier?” Petraen asked, eyes wide.

  “Not originally, but it is now.”

  “How is it that the glacier didn’t destroy it?” Siobhaen asked, stepping forward up onto the ridge of debris that had been ground up from the glacier itself and looking into the dark hollow of the entrance. The winter sunlight didn’t penetrate very far, but it was enough to see that the cavern walls were smooth, as if the ice had melted and refrozen.

  Behind her, both Vaeren and Eraeth motioned for the others to break out torches.

  “The Well generates its own heat. When the ice began to encroach on the Well, the glacier itself melted around it.” A hissing whoosh and the stench of oil filled the air as the first torch was lit, followed by a second. Colin motioned Vaeren forward as he continued. “At first, the Well’s heat merely carved out a chasm through the ice, like a hot knife slicing through butter. But as the glacier grew and ground its way farther south, it became too large. It covered the Well, the heat carving out a hollow inside it. We’re at the end of that hollow now.”

  “How do you know this?” one of the Phalanx guardsmen asked.

  Colin smiled and caught the man’s eye. “I went back and watched it happen.”

  They entered the tunnel, the heat-­smoothed walls of ice closing up around them. Now that Vaeren knew where they had to go, he ranged out ahead of them, torch held high to light the way. The ground beneath was mostly level, like the tundra outside, covered with rock and grass that had shriveled and dried after being closed off from the sunlight. As within the Gaurraenan’s halls, Colin felt the weight of the ice above pressing down on him, although unlike the stone of the mountains, this weight sent shivers of cold down into his back. The torches blazed off the ice walls, shimmering against the smooth surface or refracting oddly where the immense weight of the glacier had caused the ice to crack or shatter as it moved. Occasionally, large chunks of ice had broken free and fallen to the ground, but nothing significant enough to block their path.

  They paused to rest twice at Aeren’s insistence, Vaeren anxious to keep moving, pacing even as the rest groaned and settled against the ice wall or, like Petraen, threw themselves flat on the ground. Boreaus passed out cooked meat he’d saved from the last few roasts. Without the sun, they couldn’t tell how much time had passed. When Aeren called a halt for sleep, Vaeren shot him a dark glare and drew breath to protest, but a soft yet sharp word from Siobhaen kept him quiet.

  Colin tried to rest, but couldn’t. Lying flat on the rough ground, he stared up at the darkened ceiling of ice. The Lifeblood tingled through his skin, even though they were still distant. He could taste it, like leaves and ice and earth all mingled together on his tongue. It pulsed in his blood as well. In the dimness of the small fire they’d kept burning, he reached up and pulled the sleeve of his shirt back and looked at the swirling black stains that wound around his arm, like oil beneath his skin. If he concentrated hard enough, he could sense it shifting around within him, down both his arms, tendrils of it reaching into his chest.

  It had gotten much worse after the Escarpment, no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay, no matter how long he stayed away from the Well or kept himself from drinking the Lifeblood. The need to create the Trees and then his obsession with the knife… they had both taken their toll.

  He dropped his arm, then rolled onto his side, startled when he looked across the fire and saw Siobhaen watching him, her brow creased with a frown. She turned away as soon as she caught his gaze, troubled. He thought about moving to speak with her, since it was obvious neither of them could sleep, but he hesitated and eventually rolled away from the flames to face the darkness of his shadow against the ice wall.

  He slept fitfully, the Lifeblood seething inside him.

  “WE’LL REACH THE WELL TODAY,” Colin announced when they woke, the others packing up what little they’d taken out the night before. He noticed they kept their cattans free, their clothing loose. Here inside the cavern, they didn’t need the heavy clothes to keep the harsh wind at bay and so were dressed in layers mostly to protect against the cold. “Stay near me at the Well. And don’t drink from it, don’t even touch it.” He pulled back his sleeve enough for everyone to see the black marks, heard one of them suck in a sharp breath, another whisper “shaeveran.” He caught all of their gazes with a hard glare. “It will change you, even with a touch.”

  Then he spun and led them down the tunnel. Everyone stayed close, and everyone was on edge. Colin drew their tension around him like a cloak, his focus on the Well, on what he would find when he reached it.

  He nearly gasped when, from the darkness ahead, he saw a faint flicker of bluish light.

  “What is it?” Vaeren spat behind him. Only then did he realize he’d halted in his tracks, that he stood with his staff angled defensively before him.

  Eraeth and Aeren came up on his left, Siobhaen to the right. He motioned to the faint glow with his staff. “There shouldn’t be any light.”

  Both Vaeren and Eraeth reached for their cattans. They shot each other annoyed glares.

  “What does it mean?” Aeren asked.

  “The light comes from the Well. It means that something has definitely disturbed their balance. This happened before, when Walter and the Wraiths began awakening the Wells the first time.”

  “So it doesn’t mean that someone is at the Well now.”

  “No. But someone has been to one of the Wells somewhere and manipulated it.”

  “Back in Caercaern, you said that none of the Wells have been touched,” Vaeren said.

  Colin frowned at the harshness in his voice. “I said none of the Wells that we know of have been disturbed.”

  Vaeren’s eyes narrowed at the distinction, but before he could say anything Eraeth broke in.

  “Vaeren, Siobhaen, and I will take the lead,” he said, “Colin and Aeren the center, the rest behind. We’ll use the torches until the light ahead is bright enough we can see without them.”

  He didn’t wait for an argument, simply stepped forward, drawing his cattan. A moment later, Siobhaen and Vaeren joined him, their own blades bare, moving cautiously but quickly. A short time later, Eraeth motioned for the torches to be doused, their bearers grinding them into the soil and smothering their flames with their feet. The bluish light filled the tunnel, and as it grew, Colin picked out a faint pulse to its glow. The pall of the Lifeblood fell across
him, heavier and heavier the closer they came, throbbing in his skin in time with the light. His grip tightened on his staff and his heart quickened, falling into the same rhythm.

  The tunnel widened, the ceiling reaching away at a slow slope. Eraeth increased the pace, the group fanning out.

  And then the tunnel ended, expanding into a huge chamber, the ceiling of ice rising into a massive dome. The ground rose slightly, the wind-­torn grass of the tundra giving way abruptly to trees. Water dripped down from the heights in a slow, steady fall of rain, and as they stepped forward to the edge of the forest, they could feel the heat pressing forward, damp and humid against their faces. Colin wiped the wetness from his face with one hand, saw many of the others doing the same. The rain pattered against the wide, flat, copper-­colored leaves of the trees as they entered the grove, runneling down the smooth edges and dripping from the sharp yellowed tips. Within twenty paces, Colin’s hair was plastered to his forehead, water seeping in under the edge of his clothing and settling uncomfortably against his skin. He noticed the others pulling at the collars of their shirts and shrugging their shoulders as they adjusted to the annoyance.

  They continued forward, the forest silent except for the rainfall, the white-­barked trunks of the trees slipping by on either side. The Phalanx and the Flame had circled Colin and Aeren and were scanning beneath the foliage, swords bared, but they saw nothing.

  After a long moment, and at a backward, questioning glance from Eraeth, Colin said, “It should be just ahead.”

  Ten paces beyond, the land rose in a steep ridge, the boles of the trees falling away as it flattened into a circular stone plaza.