Child of a Dead God

by Barb Hendee

  “Midday?” Magiere hissed. It was hard enough to sit through the night, waiting for another dawn.

  “They need it,” Leesil said and grasped her hand. “We all do . . . including you. We’ll travel better after, and I doubt we’ll find shelter like this again.”

  Magiere tried to relax beside him, shoulder to shoulder, but inside, she quaked with the urge to move on.

  Hkuan’duv halted when he saw A’harhk’nis hopping back across the deep snow. The scout’s early return meant he had tracked their quarry more quickly than expected.

  “Sgäilsheilleache found a shallow cave and called for early camp,” he said.

  Hkuan’duv nodded and pointed to a small outcrop. “We can set up behind those rocks.”

  Neither Dänvârfij nor Kurhkâge spoke as they pulled off their makeshift overcloaks of white sailcloth. During the days, the garments made it harder for them to be spotted in the snow. At night they draped them over the tent, camouflaging it.

  They had remained behind and to the north of Sgäilsheilleache’s group, but A’harhk’nis often scouted closer, slipping unnoticed through the frozen slopes and crags. He also tracked the pale pair of men and their crouching companions, who steadfastly remained farther behind. At first the distance they kept had confused Hkuan’duv, as nights here were as long as the days, providing these nocturnal travelers ample time to catch up.

  “They travel slowly on purpose,” A’harhk’nis had told him. “They seem even more hesitant than we to draw close.”

  A’harhk’nis suffered least from cold and altitude. He had ranged for many years in all forms of wild climate and terrain. Kurhkâge and Dänvârfij were more accustomed to covert purposes in urban areas, the former in the southern coastal regions and the latter in the wetlands of Droevinka. A whole moon on light rations in this frigid range took its toll on the two.

  Hkuan’duv removed linked pieces of wooden rods from his pack and assisted A’harhk’nis in erecting the tent.

  “We are hidden enough for a small fire,” he said. “Can you take first watch?”

  It was unfair to ask this of A’harhk’nis after he had scouted for most of the afternoon, but the others needed to rest.

  “I am usually still awake,” A’harhk’nis answered, “when Kurhkâge starts snoring.”

  A weak but welcome jest, and Hkuan’duv began building a small fire with elk droppings they had gathered in the foothills. Soon small, stinking flames danced before the tent’s opening, and he ushered Dänvârfij and Kurhkâge inside.

  Crawling in after them, Hkuan’duv pulled down his face wrap. The quarters were cramped but thereby better for sharing heat.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  Dänvârfij uncovered her face, and only half-smiled with chapped lips. “Of course—and I need no nursemaid. We have all spent nights in the cold.”

  “Not like this,” Kurhkâge said.

  Hkuan’duv agreed, but if Kurhkâge or Dänvârfij were in trouble, he needed to know.

  “No,” she agreed softly. “Not like this.”

  Hkuan’duv pulled out his bedroll, and Dänvârfij untied her own.

  “Do you think we are near the destination?” she asked.

  This was as close as she would ever come to telling him she could not last much longer.

  “A’harhk’nis says we now climb the highest of the Pock Peaks,” he answered, “so they could not go much farther.”

  He did not add that each day they went on meant another day for the journey back.

  “Rest, both of you,” he commanded. “I will see how A’harhk’nis fares with the tea.”

  “Will you bring me shortbread, too?” Dänvârfij asked with a slight scowl. “Oh, and if you spot a wandering snow hare, you could shoot it for me as well.”

  He looked into her face, her words a reminder that this was not the time nor the place for lost sentiment to muddle their purpose.

  “There are no rabbits up this high,” he answered and crawled out.

  But as Hkuan’duv stood in the cold darkness beside their small fire, he knew a small part of him would regret this mission’s end. In Dänvârfij’s company, he did not feel alone.

  The dreamer flew closer to the castle with a hissing voice whispering all around.

  Here . . . it is here . . . only steps away and your journey nears an end.

  Six towers loomed, their ice fringes and the rocky peaks more familiar.

  She was so close.

  Then she stood upon the stone steps before the high iron doors.

  Only steps away . . . and the castle vanished.

  Magiere slipped sideways off the depression’s wall, flopping to the frozen ground before the hanging canvas. Through the crack along that curtain’s edge, she saw a world of snow and ice, waiting so close.

  She crawled into the open and trudged off into the night.

  Wynn lay half-conscious against Osha, both of them reclined on a pile of packs against the wall. She could feel Chap curled up against her back.

  Too exhausted for true sleep, she loathed the thought of opening her eyes to a world of endless snow and ice. Outside the cramped shelter, a hard wind whistled through the peaks.

  The cave and Osha’s body offered warmth, and beneath the wind’s noise, she heard their small fire sputter. Sgäile must have kept it burning and, even better, Leesil promised they would rest late into the morning.

  Osha’s chest rose and fell beneath Wynn’s head, and Chap was snoring again. Even if she could not fall asleep, these sounds and small movements brought her comfort. She had never suffered so much as in the past moon.

  A numbing pain in her right foot grew every day, creeping up her calf. Today it had spread to her left foot, as if her body were warning her that it would soon quit altogether. Her eyes burned from so many days of blinding white.

  She rolled off Osha’s chest and wrapped her arm around Chap. The dog’s snoring ceased when she tried to pull him against her, but he was too heavy.

  “Scoot closer,” Wynn whispered. “Move your rump!”

  Chap grumbled and sidled in, and Wynn pressed her face into the fur between his shoulders.

  “Only steps . . . away . . . ,” someone murmured. “. . . Journey nears an end.”

  Wynn tried to lift her head, barely cracking her eyes open.

  Sgäile slept on Osha’s other side, and beyond Chap, Leesil leaned against the wall in deep sleep. Wynn laid her head back on Chap’s shoulders, closing her eyes.

  A cold breeze gusted into the shelter under the rustle of canvas. Chap shifted, and Wynn’s head rolled off his shoulder.

  “No,” she groaned, “it cannot be morning. Just lie still. Sgäile will tell us when it is time to get up.”

  But Chap did not settle. Maybe he needed to go outside and relieve himself. Wynn’s arm slid off his back as he rose, and she tried pulling part of Osha’s cloak over herself.

  Another cold gust reached her as she heard Chap slip out.

  Gone! She has gone on without us!

  Chap’s multitongued words shouted in Wynn’s half-awake mind. She flinched and lifted her head.

  Who was gone?

  Wynn looked blearily about. Everyone slept deeply and the sight only made her more weary. Leesil’s chest barely even moved, and just beyond him . . .

  Magiere was not there.

  Wynn blinked to clear her sight. She scrambled over Leesil’s legs for the canvas, and he barely stirred. When she stuck her head out into the harsh wind, snow stung her face, and she shielded her eyes with a hand.

  The world was barren darkness above the dim gray of night-shrouded snow. Then a silver shadow bounded toward her.

  Wake the others—Magiere is gone!

  Chap’s words filled Wynn’s head an instant before he took full shape in the blizzard, ears flattened as he struggled across the snow.

  “Magiere?” Wynn shouted. “Where are you?”

  Get them up!

  Wynn ripped aside the hanging canvas.
“Leesil, come quickly!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Leesil burst from the shelter but tripped on the tarp’s corner. He stumbled to one knee outside. Flakes pelted him at a slant in the hard wind, and snow began collecting on his coat and hair. A blizzard had built while he slept.

  Sgäile flew out behind him, looking about with his face twisted in wary fright. Wynn and Osha came last, gripping Magiere’s coat. Leesil turned even colder inside at the sight of it.

  Magiere was out in the storm wearing nothing but her hauberk and wool pullover.

  Sgäile dashed farther out and peered toward the peaks.

  “Can you see her?” Leesil shouted.

  “No!”

  Leesil turned to Wynn. “What did you see? Why would she run off?”

  “Chap noticed first,” she answered, looking toward the dog. Her expression went blank as if she were listening. “He says he lost her trail across a rocky slope above and came back to get us.”

  Leesil fastened his coat and took Magiere’s from Osha. He ran upslope along the rock face of their cave, following Chap’s tracks. He stopped where these faded to mere depressions in the deepening snow and looked down to the camp.

  Leesil snarled under his breath. He should’ve had a grip on Magiere before he fell asleep. Her dreams had been worsening, coming more often the higher they climbed. He should’ve heard her or noticed when she stirred.

  Sgäile came across the lower slope, back toward camp, and Leesil scrambled down as well. Wynn hastily relashed the blanket around Chap’s torso.

  “Did you see anything?” Sgäile demanded.

  “The tracks fade,” Leesil answered, knowing Sgäile would count this as another failure of his guardianship. “I don’t know if she has a path in mind or if she’s wandering half-asleep, but either way, it’s not the easiest path.”

  “We must find her quickly,” Sgäile said and spun around, looking in every direction.

  Leesil didn’t see many choices. Trudging blindly about in the dark was dangerous enough, but doing so in a blizzard was madness.

  “Upward,” Wynn said, fastening her hood. “I know that is not much, but it is the way she would head.”

  Leesil stepped farther out, surveying all upward paths, as Chap bounded upslope around stone outcrops rising through the snow. The dog came in and out of sight several times, and Leesil felt a small hand close on his arm.

  Wynn clutched him, watching for Chap, and then pointed high above their camp.

  “The path above our shelter leads to a rocky passage farther on,” she said, “where Chap lost her trail. But the way beyond it splits in several directions. He cannot tell which way she went.”

  Osha peered curiously at Wynn and then at Chap.

  Leesil had no time to explain how the sage knew what the dog had found. He studied the rock-face slope above, still uncertain if Magiere would take such a difficult route. He scanned the open slope for an easier way to scale to the same heights. Too many choices, and no sign of Magiere’s passage.

  The terrain broke and twisted everywhere in white paths between jagged stone crags and ridges rising in the dark. Chap came hopping back downslope, chunks of snow tumbling along in his path. He whined once, as if he, too, had no answer.

  Leesil turned to Sgäile. “Take Osha up above our camp. Chap and I will try the open slope. Hopefully he can track her. We can cover more ground if we split up.”

  “I am coming with you,” Wynn said.

  “No!” Leesil snapped too harshly, and then calmed himself. “Someone has to stay in camp . . . in case Magiere comes to her senses and makes it back on her own.”

  This mountainside’s maze of small ravines and gullies would slow him enough, and he had to move fast. Without waiting for Wynn’s agreement, Leesil clambered upslope through shin-deep snow. Chap passed him, lunging up the white hillside.

  “Chap!” Wynn called. “Leesil!”

  She stood where they left her, watching them fade in the thickening snowfall. When she looked back toward the cave, Osha and Sgäile had already headed up along the rock face above it.

  “Go back inside the shelter,” Sgäile called.

  His voice barely reached her above the blizzard, but she squinted into the storm after Leesil and Chap.

  “No!” she shouted back, and headed upslope. “I am going with Leesil.”

  “Wynn!” Osha called out.

  She ignored him, pushing on, though she sank knee-deep with each step. She finally glanced over her shoulder.

  Osha was bounding toward her. Sgäile passed him with a growl.

  “Valhachkasej’â!”

  Wynn stepped away. “Go on—both of you—and stop wasting time! I am more use helping Leesil than sitting about.”

  She turned, trying to run as Osha shouted after her.

  Wynn knew she could not outdistance them, but Sgäile’s anger at her would be quickly outweighed by his fear of losing Magiere. Soon their angry voices fell behind, and Wynn knew she was right. Leesil and Chap needed her, and she followed the muted depressions of their tracks.

  The slope sharpened, and the pain in Wynn’s right foot forced her to slow. She looked up, trying to spot where they had gone. But she had to turn away as snow peppered her face and caught in her eyelashes. Digging into her coat pocket, she pulled out the cold lamp crystal and tried to warm it with her hands.

  “Chap!” she shouted. “Wait!”

  The crystal glowed dully in her cold fingers, so she put it in her mouth as she trudged on. The incline decreased over a knoll’s crest, and she parted her lips. A glimmer of light leaked out through her teeth. Wynn spit the crystal into her gloved hand and held it up.

  It glowed at half-strength, and its light turned the falling snow into a white gauze curtain shifting all around her. But it was enough to navigate by, and she thought she glimpsed movement higher up to her right.

  “Leesil?”

  No answer, and the ache in Wynn’s right foot seemed to spread to her left calf as well. She took a step, but when she looked down at the snow, Leesil and Chap’s tracks had faded altogether.

  Wynn turned about, looking down the long slope for the way back to camp.

  Between black crags and snow turned pale gray in the dark, she saw at least three separate ways. But which one was correct? Even her own tracks were quickly filling with snowfall. Anger crept in, pushing back Wynn’s fear.

  She was always the one to fall behind. But it was safer to go on than get lost on the way back to camp. Leesil and Chap could not be far ahead, and she was more likely to meet someone if she pressed on.

  “Leesil!” she called out, but the wind drowned his name.

  Wynn stumbled on over another crest, into the next chute between high stone, and then around three bends as the broken mountainside forced her to weave in the dark. But still she found no tracks for Leesil or Chap.