They stepped into a clearing almost as large as the village itself, lit by a roaring bonfire, as well as at least a hundred little bark lanterns suspended in the trees. The entire village was there. Children shrieked as they chased each other between the log benches, and women fussed over a long table laid out with more varieties of food than he’d ever guessed the Shonnowa were capable of. Smells of herbs and sweetbread mingled with roast meat and corn, and danced in the air with the flying snow, tickling his nose.
“What is this?” he asked, stopping to stare.
“It is celebration,” Rorren said in Talvan, pronouncing his words carefully, “of lights.”
Aaro made it to the nearest bench and sat, joined the next instant by Red, who jumped up beside him. Rorren dumped the armful of blankets in his lap and hurried away. Aaro turned to Red, raising his eyebrows, though she couldn’t see his expression beneath the mask. Whatever he might have asked was interrupted by Dinarrel, who stood in front of the fire and raised his hands. He began speaking in Shonnowan.
Sorrell appeared out of the crowd and slid onto the bench on the other side of Red. He looked as sour as usual, but as Dinarrel’s speech ended, he deigned to summarize.
“Our village elder says that we gather for yet another year to thank Nawassel, the Giver of Gifts, for giving the gift of light at the darkest time of the year, the winter solstice; after today the days will grow longer, and the spring will come. And for giving hope, which is a different type of light, when the world was swallowed up in the power of curses and darkness. Nawassa, the Gift, what your people ignorantly call magic, was granted to our ancestors at the winter solstice, during the Age of Fear. We have always used it and guarded it—until the Shonno-mara broke their oaths, of course.”
“Huh.”
Something similar was taught by the priests of Talva, but Aaro had always been a bit blurry on the historical details, and they had long since lost track of the Shonnowan people, allowing the race to fall into legend. But he recalled that the gift of magic—or rather the knowledge of how to use it— had been given to the Shonnowa to counteract the curses and oppression that were rampant in that age.
Sorrell, perhaps guessing his questions, said, “The Nawassa was created at the beginning of the world for wonder and for delight for the children of men. But it was corrupted soon after, and knowledge of it was lost, except in its corrupt form, which brought the Age of Fear to be. Then Nawassel Himself came and showed our people how it can be used for great good. It is not easy, though, and takes much time and knowledge to learn, and some still use it for evil.”
Beside Aaro, the red wolf heaved a sigh that sounded pained. Sorrell stood abruptly and walked away, glancing back once at Red with a frown. So there was some kind of friction going on between the two of them. Aaro didn’t know what, but he suspected he was a part of it. Not that he was sorry. He would happily ruffle the prickly Shonnowan if he could.
A line was forming around the food table, and Rorren appeared again, silently handing Aaro a battered tin plate heaped with steaming food. “Hurry, before…cold,” he said. He offered Red a bowl of food as well, setting it on the bench beside her before he disappeared.
Aaro ate with cold fingers, and when he finished, bent down for a handful of snow to clean the plate with. Then he set it aside and tucked his hands into his coat. Already the others were finishing up, and someone started thumping on a drum. There were shouts and laughter, and people hurried to form a circle around the bonfire.
He glanced once at Red as the circle of villagers began their coiling, rhythmic dance, and saw that she was as mesmerized as he, her eyes glowing in the firelight. She turned toward him, giving him that doggy grin, and her tail even thumped once on the bench.
How long they watched the dance he didn’t know. The patterns changed. Some of the dancers slipped away, to be replaced by others. The cold began to seep through Aaro’s coat and blankets as snow collected on his lap. Red shook it out of her fur several times, and sidled closer to him. He tucked a corner of the blanket around her, sharing each other’s warmth again.
Aaro was almost ready to give it up and drag himself back to the cabin, when the dance finally came to a stop. The dancers didn’t disperse, though. Instead, the villagers who had been resting joined the circle, leaving only Aaro and Red, and one or two older women who sat with the youngest of the children, to occupy the benches. Dinarrel shouted, raising both hands to the sky, and speaking what sounded like it could have been poetry, or a rhyming prayer. The others echoed his shout, and the instruments, the drums, flutes, and guitar, started up again, this time joined by voices. The entire village sang as they danced. As one, they leaned in toward the fire, and each person drew out a branch. He hadn’t noticed before, that dozens of thick branches had been chopped into torches, resting with their ends in the flames. Each villager raised their torch toward the sky, dozens of flames swirling with the dance, mingling white smoke with frosty breaths and snowflakes, and the haunting melody of the song.
“Almighty in heaven,” Aaro whispered, “that is beautiful,”
* * * * *
After almost three weeks, during which winter had set in fully, turning the world frozen and bitter as stone, Aaro figured it was time to get out. He had no illusions about being ready to travel, especially in the cold, but his strength had come back enough to tempt him into returning to Silver Rock before Kinnly, the innkeeper, sold his horse and the rest of his gear. Maybe he’d even decide to stay there for the rest of the coldest months, although that would make for an expensive winter.
Sorrell, the healer’s brother, still held some unspoken grudge against Aaro, though Aaro hadn’t yet figured out if it was a matter of mistrust, or whether there was something else there. None of them truly trusted him—that was another thing he bore no illusions about. And they were right not to. Still, when he wanted to borrow a horse for the ride into town, he sought out Dinarrel, the chieftain, and avoided Sorrell.
Dinarrel regarded him with his dark, sharp eyes, his gaze going from Aaro’s face to the crutch he still used to get around. “You do not seem ready for this,” he said simply.
“Maybe not,” Aaro replied, “but there’s a man keeping my horse, and I told him he could have it if I didn’t come back after three weeks. My time is almost up, and that was a good horse.”
“I understand. Would you come back here, after?”
“Yes,” he said. And he meant it. Even though it stung his pride, if he was honest, Willow’s herbal remedies had him healing faster than he would if left to his own care. He’d be better off returning and wintering with the Shonnowa, grudge or no.
“You may have the horse,” Dinarrel said, “if Willow gives you leave to travel.”
Aaro left him, returning to the Wolf House for his weapons, and went to the corral without bothering to talk to Willow. He picked a shaggy little black mare and put a halter on her, which was the extent of most of the Shonnowans’ tack. They didn’t have the money for expensive saddles, and didn’t bother with bits and bridles. Between the whole village there were a dozen horses, and only about three saddles, all of which they’d fashioned themselves. He’d seen amazing craftsmanship from Shonnowan merchants, but these particular villagers seemed content to live more simply.
Limping, he led the horse out of the corral and replaced the bars across the gate. Then he faced the problem of how to get on to the animal. Even if he had a saddle, his leg wasn’t strong enough for him to mount from the ground. The mare wasn’t very tall… He just prayed she was the gentle sort as he heaved himself, belly-first, across her back. From there he dragged his leg over her rump and sat upright, hissing with the pain in his thigh.
The horse sidestepped, tossing her head, and for a moment he realized what an awkward place he was in, bareback, without enough strength to stay on if the animal bucked or took off on him. Falling off would not be pleasant.
But the mare settled, and he pulled the crutch across his lap, steeling himself
to move forward. He guided the horse to the east, across the shallow, partly frozen stream and into the hills. The day wasn’t as cold as it had been for the past week. The gray-white of the sky matched the dirty white of last week’s snow, and the wind had died. Probably it would snow again soon, but he hoped not until he got back.
After an hour’s ride his leg commenced throbbing, and his shoulder, which was healing much faster, ached dully. But he reminded himself why he was going to town. He had liked that horse, and his saddle was broken-in and comfortable, and buying new would wipe out the advance payment he’d received from Ormand, leaving him to face the rest of the winter broke, or else make the ten-day trek back in the dead of winter. And that was if he could even find someone willing to sell him a new horse out in this wilderness.
A flash of movement jerked his attention to the sparse forest. He startled, wrenching his leg again, and swore when he saw it was only Red. She came alongside him, her ears perked forward, tongue lolling out as she trotted beside the horse. When she looked up at him, her eyes formed questions.
“Well, what do you want?” he said, picking the crutch off his lap and turning it parallel to the horse as they passed through a stand of white birch. Something about the wolf unnerved him, though she’d been his almost constant companion for the past weeks. He’d never removed his mask, but still had the feeling she could look right through him. “I’m planning on going back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Of course, she didn’t answer, but he still felt compelled to give an explanation, telling her about his horse, and his bargain with the innkeeper. “You and Willow would have told me to stay, I know. But it’s not as if new horses and gear just fall into my path. I might be a murderer, but I’m not a thief.”
He nudged his heels into the mare’s sides, urging her up a snowy incline. As their path angled upward he leaned forward, gripping with his knees so as not to slide backward off the horse’s rump. His leg throbbed, and he swore again softly as he tugged the horse to a stop at the top of the hill to catch his breath. Red gave him an accusing look.
“I never asked you to come,” he reminded her. “I appreciate that you saved my life, but despite all that, I’m pretty good at watching out for myself. You can’t go on guarding me forever.”
She just rolled her eyes at him, which was an odd look for a wolf.
He started the horse again after a moment’s rest, heading down into the ravine, but a sharp bark behind him brought him up. He turned to look at Red. She had a paw lifted, pointing north along the ridge. His gaze followed, but he didn’t see anything of interest, and said as much.
Again, she huffed and rolled her eyes at him, lowering her paw to scratch something in the snow. He turned the horse around and walked it back until he could read the word she written.
TOWN.
“Oh.”
Without waiting for more, she set off in that direction, her ears back, shaking her head. All he could do was follow.
“So what’s your story?” he asked. “For all your trying to get at my name and face, you’re pretty protective of your own. You’re not really a wolf, so what are you? Some Shonnowan experiment? An animal they’ve made to be able to think and communicate?”
The ears flattened back further on Red’s skull.
“Not an animal then.” He softened his tone. “Perhaps a woman?”
The whole wolf tensed up. The tail went down, almost between her legs, and she stopped, falling behind as his horse kept moving. He reined it in and turned to look down at her. He’d never imagined seeing such an exquisite look of pain and loss on a human’s face, let alone a wolf’s. She had been a woman, then.
She walked on, still not looking at him, leaving him sitting his horse in the snow, watching after her. Somehow, thinking of her as a woman shifted his perception. The way she watched him, the way she had protected him. How she’d even lain at his side to keep him warm. Why?
“Who are you?” he whispered after her.
Chapter 15
By the time he rode into town, Aaro’s leg felt like it had been shot all over again. He eased back off the horse and slid to the ground, nearly pitching over onto his face as his good knee threatened to buckle. He gripped the horse’s mane and leaned on his crutch, his legs trembling. In his peripheral vision he saw a blue wool skirt stop on the sidewalk. A muddy pair of boots thudded to a halt as the woman’s escort stopped with her.
“My lands! Are you alright?” The woman called. The man mumbled something under his breath, and Aaro caught the movement as he tugged her elbow, urging her to move on.
He lifted a hand without looking up. “I’m fine.”
“Was that a wolf…?” the woman’s voice drifted back to him as the couple continued down the street.
He straitened up finally, gripping the crutch, and glanced around for Red. She sat on the boardwalk, watching and waiting for him. He looped the horse’s reins over the hitching rail and limped through the muddy snow to join her.
“I know, I know,” he muttered as she continued with the accusing glare. “I’m starting to wonder myself if it was worth it.” He leaned against the post for a minute, waiting for the throb in his leg to ease up, and ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “If it wasn’t looking like snow, I’d figure to head back in the morning. But I guess we get it over with and get back.”
She stood up, waiting, and joined him as he limped toward the tavern door.
A wry smile twitched his lips. “You sure you don’t want to wait outside? Any kind of decent lady wouldn’t walk into a place like this. ‘Course, I’m just assuming you were the decent type, before.”
The death glare Red gave him as he pushed through the door set him laughing, and her rumbling growl as she followed at his heels didn’t help.
It was only a little before noon, and at that time of day the common room remained mostly empty, save a couple of soldiers who must have had the day off. They sat with their boots propped in front of the fire, with tankards of ale in their hands. But they weren’t drunk enough to let Aaro go unnoticed. One, a lanky, greasy-haired fellow, turned and elbowed his buddy, looking like he was about to speak, until he saw Red. His mouth snapped shut and he gaped, elbowing hard enough to draw an annoyed curse from the solid, plain man who sat with him.
“Wolf!”
The solid man sat up and took notice, his eyes lighting with greed. He got to his feet, setting his drink on the table and taking a few steps toward them, his eyes going between Red and Aaro. “What’s your business, stranger?” he said to Aaro. “We’re soldiers of King Ormand, and we don’t appreciate masked bandits wandering through town, but we’d be willing to let it go if you hand over that wolf of yours.”
Aaro glanced coolly from them to Red. “Oh, she’s not mine,” he said, leaning against the bar and propping his crutch beside him.
“Then you won’t mind us taking her.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You could try. What kind of bounty has Ormand put on her?”
The two men seemed taken aback that he should know of a bounty on the wolf, and they were in no hurry to state an amount.
“You need to move on, stranger,” the lanky one said, “and mind your own business. Better take off that mask before one of us decides to take it off for you. Then you can forget about the wolf, wherever you picked it up. The beast is a menace, and we’re commissioned with taking care of menaces.”
Aaro actually laughed. If he weren’t in pain, he’d enjoy antagonizing these imbeciles. Red didn’t seem bothered by them overly either, though her ears tilted back, and a glint of fang showed below her lip. She sat down by his feet and yawned, then broke into a quiet pant.
Kinnly, the innkeeper, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, saw Aaro, and grunted his surprise. “You’re alive, then,” he said. “You certainly took your time coming back, and lucky you are that I’m a man of my word, for I’ve had half a dozen offers on that horse of yours.” He scowled, looking none too p
leased about having to return Aaro’s belongings, especially when he caught sight of the two soldiers standing awkwardly behind him, fingering their weapons. He jabbed two stubby fingers at the air, one for Aaro, and the other for the soldiers. “I’ll thank all of you to keep it civil while you’re in my building.”
“Just doing our job,” the lanky soldier whined. “Keeping you safe, whether or not you appreciate our efforts.”
“I’ve seen your particular style of ‘keeping things safe,”’ Kinnly retorted, “and again, I’ll thank you to save it for out-of-doors. If anyone gets blood on my floors, I’m going to fetch Robbel and he’ll have you back here mopping it up yourselves.”
The two backed off, watching and waiting, with their hands on their weapons. Aaro settled onto a stool at the bar, massaging his thigh and ignoring them while Kinnly went to retrieve his things. Kinnly’s wife brought coffee, offering him a suspicious glance before she ducked back into the kitchen.
One of the soldiers dug a piece of jerky out of his pocket and squatted on his heels, holding it out for Red, calling and coaxing her to come. Aaro glanced down at her. She looked downright offended, with her ears flattened back against her skull, and a good number of teeth showing. He turned away, hiding a grin. Knowing she was a woman tickled his sense of humor even more, as he imagined Rowan in the same situation. She’d blister the man’s ears. Of course Red couldn’t speak, but if she could, she’d doubtless have a similar response.
Kinnly came back in and hefted Aaro’s saddlebags and extra pack onto the bar, then leaned on his elbows. “I’ve given some thought to this,” he said, his eyes sliding away nervously. “I’ve been feeding that horse of yours for three weeks now…”
Without waiting for him to go on, Aaro slapped two more silver coins onto the counter and stood. “You have a nice day, mister.” He took his crutch and headed for the door, figuring the longer he stayed, the greedier Kinnly would work up the nerve to be. The two soldiers followed him and Red out into the courtyard.
Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1) Page 18