Holding his face in her hands, she lightly blew on his forehead. With each touch of her breath, the overwhelming desire to run, to race, to just leap for the sheer pleasure of leaping, coursed through Ornery’s veins. But he doubted this is what Miss Emmert wanted to hear. “It... it —”
“The truth,” she demanded.
Ornery squirmed. He was certain he was supposed to have some great insight or knowledge of his heritage. Instead, the boy felt like playing. Under her daunting gaze, Ornery finally sighed.
“I know this sounds odd, but I want, I need to run.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Ornery looked down at the ground that flowed by in a blur. “I would if we have time to stop.”
“Stop? I thought you wanted to test your legs?”
“I do, but —”
Miss Emmert’s lips turned up the slightest bit as she shoved him, hard. “Then do so.”
Ornery tried to compensate, but Miss Emmert was far stronger than she looked. Tumbling over the side, Ornery was certain Miss Emmert had lost her mind. Snow smacked him in the face as he landed on the ground with a crash.
Jumping up, Ornery watched the wagon race away. Surely the woman would turn back as soon as she realized he’d truly fallen, wouldn’t she? As Ornery brushed off the chilly snow, he watched the wagon move steadily away.
Suddenly, his forehead burned, and his legs felt cramped. Slowly at first, Ornery began walking towards the wagon, but he found his feet begging to run. And why shouldn’t he? You know, just to close the distance for the horses to come back?
The wind, instead of howling, sang in his ear. The snowy ground sped past faster and faster until Ornery could see the rear of the wagon. They must have slowed! His legs pumped with renewed energy. The need to give chase overcame his skepticism, and he raced with all his might.
Soon, he pulled alongside the wagon — his breath short and hot in his chest. Ornery smiled wide, and feeling giddy, waved at Miss Emmert.
“Thank you for slowing!”
“Slowing?” she asked and motioned to the ground.
Looking around, Ornery realized he was running with the speed of a Centaur. Words escaped him as his scarf loosened, and his mane flowed behind. The hair whipped and snapped in the wind. Blood coursed through his legs and burned up through his belly. His cousins pulled ahead, and he had to redouble his efforts to keep up.
It was no fair — they had four legs! Ornery was certain if he was so blessed that he could easily beat his cousins. The effort began to take its toll, however. His lungs felt on fire. Ornery looked over to Miss Emmert. Despite her tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes, a look of pride shown through her tired face. He never wanted to stop, but his legs now complained with each stride.
“Tiring?” Miss Emmert asked.
Nodding, Ornery gulped for breath.
“Then climb aboard, young man. Your cousins don’t like the competition.”
Ornery waited a moment for the wagon to slow. When it did not, he looked back at Miss Emmert. A look of mischief played at her lips. Could the woman really be suggesting what he thought she was?
Grabbing the sideboard, Ornery gave a heave and hurled himself up and over the side of the wagon. Landing with a thud, Ornery gave a shout of pure joy. Scrambling up, Ornery expected Miss Emmert to be perturbed at his exuberance, but she smiled warmly and patted the seat beside her.
“Your father will be so proud.”
Smiling, Ornery settled in next to her, never having felt so alive.
***
Traven was beginning to dislike the amiable Giant. Grave kept insisting on dropping news with such weight that it shook the very world, then ambling away. Pacing his room, unwilling to reenter the Feasting Hall and the possibility of encountering Glacial again, Traven stewed over Grave’s proclamation.
“The Man Who Didn’t Know?” Traven formed the words with his lips but could not begin to attach the label to himself.
How could it be? But as much as he tried to resist the knowledge, the rightness of it could not be denied. Or was it just the horrible realization of some long-hidden fear? Whatever the reason, the Hero could not stop his mind from feigning and paring around the idea.
What would it mean if he was truly was The Man Who Did Not Know?
Traven looked to Pale, but the wolf was worse than no help. Every few minutes the glowering canine would send nearly overwhelming sensations of hunger and the intense desire to join the feast. Traven had urged the wolf to join the banquet and leave him in peace, but Pale had refused to budge. They went together, or nowhere.
There was no point in arguing, for each time Traven did, the wolf reminded the Hero what happened the last time Pale let Traven out of his sight. Although Traven doubted there were such supernatural dangers as the wraiths in the Giants’ Hearth, the Hero could not dissuade the wolf. So here they stayed — each pouting after his own fashion.
Thoughts warred with one another to reach the forefront of the Hero’s mind. There were so many directions in which to worry, Traven felt nearly paralyzed. That feeling only served to fuel his anxiety. Anxiety brewed anger. Anger flared into rage.
Traven was supposed to be The Hope! He certainly did not risk his life and leave his homestead to be the laughing stock of the countryside, blundering into one mishap after another. But isn’t that exactly what he had being doing for the last week? Had the Hero not played out in one form or another the tales his Granny used to tell?
Traven stumbled as Pale sent another flood of images. This time they were of the past, long ago, back when the Hero’s bond-mate was nothing than a pup. Traven could feel the warmth of the den, the smell of a dozen other wolves curled beside one another. A black wolf, her face a silver mask, filled Traven’s vision. Pale’s obvious love and respect named her as the wolf’s aunt, Scry. From her thoughts, Traven could “hear” a tale. It was told in much the same way as Granny’s — full of grave warnings and stirring battles.
Quickly, Traven realized that Scry was telling the legend of Pale, long before the wolf had grown up to live it. The details were vague, and the references could be interpreted broadly, but it was clearly the tale of the Hero’s bond-mate. Pale blinked and broke the contact, leaving Traven to grab the nearest table to steady himself. Their bond grew stronger with each passing image.
Traven tried to imagine having his life told to him like a fairytale. Traven froze as he realized Pale’s true message.
Had not the Hero’s own Granny not done the same thing for Traven? Did she not tell the Hero’s tale, before he had lived it? Yet, the particulars were grossly inaccurate. The Giants and Wolves were supposed to be enemies. But in this moment, they appeared to be his only benefactors. While the Faery was something quite different.
Traven spun around and soaked up the room. Had Granny not described this very chamber in rich detail?
Even the narrow bed and triangular shaped fire pit had been recounted to him, back when the Hero himself was but a pup. Traven scoured his mind for the tale revolving about the Giants, but he could not quite grasp the details. It had been one of those damnable boring romance yarns Granny would tell the girls, the ones he had only listened to with his ear half-cocked for the mention of blood and cold iron. The rest of the storylines Traven had just let flow by him without much attention to the minutia Of course, it was the minutia that would be invaluable to him now.
Or would it? So far Granny’s tales were nowhere near being accurate. Traven sent a query to Pale, but got the wolf’s usual shrug of an answer. It was not the wolf’s problem if humans were an addled-minded lot. Traven wondered, keeping his eyes locked with Pale’s to be sure that his friend received the sending. What good was a bonded wolf if he gave such incredibly useless answers?
Pale pulled his ears back and showed a bit of tooth as the wolf sent back the most lucid scene, picturing Traven stripped of his clothes, having to stammer out an apology to Glacial. The image was so vivid that Traven could feel himself squi
rm and blush in areas he would rather not have turn a bright red. Finally, unable to take anymore, Traven looked away and broke the contact.
Traven chuckled despite himself. How did he expect to beat Pale at his own game? With less force, Pale sent another request to join the Feast. Still, Traven hesitated. The wolf walked up and licked Traven on the hand.
Could they not go to the Hall? Pale would stuff his belly, and Traven could fill his mind with the answers he so craved. Traven could see himself sitting with Grave, asking all the questions he had flung at Pale, only the Giant might be able to ease his quandary.
But what of Glacial? Traven wondered back.
The wolf barked sharply, almost admonishing Traven for his fear. The Ice Princess was nothing more than a tantruming toddler to Pale. Traven had to admit that the image of the porcelain beauty being reduced to a snot-nosed child late for her nap made Traven feel a bit more courageous.
Finally, the Hero sighed and sent Pale his reluctant agreement. The wolf spun in a circle, tail wagging as he charged across the room.
As Pale sprinted through the doorway, Traven felt a rumble beneath his feet. Suddenly, the floor was not stable, and the slab of rock vibrated so violently that Traven had to clutch an armchair to stay afoot. Pale turned, but huge chunks of rock cascaded down from ceiling. Traven could not see what happened to the wolf — the Hero was consumed with his own problems.
Boulders larger than his horse rained down, and the floor gaped with huge cracks. Jumping over a smaller rent, Traven plastered himself into a small crevice and watched his room be destroyed.
Finally, the quake ended. Only a tiny shower of pebbles streamed down the side of the room. Dust still choked the interior, making it difficult to assess the damage. Carefully, Traven stepped out from his cover and crossed the room. Where once there’d been an archway, was now littered with chunks of rock out-weighing Traven himself.
“Pale?” Traven shouted through the barricade.
A muffled bark rose behind the rocks. The wolf lived. A weak image tried to filter through the stone barricade, but without eye contact, it was hazy at best. A sending of an urge to flee the room badgered Traven. He would have certainly liked to accommodate the wolf, but the Hero would need a few of the Giants’ strong backs to remove the mess before him.
Still, the wolf’s sending was urgent enough that Traven began searching for any nook and cranny he might sneak through. A persistent scratching nagged at the Hero, especially because it was coming from behind. The smell of sulfur and lye burned at his nose. Turning, Traven thought he saw a branch or a stalk. Despite the wolf’s warning, the Hero cautiously moved towards the newly formed fissure in his room.
Two stalks appeared from the crack and waved about for a moment, disappearing before Traven could make out what they were. Unconsciously, he took a step back, narrowly avoiding a thrashing tentacle.
Out from the split, a huge creature sprang forth. From its mouth, worm-like creatures flailed, searching for prey. Traven danced away from the monster. For a few heartbeats, the giant creature stood motionless, its long antennae waving in the air.
From what Traven could tell, the beast had eight legs and a grossly misshapen body. It had no face to speak of, just the voracious mouth. Afraid to turn his back on the creature, Traven searched about for a weapon. Above him was a sword. Unfortunately, the weapon was longer than Traven was tall. To his right, however, was a Giant’s paring knife. Even though it was larger than most broad swords, Traven pulled it down from its display.
Hefting the blade with both hands, Traven waited for the monster to commit itself. Pale still implored Traven to leave the room, but that was simply not an option. As forcefully as he could, Traven sent the wolf an image of his current situation.
When the creature leapt, it was with lightning speed. Parrying and thrusting, Traven beat back the tentacles, but the huge mass of the beast pinned the Hero down. Eight strong legs enwrapped Traven in the foul monster’s embrace.
Hot fumes bellowed from the creature’s mouth, stinging Traven’s eyes. Each blow of Traven’s sword simply bounced off the thick armor that encased the monster. When cut, the tentacles would ooze a green slime. With each passing heartbeat, the creature tightened its grasp, slowly squeezing the breath from the Hero. Crushed to the floor, Traven had no real leverage against the beast’s hold.
Hacking with his sword, Traven concentrated on the tentacles. He might not be able to kill the monstrosity, but the Hero had to free himself.
With muscles bulging, Traven thrust his sword elbow deep into the creature’s mouth. A sickening wail shook the room, causing boulders to crash to the floor. Gaining momentum, Traven buried the weapon even deeper and scrambled out from under the thrashing beast. Green slime pulsed from the mouth, and the creature’s antennae waved in huge circles.
Traven cheered as the beast collapsed in a heap, its tentacles lying limp. The creature might have been ugly, but Traven had learned long ago that each enemy had its weak spot. Any hope that the Hero might have finished the beast off evaporated as the monster pulled the damaged tentacles back into its mouth. Traven groped for another weapon as the creature sprang an enormous set of claws. The sharp edges clanged together as the beast gnashed them in frustration. Its antennas bobbed up and down, honing in on Traven’s location.
As the creature prepared for its assault, Traven backed towards the archway. Pale’s sendings were near panicked. The Hero had to leave the room — now!
Every fiber of Traven’s body told him to face the beast, but the wolf’s urgings were stronger. In a moment of sheer faith, Traven turned his back on the monster and searched the barricade for a breach.
A black nose poked out of the debris, whining intensely. In a rush of adrenaline, Traven dislodged a few of the smaller boulders. Pale shimmied through the narrow opening and burst into the room. Without hesitation, the wolf leapt over the chasm, barking wildly. The creature swung around, its antennae swirling in circles, trying to reorient itself to the new threat.
Traven stepped forward, but a clear picture from Pale urged the Hero to enlarge the escape route while the wolf distracted the monster. Uncomfortable with someone else facing danger while the Hero squirmed his way out, Traven hesitated.
Pale paused in his attack to meet Traven’s eyes. The sending was so fierce that it pierced Traven’s soul. The Hero was no longer alone. Traven no longer had the luxury of thinking himself apart — separate from the world. The wolf knew that Traven’s desire to fight rather than dig was nothing more than selfish, arrogant vanity. Courage was more than the willingness to face danger. It was the acceptance that not all danger need be faced.
The tentacled creature severed their connection by leaping across the crevice. Without hesitation, Traven turned to the rocks and began enlarging the hole Pale had dug. The siren song of battle rose behind him, but the Hero remained true to his task. The wolf would have it no other way. Finally, Traven narrowly squeezed himself into the small hole and crawled his way through the debris.
Pale yipped, but there was little Traven could do. Instead, the wolf’s startled cry urged the Hero forward so the escape route would be clear for his bond-mate. Once outside the confinement of stone, Traven turned around and peered through the hole. The Hero could feel Pale struggling towards the exit, but the creature’s tentacles had ensnared the wolf’s leg. Relieved to finally be active, Traven crammed himself back in the tunnel and met Pale halfway.
Grabbing the wolf by the forelimbs, Traven pulled with all his might. Pale whined but urged his friend on. This close to the wolf, Traven could feel the slimy tentacle’s hold as if it were on his own leg. The strain on the tendons was excruciating, and his hip felt like it might be ripped from its socket. Claws snapped so closely to the wolf that Traven could feel the air move across his own thigh.
With a heave, Traven threw himself backward, jerking the wolf with him. The tentacles released, sending the two tumbling backwards. Once in the hallway, they both sprang to the
ir feet, gingerly hopping away from the groping tentacles. They could hear the beast gnawing away at the barricade, but it seemed to be holding.
Traven turned to find Pale bleeding from a gash on his leg, but the wolf refused assistance. They must find Grave. Traven could not agree more wholeheartedly. In unison, they sprinted down the hallway. Pale beat Traven to the most looming question.
What was that thing?
*****
CHAPTER 17
Crystalia caught herself drifting off again. Peeking, she made sure the moon was still just an orb in the sky, not her newest friend. Satisfied the world was as it should be, she allowed herself the luxury of whining.
The horse had been trudging through the snow all night long. Overhead clouds had threatened a storm, but it never materialized. The air still smelled of snow, but only a tiny flurry sporadically broke the otherwise clear sky. The night had dragged by so slowly that Crystalia was certain that dawn should be rapidly approaching, but the skies to the east looked as forbiddingly dark as they had hours ago. Exhausted, she slumped further into the saddle. The last twenty-four hours had been too confusing.
The first half of the day had flown by, filled with revelations and mysteries to stimulate the soul. The night, however, had crept by with the mind-numbing pace of a dying snail. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the questions that had burned in her mind, Crystalia found herself resting her eyes instead.
At one point, she had considered tying herself to the saddle like they sometimes did toddlers, but she elected against it. It would not do for her reunion with Traven to be synched up like a child. The Hero had thought her a mere girl back at Last Hitch, but now she was a woman — ready to share his burden.
Crystalia looked down at her palm again. Traven had certainly been active through the night. Wandering this way and that, but never in her direction. Each tiny speck she moved closer to him made her burn with a desire she had never known before. Her hands pulsed with such heat that she barely noticed the frigid cold.
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