7 Folds of Winter

by Carolyn McCray

  Glacial was the only one who seemed stunned by the opening. Which was odd, since she had been the very one to open it. Almost as if testing to be sure it had been her hand, Glacial waved her palm again, closing the orifice. Then she opened the portal once again.

  “It worked,” the Princess said in wonder. The Giant’s face transformed from the steely mask she wore like a crown into a creature of pure beauty. But as quickly as her inner light shown through, it flickered out of existence. Glacial’s voice could cut through a wall of ice. “Check the passage.”

  Traven bristled at her tone, but by now he had learned not to argue. Pale, unconcerned with stately mandates, surged ahead. The thoughts of rich drink and musty meat were thick in the wolf’s mind. Before Traven could cross the threshold, Emerald, the singular most annoying of any creature Traven had ever met, flew into the Hero’s face.

  “How dare you!” the Faery snapped.

  Traven smiled, stepping past the buzzing Faery and indicated toward Glacial. “I did not. She did.”

  His smile deepened as Glacial and Emerald faced off. This was going to be good. Both women arched and postured silently, sizing each other, testing to see who would cow first. Traven let Lauger have his head to nibble at the moss-lined walls. It might be a while before they were able to indulge in the Fold’s hospitality.

  Emerald spoke first. It seemed the Faery did not have the patience of the Giant. “I will have an answer.”

  The Princess shrugged in her best royal indifference. “I am Glacial A’A’Mond Vestive of the Mountain Hearth. I am entitled to the full bounty of this Fold.”

  The Faery snorted and flew up into Glacial’s face. “You, perhaps, but this one? I did not think a sovereign-borne like yourself would keep such company.”

  “Do not insult me, Faery. I am the result of a thousand years of noble breeding to produce The Bride. The Gathering appointed this human my escort.”

  “Then perhaps I had best speak to your Chieftains. This is folly! You will only make matters worse.”

  Glacial’s back stiffened, and her features coalesced into an icy mask. “We follow the lay of the land and the song of the stone —”

  The Faery interrupted, very unimpressed by the Giant’s words. “Where is Grave? Why is he not in your party?”

  Despite the Princess’ best effort, her voice shook and warbled. “They were... My people are...”

  Traven stepped forward. Despite his annoyance at Glacial’s haughty manner, he could not watch her crumble. Traven spoke into the gaping silence. “Volatics attacked. There may be a few survivors, but last we witnessed, Grave was under sustained attack.”

  To his shock, the Faery’s wings stopped their frantic beating, fluttering only intermediately. All color drained out of Emerald’s skin and dress. Traven found himself cupping his hands and catching the failing Faery. She briefly lighted onto his palm, groping for words.

  “How...? There has not been such an attack for... for...” Suddenly, Emerald’s skin flared a bright red, and her wings snapped sharply, propelling the Faery from Traven’s hands. “All the more reason to consult the Quorum. They will be assembled within the fort moon.”

  The princess took in a breath and steadied her voice before continuing. “By then, Winter’s grip may become a vice, unbreakable. We dare not tally.”

  “You will stay here until the Quorum convenes. Then it will be decided what course you shall take.” Glacial tried to interrupt, but the Faery cut her off. “You shall be my...” The Faery tripped over the next word, as if it was hard for her to pronounce. “Guests until that time.”

  Glacial bristled. “Prisoners is more the term. You have no right to block my passage, Guardian.”

  “I have the right, if I can find the way, Princess. Do not forget that. The Quorum will decide who had the lawful claim here today.”

  Glacial’s ears burned red, and her cheeks were heated, but her tone remained cold. “Yes, we shall see.”

  Traven was surprised that the princess yielding so easily and was caught off-guard when she strode past him. He turned to follow and had to jerk Lauger’s reins to get the horse to leave behind such good forage. Emerald buzzed in front of him. “I said nothing of you and yours, human.”

  Perhaps the Faery was confusing him with the Hero who had wandered into her Fold a few days ago. Emerald obviously had no idea who she dealt with now. The Hero no longer quaked at her insults or winced at her harsh words. Glacial rudeness, at the very least, had forged his will and tempered his constitution. He did not flinch from the Faery.

  “Where the Ice Princess goes, I go.”

  “She, I must allow. You —”

  “Do you not recognize me, Emerald? I have an equal right to this Fold. I am The Man Who Did Not Know.”

  Obviously the news was a much a shock to her as it had been to the Hero. Traven relished the look on the Faery’s face. Contorted, Emerald tried to hurl another insult, but fell short of the mark.

  “You’ve played the part well, human.”

  Traven smoothly walked past her, smiling. “Thank you.”

  ***

  Holt felt blood rise to his cheeks. Shame overwhelmed his capacity to speak. How had Ekoli known his darkest secret? Did it show so clearly upon his face? Even if it did not, there was no point in denying it to the spirit. If the goddess knew, she knew. Instead, he hurled an excuse.

  “I have never mingled blood with Mother.”

  “Then you’d best hurry. We do not have much time.”

  Shock and horror froze Holt’s body in place. He wanted to stammer out a thousand objections, but his lips refused to cooperate.

  The goddess’ words were calm and soothing. “I know you have never fed on a human before, Holt. I commend you, but now is not the time to stand on principle.”

  Holt could not believe what the spirit suggested. To feed on his own mother? To break an oath that had stood for decades? His mother’s hand squeezed on his own. Her words came out as the faintest whisper. “Do as your heart directs, son. I will not have it any other way.”

  But what did you choose when your heart was cleaved in two? He could not lose his mother, but, just as surely, he could not imagine drinking her blood.

  “You must choose, Holt.” The goddess floated near the ceiling, her body encased in a glowing shimmer of light.

  Slowly, Holt allowed his canine teeth to elongate. He felt the rush of hunger as his skin stretched to accommodate his growing fangs. As the change progressed, the idea of feeding on his mother became less distasteful. And for that, he hated the Curse even more. Holt could now hear his mother’s failing heart. Each beat was like a tiny flutter rather than a bounding stroke. For a moment, he feared taking even a teaspoon of her precious blood.

  Ekoli must have sensed his concern. “A drop. No more.”

  Holt contained his blood lust enough to nod before bringing his mother’s wrist to his mouth. The sweat smelled sweet, and the pallor to her skin no longer looked grotesque. It was the color of all things dying.

  Shaking off the Curse’s nasty voice, Holt nicked her wrist with his tooth. Blood welled. The aroma of iron assaulted his nose. How he lusted to sink his teeth into the flesh and take his fill. But Holt was still a man foremost, and he constrained himself to lick the single drop from her skin.

  “Take the dagger and mark both Fright and yourself.”

  Still struggling with his awakened hunger, Holt did as the goddess commanded.

  “Hand me the weapon.” Ekoli held the knife up to the light. “Mix your blood with hers.”

  Grinding his teeth, Holt allowed his blood and Fright’s to pour over his mother’s wrist. Something deep and primordial within the Vampyr’s soul railed at the waste. That blood should be his — all his. Holt was so mired in his own struggle that he barely noticed Ekoli hesitate for a moment.

  Soon, though, her words rang out, and the room throbbed with power. The bat’s rapid heartbeat and his mother’s own dying heart began to beat at the same p
ace — Holt’s pace. He could feel his strength seep from his wound and into his mother.

  Within the span of a few breaths, Holt felt as though his life was being sucked out of him. He dared not break the contact even though his own life was in danger. The world needed his mother far more than it needed another cursed Vampyr hybrid.

  “There you are wrong,” Ekoli said as if she had read Holt’s mind.

  Holt turned in time to see the goddess bury the knife hilt-deep into her own abdomen.

  “No!” Holt shouted, but it was too late.

  As orange blood flowed from the wound, the goddess bathed her hands in the fluid, then took the Madame’s hand in her own. A shock wave rocked the room, blowing the hay into the air and bowling all four of them over. Holt’s head exploded in pain as it collided with the earthen wall. The flash of light had blinded him. Stars floated before his eyes as he tried to focus on the floor.

  Struggling to his feet, Holt lurched across the room. Fright flopped about in the far corner, but Holt came upon Ekoli first. Shockingly, she was crumpled upon the floor. All the light that had clothed the goddess had fled. Reaching his hand out, Holt found the spirit to now have substance — flesh and blood.

  Suddenly, Holt was acutely aware of Ekoli’s nakedness. Her body was near perfect, with the exception of the ivory-handled knife that protruded from her skin. Red blood oozed down her exposed belly.

  Holt’s heart begged to check on his mother, but he could not bring himself to leave the fallen goddess.

  “Take it from me,” Ekoli moaned as her hands explored the damage to her perfect abdomen.

  “Goddess —”

  “I am a deity no longer. Pull the knife,” the being entreated.

  Holt hesitated. He wasn’t even sure what the protocol was when touching a holy spirit let alone pulling a weapon from one’s mortal wound. Very human tears sprang to the goddess’ eyes.

  “Please. It hurts.” Her words were pained with a hint of surprise.

  Holt gripped the hilt and closed his eyes. The blade slid out with sickening ease as Ekoli gasped and clutched at the now-gaping wound. Green and black now mingled with the bright red blood. Overcoming his embarrassment, Holt covered the wound with his hands. Putting pressure on the wound caused the bleeding to slow but did not stop the leakage.

  “How... how did this happen?” Holt stammered out.

  “Did you think your two’s offering would be enough?” The goddess tried to chuckle, but pain griped her. “Your mother is one of the last.”

  Glancing around, Holt could not find the ailing Madame. Fright now lay motionless on the cold dirt floor. Blood still seeped from the goddess wound. Had any of this been worth the price?

  “Ekoli, I’m sorry, this wound... this wound is mortal.”

  “Do not be so quick to judge, young man.”

  Holt turned to find his mother shoving him to the side. Scooting on his heel, Holt made room for her. “Mother. You are —”

  “Busy. Here. Hold more firmly.”

  He did not know what he had expected, but Holt found his mother healthier than she had been in years. Her skin glowed soft, and her manner had the strength Holt remembered from his childhood.

  “Do you know where my specter is?” his mother asked.

  Before Holt could answer, Ekoli interrupted. “It will be no use. Nothing magickal can touch me now.”

  “Is it part of the pact?” the Madame asked.

  “It is the price I pay for abdicating my divinity.”

  His mother nodded solemnly, but Holt could not believe what he was hearing. “There must be something we can —”

  “Aye. If I relied upon magick alone, I could not rightfully call myself a healer. We need to get into my herb stash. We can use the sheep-gut thread to bind the edges.”

  “The soldiers are still above us.”

  Madame Hesper spat upon the ground. “Once Ekoli is out of danger, they will taste my disappointment.” Tearing a strip of cloth from her skirt to use as a bandage, his mother continued. “I will surrender myself and draw them from the house —”

  “Mother, you are the healer, not I. It should be me to go —”

  His mother put her hand onto his shoulder, giving it a compassionate squeeze to blunt the force of her words. “It is daylight, son. You cannot go above ground.”

  Shame and anger warred within him. Holt had thought himself resigned to the Curse, but after a few mentions of it, Holt felt as helpless as he had when he was but a teen.

  “I shall instruct you. Then lead them away like a magpie. I will tell them you abandoned me to save your own hide. Once we have left the house, you get the proper supplies, then hole up here again. I’ll come get you on the morrow.”

  “Mother —”

  “Shh. Do you think I do not know it is a trap upstairs? Do you think I cannot feel the evil forces brewing above our very heads? Please, Holt. We must work quickly.”

  Holt felt as sullen as he had as a child. His mother was off taking all of the risk while he stayed home to nursemaid. After all these years, one would think that patterns could change. But Fate must have liked her original scheme of things, for she kept repeating it over and over again. Holt gave a brief nod but could not look into his mother’s eyes.

  Would the Curse’s punishment never end?

  *****

  CHAPTER 20

  Traven lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his chamber within the Fold. The roof was much lower in this room than it had been at the Hearth. Had it only been the previous night when Grave had escorted Traven to the Giants’ mountainous home?

  So much had happened in such short a time that it made the Hero’s brow ache and his stomach tie in knots. As much as he wished to prove himself worthy, Traven was more than a bit glad that the Faery had prevailed over Glacial. It was nice to stop and rest his aching bones.

  Pale had wholeheartedly agreed. The wolf was curled up beside Traven’s bed, having another glorious hunt dream. Pale was less the adventurer and more the pragmatist. It seemed the White Wolves believed that one could certainly fight a lot better on a full stomach. Not that Traven argued tonight. The roasted snow goose and honeyed ale had slid down quite comfortably. The Hero felt that he could take down a dozen Voltaics. There was nothing like rest and a warm safe haven to make one feel his bravest.

  The wolf whimpered in his sleep, and his huge white paws paddled violently — strange, it must have been a nightmare of some sort. Traven considered eavesdropping on Pale’s dream, but a noise at his door called his attention. A small figure entered the room as Traven swung out of bed. Before he could unsheathe his sword, the shadow leapt forward.

  “Boo!”

  Traven’s hands flew to his face until he realized it was the boy, Loplop. “Child, do not startle me so.”

  “Why not, it was fun!” Loplop answered gleefully as he sat down and began stroking the wolf’s thick fur. Immediately, Pale’s frantic paddling subsided, and the wolf began to snore again. “Do you still have the game pieces?”

  Trying to control his wildly beating pulse. “Yes, I’ll get them for you.”

  “No need. I got more. See?” The boy’s face beamed with pride as he carefully set down each chipped piece. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  Traven dutifully nodded but questions rose to his mind. “Who are you? Really?”

  “Loplop, ’member?”

  Holding the boy’s wrist in his hand, the Hero gently pulled the child forward. “I saw you out on the plains, and you disappeared in the Shaman’s room. I ask again, who are you truly?”

  “You’re just like all the rest. You don’t want to play. Fine, I will find someone else.” The child tugged away and headed for the door.

  “Loplop, no. Please. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I just have... I just have some questions.”

  The boy’s radiant smile returned. “That’s what the game is for! If we play another round, you might find the answers you’re looking for.”

  Th
ere was no doubt in Traven’s mind that Loplop was baiting him.

  Perhaps even bluffing him, but Traven could not say no to the innocent mischief in the child’s eyes. How greatly the boy reminded Traven of his little brother, Brax. In another time and place, the two youngsters might have been grand playmates. “You start.”

  Loplop clapped and began organizing his pieces. Quickly, a frown clouded his features for a moment. “I’m missing the stag’s horn. Do you have it?”

  Traven remembered the strange happenings out on the Plains and searched his pieces before answering. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Probably that girl you’re with stole it. She’s trouble...”

  Ears perking, Traven inquired further. “You mean Glacial? The Ice Princess?”

  “Icy Fool is more like it.” The child could pout like no other.

  “Did she refuse to play?”

  The boy snorted as he nodded. A tear sprang to his eyes. “She has her room warded. She’s not very nice, you know.”

  Traven nodded in full agreement. Loplop was actually understating the case a bit. “What else do you know of her?”

  “Why would I want to know anything else?” The boy’s voice wandered off ,and when it returned, it had an urgency that sounded quite unlike the boy’s usual demeanor. “When the time comes, you must listen with your heart and not your eyes. She is a Giant, but very small.”

  Traven was about to ask for clarification, but a stir at the doorway diverted his attention.

  The Ice Princess crossed the threshold in a rush. “Come, Hero. We must be gone.”

  Turning back, Traven found that Loplop once again had vanished. The boy was harder to latch on to than a slime eel. “Princess, it is late. You should be resting.”