“The Faeries have retired and posted no guards. We must take advantage of the opportunity.”
Traven noticed the princess had changed back into her traveling clothes — boots and all. “Glacial, you heard Emerald—”
“The Faery?” The Princess waved a hand dismissively. “Our race is older and entrusted with far more sense than that flock. You heard Grave. You took the oath. Will you forfeit your honor?”
Traven bristled at her tone. The argument woke the wolf, who was none too happy about it either. “He said nothing about a time table, Princess. You yourself admitted we were leaving the Hearth far earlier than expected.”
“And do you remember why? Do you think that was a random attack? Who do you think they were seeking to destroy? This floor is made of stone, like the Hearth. There is no reason the Voltaics won’t seek me out here.”
“Glacial, this is a Fold. We are protected by the Faeries —”
“The Faeries have always used the Giants as their sword arms, Hero. They will be no match for the Voltaics if the beasts choose to attack. The faster we move, the less the chance that the creatures will home in on us.”
The princess stood proud and angry. She defied him to find a flaw in her logic. The problem was that the Hero could not. He’d assumed the Fold was immune to the vulnerabilities of any other abode. If what Glacial said was true, giving the Voltaics a moving target was by far the best strategy.
But Emerald must know all of this. Why then would she bar their exit? Traven knew if he asked the Faery, that she would never answer him fully, and then she would be wise to the Princess’s desire to venture forth. He had no doubt Emerald would post guards if she knew of the Giant’s intent.
Traven queried Pale, who was already trying to get back to sleep. The wolf refused to answer, instead sending back images of a banquet of food that they would have for breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, and so on. Traven could not help but smile secretly. The wolf was nothing if not consistent.
“Pale refuses to budge this night —”
“You allow yourself to be ruled by that dog?”
Stepping forward, anger flared in Traven. The Princess had gone too far this time. “I am ruled by no one, Princess. Not him, nor you.” The force of his words had backed the Giant up a step, and he let the effect sink in before continuing. “He is my bond-mate, and if he thinks this idea’s folly, I heed his counsel. Grave himself entreated me to always seek the wolf’s guidance.”
“Grave is not here, Hero. You must think for yourself.”
Loplop’s words haunted him. What had the boy said about the Princess? Traven backed away and listened to the Princess’ next retort with new ears.
“My path is clear. It is away from here.”
How noble and righteous she might sound to some, but now Traven heard the scared little girl within. She feared for her life and feared for her people if she should fail. It was not bravery that fueled her words, but fear that she was not brave enough. Traven searched for a way to deny her, but his heart surprised him. Inside her convoluted reasoning was a spark of truth. Somehow he sensed the rightness of her desire. They must leave, and tonight.
Traven sent another thought to Pale, but the wolf was already up and ready for their departure. He gave no protest to Traven’s request to scout the hallways.
“We’ll need to tack Lauger.”
The Princess seemed unsurprised that he had bent to her will. “Not where we are going.”
“And where would that be?”
“The Catacombs.”
Traven nearly stumbled. Granny had told that tale frequently. The Catacombs is where The Man Who Did Not Know met his end.
***
Crystalia’s eyelids felt heavy and tired. Her head pounded fiercely. Needles seemed to be stabbing up and down her legs. It was the worst agony she had ever known.
Through it all, there was a voice. Nagging, conjoling, begging her not to succumb to the darkness. Crystalia had tried to flee from the woman’s tone, but no matter how deeply she retreated, the woman was always there. The words were unclear, but the woman’s meaning was certain — do not let go.
So Crystalia had crawled and scraped her way back to consciousness. Upon the woman’s insistence, Crystalia had rekindled her magick and spread warmth throughout her near-frozen body. But each degree Crystalia heated cost her dearly. The pain was at times too much to bear, but always the voice refused to let her back away from the agony.
Now she could smell a mixture of sweet hay and bitter root. The material beneath her was coarse and scratched at her bare skin, while the cloth covering her was silky smooth. It was then that Crystalia first noticed she was buck naked. Her mind recoiled from the idea, but her body refused to care. It did not have the energy left to blush or feel ashamed.
After a moment, she realized that the incessant chatter in her head had stopped, replaced by the humming of an odd tone.
Prying her eyes open, Crystalia could make out the blurry image of a stout woman stirring a small pan. The healer had a look about her that Crystalia vaguely recognized. Full-figured, the woman had black hair tied back with a simple muslin cord.
Crystalia blinked twice, then a third time. The fire beneath the pan, instead of glowing orange and yellow, flared blue and green as the lady threw glittering clay into the flames. The woman turned and knelt down beside Crystalia.
“Madame Hesper?” the girl’s parched throat asked.
“No, child,” the woman answered as she offered Crystalia some broth. “I’m her daughter, Sele.”
“Sele,” Crystalia croaked out as she sipped the hot mixture. Scavaging through her mind, Crystalia tried to think of what she should say to the daughter of the woman who died so that Crystalia might carry on. “I’m sorry. I did not know it would happen. I didn’t —”
“Shh. I know now. You are blameless.”
“But if I hadn’t gone to the house...”
The woman shook her head sadly. “If you had not come, the Fates would have found another way to make the transfer. This is out our hands, child. We can only walk the path given to us.”
If only Crystalia’s guilt could be laid aside so easily. Pursuing her heart had cost others so much already. Madame Hesper, her father, Viola. They must both be mad with worry. Carefully, Crystalia tried to sit up, but the woman held her back.
“You shouldn’t rise. You are too weak.”
Crystalia pushed past the woman’s restraining hand. Bile was flowing up her throat, and if she did not get upright, there would be a mess. Her throat burning, she let out a loud burp. Embarrassed, Crystalia’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Sour stomach?” Sele asked as she rummaged through a satin bag. “Here, chew on this.”
Crystalia took the leaf into her mouth. It had a delicate, pepperminty taste which immediately calmed her tumultuous tummy.
“Slowly there. It won’t do to have you ill again.”
Moving her jaw more deliberately, Crystalia surveyed the room. Actually, it was Sele’s wagon. Crystalia had seen it pull up to her rescue. There was no sign of the freakish boy, however. It would never do to be rude to one who risks his life for you, but Crystalia was frightened by that one. He had a wild look about him. Crystalia turned to find the woman watching her, patiently.
“Forgive my lack of courtesy. My name is Crystalia.”
“The Snowy Maiden. Mother told me.” The woman bowed her head in reverence.
Crystalia’s cheeks reddened. She was not used to such courtesy from adults. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“It was not I, child. You have Ornery to thank for that.”
Now that would be an awkward moment. It was not that she did not appreciate the boy’s efforts, but Crystalia had never been good around the impaired. They made her skin prickly and unsettled.
Thinking of skin, Crystalia looked down upon her marked palm. Her lifeline was steady and strong — once again wrapping its way around the meat of her hand. To her shock, on
her right palm, Traven’s symbol was straight ahead and almost too close to be true.
“May I?” Sele asked.
Shyly, Crystalia held out her palm. It felt odd to share her secret with a stranger, but somehow she trusted the woman completely. “This is far closer than he’s been.”
“Aye. From the location I would bet he is in the Fold.”
Crystalia’s eyes dilated. “The Fold? You mean... you mean...”
“Yes, child, there are Folds. Just as in the legends. Seven of them. The nearest is the Cider Fold. For reasons that will be obvious when you get there.”
“Have you... Have you ever been there?”
The woman shook her head. “No. I’ve been to the Triangle, Lamb and Powder Folds. Each one is the same, only very different. Understand?”
Crystalia did not understand, but nor did she care. They were talking about Folds! Openly, without a single concern, so that anyone might hear. But then again, there was no real danger from superstitious townsfolk way out here.
“Is it like the tales? Are they grand? Are they —”
“Enough talk, child. You need to rest. You will see for yourself in a few short hours.”
“But —”
“I’ve laid out some clothes. They should be a good fit.” Sele turned and headed to the front of the wagon. “Let me know if you have need of anything else.”
The woman’s firm yet kind tone made Crystalia rapidly recover her own social graces. “No, I should be quite settled. Thank you.”
Sele smiled graciously and left. Crystalia was nowhere near settled, but she also knew that the woman was well aware of her fib. Sele obviously felt Crystalia needed time to digest all of the information she had been given. But how could Crystalia think when Traven was so near? Her heart thrilled at the notion. Within hours, she would see her beloved.
A near-death experience was well worth the price.
***
Ornery spun in his seat when he heard Miss Emmert approach. “Is she all right? Is she awake?”
Miss Emmert chuckled softly and patted his knee. “Yes to both. Her lifeline is stable. She is out of danger. Her hand shows that the Hero is just ahead at the Fold.”
Ornery frowned. He did not like talk of another male so close to their beautiful passenger. “Who is this Hero?”
His caretaker shrugged. “If the Snowy Maiden is drawn to him, he must be The Man Who Did Not Know.”
His mind swirled. Ornery had heard tales of this man before, but they were of myth — and he said so. “It’s a myth. Even if he were real, he lived and died long ago.”
“As the Centaurs did?” Miss Emmert said with a sly smile. Ornery stammered, but Miss Emmert continued. “All those stories you heard by the fireside, they all have parts and pieces that are steeped in truth. The ones that are true prophecies are as unbelievable as the out-right fantasies. You must listen for the ring of genuineness, not accuracy, if you wish to know the future.”
“But even the tale says it’s from the past.”
“Child.” Her tone was sharp for a moment, but then a tired smile crossed her face. “You are bright enough to know those fables are but parables. Teaching tools of the ancients to guide us in our lives.”
Ornery was still miserably confused. “Why did they intentionally mislead us?”
“The answers are there for those who work for them. It would not do to have all the gems of wisdom lying about. Besides, it had you thought all those stories in the taverns were to be studied like your school books, would you have listened?”
Ornery could only look away and shake his head “no.”
“Of course not. What child would sit through tedious retellings of the same story if it was good from them? No, the ancients were wise to our fickleness and dressed up their most sacred knowledge in legend and myth.”
“Then the tale of Snowy Maiden is a prophecy?”
Miss Emmert sighed deeply. “Aye. We have always thought so, but now with Mother dying...”
It was Ornery’s turn to squeeze his caretaker’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
“As am I.” Miss Emmert sat a bit straighter and squeezed his hand back. “At least now I know that it wasn’t for naught. This child is the genuine Maiden. You can smell it on her hair.”
Ah, the scent of the girl. The boy definitely had smelled it. Ornery could be a thousand leagues away, and he could track her aroma. But he was pretty sure that was not what Miss Emmert was talking about.
“After we reach the Fold, will we seek out Father?”
“Aye. Once we are sure she is in the Hero’s care, we will strike east.”
Suddenly, Ornery was not quite so eager to travel to the Steppes, not if it meant leaving the girl behind. Ornery tightened his grip on the reins. The Fates were cruel.
Could they never just let a boy have his dreams? Even for a day?
***
Madame Hesper intentionally slipped on the slick cobblestone street and nearly fell to her knees. A guard roughly caught her arm and righted her gait. She murmured a feeble thanks. It was far better for the soldiers to believe that she was still mortally ill.
The cruelty of the men around her, though, was a bit shocking. They had forced her to walk across the main square, rather than put her into a buggy. Sele had been right. Something evil lurked in their town, and now it wished the old woman dead as well.
A man jumped in front of Madame Hesper, waving an old kitchen knife. “It’s her, I tell ye! She bewitched my girl!”
Madame Hesper stumbled back as the man made several futile stabs in her direction. She noticed how the guards had not bothered to intervene. A young girl, one Madame Hesper vaguely recognized, bawled and wailed behind the attacker. This whole event smacked of a bad stage production. What was not so humorous was the growing mob drawn by the hysterics of the child.
“She’s evil! She killed my daughter.”
The blonde girl sobbed, “She’s a witch!”
This pronouncement brought a rumbling from the crowd. People Madame Hesper had known for years now stared at her fearfully. How quickly feelings could change. Each one of these townsfolk had benefited from her healing skills. Over the decades, the old woman had made sure to be of service to each. Each family had needed her at one time or another. Unfortunately, they were collectively forgetting those old debts.
The same lieutenant as the night before strutted forward through the crowd. The smirk on his face told Madame Hesper she would find no friend here. She tried to sound desperate, which was not so far from the truth.
“I want to see the Garrison Commander.”
“He is away on business. I am in charge here.”
The news took Madame Hesper by surprise. The Garrison Commander never left his post. That was what couriers and runners were for. Even the Governor, if he wished to see the Commander, face to face, had to travel to Last Hitch to do so.
The white frontier was a harsh and unmerciful environment which favored cutthroat, lawless behavior. No, the Commander was not away on business. He was either dead or taken hostage. Madame Hesper sighed heavily. The Commander was not only her protection, but he had once been a good friend. Her friend would never allow this to transpire if he was still alive.
“I want an audience before the Governor.”
The lieutenant scowled and spit at her. “He won’t see the likes of you, witch. We can mete out justice here, just fine.”
Madame Hesper had to remind herself that she was supposed to be deathly ill. The medium leaned on the guard for support, only to find him back away — all the better. She needed to look helpless and weak. “Jail me, then. I will eagerly await my trial. It will vindicate these false charges.”
“Do not try to twist these proceedings to your own will. We know you for what you are. Do not worry. You will have your trial.” The man was near giddy with excitement. “By fire.”
The crowd parted slightly to reveal a stake encircled with kindling. Madame Hesper sobbed a bit, not for herself
but for the absent Commander. If this young whelp was so audacious, all of the lieutenant’s senior officers must be dead. Once the lieutenant put the torch to the wood, there would be no going back. This cruel man did not intend to stay within these walls after her death. But where did he plan to go and with whom?
Harsh whispers and curses bubbled from the crowd. Each one of these people was good at heart, but you could hardly tell that now. Sele had been right. Winter had changed them. One could always put on another jacket or scarf, but it seemed the soul was not so easily sheltered.
“You stand accused of witchcraft, most heinous woman. Do you repent?”
How little the arrogant man knew. If the officer was aware of even half of her power, he most likely would have shat in his own pants. But now was not the time to reveal herself. She needed to buy time for Ekoli to heal enough to travel. Once the goddess was fit for the road, this pasty man would live to regret his trespass.
Madame Hesper could not help but pause for a moment. Events were dovetailing so quickly that if you blinked, you were lost. The prophecies had promised years, if not decades, between incidents. Instead, they were separated by a few sunsets. As much as she wished to lash out, she must restrain herself and wait for the right moment. Their escape with the fallen goddess was crucial. “I wish to question my accusers.”
The girl was summoned forward, her face stained with tears.
At first the blonde stammered, but then her voice strengthened. “I am Viola, closest friend of Crystalia. You all know of our bond.” The girl paused as murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd. Either the girl was a skilled speaker, or she was just plain lucky. “Crystalia came to me last night and told me that Madame Hesper had summoned her. She feared for her life, but feared worse how the Madame would retaliate if she did not obey the summons.”
It was of no use, Madame Hesper knew, to cry foul.
The girl lied, but why?
Taking a closer look, the medium realized why she had not recognized the girl earlier. Certainly, the blonde had grown a head taller since Madame Hesper had seen her last, but it was something more. Her curls were a bit too blonde. Her curve a bit too comely for a girl of her age. No, Viola no longer stood in front of her. Something else did.
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