7 Folds of Winter

by Carolyn McCray

  Shaking his head, Corpse stepped back and turned to leave. “You have all gone bloody well mad.”

  Crystalia’s voice rose above the others, and her note pierced Traven through the heart. Obviously, it had the same affect upon Corpse, for the dead man turned around. The Snowy Maiden’s volume dropped, but her melody was infectious.

  “She’d better cook a damn sight better stew if she’s going to make me do this,” Corpse grumbled as he sank to his knees.

  Their voices rose to the heavens as they sang, following Crystalia’s lead. The sound was fuller, more complete, but not entirely. Traven realized that it was Glacial’s voice that was missing. With hers, their song might have reached the gods themselves. The Hero did not know why they sang; he only knew that it would change him forever.

  ***

  Ornery had a difficult time focusing on the words of the song, he was so taken by the Snowy Maiden’s beauty. The boy wished that he could capture the look on Crystalia’s face for eternity. If he could draw, Ornery would pick up some oils and paint her right this moment.

  The bond between them, all five of them, throbbed in his chest. There was magic here, deep and primordial. They had a need. One of their own had been cleaved from the bond, taken from them. The five sang of their loss and their pain.

  In this moment, it felt like the wound was so grievous that Nature herself was needed to heal the rupture.

  A cry from high above broke the spell, drawing Ornery’s eyes away from the Snowy Maiden. Over the ridge flew six of the largest raptors Ornery had ever seen. Their wingspan blocked the twilight from the valley. Ornery knew he should be afraid, but there was not an ounce of fear in his heart.

  Ornery knew them for what they were — Arctic Eagles. The Rulers of the Sky. Defenders of the Hope. The Fire Bound had a need, and Nature had, in fact, filled it.

  The magnificent birds landed gracefully in an arc around Crystalia. Traven’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, but the Hero never drew the weapon. Pale ran around the edge of the circle, barking and leaping over small snow banks, as the Snowy Maiden rose to her feet and tentatively held out her hand. The largest of the raptors leaned his head into Crystalia’s palm. Ornery stood motionless as the girl stroked the eagle’s face. A pang of regret struck Ornery. To his surprise, he was sad that Glacial was not here to see this. The Princess would have been beside herself to actually touch an Arctic Eagle.

  Miss Emmert stepped forward and raised her hands in supplication. “You honor us, Iron Claw. One of our flock is lost.”

  Silence stretched. Ornery could tell that his mother was using mindspeak by the way her lips moved without a sound. Soon, Miss Emmert curtsied and bowed her head to Iron Claw.

  “We know it will be a hard flight without thermals to glide.” His mother turned back to the group. “Gather your gear. We leave immediately.”

  It was then, as everyone scrambled to get organized, that Ornery realized that he would have to leave his father, his entire Herd, behind. Panic struck his chest.

  He could not go! His place was here. There was so much more to do. The Herd was badly injured and would have need of his unique skills.

  His father must have sensed his ambivalence. “Son, go with gratitude.”

  “But —”

  “There are no ‘buts’ in Fate’s eyes. We must each accept our burden and bless it.”

  There was no way Ornery was going to feel blessed today — no way at all. Ornery wanted to throw a tantrum, one so large a toddler would be proud, but he did not. Ornery would not be his father’s son, if he did.

  Hugging his father, Ornery allowed Dimitri to carry him back to the caves to grab the rest of his supplies. As his father carried him over the snow saturated with blood, Ornery was brutally reminded of how dangerous his quest was to be.

  As the sun gave up its final rays, setting low behind the mountains, Ornery wondered if he would ever see his father again.

  ***

  Traven’s emotions were a strange mix. He so urgently wished to leave — to be hard upon Glacial’s trail. Yet another part of him was greatly reluctant to climb atop the giant Eagle. Each one of those talons could tear a man’s throat out, but the Hero knew this was not the real reason for his hesitation.

  The thought of flying above the hills and mountains made his stomach churn. He was loath to admit it, but heights disconcerted him. His head usually wobbled, and his innards tied themselves up in knots.

  Somehow, three years ago, Traven had passed the Spider Challenge. Each of the Candidates had to climb up the backside of Mount Shrine and repel down its sheer face. Back then, the Hero had thought nothing of the test. His head had wobbled and his innards had, in fact, tied themselves in knots, but Traven had put one foot in front of the other and had somehow gutted it through. Barnacle, his study-mate, had told Traven to focus on the next foothold above and just climb to that purchase, then begin the whole process over again.

  Back at Mount Shrine that had been simple enough, but what was he to do now? There would be nothing but air all around them and nothing but a rocky death beneath. How was he going to manage without pitching over the side? The Hero turned to Pale, but the wolf and his companion eagle had retreated behind an outcropping of rocks.

  With his mind, Traven sought out Pale’s reassurance, but the wolf was otherwise engaged. For a few moments, the Hero eavesdropped on the wolf and Eagle’s mental conversation, but it was too difficult to make out. The two animals communicated so very differently than he and Pale that Traven could barely understand a tenth of what was being passed along.

  Just as the Hero prepared to disengage, he was sent a clear picture. Pale invited him to join in a meal. Before Traven could ask, he witnessed the Eagle regurgitating some meat for the wolf. Pale lingered a moment over the slime-covered flesh, making sure that the Hero did not wish to join the wolf. Traven sent back a very disgusted “no.” Pale shrugged and bolted down the meal.

  Traven had to turn away. Sometimes being bonded to a wolf was not as inspiring as the legends made it out to be.

  “Let us take wing,” Miss Emmert said as she climbed onto her Eagle courier.

  Pale was already on his ride’s back. The wolf seemed to enjoy very greatly that he was for once the rider instead of the ridden. Traven reluctantly mounted his own raptor and tried to find a comfortable seat on its bony back. Corpse fussed at his bird. The Hero feared the dead man might raise a commotion, but finally Corpse settled in.

  As they were taking wing, Corpse smiled to Traven.

  “Do you think the Winter King will have dinner laid out for us?” The dead man did not wait for a response before continuing. “I hope it is a buffet! I love all those exotic dishes. Oh, perhaps they will have quail’s eyes!”

  Traven turned his head. Corpse’s recital of menu items only reminded the Hero of the wolf’s last meal. Stomach tossing and bucking as the Eagle gained altitude, Traven hoped that this would be a very short flight.

  ***

  Holt cradled Ekoli in his arms. It had taken a great deal of effort, but Holt had tamed the Vampyr and wrested back into control. Ekoli now rested in completely human arms. The sled had settled to a stop, but Holt did not wake the goddess. The way her breath rose and fell made him wish for the world to stop, just long enough to savor this moment.

  Ekoli’s face was radiant as she slept. Her pain and anguish was washed away by the comfort of sleep. She stirred, and he adjusted himself so that the goddess snuggled down again. They would have to leave soon, perhaps even this night, but he wanted just a few more precious minutes alone with her.

  “Sir Hesper?” a voice tentatively asked through the bear skins.

  For a heartbeat, Holt considered staying silent and letting the man wander away, but he realized that they did not have that luxury. Events were spinning recklessly. They could not ignore even the most minuscule occurrence.

  “Aye,” Holt whispered back, mindful not to wake Ekoli.

  “Night has fallen. The Hag
Mother has asked for your presence.”

  Holt sighed deeply. This was not good news. The Hag would not disturb them if it were not urgent.

  “We shall be right out.”

  Carefully, Holt roused the goddess. “Ekoli, we must rise.”

  A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips as she awakened. Pulling the blankets tighter, Ekoli pressed her body against his. “Can we not stay like this for a little while longer?”

  Holt would have spent eternity here, but he knew that could never be. “The Hag has called for us.”

  Ekoli stretched herself awake but kept her stare on Holt. Where her eyes gazed, Holt’s skin burned. Her voice was husky. “The Fates are keeping themselves occupied of late.”

  In the tiny confines of the covered sled, the two tried to dress. It was awkward at best, but delightful at the same time. Any chance to be near Ekoli was to be snatched like a rare treat. Their exit of the sled was equally ungraceful. Luckily, the rest of the Intuit party was far too busy with the work of establishing camp. Only a young boy noticed their appearance and ran over.

  The boy spoke in the Intuits’ native tongue. Holt could not understand the words, but the meaning was clear. Reaching down, Holt caught Ekoli’s hand. He did not know if one was allowed to hold hands with a goddess, but he felt the need to be connected to her. Ekoli gave a reassuring squeeze as they walked away from the sled.

  Following the child, Ekoli and Holt were lead into a large yert. The outside of the enclosure was bear and seal skin, but the inside was lined with silk and linen. The snowy floor was carpeted with furs.

  The Hag Mother was surrounded by half a dozen younger women. Each one of the maidens shone with the beautiful features of this tribe, but none could compare to Ekoli’s splendor. The Hag, however, was a shriveled old woman, paunchy, and her hips bore the marks of the many children she had birthed. Each Intuit tribe had its own Hag, but this clan’s was renowned for her deep resonance with the earth. It was this woman’s reputation that had drawn Holt and his mother to this camp so many years ago.

  Holt and Ekoli bowed in the way of the Intuit and were greeted with a broad, toothless-grin. The Hag bobbed her head in excitement and chattered in Intuit. Holt wished he knew the language better but had to rely on Ekoli to interpret. Still speaking, the Hag extended her wrist and urged it towards Holt.

  “What does she want?” Holt asked.

  “They know you must be hungry. She offers her own blood for your meal.”

  Holt unconsciously backed away. “No.” He had just gotten control over the Vampyr. Holt had no desire to rekindle the Curse’s hold.

  Ekoli translated, but the Hag would not be refused. “She says it will be a great honor to serve one who serves life.”

  No matter how little Holt wished to comply, he knew that in the end he must. To the Intuit, his curse was nothing but a fact of life. Their creed was simple yet profound.

  It is.

  In Intuit culture, there was no belaboring your Fate — no whining about your circumstances. You accepted and moved on. There was no other way for the Intuit. This Hag would no more hesitate to offer Holt blood than she would to slaughter a caribou to feed the tribe. Still, Holt was uncomfortable. He had hoped Ekoli’s would be the last human blood he ever tasted.

  “She is concerned that you do not find her worthy.”

  Holt shook his head and stepped up. Taking the Hag’s wrist, he allowed his teeth to elongate.

  “Tell her it would be my honor to drink from one with such rich knowledge and power.”

  As Ekoli translated, the Hag’s smile widened. Holt nicked the old woman’s skin as shallowly as he could. Her blood was dark and thick, welling up slowly.

  Tentatively, Holt flicked out his tongue and tasted the liquid. It was warm and had the sharp taste of iron and salt. His reservations melted away as he carefully drank a bit more blood. This was nothing like his encounter with Ekoli. The bloodlust was only a dull murmur in the background of his mind, and he had no impulse whatsoever to caress the Hag.

  Once he drank enough to seem courteous, Holt rose up and thanked the Hag. She smiled and drew her arm back. The surrounding Intuit woman tended to the Hag’s wound and looked a bit jealous that the older woman had been so honored.

  Immediately, the Hag began gesturing to Ekoli and talking with such a rapid pace that Holt did not think he could have understood her even if he knew the language. Ekoli only had time to nod. This was a one-way conversation.

  Finally, the Hag halted her discourse. Ekoli took a deep breath before turning to Holt.

  “There is much, but we’ll have to discuss the rest once we are underway.” Ekoli placed a hand on Holt’s arm. “Seleen and Ornery are en route to the Icy Throne —”

  “That can’t be. Surely, Sele is either at the Fold or —”

  Ekoli smiled grimly. “The Cider Fold is no more. It was destroyed.”

  Holt could not think of what to say.

  What in the name of the seven gods was going on with the world? Folds were not destroyed. They were eternal. Sanctified. It was one of the rules that held the universe together.

  “There is more, Holt. All bad. We do not have time to argue. We must launch for the Throne and hope to rendezvous there.”

  Despite Ekoli’s urging, Holt still felt like questioning everything the Hag claimed. Yet in his heart, Holt knew the old woman’s words were true. The Hag was blessed with the ability to listen to the world with more than her ears. If the Wind knew of anything, he shared it with this old woman. Holt thought again of the Intuit saying — It is. Accept your circumstances and move forward.

  Holt finally nodded. “We should get you fed —”

  Taking his hand again, Ekoli shook her head. “They’ve already packed food for the journey. We can leave immediately.”

  “Thank the Hag graciously for us.”

  “She asks only one favor for her efforts.”

  “Anything.”

  Ekoli shifted uncomfortably, and her hand felt clammy in his grip. For a moment, Holt thought she might not pass on the request. When the goddess did, it was with an embarrassed tone.

  “The Hag asks... the Hag has requested that any child that is borne of our night together... Well, she wishes to pick the name for such a child.”

  Holt could not find his tongue. Child?

  Dear gods, he had not even considered that possibility when he and Ekoli had shared their love. But a child? Was the goddess even capable of conceiving? How did the Hag know? What did the Hag know?

  “What...? Are you...? How...?”

  Ekoli shook her head. “The Hag said she could smell our union but is not certain if I am with child.”

  Holt felt like he might faint. It was one thing to fall hopelessly in love with a goddess and join with her in a night of passion, but to become a father on the same night? Could his foundation be any more rocked?

  As a Vampyr he never thought he could produce offspring. The codes that had defined his life were no more.

  The Hag rose and urged them towards the tent’s flap. The Intuit was completely nonplussed by the news. Once again, the Hag took the news for what it was.

  It is.

  Bowing again, almost unconscious of what they were doing, Holt and the goddess left the yert. From there, many of the Intuits passed by and gave their thanks. The entire procession to the outskirts of the camp was a blur to Holt.

  How could any of this be? And why were they rushing off into the face of death? Could the Fates, for once, allow him a tiny bit of joy? Holt did not think it was much to ask.

  “We must hurry,” Ekoli said, her face sad and concerned. How Holt wished they could lie together again just so he could see her features at peace.

  “Aye.”

  Before he allowed his wings to sprout and the Vampyr to enter his consciousness, Holt pulled Ekoli close.

  If they made the Icy Throne by sunrise, this might be the last quiet moment they had together. But what should he say to her? What
would help explain the depth of his feelings and soothe her own fears?

  With his still-human fingers, he traced the outline of her face.

  “I love you,” Holt said as he kissed Ekoli.

  The goddess whispered in kind. “And I, you.”

  *****

  CHAPTER 33

  “The Icy Throne is a bit like a castle, a bit like a dungeon, and nothing but trouble. Folks ought to know better than to visit the god’s house, but they gots nothing better to do than snoop around,” Granny said with a flourish.

  Traven’s grandmother was supposed to be scolding them for going out into the barn and sipping some fermented cider, but her voice had already dropped from its lecturing tone to one of storytelling.

  “Why did The Man go there?” Traven asked. Although he knew the answer, Traven could not wait to hear Granny tell it again.

  “Because he’s as stupid as a stump! The Man ain’t got the sense of a chigger mite. He thought he’d just ride off to save the world and forgot that he might be a tad more concerned with saving himself.”

  Brax clapped his hands, completely forgetting that they were all in serious trouble. “Please, tell us the all. I want to hear about the Storm Gate and the Frigid Knights! Please?”

  “Now why would you want to hear about them?” Granny asked, but she, too, knew the answer to her question. Traven’s grandmother liked a good and receptive audience though.

  All the children piped up and showered Granny with a million reasons they needed a story, right this minute.

  Finally, the old woman raised her hands to quiet them, then rubbed her palms together. “The Icy Throne is the place of cold, hard death. Once you enter the Storm Gate, you’ll never leave the same.”

  Enough already, Granny, Traven thought. The Hero knew each of the threats that they would face once they passed the Storm Gate. Traven did not need to recount each one over and over again. Until he was within the clutches of the threat, the Hero could not know how much of Granny’s tale was pertinent and how much was just so much embellishment.