“Yes, but —” The Hero stopped short. Traven had assumed the strange markings on Crystalia’s palm were some ancient symbols for the directions on a compass, but maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were something else altogether. “Corpse, you think the sexton’s position is guided by the Seven Folds’ location?”
Corpse shrugged. “It’s the best theory I have heard so far.”
Traven nodded his agreement, but how would they use this information? “We need at least two points to make a wild guess and three spots to triangulate any sort of precise location.”
Corpse shook his head. “Not necessarily. Look. We just came from True North. Hero, where was the Fold in relation to the Citadel?”
Traven told the dead man as much as he knew, as Corpse scribbled in the snow, transforming Crystalia’s palmful of jumbled symbols into a map more like the Hero was used to studying.
“Using this knowledge, and the fact that we know the Folds are equidistant —”
“We know that for certain?” Traven asked, unaware of that fact.
Corpse only shrugged. “They are equidistant on her palm. I say we take that as fact.” Corpse drew a few more angles then hopped back up to his feet. “Look, if we take all those variables into account, a Fold should be right here!” The dead man drove his stick deeply into the map.
“But that is just a bit away,” Ornery said, doubt thick in his voice.
Corpse smiled at his snowy creation. “I think I was cartographer before, well, you know.”
Traven did not waste any more breath before giving the command. “Let’s march.”
***
Holt cringed with each stride the wolf took. It was not Pale’s fault that the ride had become bumpy. The snow had gotten quite deep, and the poor wolf was nearly bounding with each step just to get over the drifts. Holt’s Vampyr skin was fairly impervious to the cold, but he could tell the others did not fare as well. They had best find this Fold before the blizzard froze them in place.
His sister was by far the worst of the party. Only through his heightened senses could he tell that Sele still lived. But in the end, it was Holt who was in the most danger. Sunrise could not be too far off, and there was scant shelter from its rays. With dawn rapidly approaching, it was a constant struggle to stay in control of his bloodlust. With all the fear and smell of sweat, the Curse cried out to be answered. He could drink the lot of them and complete the transformation. The Vampyr could fly despite the pain of his broken wing. The beast had no sense of the impossible. Vampyrs did not understand the concept of moral dilemmas. They only asked to survive, nothing more. Holt’s human life was so much more complicated.
“It should be right around here,” Corpse stated as he stopped.
The map upon Crystalia’s hand was beginning to fade, so the girl scratched at it to bring it to light. That young, tender wrist looked ripe for his teeth. The girl did not seem to notice the Vampyr’s enrapt attention as she regained her bearings. They had hiked from the rocky slope into a small set of foothills. The meager protection the mountainside had offered was sorely missed. The wind ripped even at Holt’s thick, ruddy skin.
“Holt, give it a try,” Traven said, a mixture of hope and doubt in his voice.
Gingerly, he dismounted the White Wolf. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Holt held out his hand and walked forward, but nothing happened.
“Try to the left,” Corpse prompted.
Holt did as directed, but still no Fold door was forthcoming. Everyone gave him a direction to try, so that very soon he was walking around in circles. Holt knew he looked the fool, but how else was he to do it?
Crystalia lightly touched his arm. “Here, let me try.”
The girl closed her eyes and raised her palm to the wind. She murmured something, but even Holt’s Vampyr ears could not make out what she said. The sexton began to glow brighter and brighter until it bathed the snow in a bright red glow. “It should be here,” the girl said, her voice thick with pain. Illuminating the sexton must have cost the Snowy Maiden greatly.
With not much hope, Holt held out his hand. This time he felt a slight tingle up his arm. His lips formed the word, “Enter.”
***
Traven stood in awe as a warm, gentle light beamed from the Fold’s entrance. No matter how many times the Hero witnessed this sight, it would forever make his heart skip a beat. The walls were draped with a yellowish-orange plant. It was quite unlike anything he had ever seen before. The ground looked like it was made out of granite, but the entire floor was a huge mural, made up of the swirling of the rock. It was one of the most beautiful sights that the Hero had ever seen. After a single breath, where everyone stood enrapt, Traven herded them inside. The Hero had not complained a wit about Miss Emmert’s weight along the difficult hike, but he was about ready to drop her, his arms were so fatigued. Stumbling into the shelter, the Hero made certain everyone was within the Fold before he set the woman down.
Corpse followed suit with Glacial then stretched his arms. “Now this is more like it!”
Traven smiled foolishly at the dead man. He could not agree more. The Hero had not realized how stiff the wind had been until it was gone. The silence of the Fold was almost shocking after the constant howl of the blizzard. Everything was so very perfect.
“You never learn, do you?” a high-pitched voice shouted from down the hallway. Traven wiped the snowflakes from his eyes as the voice continued. “It wasn’t bad enough you destroyed my Fold. You thought you might do the same to the Granite Fold?”
The Hero still smiled. Even the sight of the Faery warmed his heart. “Emerald! We have need of healers. Two of our party are gravely injured.”
The Faery buzzed up to Traven. “I’m not surprised, given the fact that they travel with you.”
Behind Emerald a group of strange beings followed. They looked human but were small and bent over. Their hands were gnarled. Their faces pushed in.
“Ugh, not Dwarves!” Corpse exclaimed and backed away.
Traven’s hand instinctively went to the pommel of his sword. “Are they a danger?” the Hero asked.
Corpse shook his head but kept backing away. “How would I know? I just don’t like the look of ’em.”
If Traven had been any closer, the Hero would have punched the dead man. Traven knew from firsthand experience that insulting the Fold’s Guardian only brought you sorrow.
***
Ornery felt like he was walking through a dream. The Dwarves had led them to a large chamber painted all in brown and red. Streaks of gold coursed along the walls. There was enough wealth in this room to make them all rich, yet the Dwarves had never disturbed the delicate veins of precious metal. Already, he liked these Dwarves.
He liked them even better when they treated his mother, Glacial, and Crystalia with such respect and kindness. Each of the women had been laid out upon a bed of plants. At first, Ornery had been frightened by the herbs’ strange properties, but now he was used to the leaves caressing the women’s wounds. The Faery had called them Tender Sprouts, and he could see why. The boy did not like Emerald much more than he did before, but he was happy to enjoy her hospitality. Ornery did not want to dwell on how badly his body hurt or on all that he had lost today.
Glacial gave his hand a squeeze. “Is Miss Emmert awake yet?”
Sadly, Ornery shook his head. “No. The Dwarves are uncertain when she will awaken.” Ornery did not bother to add that the Dwarves were uncertain if his mother would live, let alone awaken.
“Tell me more of your people,” Glacial whispered through her split lips. The Sprouts had done a miraculous job of warming the Ice Princess and bringing some color back to her cheeks, but most of her wounds would be longer in the healing.
Ornery smiled. He would be happy to share his heritage with her. After all was his wish not fulfilled? With the room quiet and the lights dimmed, Ornery murmured to the Ice Princess. Her eyes closed, and sleep brought a peace to her features. A hand squeezed his shoulde
r.
“You should get some rest yourself,” the Hero said.
The boy had forgotten that Traven was still in the room. Pale nosed Ornery, urging him up from his chair. “But what if my mother comes to?”
The Hero rose and helped Ornery to his feet. “I will take over here and summon you if Miss Emmert stirs in the least.”
The boy could barely keep his eyes open, but he objected anyway. “How will we know if —”
Pale retreated from Ornery’s side and hopped up next to Miss Emmert. The bed was not that wide, and it took some careful maneuvering for the wolf to snuggle up next to her, but he was successful in the end. For a moment, Traven frowned, but then a smile bloomed to his lips.
“Pale is speaking to her now, in her mind. The wolf will know when she rises from the darkness.”
Ornery still wavered, but Glacial must have sensed his total fatigue, for the Princess’s eyelids fluttered open, and she added her agreement to the Hero’s. “Please, Ornery. Go. I will feel better knowing you are resting.”
That was the final straw for the boy. Ornery gave one last squeeze to Glacial’s hand. He petted Pale on the way out and planted a tender kiss on Miss Emmert’s cheek. “I love you, Mother.”
***
Crystalia felt tears spring to her eyes as she watched Ornery kiss his mother good-bye. She would never get to kiss either of her parents good-bye ever again. How she wanted to fall asleep like Glacial, but her mind would not stop churning. Her life was no longer her own. Before the Icy Citadel, a part of her still fantasized about returning to Last Hitch. Thinking of her father and Viola, Crystalia could imagine that she was still the same girl as before. Now, after the demon had sprung from Viola’s skin — all that was gone. How much of what the Drakol priestess said was true? Had Viola always been a demon?
The Vampyr had said that her father was one of those Drakol too. Had she been raised in a town of demons? How much of her boring life was all a carefully constructed lie? When you could not even trust your past, it made the future all the harder to bear. Who was she? Now that the Winter King was defeated and the Vortex smashed for all eternity, what role did the Snowy Maiden have?
Oh, her head ached to match her burnt skin. Did the Dwarves have a calming ointment for her mind? If they did, the Snowy Maiden would certainly try some. Crystalia was so deep in thought that she did not notice Traven pull up a log stool and sit down between her and Glacial. His voice had a certain amount of false cheer. “And how are we doing?”
Crystalia murmured an answer. It was too painful to see the Hero right now. He too strongly reminded her of Last Hitch, but Traven had the strangest look upon his face. It nagged at her until she had to speak.
“What is it?” Crystalia asked.
Traven shook his head and looked puzzled himself. “Nothing.” The Hero placed a gentle hand on her arm and another on Glacial’s hand. “Nothing at all.”
Crystalia did not believe the Hero, but nor did she press him on the matter. She allowed him to keep his own worries. The Snowy Maiden had enough of her own.
“Now, if you thought those Centaur stories were good, just wait until you hear my Granny’s version,” Traven said, a smile back upon his face.
The Snowy Maiden had meant to sort all this confusion out in her mind, but the comforting sound of the Hero’s baritone lulled her thoughts. To Traven’s deep voice, Crystalia felt herself drifting off to sleep.
***
Madame Hesper stumbled forward, numb, yet still in pain. The sun was barely over the eastern horizon. She searched the snowfields, but could see no one around. The medium checked to the north, but the black, brooding storm front had truly dissipated. Surely, the Winter King was vanquished?
“He was never the problem, you sap,” a tinny voice admonished.
Madame Hesper could not see her accusers, but she spoke anyway. “But it was the Winter King who was the —”
“He was noisy and rattled his chains, but the Winter King was the least of your worries,” a third, shrill voice added to the berating.
Madame Hesper groaned as three beings materialized before her. Their shriveled female forms were hard to look at. “You are the Lamia?”
With a broken-toothed sneer, the closest being answered. “We prefer Harridans as —”
The second of the hags cut in. “We prefer not to be bothered with mortal concerns.”
“Then why have you summoned me here?” Madame Hesper asked, trying to keep her tone respectfully neutral.
The third Harridan spat at the snow. Where her spittle hit, the snow steamed and hissed. “Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess. We figured it only fitting that you be the first to know.”
Madame Hesper waited for a moment, but none of the hags explained. “Know what?”
“The seasons are stricken. If you do not reverse their course, all will be lost.”
The first Harridan hissed, “Even those of us who have had no hand in this outrage will succumb. That is how far-reaching this cabal has spread.”
Madame Hesper did not believe the hags for a moment. Despite their looks, the Harridans were powerful sorceresses who had transcended their human flesh. “What do I need to do?”
“Fix it!” the three shouted.
“How?”
“How should we know? It is you who awakened the Snowy Maiden too soon. It is you who made Ekoli fall. By your actions, you have not only destroyed the Cider Fold, but the Icy Span as well.”
“You must have some idea —”
The third sorceress spat again. “Spring is dying. She had been poisoned. If she should waste away, there will be no hope of revealing the underpinnings of this mystery.”
“Now be gone. We tire of your company.”
Before Madame Hesper could argue, the Harridans vanished, leaving her out on the Barren Flats with not much more clue as how to proceed than she had before. Turning, she faced the north and began walking. Madame Hesper knew there would be no other answers out here on the Plains.
***
The Hero found that he had missed retelling the stories from his Granny. They had somehow salved his battered soul. He was almost too tired to even recognize how exhausted he was.
The healers had tried to urge him out of the room, but Traven had insisted on staying. He was not quite sure why. Everyone else was asleep. Even Pale had tired of his mindspeak with Miss Emmert and had fallen into a deep slumber. Instead of following suit, the Hero stayed seated.
Gently, he patted the two girls’ arms. For some reason, which seemed to be beyond Traven’s understanding, he could not leave their sides. Glacial kept him in her thrall by sheer presence. Even battered and bruised, the Ice Princess could charm a snake out of its skin. The Snowy Maiden, though, drew him to her like a warm spring breeze. The hint of comfort and bliss were Crystalia’s scent. His heart and attention was divided between the two.
What had Ekoli said back at the Icy Throne? The two girls were halves of a whole. But what did that mean to Traven? The Hero chuckled to himself. In the grand scheme of things, he doubted very much if the Fates had factored his affections into the weaving of their web. Only time would tell which way his heart led him, if it led him anywhere. Over the years, Traven had quietly become afraid that he could not love, for of all the girls, of all the women he had known, none had captured his heart. Until now.
Shaking off his folly, Traven began telling his fables again. Even though there was no one to listen, the Hero spoke aloud, if for no other reason than he needed to hear them again. For even though they had defeated the Winter King, Traven’s gut told him the crisis was not over. Granny had dozens of stories that went far beyond the reach of the Icy Citadel. He was certain she had not told those tales for nothing.
Traven knew each one of those legends held a kernel of information that could mean life or death in the future. The Hero swore he would not go into combat again so poorly prepared. His Granny had taught him well, and Traven planned on learning equally well. Th
e Hero searched for a grandly stirring tale, but all his tired mind could come up with was The Lovers’ Pact.
Traven had always eschewed those romantic tales, but somehow, with an all-female audience, he felt it might be appropriate. The Hero’s mind slipped back in time, back when Granny would be spitting ’bacco into her brass spittoon on the porch. She always loved to tell this story with a bit of fog in the air and mist covering the autumn ground.
Clearing his throat, Traven tried to do his Granny proud. “Lover’s pacts aren’t to be taken lightly. No, they’s ain’t! You don’t tell no woman or man that’s you loves them and then wander off — especially not the Snowy Maiden. The Man had already broken her heart once. if he dids it again, there would be no redemption.”
Granny chewed on her corncob pipe and watched her grandson try and tell the tale. That boy still couldn’t get storytellin’ for his life. Her snort caused the scrying pool to ripple, distorting the view of the Granite Fold.
Traven had best listen to his own words, or all would be lost.
###
Afterword
First off I would love to thank you for reading 7 Folds of Winter! I knew when I sat down to write the story, with four lead characters and a host of supporting characters (and animals) that this book was going to be a long one!
Hopefully you figured that out as well before you got started reading it! LOL
Truly I hope you enjoyed the in-depth world and myth building which was the fascination for me with 7 Folds of Winter.
7 Folds of Winter Page 55