The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2)

by T L Greylock

  “Does it end?”

  “Yes. Far to the south lies a great canyon with a rushing river and beyond that the world is green again.”

  “What happened here?”

  Raef could not see Finnoul’s face but he could hear the pain in it. “A battle was fought here. Long ago.”

  “Fire?” It did not make sense, for the wounded land would have recovered over time, but Raef could not see what else might do such damage.

  “Giants.”

  Raef looked again and saw the scarred earth with new eyes.

  “Do you see that plateau?” Finnoul pointed ahead of them. It was hard to miss, being the only level surface in sight. “The sacrifice will happen there. We will take them before they leave the trees. The Guardians will be on the ground. They will be defended, of course, but the greatest protection will be up here. Lorcan will be able to see any attack that comes from the skies and we will give him one. Thannor will lead it. When they have engaged, those of us hidden among the trees will launch our assault on the Guardians.” Finnoul turned the kin north again. “We should not linger here. Lorcan has many eyes.”

  It was not until they had nearly reached Finnoul’s mountain home that Raef was certain they were being followed. Something darted beneath the treetops, staying out of sight, but Raef, peering over his shoulder, could see leaves and branches stirring in the absence of wind. He whispered this to Finnoul, who changed course, not so dramatically as to make it obvious, but enough to keep distance between them and her home. Instead, though it was dark, they returned to the ridge where they had started the evening and landed on its highest point.

  In the dim light, their pursuer abandoned the protection of the trees, guiding a kin up the slope to the ridge. Raef was not surprised to see Aerath’s face.

  Finnoul exhaled and a low grumble came from deep within the orange kin’s throat as Aerath’s blue kin circled above them. Finnoul reached for the bow she kept strapped to her kin and notched an arrow on the string. She did not draw it back but her intent was plain.

  “I will shoot you from the sky if I must. Did Lorcan send you, Aerath?”

  “He does not command me.” The blue-green kin hovered now and Aerath’s voice was sharp in the gathering dark.

  “But what will keep you from telling him where I have been this night?” The bowstring inched back.

  A delay, this time, before he answered, and his voice was less brittle. “If you have to ask, then perhaps I was wrong to come at all.”

  Raef saw Finnoul close her eyes but the bow stayed up. “Then come down here, Aerath, and let me look you in the eye.”

  “Your words are folly. We both know I will not join you.”

  “I know no such thing.” Finnoul’s voice was soft.

  The silence between them was deafening. When Aerath did speak, Raef was glad for the swift twilight that had consumed the alf’s features, for it seemed to him the words were meant for only one pair of ears.

  “I will not. But neither will I tell Lorcan where I saw you. Goodbye, Finnoul.” His kin rose up, its wings fanned against the shape of the moon, and then plunged down into the valley. He was out of sight in an instant.

  Finnoul did not speak again that night and Raef did not venture to draw her into conversation. His own mind was filled with thoughts of Eira, of her careful distance, of her lips on his. He tried to push those thoughts away, summoning instead the image of his father and the vengeance that simmered within. He had to hold onto it, had to put it before all other thoughts of home, but it shamed him to find that the spark of anger did not flare as it should have, that it was content to murmur in the darkness.

  Another day passed, another day of Finnoul’s quiet. She kept to herself, wandering far afield and leaving Raef among her followers. Raef watched Ylloria prepare medicines, watched her choose her plants with care, learned how to gather the roots without causing damage and which flowers were best for masking foul-smelling compresses. He practiced with his unwieldy, unfamiliar blade, trying to establish a measure of comfort with its balance and its lightness. The ambush drew near and it would have to serve, but Raef, though Finnoul’s friends seemed pleased, impressed even, that he carried it, found that his heart was not in the blade. Thannor gave him pointers and they crossed swords at dusk until Raef felt he could defend himself.

  Finnoul returned that night but had still not regained her former vitality. The rebels shared food and drink but this was a grim meal without the joy of the island feast. The alfar went their separate ways, filtering into the night until only Raef and Finnoul were left to fly up to their mountain roost. Before they took to the sky, a dragon-kin screeched above them and dove into the clearing. The rider was Annun and he nearly stumbled to the ground as he vaulted from his dragon-kin’s back. Catching himself, he tried to speak but could only suck in air. Finnoul rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Breathe. Then speak.”

  “We are lost. There can be no ambush.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No worthy sacrifices have been found. The Guardians will not make the journey to the barren lands.”

  Finnoul’s face fell and uncertainty clouded her normally clear gaze. Raef, standing to the side, said nothing but watched them both.

  “I see Lorcan’s cunning behind this,” Finnoul said. “He thinks to keep them safe by keeping them at home. He has made certain no sacrifices are found.”

  “What can we do?” Annun asked, desperate for guidance from his leader. Finnoul did not have an answer.

  “I will go.” Raef spoke quietly but there could be no mistaking his words. Finnoul turned to him, already shaking her head, but Raef went on before she could speak. “You yourself said I must be here for a purpose. Let this be my purpose. They will not pass up the chance to put me to death.”

  “No, I will not ask this of you.”

  “You do not ask. I offer it to you freely. I do not intend to die in your barren land, Finnoul.”

  Finnoul remained reluctant. “Even so, there is great risk.”

  “There always is, when something matters.” Raef kept his eyes on Finnoul, not looking to Annun, who watched with curiosity. “Remember what we spoke of.”

  “I do not know what happens to a man of Midgard if he dies in Alfheim. I do not know if the doors of Valhalla will open for him,” Finnoul warned.

  “I am prepared to take that chance. Regardless, those who dwell in Valhalla will soon pour forth into the world again.” It was perhaps unwise to speak so plainly in front of Annun, but Raef was determined not to let Finnoul find a means to keep him from following through. Annun looked away.

  Finnoul’s eyes remained unwilling, but she kept this to herself. “Very well. Tomorrow we will see that you fall into the hands of the Guardians.”

  EIGHT

  Raef slept well. If he dreamed, he remembered none of it, but he woke to Finnoul shaking his shoulder. The mountain hall was dim yet with the grey light of dawn, the stone floor cold on his bare feet.

  “Is it time?” Raef stifled a yawn and went to look out the narrow window of his chamber.

  Finnoul joined him and Raef saw that her long pale hair was pulled back, twisted at the crown of her head, and streaked now with rich orange hues. The change had sharpened her cheekbones and brought even greater strength to her face. The scent of the fresh dye tingled in Raef’s nostrils. “Almost. There is something I would show you first.”

  The mountains slept yet, great, grey, hulking shapes blanketed with deep purple shadows and tinged here and there with the first rays of pink light. Even Finnoul’s orange beast seemed to dwell yet in the realm of sleep, his eyes were half-closed and his wings thrummed the air with languorous ease as they lifted off from the mountain hall. The sky began to glow with golden light in the east and it was there that Finnoul pointed the kin.

  Beneath them, land that was becoming familiar to Raef rushed by, but they soon reached the edge of the confines he had come to know. The great forest spread on an
d on into the distance, seemingly without end, and the sun was above the horizon before the landscape changed. The trees gave way to thick, wet marshland and then at last a great lake opened up, reaching so far to the east and north that the shores were faint lines obscured further by heavy mist.

  A single peak rose out of the lake not far from the western shore, rearing up above the calm waters, and it was this that the orange dragon-kin circled around.

  “What is this place?” Raef asked. The mountain was smooth and dark in color and the summit was truncated. Instead of a high point, a deep bowl was cut into the black rock.

  “It is what I have promised you. Long ago this mountain served as a path between our worlds.”

  “And does it still?”

  “So we believe. Long has it been since my people sought to make such a journey. But it is important that you can find your way here alone. Tomorrow brings much uncertainty. If the battle goes ill, I may be unable to help you on your journey.”

  “But what am I looking for?”

  They circled lower for a better look and Raef could see clouds of vapor rising from the mountain’s cauldron. “In truth, I do not know. We do not venture here. As long as you keep your bearings, reaching the lake on foot will not be difficult. Crossing the water and climbing the mountain is another matter.”

  “Then let us hope I am not on foot.”

  They turned back to the west and met with Annun and Thannor at the foot of Finnoul’s mountain. There would be no goodbyes, though Raef would have liked to thank Ylloria. Raef knew what purpose the two alfar were there to serve. He handed the ancient sword to Finnoul, stripped down to his bare skin, pulled on the ragged clothes he had arrived in, and did not flinch away when they began to beat him.

  Their strikes were hard, but their precision would keep Raef from suffering serious damage. To the eyes of the Guardians, he would appear bruised and forsaken. Raef endured the beating without a sound, then folded and returned the borrowed clothes to Finnoul, who completed Raef’s transition by drawing her knife lightly across Raef’s chest. Blood welled, staining the fabric of his shirt, and then began to trickle down, but the cut was not deep.

  “A little blood tells a good tale,” Finnoul said, her gaze appraising Raef’s appearance. Finnoul hefted the strange sword. “I will have this for you when we meet again.” Raef dragged his hands in the dirt and smeared the damp earth on his cheeks and neck. Finnoul grinned. “You are ready.”

  Finnoul left Raef atop a bald hill in the forest. The sky had grown grey and flat, the air thick and warm, and the trees that spread before them promised dark places. “You will have to walk from here. I dare not take you closer.” Finnoul pointed down a thickly treed valley that meandered below them. “A stream runs its course there. Follow it and they will find you.” Finnoul looked as though she might say more but instead she nodded.

  “Until tomorrow,” Raef said. He turned from Finnoul and the orange kin and began his descent into the narrow valley. The sound of water soon reached his ears and he followed it until the stream was underfoot. It was a tiny, rambling thing filled with small silver fish that fled from Raef’s shadow and chased the spots of sun that filtered through the trees to the water’s surface.

  The sun was reaching its peak when Raef felt certain he was being watched and followed. He kept his gaze on the streambed in front of him, but his ears told him of two hunters, one to his left and one to his right. Raef wandered on, pretending obliviousness, kneeling to splash water on his face at just the right moment to give one of the hunters a chance to approach from behind. The sword landed against his bent neck just as he expected.

  “Midgardian.” The voice was full of satisfaction. “The gods have returned you to us.”

  Raef stayed low and turned slowly, hands out to show he was defenseless, the blade sliding against his skin. He did not recognize the face that peered down into his. A pair of feet splashed through the stream and the hands of the second hunter grabbed his shoulders and shoved his head down. Raef held still as his hands were bound and murmured a feeble “Where are you taking me?” as they pulled him to his feet. The hunters did not answer as they shoved him forward, each keeping a hand on Raef’s arms.

  They plunged through the trees, leaving the water behind, and it wasn’t long before Raef, though he kept his head down as a show of meekness, saw other warriors join them, silent, light of foot, deadly shadows flitting between the trees. One must have run ahead for, though their pace was fast, the Guardians were awaiting their arrival in the roofless hall.

  Raef had thought to see the hall crowded with onlookers, thought to hear voices calling for his death, but the Guardians were the only ones there to see him flung to the earth at their feet. At a word from the First, the warriors slipped back into the forest, save two who stood guard. Raef stayed on his hands and knees.

  “Midgardian,” the First said. Raef raised his head just enough to meet his gaze. “How fortunate that you have found your way back to us.”

  There were no questions about Finnoul, her location, her numbers, what she planned. One of the female Guardians, the one Raef had thought kinder than the rest, stepped forward and raised him to his feet. She looked at his face, searched his eyes as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question. Apparently satisfied, she lifted the hem of his worn shirt and let her gaze wander down his chest, prodding at some of his older wounds. She kept her distance from the fresh slice Finnoul had given him. Without a word, she gave a nod to the First and returned to her seat.

  The interview was at an end. The First signaled for the guards to take him away but they had taken only two steps when a stranger burst into the hall. He was tall and strong, but what Raef saw above all was the crystal that glimmered where his left eye should have. The stranger bore down on Raef, a long knife in his hand, and grabbed a fistful of Raef’s hair. Twisting and pulling, he forced Raef back to his knees and held the knife at his throat.

  “Where is the traitor Finnoul? Tell me where she hides!” There was savagery in his voice and Raef knew this was Lorcan.

  Raef kept silent and let his head roll back and his eyes close. Lorcan yanked on his hair and then planted a foot on Raef’s chest and pushed him over.

  “Lorcan!” The First’s voice was commanding and through shuttered eyes Raef could see it had the desired effect. Though Lorcan did not take his gaze from Raef, he held the blade at his side and came no closer. “No further harm is to come to the Midgardian. He must be fit for tomorrow.”

  At last Lorcan’s gaze shifted to the First. “Sacrifice be damned. He must tell me what he knows.” Lorcan lunged at Raef again but the First bellowed and he came up short, seething.

  “He knows nothing. There is nothing to know.” The First kept his voice low and calm but Raef could see his pulse beat in his temple. “The lost one is no threat to us. When she grew tired of her play thing,” the First gestured to Raef, “she cast him off. That is all that matters.” Raef saw frustration burn in Lorcan’s good eye and the extent of the Guardians’ blindness became clear to him. They had at their feet a chance to learn Finnoul’s secrets, but their pride and arrogance had woven them a cocoon of oblivion, and they would rather live and die in a lie than acknowledge the truth. For a moment Raef pitied Lorcan. He was a strong warrior who had seen through the Guardians’ veil. Raef could only imagine what he might accomplish if he sided with Finnoul. But that was both his fault and his strength. He had chosen his side and was too stubborn to let it go.

  The First continued. “Take him away. See that he is fed and prepare for the morning’s journey.” He rose and the Guardians began to leave the hall.

  “You mean to make the sacrifice, then?” The anger had vanished from Lorcan’s voice. In its place was obedience and acceptance.

  “Of course.” The First looked back over his shoulder, confusion marring his smooth features. “The gods will be pleased,” he said, as though nothing else could matter.

  And with that Raef was left alone
with Lorcan. Their gaze met for a brief moment, Lorcan’s jeweled eye glittering, and Raef could see the loathing and questions buried there. Lorcan glanced away and at last sheathed his blade. Raef kept his head bowed as the warrior dragged him from the hall but he paid attention to every tree they passed, each turn they took, mapping out in his head where he was in relation to the hall, to the parts of the forest he had crossed with Aerath, even to the east and the safety he would find with Finnoul’s people. Though the First’s authority held sway here, in the dark of night, Lorcan might find a path to disobedience and Raef did not intend to succumb to the forest’s web should he need to escape. They traveled north and west of the hall, though the distance was not far, and Lorcan deposited Raef within a clearing. Five bare trunks rose up from the earth, each cut short just above the height of a man. Raef’s arms were unbound and then retied with one of the trunks at his back. The tough, abrasive bark bit into Raef’s skin.

  “Water,” Raef murmured. He kept his eyes half-lidded and licked his dry lips for effect, but his thirst was real. Lorcan grunted and held a skin up to his mouth. Raef swallowed eagerly until it was empty. “Where am I?”

  Lorcan grunted again, this time with derision. “Are you so weak, Midgardian?”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I would see your knowledge of Finnoul plucked from within you, drawn out like poison. And just as painfully. But you will get better than that, better than you deserve.” Lorcan called out to three warriors who were watching from the edge of the clearing. Quiet words were exchanged and then Lorcan left. Two of the warriors went in the opposite direction, leaving one to watch the prisoner. Now they were alone, Raef dropped his act of exhaustion and eyed the remaining alf more openly, taking note of his weapons, his lack of scars, his nervous eyes. It seemed not all of Lorcan’s warriors were comfortable in Raef’s presence. The guard was young, Raef thought, though his time among the alfar had not made it easier to determine age. He kept his pale eyes averted from Raef, glancing here and there among the trees but not willing to linger on the defenseless stranger.