Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  “The rain hasn’t lessened, but that can’t be helped. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to climb outside.”

  Livna looked to the dark landscape beyond and struggled to keep her breathing even. “I understand.”

  “I’ll climb out first and help you over.” Oren had scarcely spoken the words before he stood outside in the pouring rain.

  Livna glanced back toward the door, distinctly hearing heavy footfalls in the passage outside. Were those strangers following the trail of Oren’s magic? Would they pursue them through the storm?

  Her heart pattered in time with the rain clipping the roof as she climbed over the windowsill and half-slipped into the mud outside. Oren caught her hand and helped her stand straight. Even above the sounds of the storm, she heard heavy thudding on the chamber door inside and knew their pursuers were close. That door wouldn’t hold very long.

  She took Oren’s hand and squeezed it for reassurance. “Which way do we go?” Her unsteady voice barely rose above the downpour which soaked her robes against her like a second skin.

  Oren answered by running headlong into the rain and pulling her with him. She matched him step for step as they came to a sharply rising hillside and continued scrambling upward. Livna looked back once and saw a single torch sizzling behind them in the darkness. At that moment, her longer legs allowed her to surge past her friend, tugging him as he had done for her.

  The slope rose and fell and rose again several times, and the change in altitude tore the breath from her lungs. At times they stumbled over shrubs or floundered in waterflows, but they did not pause, even as the rain began to slacken and a pale moon shone through the drizzle.

  At last Oren stopped, tugging Livna to a halt. She heard nothing but their heavy gasps for breath, yet a strange sensation filled the air, tickling her skin and making the hair on her arms stand on end. Her eyes scanned the space behind Oren, but she saw no sign of pursuers.

  “What is it, Oren?” She looked to his pale face, sensing a strange atmosphere, one she could not name but something like anticipation and . . . wonder. “What’s wrong? Is the hunter near?”

  Oren shook his head, and the moisture on his face glistened in the moonlight like diamonds. “I don’t sense them anymore. I think they’re far behind us now, if the storm didn’t drive them back to the tavern already.” He turned her hand over and stared at her palm, his eyes tracing its faint lines. “Livna, will you promise me something?”

  She held her breath. At the husky sound of his voice, her heart quickened its already frantic pace. In that moment she would promise to climb to the moon if he asked it of her. “Anything, Oren.”

  A faint smile lifted his lips. “We’re standing at an invisible border. When we cross it, we’ll be in the Dwarvene Mountains, and things will no longer be the same. I won’t be the same.”

  “Oren?” Though she tried to repress it, a small tremor in her voice betrayed the anxiety welling within her at his foreboding words.

  “Please realize, I’ll still be me. Nothing between us need change. Promise me you’ll remember that. No matter what happens or how I look, I’m still Oren. Your Oren. Your gruff, stubborn, opinionated old friend. Will you remember that?”

  The electrified air around Livna propelled the growing panic through her veins, but she managed to steady her voice. “Of course. You’re my friend. Now and always, no matter what happens.”

  Chapter Ten

  Oren took his first step into his homeland after more years than he liked to remember. Immediately, he felt the power of the very rocks coursing up through the soles of his feet, all the way to the top of his head. Livna faced him, and he saw the light growing around him reflected in her brown eyes.

  The power intensified, pounding through every bone and cell in his body and even through the fabric of the clothing he wore. He felt the stretching at once, a change less painful and far more gratifying than the one he’d endured on the night of his capture, when a huntsman dragged him over the border and away from the land from which all Dwarven drew their power. Then he had been terrified as he lost the main amplifier of his power and shrank into nothing but a shell of his former self. Then he had been a young lad, not even a man. Now he was older, fully grown, and bearing the wisdom and experience of his suffering. Yet fear still pulsed through him.

  He would be his full self again, but he did not know how Livna would react.

  What would he do if she shrank away from him? He looked at her now and found her face no longer looking down at his. Instead, her wide eyes were scarcely even with his nose, and she watched him cautiously even as the light faded from his skin.

  “Livna?”

  She gasped.

  Livna stared at the tall man before her. She understood now the powerful sensation buzzing in the air around her. The Dwarvene Mountains were not just a home for the Dwarven: they were a part of them. The moment Oren stepped onto his land, his skin and hair had blazed with a light that nearly blinded Livna, and he began growing from her small friend into a tall and imposing stranger.

  She felt the urge to back away, to cower or even, madly enough, to race back across the invisible border and into the night. But she had made a promise. She would remain to see it through. With that thought, a mixture of courage and curiosity filled her. She ground her feet into the damp earth, refusing to leave Oren’s side.

  Gradually the light faded to a pale radiance like white marble reflecting the glow of the moon. Studying the face before her, Livna recognized Oren’s crooked nose, his quirked lips, and icy-white hair. “Oren,” she whispered. “You’re . . . you?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. I am more myself than I have been in years. When I was taken from here, I lost a part of myself that I thought I’d never find again. But now I’m finally home. Thanks to you, Livna.”

  He took her hand and spun her in a circle. The anxiety and fear which had hounded Livna throughout their mad dash from the inn up until his sudden transformation seemed to fly from her shoulders, and laughter spilled from her lips, light and liberating. His words broke through her sudden giddiness, and she caught her balance, shaking her head in wonder. “To me? All I did was run and follow you. You brought us here.”

  Oren stepped closer, and Livna had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t have left the palace if you had not secured my freedom. And you chose to come here to find the help we need, the help our peoples need. You heard the villagers at the tavern. They called you the Fairest One. Who but you has been placed in such a position to help all seven tribes and bring about peace?”

  Guilt tore at Livna’s chest as she thought of the fear that was her constant companion. She could never be the Fairest One, for the Fairest One could not be a coward. She tried to hide a grimace. “Oren, surely you of all people know I am not the Fairest One. I am no answer to a prophecy.”

  “Livna.” The tone of Oren’s voice forced Livna to drag her gaze back to his face. “Look at the peak stretching above us.”

  She turned where he pointed and saw an expanse of white slicing across the black sky. “What is it?” she breathed.

  “Snow.”

  “Snow?” She marveled as a sense of loss crept over her heart, loss of the mother she had never known. “Snow fell the day I was born.”

  “I know. I’ve heard the servants talk as much as you have, if not more. What they don’t realize is the true importance of the event.”

  Hearing the deep solemnity in his voice, Livna turned her gaze back to Oren’s face. He met her gaze, his eyes so intense she could not look away.

  “When the patriarch of the Tribes gathered his sons and spoke his prophecy,” he said, “he did not come up with it on his own. Do you remember where he learned it?”

  “From the Dwarven,” Livna answered. Even the smallest child of the Tribes knew that.

  “Yes. And the Dwarven still remember every word, even those the Tribes have forgotten.”

  Livna lifted her eyebrows. “Such as?”
r />   “Such as the truth that the Fairest One would be born amid a storm of snow.”

  “No.” Livna stared at Oren, her mind grasping for words of defense and denial. He could not be right! If he was, her people truly had no hope, only a cruel joke of a promise. She could not be the Fairest One. There still must be another, and she had to cling to that possibility as the terror of failure flamed through her, more potent than ever. “That doesn’t mean . . . That doesn’t mean anything.”

  The strange new Oren chuckled. “Very well, little princess.” He stood back with a dramatic bow. “We’ll speak of it no more. But remember, we’re here for an important reason. Only you can speak for the Tribes and the stolen Dwarven now. Show your sincerity, your empathy, and I’m sure the prince will not deny your request for aid.”

  Livna squeezed her hands together, struggling to push away her fear. She had to focus on the task at hand, not let herself be distracted by this prophecy. “And he’ll help us then? He’ll send the Dwarven to stop Nava and her daimon?”

  “I pray he will.”

  “Will the Dwarven do as he says?”

  Oren nodded, and his white hair waved in the light of the setting moon. “No Dwarven can defy the prince. If we do, it’s far worse than being taken from our mountains.”

  Livna wondered what could be worse than losing oneself. But she closed her mouth, preferring not to fill Oren’s mind with dark thoughts when he had only just regained his full nature and form. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “So where do we find your prince?”

  A teasing smile reclaimed his features. His hands grasped her shoulders, and he turned her back to the peak. “There.”

  She swallowed. “The top of the mountain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I suppose we should start climbing.”

  Oren chuckled behind her, and she felt the reverberations through his fingers. “For once, little princess, I must restrain you instead of spurring you on. The prince’s court is at the top of the mountain, but we cannot reach it by climbing up. Come with me.”

  With this enigmatic declaration, he stepped smartly across the slanted muddy earth, leaving deep prints with his sandaled feet. Livna found herself struggling to match his now longer stride. After about a minute he paused before a rising cliff face and glanced down at her. “What do you see?”

  She stared into the jutting rock before them, struggling to perceive more. The tingling that had not left her skin since crossing the Dwarven border had intensified, but she discerned no reason for the change until she blinked. Darker shadows danced at the edges of her eyes as they had when she first perceived the reality behind Oren’s glamours.

  “It’s a cave,” she whispered.

  “Well done.” He laughed before disappearing through the shadows.

  Livna scrambled after him. A few moments of darkness, and she stepped suddenly into a rainbow of color. Her jaw dropped as she gazed around at the hundreds of glowing crystals sprouting from the walls and ceiling like stalactites and stalagmites. She’d never seen—never imagined—anything like this.

  Oren glanced over his shoulder at her as they progressed through a maze of color and fractured light. His smile seemed almost too big to fit his face. The colored crystals reflected on his skin. “Well, what do you think, Livna?”

  She craned her neck, trying to take in everything and finding it impossible. Lifting a finger, she brushed the smooth surface of a red crystal beside her. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Isn’t it?” He turned and watched her for a moment as she navigated the narrow path behind him.

  “And this will take us to the peak?”

  “Close to it, yes.”

  “Will there be snow?”

  “Aha! So, the snow did pique your interest after all?”

  Livna ducked under the glow of a green crystal and shrugged, hoping he would not use her interest to return to their uncomfortable discussion of the Fairest One. “It’s only that I’ve never seen snow before.”

  Oren darted back and grasped her elbow. “Then hurry. It’s beyond this cave and at the entrance to the court. Come!”

  Once again Livna found herself tugged along by her friend, his steady hand steering her past countless obstacles. A thousand lights whirred past them in their race, and their laughter echoed with a gentle twinkling against the crystals. In a final burst of speed, Oren pulled her from the cheery warmth of the cavern into a swirling mass of freezing white.

  Livna inhaled sharply, sucking in a lungful of frigid air. “It’s so cold.” White powder floated around them, and her exhaled breath became puffs of curling steam. She scooped a handful of the powder and sifted it through her fingers. The wet coldness turned her fingers red, but she bent for more.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught Oren watching with a grin and folded arms. On impulse, she took two fistfuls and tossed them at him.

  “Why, you—! You’re going to regret that, little princess!” Oren swiped his fingers across his face and charged after her.

  With a burst of impish laughter, she raced away, but the snow slid through her sandals, freezing her feet and slowing her steps. In seconds, she felt Oren behind her. His fingers snagged her wrist as she turned to face him. She swallowed slowly, realizing how close they stood. For a moment she considered stepping back, but warmth seemed to radiate from him despite the cold mountain air.

  “We should go to the court now.” His white breath fanned before her face. “There will be no snow inside, so I won’t have to worry about you catching cold.”

  “Or about me throwing snow in your face?” Livna grinned slyly at her friend but felt her heart pound at the thought of being one step closer to pleading her case to the Dwarven Council.

  Laughter rumbled deep in Oren’s chest. “Or about you throwing snow in my face.”

  “So, it’s true.”

  Livna startled at the voice booming across the icy air. Instantly, all the mirth and warmth of the moment seemed to be sucked away, leaving behind only the cold air of the mountainside. She saw Oren’s posture tense and the smile fall from his face as he turned, and she peered around his broad shoulders.

  A Dwarven, as pale as Oren but robed in violet silks, stood in the snow beside a black outcropping of rock. His pale eyes watched them both narrowly. “A stolen Dwarven has returned after all these years,” he said. “And with a human, no less.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Sir!” Oren stepped back and bowed deeply to the stranger. “We seek an audience with the prince.”

  “He predicted as much,” the Dwarven murmured, his solemn gaze flicking from Oren to Livna and back again, “though I hardly believed it.” His voice took on a hasher tone. “Even now I scarcely can, though I see you with my own eyes.”

  The stranger carried no weapons, but his presence seemed to pulse with magic. Livna found his narrowed glare directed at her and shivered at the distaste in his features.

  Oren shifted past her, placing himself between them. “Livna is no threat to the Dwarven. In fact, she freed me that I might return here. She is a princess and seeks concord between her people and the Dwarven.”

  A sneer twisted the stranger Dwarven’s lips. “We shall see what comes to pass. Follow me. The prince has assembled the Council, and they are awaiting you.”

  With his violet robes rustling against the snow, he turned and walked back along the outcropping. Livna stayed close beside Oren as they followed him. She struggled to hide her face in a mask of calm, but as each chilling step brought her nearer to the conference she had both anticipated and dreaded since Nava’s betrayal, she feared her courage would fail her. So much was at stake, and she could not bear to contemplate the consequences of failure.

  At the outcropping’s highest juncture, Livna was pleased at her ability to recognize another hidden cave-like entrance before they plunged through, and its veiling magic tingled against her skin. The temperature rose significantly, and Livna blinked sever
al times to adjust to her darker surroundings. One of her sandals slipped on slick ground which shone like black glass.

  “It’s obsidian,” Oren explained, catching her elbow to help her regain her balance. “Be careful how you step. The Dwarven Council meets at the heart of this fiery mountain.”

  Livna felt her eyes widen as she peered down the dark tunnel, which seemed to end in a distant red light. “Fiery?”

  “Yes,” Oren murmured with a note of pride. “Centuries ago, the Council subdued this volcano to the will of the Dwarven for the safety of the peoples below. That was when this became our homeland.”

  A slight sulfurous scent stung Livna’s nose and grew in strength as she marveled at Oren’s words. Surely a people powerful enough to subdue a mountain of fire could overcome Nava as well.

  At the end of the tunnel, they stepped through an opening into a massive ceilingless circle. More black rock, some slick and some rough, covered the floor, and gray smoke rose from a central brazier into a cloudless gray sky. Livna spied sparks of red, glowing heat.

  Dwarven were seated in a semicircle of black, rock-hewn chairs, and at their center, just beyond the brazier, stood a seat of shiny obsidian set with countless jewels and crystal. And the figure seated in that chair? The prince, Livna realized. It had to be.

  He stood, the long folds of his crimson robe rippling like liquid fire in the brazier’s glow. He might not actually be taller than the others, but an undeniable impression of magic and power surrounded him like an aura. When he rose, the others followed his cue as Livna and Oren were ushered before them.