The Ways of Winter

by Karen Myers

  Another question it would be difficult to ask. She thought she could convey her meaning to George, but didn’t want to disturb him on his journey. She kept a light touch on him now, all the time, listening for his call.

  She should tell Granite Cloud to expect him, she thought. She wasn’t sure how constrained she was, maybe she could go and find him once he got closer. Would she be able to speak with him, too, or was she too young for that? No one had ever tried before, so Seething Magma had no guidance to draw upon.

  It was fascinating what these people could do with the ways her people made. George unnerved her. It was like standing too close to an active lava tube. It could break through at any moment, and not even one of her kind would be safe. She was now certain that George, and maybe even Rhodri, could claim her, like a way. She wasn’t really afraid of it. Realistically, she would outlive them and she was confident she could find a way to escape. More importantly, she trusted them both, that just because they had the power they wouldn’t abuse it.

  But George trusted her, too. She could have crushed him this morning in that cage of rock she built around him, and she never even tasted the thought in his mind. She knew these people here in the room would suffer if she touched them, but everyone did a polite dance of avoidance and never brought it up.

  She’d never felt vulnerable before, not like this. She wanted to rescue Granite Cloud herself, but she had a vivid and discomforting fear of letting Madog capture her like her child and turn her against these new friends.

  Edern repeated his instructions to the courier at the entrance to the Edgewood Way. “Quick as you can, now, and don’t forget to let them know on the other side that this end has moved a bit.”

  He had to raise his voice to be heard over the clang of chisel and mallet as the mason did a hasty extension of the colored stones on the pavement marking the way entrance. The craftsman pried up the embedded stones that were no longer correct on the left and used them as inlay for the new placement on the right. Rhodri had marked the new way edge for him and stood by for any questions.

  The courier rode into the passage and Edern’s eye was caught by movement as Benitoe and Maëlys came up the road from the village. They were a blaze of color, especially Maëlys in her red cloak. The two of them were deep in conversation with each other, Benitoe laughing at Maëlys’s comments.

  Edern hadn’t seen much of Benitoe since the great hunt, but his own sense of fitness had made him pay attention to the man whose betrothed had sacrificed herself to save the life of his grand-daughter. He’d vowed then that he and Rhys would take a special interest in finding the lutins that were missing at Edgewood.

  He hadn’t spoken much to Benitoe in his grief, but this was a different man he saw, his entire demeanor altered. There was still a deep sadness in him, but some of his self-containment was inexplicably gone. The two lutins were chatting like old friends, but the reserved Benitoe he remembered from Isolda’s funeral would never have done that. He wondered what had changed.

  The lutins looked up and saw the men at the way terrace. They cantered up, fairly bursting with news.

  “The lutins are alive,” Benitoe called, before pulling up. “We haven’t seen them yet, but we left tokens for them and they’ve been taken. We’re going to have to go back for a longer stay and try to coax them out of hiding.”

  “Is that why you’re so conspicuously attired?” Rhodri asked. “I thought we had a couple of winter cardinals on ponyback when you turned the corner.”

  Maëlys smiled. “There must be several of them at this one spot, to tend the animals in all the farms we checked. And there are farms like this everywhere.”

  “Oh, and I promised my auntie here that I’d ask. My lord,” he said, addressing Edern, “Maëlys would like to petition for the inn in the village, to run it. Where do we make that request?”

  “I’m very pleased to hear your news,” Edern said. “Let me know how I can help with the search, and go to Cadugan for supplies and assistance, with my authority. Talk to him about the inn, too, and he’ll let you know how we’re handling that. I don’t see why Maëlys here can’t get in line for consideration.”

  “Where’s the huntsman? I want him to hear about this. Rhys, too.” Benitoe stopped abruptly at the sight of Edern and Rhodri’s faces. “What’s happened?”

  They filled him in, briefly. Maëlys hand rose to her mouth and covered it as she heard of Rhys’s capture.

  “And you let George go after him alone?” Benitoe asked, bristling.

  Rhodri said, “We couldn’t stop him, Benitoe. You know how he is.”

  “Yes, I guess I do.” Benitoe subsided.

  Edern said, “You mustn’t let this stop your work with the lutins. You know neither of them would want that.”

  Benitoe nodded soberly. “Have you heard back from the korrigans, yet? We met them yesterday on the road and they had similar news—deserted sites but hand tools missing.”

  “And the fae?” Edern asked.

  “Not good. We have a theory about that, Tiernoc and I. We think it’s their version of hiding, their minds if not their bodies. Until we can be sure what the cause is, though, they’re no easier to help than the missing lutins and korrigans. And some of the new settlers are wary of catching whatever this sickness is.”

  This was the task I needed, Edern thought, to keep my thoughts from my kin in peril. It’s time to throw more people at this problem. He excused himself and headed off to the conservatory to check for news, occupying himself with plans to present at the evening council as he went.

  Well, Gwyn thought, holding Edern’s note. That’s it then.

  He wasn’t surprised by the early courier. He knew Edern would want to tell him about the reopened Edgewood Way as soon as possible.

  But the note confirmed all the bad news. Rhys taken, George gone off alone to attempt a rescue. A lot of hope that was. Edern had scribbled something about seeing Cernunnos’s hand in all of this, but his brother had always been a romantic about Cernunnos. Gwyn’s conversations with Cernunnos, few though they’d been, had left him with no illusions about compassion on the part of an immortal god. Our concerns and his are just too different, he thought.

  I must tell Rhian now, there’s no more delaying it. She should just be back from walking the hounds.

  He picked up George’s enclosure for Angharad and slipped it into his chest pocket. And then I have to go to one of my oldest friends and ruin her happiness for her.

  Rhian and Brynach sat their horses in the kennel yard and finished sorting the hounds out, dividing them into their pen groups of adult dogs and bitches, and the young hound dog and bitch groups on the opposite side of the yard. Ives and his kennel-men Huon and Tanguy helped from the ground.

  The outer kennel gates opened, and Rhian was surprised to see Gwyn walk into the yard. He rarely came to the kennels, and this was the first time he’d done it while she’d been left in charge.

  She rode over to him and dismounted.

  “How was the hound walk this morning?” he asked.

  “It went well, foster-father,” she answered, warily. Something was very wrong, she could tell. He looked deadly serious, even for him.

  “May I speak with you?” he said.

  Worse and worse, she thought. “Brynach, would you please take my horse for me?”

  He dismounted and led over his own horse, taking the reins of hers in his other hand. “I’ll put them both away,” he said. His curiosity was obvious, but she was grateful for his restraint in asking.

  “Let’s use the huntsman’s office,” she said to Gwyn.

  “Yes, that would be appropriate.”

  The office off to the side of the yard was little used in George’s absence. After the long years of Iolo’s tenure in the position, it already seemed as if it had belonged to George forever, rather than just a couple of months. He’d somehow marked it as his own, and she could no longer picture it any other way. Maybe it was because she’d joined the hunt
staff under him, and so it meant so much more to her since then.

  Gwyn followed her in and and closed the door. He gestured for her to take the huntsman’s seat, behind his desk. She demurred, it wasn’t respectful, but he insisted. He didn’t sit down himself, which alarmed her even more.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, unable to hold her tongue another instant.

  Gwyn stopped pacing and looked at her. “Rhys has been taken captive by Madog. Yesterday morning.”

  Both her hands flew to her mouth. Not Rhys, not her big brother. She forced herself to straighten in the huntsman’s chair and shoved her hands into her lap. “How did it happen? Is he alive?”

  “They were trying to fix the ways. I think George moved the end of the Edgewood Way in the process and Rhys walked into it and picked up some kind of trigger. The trap way took him.”

  He looked at her soberly. “We don’t know if he’s alive. We think Madog won’t kill him, because he’s more valuable as a hostage.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “But our parents…”

  “Even so, we think Madog will want to keep him alive.”

  But he might be wrong, she thought. She didn’t think he was lying, exactly, but he wasn’t telling her his true thoughts.

  “Do you think he will survive?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so.” His face was expressionless.

  She looked at him. “What else haven’t you told me yet?”

  He paused. “George went after him.”

  Her heart sank.

  “How?”

  “He suspected he could cross the barrier at the ridge line, and he was right. He left this morning, headed for Madog’s court on foot, about a three days’ journey.”

  “All by himself?”

  “No one else could cross. That rock-wight, Seething Magma, can apparently reach him, and so we’re able to talk to him, more or less.”

  She sat still for a moment, trying to take it all in while Gwyn watched. She discarded her first impulse, to run into his arms for comfort. That was never an option with her dignified foster-father. She tried to think about it like he would, to make him proud.

  If George failed to return, she would have to be her foster-father’s huntsman. She thought she could do that, if she had to. But she could never replace her brother, never take his place. She couldn’t bury her emotions like Gwyn did, but she could act as if she could.

  She stood up. “Thank you for telling me, foster-father. Please keep me informed.” She walked him to the door and let him out. As soon as he left, she stumbled over and sat on the old couch and shook, hugging herself, her breath catching with suppressed sobs.

  After a minute, there was a knock and Brynach came in, brushing off some new snow. “What’s the matter? I was worried.”

  She lifted her face. “Oh, Brynach, Rhys has been taken. George, too.”

  He looked at her, woeful on the old couch. “Come here,” he said, looking bigger and older than his years. She stood, and he gave her the warm hug she needed while she sobbed dry-eyed for a few moments.

  “What if Madog kills him? What will I do without him? He’s looked after me all my life. I’m not ready to lose him.”

  “You have many friends and family, Rhian, and I’ll look after you, too. We all will.”

  “George will be captured, too, I know it.”

  “Don’t be so quick to assume the worst,” Brynach said.

  She nodded, but inwardly she thought, Rhys is gone, George is gone, Isolda… Even Benitoe is gone. Nothing is stable. She felt very young. She tried to pull herself together and pushed away from Brynach who released her carefully. It was colder when he let her go.

  “Never mind, I’m better now.” She put her grown-up face on. “You go on ahead. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He looked at her, then nodded and left her alone.

  At least Brynach is solid, she thought. He reminds me a bit of George—knows just when to let me be.

  The snow had started to fall as Gwyn took the long path around to the front door of the huntsman’s house. His heart was wrung by how bravely Rhian had tried to take the news. He felt like he was watching her shed the remains of her childhood before his eyes.

  He would have liked to comfort her, but knew she had to face this challenge alone. He was proud of the way she’d ushered him out of the office so that he wouldn’t see her cry.

  This was going to be very different, he thought, as he climbed the two steps and knocked on the door. No hiding anything from Angharad.

  As Angharad opened the door to him, he was engulfed by the scent of the warm balsam fir in the hall by the staircase. He paused to take a deep breath of it.

  Angharad looked at him in surprise and invited him in. “It’s good to see you, Gwyn.”

  “So this is George’s famous tree,” he said. Dozens of small brightly colored simple wooden ornaments hung from its branches, and four larger pieces, each about the size of an apple.

  “I’m making him one item each day,” Angharad said. “You caught me just as I was hanging today’s.”

  She pointed at a set of nested hollow circles, each ring suspended between a larger one, the colors sequenced like a rainbow. It hung free from the end of a branch where the rings could twist independently on their threads without hitting anything.

  He bent over and admired it, delaying the moment he would have to speak.

  Angharad looked at Gwyn. As far as she knew, he hadn’t been in the huntsman’s house since Iolo’s death. Her stomach clenched in fear.

  “Why have you come, Gwyn? Is it George?”

  Gwyn glanced at the study, and she led him into it where they could both sit down. Gwyn perched on the edge of his seat and Angharad fought to retain her composure.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Rhys has been captured by Madog and we don’t know if he’s alive or dead. That happened yesterday.”

  She knew what was coming. “And George went after him.” He nodded. “Of course he did,” she said, half to herself.

  “This morning. He crossed the ridge-line. We’re still in touch—that rock-wight is relaying messages.”

  “How far is it to Madog’s… dungeon?”

  “George thought it was about thirty miles, three days.”

  So he had three days of relative safety, she thought. And then what? Capture, likely. Death, likely. Oh, George.

  Gwyn reached into his inner coat pocket. “He wrote this last night, for you.” He gave her a folded packet of paper, several pages sealed shut.

  She took it from him and held it tightly in her hand without looking at it.

  “I’ll let you know everything we hear,” he said. He stood up and looked down at her. She didn’t move.

  After a moment he walked out of the room, and she heard the front door close.

  She was afraid to open the letter. That would make it final, real. I was prepared to lose him to a lack of the long life, she thought, but not by hazard, not so soon.

  She reached out with her mind for the pendant she’d given him. I can feel him, faintly. He’s still alive. But alone in Madog’s lands? There was a catch in her throat. What will I do if he doesn’t return?

  She looked down at George’s letter and broke the seal. If he had the courage to do this, she thought, she could find the courage to read about it.

  Angharad,

  Dearest. Forgive me that I must do this, if you can. No one else has a chance. You know I can’t leave Rhys to Madog, to suffer and die. It’s my fault that the end of the way was unmarked and, even if it wasn’t, I find I can’t stand by and write him off. My cousin, my friend.

  My charge. And then there is the matter of Granite Cloud, the little child enslaved by Madog. You remember the oak tree.

  She put the letter down into her lap. George had once told her about the vision he’d had all his life, of a sheltering oak. It’s how he saw himself. The great hunt a couple of months ago had ended at a spot that matched his vision,
and she was working on a canvas of it for him.

  She’d known he couldn’t refuse this task, the instant Gwyn told her about Rhys.

  I have some plans and it may work out. I haven’t lost hope, and you mustn’t either, whatever anyone tells you. But I must acknowledge the possibility of failure, that neither of us may come back. And so, I find myself writing my very first love letter to you, just in case it is my last.

  I won’t spend the time telling you what you mean to me, I think you know that. Instead I will tell you what I hoped we might do together. I wanted you to know, in case it never comes to pass.

  Her eyes moistened and she had to put it down again. Just last night he wrote this, a few hours ago, before he crossed over the Blue Ridge. She blinked until her eyes cleared and she continued reading.

  I hope I have the long life. I want to spend the centuries with you, not just a few years. But if not, I am grateful for what I get. I only regret that I’ll pain you as I age and eventually die. But know that I will be happy, even so, and you needn’t grieve for it on my behalf.

  I hope we have children, many and many. I hope you want them, too. I think you do. I hope that children who need us, find us. I’ve come to realize that I have it in me to raise many children and I’m eager to start.

  She put her arm across her belly unconsciously and then caught herself. No, it was far too soon to know. Will I lose him altogether, and no child? Let it not be so, she thought.

  I have come late to my new family and the bond is all the fresher for that. My roots are sinking deeper every day, making up for lost time. Remember, it’s not easy to kill a well-rooted oak.

  How was I ever so lucky as to win you? I cannot believe that a man as lucky as I am can fail.

  Be kind, if I’m wrong. I never meant to hurt you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. Look after my grandparents.