Dreams of the Dark Sky

by Tina LeCount Myers

  “The risk is high,” Válde hedged.

  “I would rather gamble my life in action than have my bones freeze in a cave,” Gáral said.

  Válde shifted, a plan forming. “Mehjala is the closest village east of the Great Valley.”

  “They might be prepared after the fire in Hassa,” Edo worried.

  Mures clapped him on the back. “Don’t fret, Edo. If it doesn’t suit our needs, we can always burn their temple by our old methods and look for another village.”

  Niilán stepped outside of his lavvu, letting the leather tent flap fall back into place. Fresh snow blanketed their encampment, softening the peaked outlines. In the gloom of what constituted morning this far north, men and horses huddled together, both desperate for warmth. He exhaled, his breath like steam. Niilán clapped himself about his shoulders, fighting off the cold that dug through his layers as if it searched for his flesh. The previous day’s storm had prevented their departure from Skaina, convincing Niilán they could not succeed traveling as they had been.

  Awake long before the others, he’d had time to make up his mind. Now that they were no longer obligated to supply reinforcements, he would divide what men remained to him and spread out, increasing their chances of capturing the Piijkij. Niilán strode out to the cooking fire where Matti, Joret, Jonsá, and Osku stood close to the smoldering flames, waiting for him. Coming to stand beside Osku, Niilán accepted a cup of broth, sipping it gratefully, before moving ahead with his plan.

  With the exception of Osku, the others stared at the fire. They no doubt wished they were somewhere else. But here we are, Niilán thought, wiping his short beard with the back of his hand in a futile attempt to keep ice from forming a crust on his face. He had not forced them to become soldiers. Nor had he been responsible for their being part of his unit. They were, however, his responsibility now, and Niilán reminded himself that his plan was designed, at least in part, to serve them. The sooner they found the Piijkij, the sooner they could return south, where they would not freeze their puohtja every time they took a piss.

  “I have decided to divide the regiment,” he said. “We stand a better chance of success if we spread out.”

  Three of the four men looked ill at ease. Reading their thoughts, Niilán said, “It will not be like before. You will each have enough men under your command that the Piijkij will not be a threat. We will fan out and sweep across the terrain. They will not escape.”

  Matti looked down from his towering height, doubt written across his broad face. The others shifted uneasily, avoiding Niilán’s gaze. Undeterred, he unsheathed his sword, then used its tip to draw in the muddy snow.

  “We are here. We know they have traveled to Hassa. From there, they could have spread out in any direction. It is possible they headed to the Pohjola, but I doubt it. Their message to the Vijns spoke of more action to come.”

  Niilán waited to see if his men had anything to add. When they did not speak, he went on.

  “We will divide the regiment into four equal units,” he said. “Joret, you will head north and east along the border of the Pohjola. Matti, I want you to head to the western border and then south. The rest of us will fan out in the middle. I will travel to Hassa with Osku and from there to Mehjala and then south toward the Stronghold. If you find their trail, follow and attack. They are well trained, but their numbers are few. If you are smart and stay vigilant you will remain at an advantage.”

  “What if we don’t encounter them?” Jonsá asked, stomping his feet against the cold.

  Niilán squinted through the shifting smoke. “Return to the Stronghold. Seek out Áigin, and tell him of our plan.”

  “And if none of us succeed?” Joret pressed.

  “The burden of failure rests with me,” Niilán said. When silence, thick as any snowfall, descended, Niilán endeavored to think of something encouraging to say, but, to his mind, the only thing that really mattered at this point was action.

  “Have the men break camp,” he said to his new commanders. “Osku will divide the regiment into units. When you have your men, head out.” Niilán felt all eyes on him now. He knew his men needed more than direct orders. They needed hope.

  Niilán cleared his throat, searching for heartening words. “May the gods favor us all,” he said finally. It was not enough, but it was the best that he could do.

  Niilán waited until his men were about their duties, then returned to his tent. Throwing back the ice-heavy flap, he ducked inside. The pine branches he had laid down on the ground to prevent it from becoming a quagmire creaked under his weight. The sound hit the wrong note in Niilán’s ears, reminding him of his own inadequate words. He had not lied to the men when he told them the burden of success rested with him. However, he had not shared his doubts about the future, nor had he voiced his regrets about the choices he had made in the past. A true leader should have neither doubts nor regrets.

  Perhaps that was why most leaders were men with more ambition than sense.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  MARNEJ AND ÚLLA STOOD beside the cold forge. The day’s work had not yet begun. Úlla pulled her furs tighter around herself. Her curved belly, however, poked through in spite of her efforts. Marnej had accustomed himself to seeing Úlla as his equal in strength, swinging her hammer, bending metal to her will. But in this moment, with her breath labored, he’d never seen her look so vulnerable.

  “I leave today,” she said, glancing about the forge as if taking it all in to preserve the memory. “I began working here to be close to Kálle. He was a master. He could take the toughest piece of ore and turn it into a finely honed blade or the most delicate piece of jewelry.” Úlla shifted aside her furs, revealing her dagger, slung under her belly. She pulled it from its sheath, then ran her fingers along the flat of the blade, before tracing the curved filigree of the bone hilt. “Kálle made this. He was the best bladesmith we had.”

  “You learned from him?” Marnej asked when Úlla’s voice trailed off.

  She returned the dagger to its sheath, then wrapped her furs around her. “I learned much from him.”

  “You can teach me when you return,” Marnej said, a feeble smile breaking through.

  Úlla snorted. “I liked you better when you were a Piijkij and not spouting wishful notions.”

  Marnej laughed. Úlla appeared now as hard as the metal she forged. And yet. He thought about the challenge she faced—that all the Immortals faced. “You’re right,” he said. “I wasn’t making light of what you’re about to do. I’ll do everything in my power to see that you make it back. Especially if you’ll teach me to make a dagger like that.”

  Úlla shoved him, but without much force. The hard lines at the corners of her mouth curled up into a reluctant smile. “We’ll see if you have the skill for it.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Marnej warned. He leaned back against the anvil and looked around the forge. “It won’t be the same here without you.”

  “That’s true. No one will keep you in line,” Úlla said, then added, “But you won’t be here either.” Her expression softened into remorse.

  “No. I’m leaving soon,” he agreed. “I’ll see you at your Origin. You’ll have the whole journey back to remind me of all my shortcomings.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Úlla rounded on him. Her pensiveness was gone, replaced by her usual challenging nature. “I’ve never been Outside. What if the Song fails us?”

  “If fortune is with us—” Marnej began, then hesitated. The truth seemed cruel, but he needed to honor it, to honor Úlla.

  “If fortune is with us,” he said, “your Origin will be close, and the Song of All will keep us safely hidden. But if we must travel farther south, I don’t know if we can sustain the Song. We may all be traveling like the Olmmoš.” Marnej held up his hand, preempting Úlla’s next question. “I can’t tell you what that feels like. It has been my world from birth. But you should take heart that Dárja has experienced the Outside. She know
s what to expect. She’ll guide you and keep you safe.”

  Úlla pushed herself up from the post she leaned against.

  Marnej couldn’t tell if he’d convinced her or just himself with his reassurances.

  Úlla held out her hand awkwardly. “I will see you at my Origin.”

  Marnej clasped arms with her. He felt the ropy muscle of her forearm beneath the supple skins of her sleeve. “I’ll see you at your Origin,” he said, hoping he sounded confident.

  Dárja would not slink off into the woods without a word this time. She’d learned enough about loss to know that she didn’t want to repeat the mistake.

  “I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone,” she said.

  Kalek nodded, his mouth set in a bloodless line.

  Dárja bit her lip. “I know you don’t approve . . .”

  “It is not that I do not approve,” Kalek said, speaking for the first time since Dárja had entered the apothecary to make her good-byes. “You believe you are doing what is right. Maybe you are. But I do not want to lose you. You are more to me than an apprentice, Dárja.” Kalek faltered. “I love you like . . . a father.”

  The Olmmoš word sounded strange to Dárja’s ears.

  “I do not seek to replace Irjan,” Kalek said, his broad brow knit with concern. “He will always be your guide mother.” He took her hands in his. “But I am your father, and I love you no less than Irjan.”

  This time, the foreign word came out easily, with force behind it.

  Dárja’s reserve crumbled. She wrapped her arms around Kalek’s waist, and pressed her cheek against his rough wool cloak. She inhaled deeply the scent of bitter herbs. She never wanted to forget it.

  “I know you do,” she whispered hoarsely, recalling the countless times Kalek had soothed her when she couldn’t be with Irjan, or had healed a cut or gash when she and her bieba had sparred.

  Irjan had always sat beside her as she’d sniffed back tears, but it was Kalek who had carefully cleaned her wounds and applied the tinctures before wrapping her arm or leg or shoulder. Irjan had made her strong, but Kalek had made her whole.

  “I’ll come back,” she said.

  Kalek’s hand brushed the hair from her forehead, curling it around her ear.

  “I know you will,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You are the very best of us.”

  Dárja closed the door to the apothecary. She swallowed hard. It took all her strength of conviction not to turn around and go back in. A part of her longed to remain safe in the apothecary with Kalek, Okta, and Marnej. But Marnej would be leaving soon too. They hadn’t had much time together since their meeting with the Elders. Marnej was always busy at the forge with Úlla. Dárja felt a spark of jealousy flair. Dárja knew she was being petty, but she couldn’t help it. At least where Marnej was concerned.

  If someone had asked her, Dárja would’ve been unable to say exactly when her feelings for Marnej had changed, but they definitely had. He still drove her mad with frustration, but there was something more to their interactions. She no longer blamed him as she’d once done. In fact, she’d often sought out his company. She enjoyed their sparring practice. But more importantly, she took pleasure in their conversations afterward. Marnej had shared much about his life with the Brethren, careful to spare her feelings whenever possible. He’d described his loneliness and his isolation, his desire to prove himself and his anger toward Irjan.

  For her part, Dárja spoke a great deal about Irjan. She shared her memories of growing up with the man Marnej had called his father, but had hated all the same. There were times when she’d hurt him. She could see in his face that he wondered, “Why her and not me?” But recently, she sensed he’d made peace with not only with his past, but also with his relationship to Irjan. He’d relaxed. He sulked less and joked more. She doubted if any of the others would believe her, but when they were alone, Marnej would tell stories, make faces, and mimic Okta’s gruff scoldings. He made her laugh until her sides ached. Then he would smile. His smile. Dárja’s breath caught at the image. It was like a sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. The echo of the storm’s power remained but the promise of warmth was so inviting.

  Of course, that was before he’d accused her of being blind to the feelings of others. She wasn’t blind to these feelings. Perhaps that’s how it looked to him. But it wasn’t true. It was just that she didn’t know how to express her own. They made her feel weak and vulnerable. She hated that. Maybe if Irjan had not been her guide mother, or maybe if she’d been more like the other nieddaš, she would’ve been truly Jápmemeahttun. Dárja had wanted to tell Marnej all this and explain herself, but he’d been avoiding her. Now, time was running out, and she was about to leave for the Outside. She’d told Kalek she would return, but she knew there was a chance she might not. She couldn’t leave matters as they were. She needed to find Marnej and tell him the truth.

  Dárja picked up her pace, conscious of not drawing attention to herself. But she could not ignore the morning greetings of those she passed. Once the news had spread that she and Marnej would escort the life bringers, everyone had begun to take new interest in her. Some offered advice and opinions. Others reprimanded her for interfering in the traditions that had been handed down. This morning she didn’t have time for any of it. She needed to speak with Marnej before she left.

  Once across the gathering hall, Dárja ran toward the forge. It was the only place she could think Marnej would be. At the threshold, she came to a stop, feeling the hammering on metal jar her body and thoughts. The furnace blazed to life, the fire fed by the bellows. Marnej, she thought, relieved to find him. She rounded the pillar, convinced she could say what needed to be said. Seated at the bellows, however, was an almai she knew only by sight. He nodded as he eyed her, his scrutiny distressingly skeptical. Likely, everyone who worked in the forge had feelings about Úlla leaving for her Origin.

  Dárja scanned the forge, careful to stay out of everyone’s way, then she called out to a nieddaš on the sharpening stone, “Where’s Marnej?”

  The nieddaš looked up, shrugged, and then went back to her task.

  It was just like Marnej to make her run after him. Úlla was waiting for her, and she couldn’t leave without speaking to him.

  Dárja spun on her heel, breaking into a run when she reached the hallways. She didn’t care now who saw her or what they thought. At the apothecary, she burst through the door. Without stopping to explain herself, she ran past the startled healers, and out their garden door. Outside, Dárja’s feet slipped in the icy snow, but she kept running. At the small clearing where they’d sparred and practiced, Marnej stood, looking up at the dark sky.

  Dárja ran to him, reaching him breathless. All along the way, she’d rehearsed what she would say. How she would tell him her feelings, but now, when confronted with the opportunity to do so, she froze.

  Marnej stared at her. Falling snow caught on the edge of his fur-rimmed hood and his lashes.

  Dárja was certain her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  Marnej began to walk past her.

  “Wait,” she called after him, tripping over her feet to grab hold of him.

  He reeled around to face her. Dárja flailed like a fledgling perched on the side of a nest until he steadied her.

  “I know you think I don’t understand other people’s feelings,” she said, catching her breath. “But I do. I really do. It’s just that . . . up until now, I didn’t understand my own feelings. I couldn’t leave without telling you—telling you how much I . . .” Suddenly her thoughts and her words were like rabbits, running off everywhere.

  Dárja reached up her hands. She cradled Marnej’s face, tipping his head toward hers. As she kissed his cold lips, the snow of his hood fell upon her nose and her cheeks. Marnej’s searching eyes closed, and then she felt the pressure of his arms encircling her. He crushed her to him, kissing her, his mouth drawing up a fire within her. Dárja pulled back. Her heart pounded in her ches
t. She watched his eyes slowly open, momentarily lost in the light she saw pouring out. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, then pressed her forehead against his.

  “You have my heart,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  UNACCUSTOMED TO RIDING ON a binna, Marnej bumped alongside Okta. He missed the even, trotting gait of a horse.

  “Do not fight the animal, Marnej, “Okta said over his shoulder. “Listen to its Song. Bring it into you. The binna will guide you.”

  Marnej squirmed in the saddle. Trying to get comfortable, he accidentally pulled back on the reins, halting the reindeer’s forward motion.

  “How am I supposed to stay centered on the Song of All if I also have to pay attention to this beast’s song?” he complained, encouraging the reindeer to start moving again.

  “They are one and the same,” Okta replied enigmatically.

  Marnej mimicked the healer behind his back. They were six days out on their journey and he felt defeated by the difficulty of even the simplest things. After living with the Immortals within the Song of All, traveling Outside and having to maintain that link was frustratingly hard.

  “I thought it would be easier,” he grumbled.

  “What would be?” Okta asked.

  “Traveling in the Song,” Marnej said, shifting in the saddle again. “I thought after all the time I spent with your kind it would be easier for me.”

  Okta tsked loud enough for Marnej to hear the disapproval.

  “It was never easy. Much less so now. With few of us remaining to hold up our part of it, it takes focus and diligence.”

  As the two rode on in silence, Marnej resolved to practice his concentration. But as he tried to center himself, other ideas and questions bubbled up through his mind, pulling his attention in one direction and then another. In the midst of ideas flitting here and there, Marnej alighted on the fact that, while he’d spent time alone with Okta, it had never been for this long, nor under this kind of circumstance.