A Cavern of Black Ice (109 page)

The care the warrior had taken of Ash
was beyond Raif's knowledge as a clansman. The Naysayer had taken
dried blackroot and barberry leaves and made a hot tea from them,
which he woke Ash every few hours to drink. When asked, he'd said
that the tea would take the yellow poison from her blood. There had
been tinctures made from the leafy twigs of mistletoe and the golden
resin of a tree unknown to Raif. Her body had been cleaned and
massaged with fragrant oils, the chilblains on her face washed with
witch hazel, and the cuts and frost sores dressed with purified fox
grease and native moss.

Raif slept through much of what the
Naysayer had done. Exhaustion made it impossible for him to stay
awake for long periods of time. By the time the two Sull warriors
stepped into the circle he had drawn in the snow, it took everything
he had to meet them standing. Raif smiled grimly at the memory. He
was paying the cost of that clannish pride now.

It took him an unacceptable amount of
time to struggle to his feet. He could not use his bandaged hands to
lever his weight, so his legs were forced to do all the work. The
more his muscles labored, the more determined he became to stand and
walk. The Sull warriors had helped him and Ash, and he was grateful
for that, but the thought of being dependent upon them for one moment
longer than necessary stiffened his jaw. They were Sull. He was clan.
For three thousand years they had shared borders, nothing else.

By the time he reached Ash, she was
beginning to stir. He called her name softly, and it was enough to
cause her eyes to open. "Raif."

He sent thanks to the Stone Gods…
and the Sull gods, whose names he did not know. "Morning,
sleepy."

She yawned a great big yawn, then
smiled up at him apologetically. "Sorry. That's not very
ladylike, is it?"

He didn't care. Whatever the Naysayer
had done, it had worked. The skin on her face was now pink and
translucent, and no sign of jaundice or swelling remained. He risked
kneeling so he could be nearer to her. "How do you feel?"

"Sore. Tired." Her gaze had
followed his hands as he knelt. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "I killed a wolf
bare-handed."

She smiled nervously, unsure whether or
not he was joking.

Switching the subject, he said, "I
need to ask the two Sull—

"Sull?"

He nodded. "The two men who found
us in the valley and took us in are Sull."

Absently Ash touched the moss patch on
her cheek. "I didn't realize… I just felt warm hands
touching me… voices asking me to drink." Her gray eyes
suddenly took on the amethyst light from the fire. "How long
have I…"

"We're two days north of the pass.
On the morning of the second day you lost consciousness and I carried
you until it grew dark."

"Carried me." Ash repeated
the words in a small voice. "What happened then?"

Raif looked down. He hardly knew the
answer to that himself and wasn't sure he really wanted to know. For
the first time in days he felt for his lore. It was tucked deep
beneath his wool shirt, the twine that held it half-rotted with
sweat. Abruptly he tucked it away. As quickly as he could he told his
story.

When he had finished, Ash said, "So
you drew a guide circle and the two Sull warriors came?"

"The sound of the wolves may have
drawn them."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"I don't know what I believe
anymore." His voice was harder than he meant it to be.

Ash looked at him for a long moment
before saying, "How long will it take us to reach Mount Flood?"

He was grateful to her for changing the
subject. He refused to think about what possible reasons the Stone
Gods might have for protecting him. "That's what I meant to ask
you. I may need to tell the Sull warriors where we're headed. There's
a mountain peak to the north of here, a great blue thing choked with
glaciers, and I'm pretty sure it's Mount Flood. But what I don't know
is where the Hollow River lies in relation to the base. We could lose
a week just searching for running water."

Ash thought for a while before
answering. Raif could hear the rough catch of her breath, and he
reminded himself that she was still very weak. Finally she said, "You
trusted these men with both our lives. At any point over the past two
days they could have caused us harm, but they didn't. I think they
came because you summoned them, and both you and they know it, and
somehow that binds them to you." Raif opened his mouth to
protest, but she headed him off with a question. "Do you think
the Stone Gods brought them here merely to bandage our wounds and
send us on our way, like surgeons on a battlefield?"

Raif frowned. By speaking so, she was
brushing too close to issues no clansman would ever dare to question.
Stone Gods were not like the One God who watched over the cityholds:
They did not concern themselves with the day-to-day lives of their
followers. And they answered no small prayers. Suddenly aware of the
pain in his hands, he said, "I will tell them only of our
destination. Nothing more."

Ash nodded.

Raif shifted his body toward the fire
and set his mind on finding warm food and liquid for her to take.

The lip of the firepit was ringed with
stone carvings that were meant to be held in the hand. All were the
color of the night sky or the moon. Objects carved from obsidian,
opal, white mica, blue black iron, and rock crystal shot with silver
had all collected so much heat from the fire that they were warm to
the touch. The carvings were very old, and much of the detail had
been lost, but their round edges and heavy weight made them pleasing
to hold. Raif had watched as the smaller of the two Sull warriors had
placed one carving in a copper bowl packed with snow, then set it
aside until the carving's heat had rendered liquid. He had not drunk
the snowmelt, Raif recalled. Instead he had used it to moisten a
cloth that both he and his companion had cleansed their hands with.

Raif returned the carvings to their
place and reached down to take a small copper kettle from the fire's
edge.

"The man who cared for me,"
Ash said, "he reminded me of one of the Bluddsmen."

"Cluff Drybannock." Raif
could not keep the hardness from his voice. "He's a Trench-born
bastard."

"So he's part Sull?"

Raif winced as his fingers dealt with
the weight of the kettle. "Yes. Trenchlanders haven't called
themselves Sull for centuries, but no matter how many children they
sire with clan and city men, the Sull still protect them as their
own."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. Trenchlanders trade
with the clans and the Mountain Cities. Sull don't; they trade only
with Trenchlanders."

"So the Sull need the
Trenchlanders for trade, and the Trenchlanders need the Sull for
protection?"

Raif shrugged. "Something like
that." As he spoke a giant pair of hands parted the tent flap
and the warrior named Naysayer stepped into the tent in a flurry of
wind and snow. The second warrior stepped after him, carrying an
iced-up chunk of meat in his fist. While the Naysayer brushed ice
from his hair and furs, the second warrior dropped the meat at
Raif'sfeet.

"I cut the heart from the beast,
Clansman. It is yours to eat."

Raif didn't have to look at it to know
that it was Pack Leader's heart. He shook his head. "Clan do not
eat wolf."

The two warriors exchanged glances. "So
you do not heart-kill for meat?"

Realizing the object of discussion was
no longer the wolf, but the man who had killed it, Raif said, "I
did what I had to, to protect Ash and myself. If you want the
carcass, take it. I have nothing else to offer you in payment."

The Sull warrior made no reply. After a
moment he said, "The Naysayer believes you wear the cloak of a
false clan. He says you are a Hailsman. Is this true?"

So
they have found the silver cap
from Drey's tine
. Aloud Raif said, "I have no clan."

"Do you have no name also?"

"I am Raif Sevrance."
Watcher
of the Dead
.

The Sull warrior nodded slowly. "I
am Ark Veinsplitter, Son of the Sull and chosen Far Rider. My
hass
is Mai Naysayer, son and Far Rider also."

The two warriors stood still, awaiting
a response. Raif hesitated, unsure what to do. It was Ash who broke
the silence. "I am Ash March, Foundling, born in the shadow of
Vaingate. I thank you, Ark Veinsplitter and Mai Naysayer, for the
gifts of care and shelter you have given. As Raif said, we have no
gifts to repay you, but know this: I shall carry the knowledge of
Sull kindness with me always."

The expressions of the two Sull
warriors did not alter as Ash spoke, but something within their eyes
changed. The Naysayer was the first to come forward and bow to her,
the lynx fur at his throat still shedding snow. Ark Veinsplitter
watched his companion, the firelight casting fingers of shadow on his
face, then came and bowed no less deeply. "You have spoken well,
Ash March, Foundling. May the moon always light your way in darkness
and your arrows always find the heart."

Food was cooked and eaten after that.
Ark Veinsplitter pulled a partially butchered goat carcass in from
the snow, while the Naysayer fed dead wood to the fire to make it hot
enough for cooking. After he had gutted the carcass and presented Ash
with the raw liver to strengthen her blood, Ark rubbed the meat with
dark spices and sourwood and set it to roast. Within minutes the tent
was filled with the fatty, briny aroma of roasted goat.

"No wolf?" Raif said when it
was obvious that no other meat was to be added to the fire.

Ark Veinsplitter cracked his first
smile. "Sull do not eat wolf, either. If we want tough meat we
eat our saddles instead." He reached down and picked up Pack
Leader's heart. The heat in the tent had thawed it, and now Raif
could clearly see where the willow staff had split it in two. "Of
course, the Naysayer has been known to chew on their bones. What say
you,
hass
?"

"Wolf bones! Nay! You speak with
false memories, Veinsplitter. Perhaps you have spilt too much blood
today."

Laughing softly, Ark Veinsplitter
slipped from the tent. After a moment Raif pulled on his cloak and
followed him out.

The wind was shocking after the
stillness of the tent. Snow had stopped falling, but dry powder blew
close to the ground like shifting sand. Beneath his bandages, Raif
felt his hands burning as if they had been doused in pure alcohol and
set alight. He watched as the Sull warrior threw the wolf heart onto
the ground and pushed it deep beneath the snow with the sole of his
boot.

'That mountain ahead, the dark wall on
the horizon, is it Mount Flood?"

If the Sull warrior was surprised he
was not alone, he did not show it. "It is one name for it."
He did not turn around as he spoke.

"And do you know from which face
the Hollow River flows?"

Ark Veinsplitter's body stiffened. "I
do."

Raif waited. Minutes passed, and still
he waited, and finally the Sull warrior spoke.

"The Hollow River runs from the
southwest face of Mount Flood. It is easily found by the dark mass of
spruce that grow on its banks, and the glacier tongue that points
down from the mountain toward it."

"And caverns. Do you know of any
that lie close to the river?"

The Sull warrior breathed so softly his
breath failed to whiten in the air. Raif saw that he had pulled on no
gloves, yet he held his hands unclenched. Without a word he moved
around the tent to a sheltered place where the three Sull horses had
been stabled beneath a canvas of caribou hide stretched on poles. All
three horses wore lamb's-wool blankets, and the metal on their bits
and harnesses was wrapped with fleece. They were huge animals, with
deep chests, thick coats, and feathered skirts around each hoof.
Their intelligent, sculpted heads reminded Raif of Angus' bay.

Ark Veinsplitter rubbed the gray's
nose. "The caverns lie beneath the river, not beside it."

The blue sniffed Raif, looking for
contact or treats. With his hands bandaged and aching, Raif could
offer neither, yet for some reason the horse chose to stay. "I
don't understand."

"
Kith
Memo. The Hollow
River. The Sull named it so."

"Why?"

Finally Ark Veinsplitter turned and
looked at him, his ice-tanned hands on his horse's bridle. Strangely,
he was smiling. "I had forgotten you were a clansman," he
said. There was no malice in his words, just a deep and terrible
sadness that made Raif afraid for all of them: the Sull warriors,
Ash, himself.

Looking into Ark Veinsplitter's
night-dark eyes, Raif knew he had not made a mistake by asking about
the river and its caverns, but there was something here that he did
not understand. When the Sull warrior spoke, each word seemed to come
at a cost.

"
Kith Masso
is fed by the
snow and glacier melt of Mount Flood. During the moons of spring it
is a deep river, fast moving with water the color of sapphires and
the scent of wildflowers and iron ore. Be neath later moons its
waters slow and stiffen, and a great crust of ice forms upon the
surface, while the river runs silent beneath. Then the headwaters
freeze. There is no more snow or glacier melt, and the fountainhead
of the spring that births the river becomes blocked with gravel and
ice. So the waters of
Kith Masso
drain.

"This happens to a handful of
other rivers in the Storm Margin, but all except
Kith Masso
are broad and shallow. Their ice crusts collapse, and their
headwaters find ways round the ice.
Kith Masso
is different.
It runs deep and narrow through a canyon of its own making. When its
waters drain, its ice crust stays in place."