In Stone's Clasp (16 page)

So, apparently, was Mylikki. “Really? They would not open their doors to you?”

“No. Some just kept their doors closed until I went away. At one village I even sat on the snow and played for them, to prove I was a
huskaa.
”

Mylikki seemed stunned. She sat back, pulling her cloak around her, confusion on her face. Even more than an endless winter and killers in the forest, this seemed to shock her to the very core.

Kevla felt a prickling. “The Dragon comes.” She could see him now, a small but growing speck against the darkening sky.

Altan looked up and his eyes widened. His mouth opened slightly. He, too, got to his feet, still holding his
kyndela
in one hand. Kevla watched for the look of fear, but saw only wonder. As the Dragon grew closer and finally landed, folding his massive wings against his side, Altan’s lips curved in a faint smile.

“I begin to think I have died after all,” he said quietly, “to behold such things.”

The Dragon cocked his head. “Rather not dead, I think—you are looking much better than the last time I saw you,” he rumbled. “You are a fortunate man, Altan. I hope you are properly grateful to Kevla.”

Still gazing rapturously at the mighty creature, Altan said, “Indeed I am, Great Dragon. Indeed I am.”

The Dragon sighed and opened his forepaws. “Poor hunting today, I fear. A few birds I snatched out of the air. I saw nothing on the ground.”

“This will be a wonderful meal,” Kevla reassured him, her mouth watering at the sight of the three large birds with gray-white plumage and long, slender necks.

The Dragon again dug a shelter into the snow while the meal was prepared. Mylikki and Kevla plucked the birds, then cut the flesh into small chunks and added them to the soup. Altan, still not fully recovered from his ordeal, drowsed again, reviving some time later. He sniffed appreciatively.

“Since I have begun traveling,” he said, “the only meals I have had when I was not in a village have been cold dried meat and water. This is a feast!”

Sheltered beneath the protective covering of the Dragon’s huge, warm body, they ate their fill of the scrawny birds that Mylikki called
gahalgeese.
It truly was a feast. Kevla hoped they would continue to be lucky enough to obtain fresh meat. Both Altan and Mylikki still seemed so thin to her. When they were done, Mylikki cleaned out the pot and Altan reached for his
kyndela.

“I assume you have heard Mylikki play and sing?” he asked Kevla. “She is quite accomplished.”

Mylikki blushed, her eyes glowing with pleasure from the compliment. “I had a good teacher,” she said.

He grinned at her affectionately. “If you were a man, I’d have taken you as a
huskaa-lal,
you know.”

Mylikki’s delight seemed to abate. “I know,” she said, softly, returning her attention to scrubbing the cauldron.

“Mylikki performed the song that made me think there might be Lorekeepers here,” Kevla said, “the one called
Fighting Back the Shadow
.”

“Ah. No one sings that better than Mylikki. We spoke earlier of the Ice Maiden. Have you heard any of the songs?”

“She asked me about them,” Mylikki said, “but I told her to wait until we had found you.” She did not mention she had sung one of the crueler verses to Kevla last night.

His face softened. “If you had not come for me, Mylikki, no one would have ever found me,” he said. “Thank you.” Turning his attention back to his instrument, he added, “Even my fingers are still whole, so that I can play. Truly a miracle.”

Kevla scooped up some snow into the freshly cleaned cauldron and increased the fire’s heat. She dropped some dried herbs into the pot for tea.

Altan began to play.

Kevla was captivated by the silvery sound of the instrument and the clear purity of Altan’s youthful male voice. He was a wonderful performer; it was no surprise he was a full
huskaa
even at his tender age. The song, though, was disturbing to her in a way she could not articulate, and the melody haunting.

As he repeated the chilling chorus, Kevla felt her skin prickle, but not from the beauty of the melody, not this time. There was something very real about this song, folktale though it was. Perhaps it was just how the human heart could turn so dark and cold after a bitter disappointment. She herself had never wandered down that particular path of revenge and hatred. For who could she blame for her pain but herself? No, her pain had been and was still hot and fiery, not icy.

The song continued to a conclusion that Kevla dreaded.

The last silvery note floated into the icy night air and hung there for a moment. No one spoke.

Finally, Kevla broke the silence. “That was beautiful, Altan. But now I am very sad.”

“I think I have had enough of ice maidens and snow songs,” the Dragon said. Mylikki and Altan jumped, startled to hear his deep voice, and Kevla chuckled good-naturedly. Apparently the two Lamali natives had forgotten that their “shelter” was the Dragon, and he had heard everything, including the song.

“Perhaps something more cheerful, to send us to sleep with peaceful dreams,” Kevla suggested as she served the tea. Both Altan and Mylikki closed grateful fingers around the warm ceramic mugs. As she sipped the hot beverage, Kevla tried to put a name to what she felt. It was with some surprise that she realized she was cold. Not physically; but her heart was cold. The song had chilled her emotionally, and no amount of hot tea could take away the sensation.

Where are you, Jareth?
she implored silently, as if somehow he could sense her thoughts over the unknown distance that separated them.
I don’t know this land. I don’t know these people, these songs. This is your place, not mine. I need you. This world needs you.

Altan and Mylikki sang a sprightly, silly little duet, their voices blending perfectly, their faces smiling and happy as they gazed into one another’s eyes. Kevla relaxed against the wall of hard-packed snow, but she couldn’t shake the image of the Ice Maiden and what she did to young men’s hearts.
Was
the song literal, as Mylikki seemed to think? Did the Maiden replace warm, beating, human hearts with a chunk of ice? Or was it figurative, as Altan maintained—rendered them incapable of loving anyone ever again?

Either way,
she thought,
it is a terrible fate.

While they waited another day so that Altan could continue to recover, Kevla revealed more to her companions about the Dancers and the Lorekeepers. They were both enthralled, and as she spoke, Altan actually reached for his
kyndela
and began to accompany her. Kevla was embarrassed at first and asked him to stop, but both he and Mylikki encouraged her to continue.

“This is how we honor the great stories,” Altan said. “This is why the
Huskaa
Law was established, so that we can learn the songs and stories, and they can continue to be told.”

Kevla shyly relaxed into the camaraderie, speaking of Arukan’s desert landscape and harsh environment. She told them about the splintered Clans, about growing up haunted by dreams of the Dragon, about how her Lorekeeper—she did not name him—and others like him had also had dreams. She felt again a pang of disappointment that she had not yet encountered any Lorekeepers here in Lamal.

“Memories,” breathed Mylikki. “Memories disguised as dreams. Memories that could cost you your life.”

Kevla nodded. “Our people feared two things—the Great Dragon, the keeper of our laws, and the demon
kulis.
” She was lying against the Dragon’s side as she spoke, her hands clasped behind her head, and turned to smile at him. “Neither was what we thought they were,” she said.

“Still, I would not want to be your enemy, Dragon,” Altan said, inclining his head respectfully.

The Dragon harrumphed, sending twin spirals of smoke from his nostrils to the sky. “You are wise as well as talented, Altan. I am a part of Kevla, and she of me. You would be unhappy indeed to be the enemy of either of us.”

“I’ll do my best to be a good traveling companion,” Altan said lightly.

The words reminded Kevla of the reason they were here. It was pleasant to sit and talk, but she hoped Altan would be sufficiently recovered to move on tomorrow. She knew that while she was not physically in the lands the Emperor commanded, there was a possibility they were all still at risk.

“The Dancers do have an enemy,” she said. “I warned Mylikki about him and I must tell you as well, Altan. He is called the Emperor, and he rules the land that lies between Arukan and Lamal. He is bent on destroying the Dancers, making sure we cannot complete our task of saving this world. It was he who sent the army over the mountains to attack the Clans, and while I was traveling here, he tried to…to get inside my head, to command my thoughts.”

Altan had stopped playing and Mylikki said, “But you said he hasn’t been able to find you since you entered our land.”

“True. Nor has he interfered with my powers. I think we are safe from him, or else I would not have involved you in this journey. But I cannot guarantee it. If you wish the Dragon to return you to your homes, he will.”

Altan returned to playing, a soft, subtle tune he improvised as he went. He shook his fair head.

“You and I share a quest, Kevla,” Altan said. “I set out to find Jareth, too. If he has indeed lost his abilities, he will be as vulnerable as anyone in the wilds. I have been searching for him for many months. We’ll find him together.”

“I will stay, too,” Mylikki said. “You said that the Emperor sent his troops over the mountains to fight the Clans?”

“Yes,” Kevla said. “He attacked the Clans one by one, conscripting them to serve in his army.”

“Then it sounds like if he decides to attack, we wouldn’t be safe anywhere,” Mylikki said bluntly, surprising Kevla with her logic. “I’d rather be with you and the Dragon than in Arrun Woods. Although,” she said, “I am worried about my family.”

Altan looked at her with compassion. “We have been worrying about our families and homes for almost a year now, Mylikki,” he said. “Our villages are enduring an endless winter and attacks from marauders already. Possibly we can help Kevla put a stop to all of that.”

The night was cold and clear, and they huddled around the fire looking at the stars for a time instead of immediately moving to the shelter the Dragon so obligingly provided. The two
huskaas
huddled close to the fire, eating the boiled
gahalgoose
with their fingers. Kevla leaned back and looked at the stars, permitting herself to relax and notice the night sky for the first time since she had embarked on her travels. It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for; apparently being so far north changed the night skies.

She pointed. “In my land,” she told her friends, “that collection of stars is the First Clan Leader, and he is bowing before the Great Dragon, right there.”

The Dragon craned his neck. “I don’t see the resemblance myself.”

“I see it,” Altan said. “We know that collection of stars too, and to us it is the
Huskaa
and his
kyndela.
See the strings right there? That chain of stars?”

Kevla laughed in surprised delight as her vision shifted. What had seemed to her firmly to be a kneeling
khashim
and the Dragon become a player holding an instrument.

“Yes,” she said, “I can see it now. Over there, we have the Sand Maiden, who—”

Suddenly she gasped and rubbed at her eyes. Did she really see that strange wave of color that washed over the night sky? A heartbeat later, she had no doubt. The sky was on fire! Brilliant hues of red, green and blue chased one another around the night sky. They shimmered and pulsed.

“It’s the lights of the gods,” Mylikki explained. “They are playing with one another, and this light sparks off their fur. It is an omen.”

Kevla gazed at the shimmering, magical lights, drinking it in. She had seen the occasional shooting star, while she wandered the deserts of Arukan searching for the Dragon, but had never beheld anything like this.

Altan said nothing, transfixed by the celestial display. He was a singer, a teller of tales. He, more than most others, could appreciate the startling beauty of the god-lights, Kevla thought. The colors danced across his pale, upturned features, making him look magical too.

“They are beautiful,” Mylikki said. “But somehow they frighten me now.” She shivered and leaned more closely in to Altan for warmth. “They’re different. The colors are different—there’s so much red now—and we’re seeing them much more often now. I wonder if it has to do with the winter.”

Altan gave her a glance, and contempt curled his lip. “Stop being such a coward,” he said, and shifted so that she was no longer touching him. He said nothing further, gazing in rapt silence at the shifting colors.

Mylikki pulled her cloak more closely around her and lowered her head, pretending not to be stung by the rebuke. Kevla said nothing more, but wondered why at some times Altan seemed so sweet and amiable, and at others, a callous churl.

He was gliding smoothly on a pair of
skeltha.
She had a name for him now—Jareth. As he sped away, Kevla tried to follow, but her bare feet slipped in the snow and she fell. When she struggled to her feet, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Jareth!” she cried, hearing the name echo in the stillness of the dark trees and white snow. There was no response. Suddenly the light dimmed and bright colors began to dance in the sky. Kevla watched for a moment, and then she realized that
Altan was right: the heavenly display of color was the gods dancing and playing with one another.

Except there weren’t several blue tigers, chasing one another around like cubs. There was only one, but it moved so quickly that it seemed it must be more. She screamed as it suddenly gathered itself and leaped from its place in the firmament to land in the snow before her.

Her hands were at her mouth, and she realized she was alone. No Altan, no Mylikki, not even the Dragon. It was just her and the blue tiger god of Lamal, standing silently regarding one another in the snow.

Its tail flicked and it gazed at her with deep, knowing golden eyes. Then it turned and bounded off in the same direction Jareth had gone, but left no mark in the snow.

Kevla awoke with a gasp. Sweat dotted her forehead, made her
rhia
cling to her in dark, wet patches. She could see light outside, but Altan and Mylikki were asleep. They had begun the night sleeping apart, but had ended up huddled in one another’s arms. Briefly Kevla wondered if it was by accident or design. But she had no time to waste pondering the relationship between the two. She hurried over to Altan and shook him.

Sleepily he rolled over and peered at her with tired eyes. “What is it, Kevla? Is something wrong?” Beside him, Mylikki blinked drowsily.

“Do you know why Jareth left your village?”

“No, I told you, he left without a word to anyone.”

“I had a dream,” Kevla said. “I think I know why he left.”

His hand shot out and closed on her wrist. “Tell me.”

“You said, everyone, including Jareth, thought his ability to bring spring was a gift from the gods—the blue tigers,” Kevla said. “Then suddenly the gift went away. I think Jareth has gone to find the gods, to bring back spring to the land.”

Olar knew his mother was torn. On the one hand, she expressed pleasure that her daughter displayed both wit and compassion by pretending to be a
huskaa
and telling the people from Galak-by-the-Lake to go to Arrun Woods. On the other hand, Olar was aware that even the few people who had made the trip to his village made a difference in the amount of food stockpiled. The Dragon’s hunting had helped, but could not stave off the inevitable. Gelsan could not find it in her heart to turn anyone away. Still, the food would not last for weeks, as they had anticipated, but now merely days.

It was time to go hunting, and Olar was excited.

“I’m old enough now,” he wheedled. “Any other winter I’d be with the hunting party already.”

His mother regarded him. “Any other winter,” she said harshly, “and you would have your father with you to teach you.”

Olar bit his lower lip, uncertain how to reply. His father, Veslar, had been among the first to disappear in a violent snowstorm back when everyone thought this a normal season. He missed his father still, and knew that his mother did too. With Mylikki gone, Olar knew he was all Gelsan had.

“I want to help, Mother.” Gelsan’s shoulders sagged and she sighed. She finished putting on her boots and opened the door. She peered at the sky.

“It seems clear,” she said. She turned and looked at him almost hungrily. Olar stood up a little straighter, accepting her scrutiny, praying to the gods that she would not find him wanting. “Very well. But you stay with me. You do not go farther than my eyes can see you. And if a storm descends, we turn around and come back home immediately. I don’t care if a
kirvi
is prancing right in front of you, do you understand?”

Olar fought to keep the delight from his face, but he couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yes, Mother,” he said. He hurried to dress properly, finding his snow walkers and strapping them on. The group assembled in the center of the small village. There were eight of them. Most were women, who were the only ones of the right age and physically fit enough to spend the day trudging in the wilds, but there were two old men from Galak-by-the-Lake as well as Olar. He regarded them with compassionate, slightly contemptuous eyes. They wanted to help, but they were too old. They would need to turn around soon. He only hoped it wouldn’t ruin the party’s chances of finding fresh meat.

Increasingly, Arrun Woods and, he supposed, other villages like it, had had to rely on other means of obtaining food—fishing through holes in the ice, constructing traps of various sorts. It helped, but only a little. For the bigger prey, one had to go to them. He was thrilled that finally he was permitted to embark on his first true hunt.

Much later, chilled to the bone and so exhausted his legs were trembling, Olar wished he was home by the smoky fire. They had seen nothing; had not even come across tracks in the snow. Once or twice Olar had thought he had seen a small hare, but it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Worse, the sky was starting to cloud over. He was grateful when Gelsan called a halt and sank down on a fallen tree. He scooped some snow into his mouth, thankful for the moisture, and listened with half an ear as his mother and the others discussed their options.

One of the old men sat next to him and offered him a piece of dried meat. Olar gnawed on it gratefully. The old man, most of his teeth gone, sucked on his.

“There is still plenty of time before the storm comes,” one woman from Galak-by-the-Lake was saying. “We could at least check all the traps before turning back.”

Cold as he was, heat filled Olar’s cheeks as his mother glanced over her shoulder at him. She was turning back because of him! As if he was a child still. He wanted to tell her that he was fine, that they should keep going if the others wanted to, she should do anything but return home empty-handed because of him….

He looked up at the sky. It was almost completely gray now. When had that happened? They came so swiftly, the storms. Some said the Ice Maiden sent them, to weaken the hunting parties. It did seem as though a party would leave on a cloudless morning to stumble back in the afternoon in an unexpected storm…often missing a few of its number.

There was a soft noise behind him. Idly, Olar turned—and gazed right into the large, soft eyes of a
kirvi
doe. They stared at one another for a moment, predator and prey, and then the doe turned and bounded into the shadows of the forest.

Wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him again, Olar glanced over at his companion. The old man had seen it too, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. Unspoken words passed between them as the snow began to drift lazily down.