Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (26 page)

   
“Well,” he said finally, to break the awkward silence, “I don’t feel very tired now. In fact, I feel like celebrating! It looks like all our troubles so far have turned out for the best…” a memory of Byorne came to him then, bleeding and dying. He gulped. “At least… better than they could have been.”

   
Some of the girl’s serenity returned as she answered him, smiling. “Yes, I suppose. In fact, there’s a celebration going on right now, right in the place where we- I mean, you- defeated the Sea Demon. The Reethe are hard to scare, I guess. They’ve cleared away all the ash and built beautiful white canopies to have feasts and games and dances under. The celebration hasn’t stopped since it started half a day ago. It’s glorious.”

   
Her eyes glowed when she said that, looking off into the distance as if savoring a sight she could see but not touch.

   
“Haven’t you gone down to it, then?” he asked, sitting up and propping himself up on the mountain of paleswan’s feather-pillows at his back.

   
“No,” she said. “But Lauro has. He’s there now.”

   
Odd. He calmed himself and tried to keep from thinking why that all might be.

   
“Well, I think I’ll go down there now. I feel hungry enough to eat a dozen roast beasts!” he exclaimed. What he had said jerked him back to another, dangerous thought. “Wait… Elia, what happened to Steamclaw? In all the ruckus after the fight… Oh no! I don’t even remember when I last saw him! He could be anywhere now!”

   
“I don’t think it-
he
’ll hurt anyone. He left almost as soon as he saw you were all right.”

   
“How do you know?”

   
She paused and looked uncertain. “He told me… or at least, I think he did. It was strange, but I got the feeling he’s just waiting for us to leave here so he can join us again. It’s like he sensed you were all right, and knew he could leave for a while. But I’m sure he’s fine. Let’s not talk about it.” She looked more unhappy with each sentence. Gribly wanted to scream, but instead he tried to smile as friendly as he could.

   
“Well, no use moping. What do you say we go down and join this feast? Maybe even dance? I could use some not-life-threatening exercise for once.”

   
His grin quickly faded. Blast it! What’d he gone and said now? Elia was blushing and fidgeting at his mention of dance. Why couldn’t he have just kept that to himself? He hadn’t even really been serious… Ugh.

   
But something odd happened. She shook her head, and he slumped back down, thinking he had been defeated.

   
“Much better now,” she said, rubbing her forehead and pushing back her shimmering hair. He looked up and her face was less sad than before… more open, perhaps. She looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting strange. Everything’s just been a bit much, is all. I’d love to go to the celebration now, actually.”

   
“Really?”

   
“Yes. Yes, I would.”

   
He smiled, and slipped out of the bed. He found warm, light shoes with high tops and a buckle on each to wear. He found he had been dressed in a white garment that allowed free movement while still keeping him warm. It looked decent, and he smiled at Elia when he was ready to go.

   
“I know I’m just a street boy, Elia, and I know I’m not worthy of all the good luck that’s come my way… but…”

   
“There isn’t any such thing.”

   
“As what?”

   
“As luck. There
is
no luck. Only the will of the Creator, and the Aura who obey him.”

   
“Oh.” He stopped and frowned. And why not? He smiled again. “Then in that case… I’d say their will was for us to forget the blazes we’ve gone through to get here, and enjoy the blessing of all these good friends and noble warriors. What do you think?”

   
She smiled back at him. There was sadness in that smile, and hurt, too. But she meant it, and that was all that mattered to him.

   
“Fine,” she agreed, “Let’s go.”

~

   
“
Years of toil endured across the realm,

      
Years of war and ruin;

      
And he laughs like a child with his tone always mild;

      
Yet our peace barely won is his doing.

   
Hither he goes, thither he goes,

      
Telling us naught of his homeland;

      
But stories he'll tell- of the fair and the fell;

      
And deeds done by a hero's hand.

   
He pays every inn-fee with legends;

      
Tales of valor his right-of-way,

      
Taking his sup as the fire leaps up-

      
He tells through the night into day.

   
Men do not fear him, their welcome is sure,

      
They know him, and welcome his charm,

      
Through wastelands he delves, meeting goblins and elves,

      
Even the evil ones dare do him no harm.

   
Always he travels- has he no home?

      
Many lives of great men has he wrought,

      
But little they know- it has always been so,

      
For a life all-immortal he's bought.”

   
The poem sounded wonderful to Gribly, more because it was about Traveller, the Aura who seemed determined to be his guide, and even more so because it was Elia humming it to him. They were seated on thick, colorful mats laid out on the smooth space in the celebration circle, listening to two nymph women and one man sing in smooth, sweet harmonies, stunning even without music, and powerful without being loud, hauntingly melodious in the ancient tongues of the first Reethe to build homes from the ice with their hands and their frost-striding gifts. The girl was translating it to him in a soft voice, even managing to make the words rhyme. A bonfire blazed happily behind the singing trio, and candlelit tables overflowing with food and drink stretched away behind the Singing Canopy, still occupied by countless nymphs.

   
Gribly had never been so happy in his life.

   
Elia had unbent towards him a good deal during the feast. It had lasted all through the night, and even now the gray dawn was slowly creeping into the eastern sky. During the meals (and there were many), he had completely lost track of time.

   
Gribly had stolen a hefty amount of food in his life, and though most of it had been no better than the shriveled onion he’d pinched at the Royal Market, what seemed like an eternity ago, a goodly amount had been scrumptious enough to satisfy a nobleman’s daughter… who was exactly the person he’d stolen it from, incidentally.

   
The Reethe celebration put all of it to shame. How the nymphs grew such delicious items in what he could only think of as a barren, ice-crusted wasteland was beyond him.

   
Fruits he had never seen, arrayed in dishes and arrangements he’d never imagined! Meat from a hundred different succulent, thick-muscled animals and fish, spiced with flavors that tantalized the tongue and made the mouth water nonstop, just from the smell! Green plants that tasted sweet and sour and wholesome, all at the same time! Breads and pastries of all shapes, sizes, textures, and flavors!

   
There was course after course and dish after dish, all made from ingredients totally foreign to him… and totally palatable, of course. Not to mention the drink: ales, wines, and meads of a hundred different flavors, and varying levels of potency. Gribly drank some, but not much, preferring the sweet, cool, fruit-distilled drinks given to the younger feast-goers.

   
In Ymeer, there had been no distinction between wine and water- in fact, wine had been cheaper, and even more so was the flat, brown ale gulped down by the barrel by every citizen, poor or rich. Gribly found it interesting that the Reethe did not allow their young ones to drink- perhaps they knew more than they boasted about raising families. It looked like a good practice- there certainly were more and healthier children about, and almost every family was large, boisterous, and happy.

   
So events had gone, and now were coming to a close. The celebration would continue on until the Raitharch ordered a stop to it, but Gribly felt a restlessness growing inside him that he couldn’t quell. Morning would bring on a newer and stranger chapter in his quest, he was sure. He thought like that now- always ahead, always perceiving things he hadn’t before- bad as well as good. All the more confirmation that there was something powerful and ominous about his new role as a prophet… whatever that might entail.

   
For instance, Raitharch Varstis.

   
They had gone to visit him, Elia and Gribly, before they attended the feast. He had been pale and thin, but alive and growing stronger every moment. The jagged tip of a white-bladed sword had been removed from his wound, wriggling out in what Cleric Lithric hinted later could have been an attempt to pierce Gribly himself, as he touched the wound. It had been disposed of, and now the Reethe King was making a miraculous recovery. Elia had stepped in once the blade tip had been removed, and found that her powers finally had an effect.

   
“You saved him as much as I did,” Gribly whispered.

   
“What?” she asked him, interrupted in her translation.

   
Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “Never mind,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the nymph trio’s audience. He kept his eyes on the singers, but Elia’s gaze on him didn’t waver. Finally she stiffened and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. “What?”

   
“Where’s Lauro?” she whispered. “I haven’t seen him all night.”

   
Bleeding ugly time to bring it up
, Gribly thought, but then he stopped. It was true- he
hadn’t
seen Lauro recently, and he doubted the prince would just stand around and let him listen to ballads with Elia all night unless something was wrong. Very wrong.