Chapter Eighteen #2
“I could use a break,” Finnvid said, bringing his mind back to the current discussion.
“And so could the men. If we have good shelters, a few extra hours in camp wouldn’t be a bad thing.
” Here was the Elkati version of the power struggle, and Finnvid was uncomfortably aware that he was playing Ekakios’s role in it.
He was the leader because of a title, not because he was the best man for the job.
“It would give us a chance to rest a little so we can really push hard once we’re ready to go. ”
Gunnald didn’t look convinced, but he made a quick bow and said, “As you wish,” before spinning and heading over to the Elkati men.
Some of them were following Torian directions in heaping snow onto the huge mounds, others were working on fires or organizing packs. Everyone had a job, except Finnvid.
“Is there something I should be doing?” he asked. He wasn’t sure who the question was directed to, but both Torians answered almost at once.
“You should just rest,” Zenain said.
“We could use more firewood,” Ekakios suggested.
“Firewood,” Finnvid said decisively. They’d managed to stay below the tree line for almost the whole trip, so it wasn’t a challenge to find trees, but living wood didn’t burn well, so it was better to drag in fallen branches that hadn’t rotted yet.
Not easy to find such treasures under all the snow.
The next option was to find dead trees that hadn’t fallen, and either push them over or chop them down. “Right.”
“He shouldn’t leave camp,” Zenain objected. “If the wind comes up harder, he won’t be able to see, and he could get lost.”
“Don’t go far,” Ekakios said dryly to Finnvid. “Keep track of landmarks. Don’t get lost.”
Finnvid grinned as he echoed Theos’s earlier words. “Excellent suggestion. Thank you.”
It was a bit frightening to head into the woods alone, and Finnvid soon realized that the Torians weren’t being alarmist about the storm.
The trees provided some shelter from the wind, but not nearly enough, and the snow was falling fast and blowing sideways in front of his eyes.
So Finnvid stayed close to camp, dragging in what he could find nearby.
It was hard work, and he found himself sweating, which wasn’t good; wet clothes would freeze him once he stopped moving.
But he needed to contribute to the camp’s efforts, so he kept going.
He noted the progress on the snow mounds as he came to and from camp.
There were six of them, taking up practically the whole clearing, and the men were alternately shoveling more snow onto them and then stomping all over to pack it down.
For a while after they stopped adding snow, the mounds were ignored as the men built a long snow wall around one side of the clearing. A windbreak, Finnvid realized.
Eventually, he came back and saw men digging into the mounds, pushing snow out for their colleagues to add to the windbreak. It was a lot of work, hard work, enough to make Finnvid happy he was only fetching firewood.
By the time the men had finished with the mounds, Finnvid was exhausted.
His usual state by this point of the day, but generally it was mostly his legs that ached rather than his whole body.
Still, he’d built a good pile of wood, and it was gratifying to see the men pulling logs and sticks from it to feed their fires.
The smells of cooking soon filled the camp, and Finnvid found a spot out of the wind and close to a fire, trying to ignore the chill that was spreading over his body as his heat leached away through his wet clothes.
Of course, as soon as his mind had a moment of peace it began looking for trouble, and as usual, that trouble was Theos-shaped.
Finnvid couldn’t find the Sacrati’s familiar form, and that was enough to make him start wondering.
Maybe he was taking shelter in one of the snow mounds?
But that didn’t seem like him. Finnvid stood, his body creaking and his skin complaining as it brushed against parts of his clothing that had frozen solid.
Andros looked up as Finnvid approached the Sacrati fire.
“He’s not back yet,” he said, as if there was no other reason Finnvid might have wandered over.
“I’d be happier if he were, but he’s smart and tough.
If the conditions are worse where he is, he may den up out there and come find us when the storm breaks.
Or he could be back any second.” Andros watched Finnvid digest that, then said, “It’s better to not worry about things you can’t control.
And you definitely can’t control Theos.”
“I don’t seem to be able to control my worries, either,” Finnvid confessed.
Andros smiled. “That’s always the problem, isn’t it?
” Then he frowned up at the darkening sky and inhaled deeply.
“There’s a lot of snow ready to come down.
We’re going to be here for a while. Work on getting comfortable—pick a mound and crawl inside, spread your gear around so it has a chance to air out and get dry.
Mend your boots, tend your blisters, rub fat on your wind-burned skin.
Sleep, and dream of summer.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “Ideally, find someone to snuggle up with and share body heat. You can sleep naked in a snow mound if there are enough other bodies to keep you warm.”
Finnvid felt the blush heating his face, but Andros’s laugh was kind, not mocking.
He sounded more serious as he added, “Keep an eye on your men. There’ve been a few comments lately about who Torians chose to den up with, but everyone’s tired so we’ve just been ignoring it.
In the mounds, it’s all going to be more obvious, and everyone’s going to have more free time for saying stupid things and for beating the crap out of people who say stupid things.
If your men don’t like Torian ways, they can go set up a damn tent in the blizzard. ”
“I’ll speak to them,” Finnvid said. “And if you see something building, something I’m not around for, try to let me know. I’ll fix it if I can.”
Andros nodded. Then he peered at Finnvid a little longer and said, “You’re doing well, you know. You’re the only one of us who’s not used to this kind of work, and you’re keeping up. You’re making good decisions. Everyone’s still alive, so . . . well done.”
Finnvid wished it were that simple, but he couldn’t find the words to express his doubts, so he just shrugged and backed away.
The Elkati men were deep-frying vegetable cakes and chewing on jerky, and Finnvid joined them, trying to think of the best words to prevent hostility and violence.
Finally he said, “The Torians are different from us. They have different knowledge. These snow mounds . . . if they’re as warm as the Torians say, they’ll be valuable, just as learning to den up was. ”
The reactions were about what he’d expected. The Elkati who’d been impressed with the Torians in Windthorn continued to be impressed with them. The Elkati who’d resented the Torians continued to resent them, even as they made plans to crawl inside one of the mounds and take it for themselves.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Finnvid said firmly.
He could tell by the men’s looks that they’d expected him to protest. “You should take over a mound and stay in it. If you don’t like the Torians, and don’t like their ways, you should stay away from them.
Be in the one mound—take one of the ones at the end, I think—or be outside. Don’t mix if you can’t adapt.”
“We’re on Elkati soil, now,” Nasi said. “They should be adapting, not us.”
“They’re our guests. And they’re not insisting that any of us join in their ways. Leave them alone, and they’ll leave us alone.”
“Is that how it worked for you?” Nasi asked. “When you were that Torian’s whore? He left you alone, did he?”
Gunnald half rose in protest; Finnvid waved him down and fixed his gaze on Nasi. “Yes, he did.”
The man clearly didn’t believe him, but turned away with a grunted, “If you say so.”
Nasi would have been punished if they were at home.
Serious punishment for such disrespect. Here, though, in the mountains .
. . No. It wasn’t just the location, it was Finnvid.
He’d changed. He didn’t expect the same sort of deference that he was used to, not after being humbled so many times on this trip.
This man . . . well, this man was an ass, but surely that was his right?
Finnvid pushed himself to his feet and walked away from the fire. He hadn’t realized how much the wind had picked up until he left the shelter of the snow wall and his chest tightened with the cold, making it hard to breathe.
And Theos was out in this. Maybe he’d denned up, as Andros had suggested, but what if he’d fallen and hurt himself? Sacrati were strong, but not completely invulnerable.
Finnvid peered anxiously into the forest, but could barely see the trees a few paces ahead of him. He stumbled forward, wading through hip-high drifts in places that had been almost free of snow when they’d made camp.
Theos. Finnvid tried to focus on the man’s name, tried to picture him in his mind and send the thought out like a beacon, guiding the man safely back through the storm. Then he stepped further into the woods.
The trees cut the wind a little. The branches caught some of the snow, but much of it still landed on the ground. “Theos!” Finnvid yelled. The wind would carry his voice away from camp, into the forest. “We’re here! Theos!”
It felt pointless. It was pointless. The forest was vast, the storm fierce, and neither Finnvid’s mental beacon nor his feeble voice was enough to shine any light into the darkness.
Except . . . except there was movement ahead of him.
A dark shape against the white snow, moving slowly, but steadily, wading through the drifts.
From the shape, it could have been an angry bear startled out of hibernation by Finnvid’s racket, but he knew the way Theos moved, even when burdened.
“Theos!” he yelled, and the shape changed course and came toward him.
The Sacrati had a deer slung across his shoulders. Of course his hunt had been successful. Of course he’d returned safely to camp. Finnvid felt foolish for doubting it.
Suddenly Theos stumbled and fell, catching himself on one hand and staying there as if frozen. Too exhausted to pull himself to his feet.
Finnvid lurched forward to meet him. He dragged the deer off the man’s shoulders and then fell to his own knees, bringing their faces to the same level. “It’s only a few more steps,” he promised. “The camp is close. You can smell the smoke. Right?”
Theos’s eyes were dark and fixed on Finnvid’s, and his mitten-covered hands grasped Finnvid’s arms. “I can smell you.”
Something changed. Finnvid stopped caring about survival; it seemed like a petty concern compared to the heat in his gut. He nodded, eyes wide.
Theos shifted, somehow, falling forward, too heavy for Finnvid to catch and hold, and they tumbled into the snow together, Finnvid’s legs bent painfully, Theos flat on top of him. Had the man passed out?
But then Theos moved. His leg found its way between Finnvid’s, and his cheek, ice-cold and covered with frozen stubble, brushed against Finnvid’s almost-as-chilled face.
Finnvid squirmed, wriggling just enough to straighten, and Theos responded by pushing his weight down, holding Finnvid in place.
He’d thought Finnvid was trying to escape, and he’d stopped it.
Theos’s power, even when diminished by exhaustion, was too much for Finnvid. Whatever the Sacrati wanted? It was going to happen. Finnvid was at his mercy.