Embers of Xy (Blood of Xy #2)

Chapter One

The Snows,

whenever and never, always and yet not

unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing

The first thing Vren knew was the cold.

Frosty, clean, and dancing on his skin, the air felt alive and vibrant.

His first breath was deep, though he expected harsh cruelness in his chest, he could not resist. To his delight, that inhale was energizing, cleansing in a way he’d never felt before.

Crisp, in a way that lifted his heart, sweet with the scent of… anticipation.

Vren’s breath fogged in the air. He shivered, though not with a chill.

The air dancing over him was welcome, cooling the sweat on his brow.

He wasn’t naked, thankfully, still dressed in his leathers.

Around him, the rolling hills were covered in blankets of snow, glowing and perfect. And the stars above…

Vren turned in a circle, threw his head back, throwing his arms wide, seeing nothing but the stars, bright and glittering against a black so deep he could lose himself in those depths.

“Heyla,” Vren shouted to the night above him, a wondrous joy, a mystery beckoning him on…

“Heyla,” came a voice in return, strong and welcoming.

Vren twisted, dropping his arms, embarrassed, to see a figure, dressed in a furred cape with a hood and holding a torch, approaching through the snow. Not young, but not old, bundled in furs, eyes lost in the depths of the hood, smile gleaming bright through his greying beard.

“Oh, uh, heyla,” Vren answered, feeling a bit awkward, not knowing where he was or how he’d got there, and not sure what to say. Or even ask.

The stranger seemed not to notice the hesitation. He drew closer and reached out his hand, a friendly gesture in a strange place. Vren clasped his forearm.

“Vren of the Horse,” the man said, gripping Vren’s forearm tight. “Willing sacrifice, willingly made.”

Vren sucked in a breath as memory returned: the fight, the fall, all of it. He clutched the man’s arm harder to keep his balance, and the grasp was returned, strong and sure.

The snows…so he was—

“How?” Vren questioned.

“How do I know of you?” The man shrugged and released his arm. “The snows are rarely this welcoming.” He threw back his hood and titled his head back to look at the stars. “The stars rarely this bright.” He flashed Vren a grin. “Besides, look where you’re standing.”

Vren looked down and found himself in a huge stone circle, his feet right at the center. “Is this the Heart?”

“Yes. The Heart of the Plains, as it was, as it will be again.” The man looked off, with the oddest look of pride. Maybe contentment.

A man who was home.

The wind started to pick up, showering them with sparkling crystals that danced over the stone.

“Elder, may I know your name?” Vren asked, instinctively using the old courtesies.

“Elder,” the man repeated with a shake of his head, and a laugh. “Well, I am that. I am Uppor,” he turned back toward Vren.

“Uppor?” Vren asked. “Who tricked the clouds into giving rain?”

“Which put out the raging grassfires that started when I stole an ember from the sun?” Uppor looked wistful. “They still tell those tales, around the fires?”

“Yes,” Vren said eagerly. “They are—”

“Wait,” Uppor held up his hand, then pointed off. “If you still doubted your welcome, see what comes.”

Vern looked.

Horses, a herd, a huge herd, more horses than Vren had ever seen, thundering over the crest of a nearby rise like a wave of wind over tall wheat.

Beauteous and strong, silvered by the starlight, they plunged toward the two men.

Vren lost his breath at the sight of the animals, heads high and galloping, their long manes and tails streaming behind them.

“Oh,” Vren breathed out, fearing to move lest he drive them away, as had always happened in the past.

The herd swept toward them, then swirled around the edges of the Heart, neighing and tossing their heads with fierce delight, eyes gleaming. The pounding of their hooves matched Vren’s heartbeat as joy rose in his chest.

“Heyla,” Vren whispered, a soft, nearly wordless prayer to the elements.

A stallion broke off and trotted straight towards him, hoofs ringing on the stone as it pranced forward, lifting its head and whinnying what felt like a greeting.

So beautiful, as if carved from marble and dusted with starlight, the white stallion seemed somehow larger than life. Vren reached out a tentative hand, then hesitated.

The horse turned its head to look at him and stepped deliberately into Vren’s touch.

Warm flesh met his fingers, massive muscles moving under his hand. Warmth touched his cheeks as the stallion puffed out a breath. The animal shifted so that Vren stood at its side, then stood, neck curved, head turned, watching him.

“Mount,” Uppor explained. “He’s offering.”

“Oh, but,” Vren stammered, realizing just how tall the horse was, just how big. “I’ve never ridden.” But his hand was reaching for the mane even as Uppor cupped his hands to aid him up.

Then he was astride, gripping the mane as hard as he could, terrified and elated, afraid to breathe. The horse shifted under him, taking a few steps. Vren jerked in surprise, but managed to stay upright. Uppor laughed.

“Trust him,” he called, as the stallion trotted forward.

“Easy, now,” Vren said, clutching the long mane hairs with both hands.

Vren swore to the skies as the horse lifted its head with what Vren swore was a laugh, a great shout of joy, and launched forward, plunging into the deeper snow.

In truth, he had dreamed of this, imagined what it would be like, to ride a horse of the Plains. But none of his dreams were even close to the truth.

The terror of balancing on the animal’s back, the speed, the feel of muscle and bone moving beneath him, both wind and the mane in his face.

Vren shifted his body, seeking balance and unity.

The stallion’s gait was smoother than he’d expected, once he stopped bouncing and figured out how to use his thighs to grip.

Trust rose between him and the horse as they moved as one.

Whether that was the magic of this place or just a natural thing, Vren had no way of knowing.

All he knew was joy; the tears that rose in his eyes were grateful ones.

He leaned forward, urging the horse on, and laughed, wild and free.

Around them, the herd swirled and flowed, pounding together through the snow that rose in clouds around their hooves.

Vren wasn’t sure how long he rode or where they went, but at last they circled back to where Uppor stood, his torch held high, a circle of light at the Heart of the Plains.

The horse pranced to a stop before Uppor. Vren sat on his back, tall, proud, and nearly breathless, and smiled down at the older man.

Uppor returned the grin, stroking the stallion’s neck. “The stars are yours to claim,” Uppor nodded to the side, where the rest of the herd was running, galloping up into the sky made of starlight and snow. “He’ll bear you willingly.”

Vren laughed and leaned down, offering his hand to aid Uppor to mount.

Uppor stepped back, putting space between them. “No, lad. I stay.”

The stallion snorted and stamped, impatient to follow his herd.

Vren’s breathing calmed, his heartbeat returning to normal. His exhilaration was fading into curiosity. “Why?” he asked.

Uppor shrugged, his gaze dropping, his smile rueful. “That is a tale too long in the telling.” He looked after the horses. “And too long for any one fire.”

The wind picked up, swirling snowflakes around them. The stallion lifted his head. His ears perked, flicked, then flattened.

Vren followed his mount’s gaze to see a man staggering toward them through thick snow drifts.

Wearing only trous, his chest covered in scars, the newcomer’s face was twisted in agony, his mouth open in a silent howl.

Behind him, clouds writhed in grey and white, a storm that stretched as far as the horizon, blotting out the stars.

The stallion stamped, prancing in his eagerness to be gone.

“Go,” Uppor urged, taking another step back.

Vren took a breath, taking it all in. The horse below him, eager to run, the snows around him, white and glittering, the stars above him, filled with endless joy…

He let out his breath and swung his leg over, sliding off the horse.

Uppor looked at him, a question in his eyes.

“Every tale must be heard,” Vren said.

The stallion reared, hooves dancing as high as Vren’s head, then leaped away, following the rest of the herd into the stars.

Uppor clapped Vren on the back. “Come, the earth-lodge is close, and I’ve a fire and kavage brewing.”

“What of him?” Vren looked over his shoulder at the battered stranger, who was staggering, falling to his knees as the storm swept over him in its rage. “Couldn’t we—”

“We cannot aid him,” Uppor shook his head. “The storm is of his own making.”