chapter twenty-six #2
“And if Ero was helping you . . .” Seniia adds. “Ero can read the soul stars. He would not be invested unless he thought there is a chance of a better outcome. The route may be the longer one, it may be harder, but we’re up for that. Are we not, Vilder?”
“To the end.” He stares out over the frozen plains. “We go down together.”
My eyes well up. I must have done something right to deserve the two of them.
Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I wipe the tears before they freeze to ice. The wind has been relentless since we entered the tundra that makes up most of Chì, and I’m in a constant debate on whether to hold on to Maeve’s reins or shield my face from the cold gusts.
“Void! Fuck this,” Vilder curses, pulling his own cloak up above his nose.
With the temperature plummeting steadily as we’ve moved farther north, the air here is crisp and cold.
This morning, tiny ice crystals glimmer in the air like sparkling dust playing in the sunshine.
The sight is breathtaking but does little to alleviate the icy grip of the cold tightening around my bones, and the constant wind doesn’t help.
What I would’t give to be born with a warm pelt like Gray.
I pull Maeve to a halt at the top of a small hill that gives us an excellent view of our surroundings. Not that it’s much of a view with frozen plains stretching out in all directions, but it is a view, if a boring one.
Vilder squints his eyes. “Seems we’re lucky enough to meet a caravan.”
“Caravan?” I follow his gaze, only now noticing how the many dark dots in the distance are moving.
“The Chìens are a nomadic people.” He tilts his chin in their direction.
“They live in tribes and usually have skins and weapons that they trade or sell as they move around, and I, for one, would not mind a warmer cloak.” He pulls the one he wears tighter around himself.
“During the summer, they occasionally venture as far south as the Eldenpillars, selling their wares to southern Reāns, but with Mi’Awal so close, the possibility of the mountain pass being blocked by snow is too great a risk. ”
“You know too much for your own good. Has anyone ever told you that?” Seniia says as she rides up to us.
“Yes.” Vilder gives her a flat stare. “You do all the time.”
She sticks her tongue out.
“Careful, or you’ll get frostbite.” He pauses. “Although I wouldn’t particularly mind it if your tongue froze and fell out,” he adds with a smirk.
She throws her hands up in mock exasperation. “You’re insufferable.” She can’t fully hide her smile though.
“Come on, children.” I laugh, nudging Maeve forward. “Let’s see what the Chìens have for us.”
DUSK SETTLES OVER THE TUNDRA as we reach the Chìens. The distances here are deceptive, and what looked like a short ride has stretched into hours. By the time we reach their camp, I’m willing to give every chip in my purse for some warmer clothing.
I glance up at the Celestial Moon, now almost halfway full, and the sight of it fills me with anxiety.
How much farther will it be to Anam’gate?
I’ve had too many delays so far, leaving little room for more failure.
If I’m not there by the time it reaches its peak, everything will have been in vain—or so the dark-eyed lady said.
That leaves approximately one and a half weeks—fifteen days.
Assuming I’m keeping track of the time accurately.
Making sure not to be perceived as a threat, we decide to dismount and walk the last stretch.
Prying my frozen fingers free from the reins, I drop to the ground, casting a longing gaze toward the large fire at the center of their camp as I stomp my feet in a futile attempt to gain some warmth back.
Taking in the area as we approach, I notice three enormous animals that I can only assume have been pulling the wagons.
There’s also a pack of wolves, all curled up and asleep, just out of reach of the fire’s light.
“What are those?” Seniia whispers, gesturing toward three magnificent creatures on the outskirts of the camp. They must be at least ten feet at their shoulder, if not more, their massive humped bodies covered in thick, shaggy fur, their heads adorned with curled tusks and majestic curved horns.
“Great mallochs,” Vilder says, his voice almost reverent. Gray’s nose lifts, scenting the air. Her tail gives a single wag—curious, not aggressive.
As we draw nearer, they lift their heads, and their piercing blue eyes, framed by thick white hair, instantly captivate me.
I also notice how they all make a low rumbling sound, the vibrations moving through my body, and although it’s oddly strange, it’s not unpleasant.
It’s a soothing melody, as if they’re playing the tune of Reā herself, their vibrations singing of immense power and ancient wisdom.
Their unique fragrance, with its earthy, musky notes, fills me with contentment and an unprecedented sense of belonging. I let out a blissful sigh.
“Don’t get too caught up in their vibrations,” Vilder warns. “They are as addictive as a drug. They are not few who have encountered a Chìen tribe never to leave.”
“And you didn’t bother to mention that vital piece of information before we approached this camp?” Seniia arches an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “Between this and freezing to death, I’d say the choice was simple.
” He turns toward me. “Do not take your brace off though. I don’t know what effects they may have on humans, but your brace should take the edge off of the worst of it.
It is a sort of magic, after all. Earth magic, but magic nonetheless.
” He turns back toward Seniia. “As wielders of elēn, we should be fine. Our glyphs protect us from their enchantment.”
I nod. Not that I was planning to take the brace off under any circumstance. I’m too afraid to risk another umbra attack.
A couple walks toward us. They are the same size as all Reāns—he tall, she more petite—but what distinguishes them from other I’ve met is their fair skin, sharp cheekbones, and tilted sapphire-blue eyes.
Her raven-black hair falls below her hips, hanging loose save for a handful of thin braids decorated with bones and feathers.
His shoulder-length dark hair is entwined with light gray strands, similar to the ashina’s, and is held back by a thin leather strap.
As I take them in, the ashina’s resemblance to them is striking in more than one way, leading me to believe she is Chìen herself. How different her life must be from how she grew up.
“Where there is warmth, there is water,” the female says as she raises her hands, palms facing Vilder.
“And where there is water, there is warmth,” he says as he presses his palms toward hers. I can tell from the look in her eyes that she is pleased to see he knows their customs.
She acknowledges Gray, who stands by Vilder’s side, then turns her attention back to Vilder again.
“Singer.” She dips her chin in a clear sign of respect.
“Wise one.” He echoes her gesture.
She turns to Seniia, taking in her serpent staff. “Priestess.”
“Wise one.” Seniia bows her head.
Then she turns toward me with an incredulous expression. “And who are you, child?”
“I’m simply La?na,” I say, adding a deeper, more respectful bow, assuming it won’t hurt given my lack of specialness.
Her eyes narrow as she examines me with great care, and I have to fight the urge to flee. Her piercing gaze, searching and unforgiving, makes me feel as though she can see right through me.
“I do not believe ‘simple’ is the right word,” she says, then turns and walks toward the camp, gesturing for Vilder, who she clearly sees as the leader of our small pack, to walk with her.
Her male companion silently signs for me and Seniia to follow suit—so far, he has not said one word—and I shamelessly eavesdrop on Vilder’s conversation with the wise one as we trail behind.
“Your presence outside the Western Plains is an uncommon sight, Singer. Pray tell, what brings you this way?”
I tense my shoulders, afraid of what he may reveal to this stranger, but I needn’t have worried.
“I’m afraid that is not my story to tell,” he says. “But I would deem it an honor to offer my own stories for a warm meal and a place by your fire.”
I share a glance with Seniia. Will we finally get to see him as a singer?
The wise one seems to contemplate this for some time.
“And so it shall be,” she says with a curt nod.
“Your stories in exchange for warmth and food for the three of you.” She turns and studies us with her sapphire eyes.
“And of course, if you decide to stay with us, we always have room for more . . .”
Her hypnotic gaze makes me blink, and I’m grateful for the protection of my brace. No wonder travelers are lured in, never to return.
“We appreciate your generosity, Wise One,” Vilder says, bringing her attention back to him. “And if it is not too much trouble, we would also like to purchase some of your malloch skins and boots, if you have anything to spare?”
At the mention of warm skins, I’m again reminded of how freezing it is.
“Your presence is a great honor to us, Singer,” the wise one says.
“Seven nights of stories, and you can have whatever you and your companions need.” She’s looking Vilder square in the eyes in a way that makes my stomach drop.
Can he fight off her bewitching influence?
Waiting seven nights will undoubtably slow us down too much, but we need the skins.
There’s not much point in going forward only to freeze to death.
I contemplate going alone, but I know in my heart that they won’t let me—they’ll insist on coming as well, and then we’ll all be dead.
I study Vilder as he considers her offer, his hand resting on Gray’s back.
“Although I would be honored to,” he says carefully, “time is not on our side, I’m afraid. We need to be at Anam’gate by Mi’Awal.”