Chapter 87 Bondsmith
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Bondsmith
My breath came in harsh pants that froze in front of my face, the moisture sticking to my nose and lips in crystalline frost. The ache in my throat from the biting wind and bitter cold was an inferno each time I swallowed, trying to use my spit as hydration.
The water in my bottle had long frozen through, and the snow was too thickly crusted with ice to be used for drink.
Never mind the fact that removing my fur-lined gloves would mean losing at least the tips of my fingers, if not more.
Luckily, I’d reinforced the runes on my face for protection and warmth, but even they were struggling against the bleak harshness of the Far North.
In my trek to retrieve Itanya per my bargain with Folami, I’d used the hidden tunnels beneath the Ice Shelf that twisted northward for miles. But eventually the mountain range ended, and with it, the protection offered by the warmer stone tunnels.
The last few hours of my hike were completely exposed to the elements, and I battled with the howling winds and swirling snow in an effort to arrive in Oathic before Solace and her army.
It was a race against time at this point, against my crazed and vengeful sister, one that I had to win lest I break a bargain and sentence Elyria to Solace’s control.
It’s why I agreed to Folami’s bargain in the first place; I was already bound to Fate to bring the Bone Weaver south and scatter the nations of the Far North, as it was his intention to stop Solace before she wrapped her thin, bony fingers around a power she could use to destroy the cosmos themselves.
At least the ice is thick enough that my feet stay above the drifts, I thought as I practically skated atop the snow.
Dark grey clouds blocked the sun completely this far north, and the lack of sunlight mixed with the constantly swirling winds reduced my visibility to almost nothing.
At least that’s what I blamed when I was taken by complete surprise, nearly colliding with one of the sentries stationed outside the small village of Oathic.
“Goddess,” he clicked in his native tongue. “This way.”
I nodded my thanks, my head barely moving beneath the mountains of scarves and furs, but trudged after him, nonetheless.
He, like all of the people past the Ice Shelf, was light on his feet, with thicker skin, hardened against the elements.
The sentry practically ran toward the city, leaving me to continue to pick my way across the barren landscape.
Once I felt like I could go no further, my feet dragging sluggishly behind me as my heart beat so rapidly I thought I would collapse and die, I stepped past the runic barrier that surrounded Oathic.
Inside, the storm was dulled, soft flakes fluttering peacefully to rest on my cheeks and hair.
The biting wind was absent; the lack of the bitterness was nearly a flood of heat.
I pulled my mask away from my face and groaned at the feeling.
The silence was almost deafening after hearing the whistling wind for hours, but slowly, the sounds of village life overpowered the ringing in my ears.
Children giggled and played, dogs yipped in time.
The melodic native language of the Far North nations surrounded me as women called their families in for food or reprimanded children for being too rough with the animals.
A small smile spread across my face.
This was home.
“Goddess,” the sentry repeated again with a slight bow. “This way. The Chief is expecting you.”
I mumbled my thanks and adjusted the pack on my shoulders, my steps much lighter than before.
My eyes scanned the tarred leather-based homes, searching for Itanya. The village had grown nearly double in size since I’d last visited, and while I was glad their population was finally growing, I was simultaneously nervous for the news I was poised to deliver.
Forcing these people to move across the entirety of the Far North would not be an easy ask.
The journey was long and treacherous, full of surprising ice canyons and beasts of legend, not to mention the constant fight against the elements.
Not all of their people would survive the trek, but if they stayed in Oathic, none of them would survive.
I sighed, pushing open the flap on the small, round house, moaning as the heat of a fire hit my face.
“Fate, that’s good,” I mumbled in the native tongue to deep chuckles.
“Goddess, you have been missed.” Chief Dagaal rose, his black hair tied back in traditional braids, while his light-brown complexion was barely visible beneath the thousands of minuscule runes etched on every inch of skin.
Vibrant purple eyes sparkled with mirth and love, and it felt like coming home when he wrapped me in an embrace.
I sank into his arms, squeezing him tightly, and I swore I could feel the heat of his body despite my massive layers.
“You are wet,” he said. I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying a lewd comment that would not be appreciated in this traditional context.
Though perhaps when we are alone. Mischief sparked in his eyes as he winked, and heat tingled from my head to my toes. Definitely when we’re in private.
It was no secret that Dagaal and I had shared a bed and a home for many years before Holt and I left, but that was decades ago. I was certain he’d found a wife since then, but perhaps I was wrong.
“Your clothes,” he said, gesturing to the layers I was stuffed inside. “Are wet.”
I laughed, loud and long, his melodic baritone joining seconds later.
Gods, I missed home.
“Come, sit. We have much to discuss.” He gestured to the flattened rocks that surrounded the fire, where the remainder of his advisors sat.
Young and old, male and female, ruling knew no gender or age in the Far North.
It’s one of the things that kept their people alive for so long—wisdom was not bound to a single person or form.
“Dagaal, time is of the essence,” I said hesitantly, hanging back from the circle.
“It always is with you, Goddess,” he said with a sigh. “Come, we will discuss over food.”
My stomach rumbled just thinking about the traditional soups and breads that would be served for a council such as this. I was sorely tempted to step forward and join his trusted circle, but knew there wasn’t time for it now, as much as I wanted it.
I must return to Elyria.
“Solace is coming. You are not safe here. I need to take the Bone Weaver and leave or you, and the rest of the Far North, will be—”
“We understand the dangers and why you are here, Bondsmith. Do not think your wiles and knowledge exceed our own.” Dagaal’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment—the dark side of Blood Magic making itself known—before he gestured aggressively to the stones once more.
“Sit. Eat. Then you can take your Bone Weaver and fuck off back to Elyria, just as you always do.”
His council was silent, some fidgeting nervously at his bark and refusing to meet either of our eyes.
I stood in a frozen, silent stare off with a man I once knew so well before my shoulders sagged with a sigh.
Accepting defeat, I sat heavily on one of the free stones, motioning for a bowl of their traditional soup.
With a grunt, Dagaal handed me one as well as a plate of hand bread before gesturing for everyone to serve themselves.
Quiet conversation resumed between his advisors as they served their own meals, but Dagaal and I held eye contact the entire time.
There was something . . . different about him. Something that set me on edge, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Runfrid is where you must go,” I said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation. “I will return to you there later with the Bone Weaver. It is both of our fates.”
Dagaal grunted before digging into his food with savage intent, the others following shortly. He said nothing for the entirety of the meal—one which I guiltily consumed with a ferocity I’d long thought lost.
“Did you truly think we had not seen this? That we did not know what was coming?” Dagaal finally asked, empty dishes set on the earthen floor beneath his booted feet.
“I—”
He held up a rune-tattooed palm, stilling my tongue. “We have studied the prophecies of the Bone Weaver for centuries, Bondsmith. Eons. They are as well known to us as our own kin. Something of this magnitude would not have escaped our notice.”
Silently, I respectfully inclined my head. The action seemed to settle him somewhat, that fire turning to a smolder.
“We are ready to make the journey, we were just waiting for you.”
“Many will die,” I said, but he shrugged his shoulders.
“Many die every year from sickness, from accidents, from the weather, from animals. Nothing is left for us here but death and destruction. We will leave for Runfrid at first light, Bondsmith, and you will take the Bone Weaver somewhere safe until it is time for her to return.”
With that, Dagaal pushed to a stand, walking around the fire until he stopped just in front of me. I craned my head up so I could see his fierce yet burning expression. A proffered hand came to rest just in front of my face, and I laid my pale palm in his much larger, much darker one.
“Now, we will retire to our homes to prepare for the journey, and you will tell me of everything that has happened in the last thirty-some years.”