Chapter 42 A Fair Exchange
A Fair Exchange
Caramyn
Iam not a monster. I am not a monster.
Caramyn clung to the words like the shadows clung to her as she ran through the streets under the cover of night.
They’d stolen some fur cloaks, broken the window and made their escape out the back.
The village was as dead as Hrothvor, everyone tucked safely away from the frigid night in their homes.
And she could see why. The cold was even more numbingly bitter without the sun to fend off its bite.
And she couldn’t imagine lasting long out in it.
She led the girl through unfamiliar frozen paths beyond, and crags slippery with ice, taking turns she only recognized because of the trek to the outpost earlier that day.
But she had no idea how to get back down the mountain alive.
They’d be frostbitten within hours. They couldn’t hope to navigate the mountain’s terrain on foot.
And how soon would it be before Hrothgar’s death was discovered and her absence noticed?
And what was she supposed to do with this young, terrified girl for which she was now responsible?
With the questions racing through her mind, the only things she was certain of were that she couldn’t allow herself to end up back in that cage again, and that she had to find a way back to Evylere.
She found something that looked like a stable, with open stalls facing away from the heavy north winds.
Fingers nearly frozen, she fumbled with the metal latches and freed two sturdy mounts, horses that looked more like buffalos with their stocky bodies covered in thick shaggy layers of fur.
She helped the girl up on one—a white and black spotted gelding—and then mounted her own, a slate-gray mountain pony.
At least with the animals’ warmth beneath them and their surefootedness in these mountains, they might stand the slightest chance of making it through the night.
Caramyn glanced at the moon, nearly shrouded behind snowy mist and mountain clouds.
No one was yet aware of the murdered Frostlord she’d left behind, but she was certain that come morning, they’d all know what happened and who did it. And they’d be looking for her.
She chided herself. If she had just left Hrothvor unconscious, she might have escaped without such drastic consequences.
But instead, she had put a target on her back.
She wanted to indulge in regret, but one look at the timid girl huddled on her furry pony, and she was reminded that the price was worth paying.
The girl, thin and delicate, was obviously shaken, but still held herself with an air of confidence.
She reminded Caramyn so much of her younger self.
She was nearly the same age as when Caramyn’s own horrors began.
And she didn’t want her to have to face the same cruelty she did.
She couldn’t let her tenderness, her innocence, be butchered at the hands of such evil.
No. She would not allow this gentle girl to become molded by darkness, fear, and vengeance as she had been.
As they wandered the village, Caramyn took notice of a small open stable where a few horses were stalled. She strode toward it, careful not to make a sound, the girl trailing like a shadow.
“Can you ride?” Caramyn whispered, gesturing towards the horses.
The girl hesitated, as if to make sure she understood, then nodded boldly.
She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to get far from the city whose name she still hadn’t learned.
Their horses slogged through the snow with slow, heavy strides, but they covered far more ground than they could’ve managed without them.
They’d escaped the outpost village only to find themselves wandering a barren wasteland of snow that went on for what looked like miles beneath the black starry sky.
The wind was intense, and Caramyn thought her teeth would shatter from chattering, even buried beneath the stolen furs.
Unrelenting gusts carried a constant shower of snowdust over them, further limiting visibility that was barely there to begin with.
There was ice in her eyelashes, ice in her hair, and what felt like even ice in her veins.
She tried to instead focus on the stars overhead of this vast white expanse of nothing, and the dancing aurora that she was only accustomed to seeing during Frostlight, yet here seemed to fill the sky with endless, constant color.
The sound of her mount’s hooves pounding the powdery fluff below reminded her of the day she’d raced through the forest with Asterious.
She failed to stop a small smile that sneaked its way to her lips at the memory.
But it quickly faded when she remembered that it was also the day everything had changed.
And she wondered if that simple fleeting kind of happiness would ever be within her reach again.
After an hour of wandering, half-frozen and tempted to turn back and risk capture just for the mere hope of warmth, Caramyn noticed a line of shadows stark against the white blanket surrounding them.
A soulful sound of hollow chimes reached her ears, carried on the wind, as if drawing her to them.
Squinting in the moonlight, her eyes tired by the monotony of endless white tundra, she noticed the dots seemed to be moving.
Prompted by a mixture of desperation and curiosity, she rode towards them, the girl riding at a distance behind her, both cautious not to come up too quickly.
Once Caramyn was close enough, the rattle of the chimes grew clearer, and she could make out that the dark silhouettes were those of wagons from a small caravan of travelers.
Their wooly goat-like beasts and thick-furred horses shouldered large burdens, and their handlers carried nearly just as much across their bundled backs as they trudged through the snow in thick leather fur-trimmed boots.
Caramyn hoped there might be someone in the caravan who spoke the common tongue. After all, they appeared to be nomads. Perhaps one of them had encountered a Evylerean from below the Silver Spines before.
She waved to them, riding up slowly with her hands visible to show she meant no harm. The girl followed on her pony, silent as usual.
“I mean you no harm.” She spoke boldly in her warmest tone, despite the fact that her lips were numb and her jaw felt frozen in place “Do any of you speak the common tongue?”
The travelers halted in their tracks, staring at her with quizzical looks. Even here under the moonlight, it was plain to see the confusion in the tired eyes with which they watched her. Finally, one of them spoke, from the caravan sled laden with chimes carved from what appeared to be bones.
“I do.” An elder woman’s voice rose from near the back of the caravan. It would’ve been impossible to tell otherwise, as every bit of her except her eyes was swaddled beneath furs and wool wraps. She stepped forward with spritely energy for her age in her voice. “Who are you?”
Caramyn hesitated, unsure of giving away her name.
Even if no one here had known it since she arrived, perhaps it was best to keep it that way considering the circumstances.
“Call me Kuhrissi.” She said, for some reason clinging to the Silverean word.
“I don’t know the girl’s name. She is Gahmean, I think.
Or at least from somewhere in the far West lands.
I was hoping someone here might be able to help. ”
The old woman stared, unmoving and unblinking.
“Hmmm.” Caramyn wondered if she was studying her, trying to recognize who she might be.
What if news had already spread? What if there was some sort of bounty on her already?
Would these people try to take them back if they realized they were runaways?
She tensed her leg muscles, ready to send her pudgy horse off into a gallop if need be.
But the woman simply held up a mittened hand and turned her head toward the sky.
“We were just about to stop and make camp. We travel at night because the snowstorms can be fierce during the day. But the sun will be up soon, and we are tired.” When she looked back down at them, her eyes glinted in the dim light of dawn, revealing the thick white film covering them.
She was blind. “You are both welcome to rest in my tent and I can translate...if you can prove you’re worthy of it.
” With a grin, she held out her hand. Caramyn opened her cloak and looked down at the assortment of metal jewelry that adorned her from her preparations back in Ragna’s hut.
She was no stranger to bargaining stolen gold for survival.
The jewels meant nothing to her, and she would give just about anything for even just a flicker of heat from a candle.
She glanced over at her young companion, who was trying to control her feisty pony as it tossed its head impatiently, puffs of white breath blowing as it snorted.
Then she dismounted, her bones rigid as icicles, and took a stiff step towards the elder.
“Of course,” she said, sliding a golden bracelet off her wrist and placing it in the woman’s outstretched hand. “A fair exchange.”