Chapter 37 The Two Voices #2
The younger apprentice reluctantly returned to her sorting while the older gathered another stack of damaged records.
Eira unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was immediately recognizable.
Eira,
The eastern storage vault has finally been opened.
Among the records we found several references to agreements between coastal settlements and northern packs that appear to predate modern law.
One document mentions something called the Law of Two Voices, though unfortunately the surviving text is incomplete.
I suspect you will want to examine it yourself.
Should you decide to do so, Silverwake remains open to you.
Leander
Eira read the letter twice before folding it carefully.
"Good news?" the younger apprentice asked.
"Possibly."
The answer was enough to capture both women's attention.
"What is it?"
"There are records in Silverwake," Eira said.
Both apprentices immediately looked up from their work.
"What kind of records?"
"Old ones."
The younger woman straightened in her chair.
"How old?"
"We don't know yet."
That answer only seemed to make the discovery more appealing.
Eira hid a smile.
"We are not leaving tomorrow."
The younger apprentice visibly deflated while the older one sighed.
"That means no."
"That means no."
The younger woman looked unconvinced.
Eira shook her head and settled back at the desk. Around her, parchment rustled, pens scratched steadily across paper, and afternoon light drifted through the high windows, catching the dust suspended in the air.
For the first time in generations, the archives of Ironfang felt alive—not because of the records themselves, but because people cared enough to search through them, preserve them, and argue over what they might contain.
The realization brought a quiet satisfaction that needed no words.
She glanced once more toward the strange pages resting at the edge of her desk, covered in unknown symbols, an unknown language, and unknown history. Then her gaze shifted to Leander's letter—Silverwake, more records, more questions, and more answers waiting somewhere beyond the mountains.
The future stretched before her in a hundred different directions, and for once she felt no need to choose only one.
A knock sounded against the open door, and all three women looked up.
One of Ironfang's servants stood in the entrance. "There you are."
Eira immediately recognized that tone—trouble.
"What happened?"
The servant smiled. "Nothing."
Which meant something had happened.
"The preparations are beginning."
For a moment Eira simply stared, then understanding arrived. Across the room both apprentices gasped simultaneously, while Mara, who had been quietly reading in a corner for nearly an hour, looked entirely too pleased with herself.
The servant bowed. "The elders are asking for you."
The younger apprentice made a sound that suggested she might explode from excitement, and the older one wasn't far behind.
Eira closed her eyes briefly, then stood.
Outside, beyond the stone walls of Ironfang, the wind moved across the mountains, and somewhere above the fortress, on a cliff overlooking the valley, a small gathering was beginning to assemble, waiting.
The journey to the cliffs above Ironfang took less than half an hour.
Winter had finally begun to loosen its grip on the North.
Snow still lingered in the shadows of the mountains and along the northern slopes, but the valleys below no longer lay buried beneath endless white, as dark stone showed through, streams ran free once more, and patches of stubborn brown grass pushed through thawing earth wherever the sun reached long enough to matter.
It was not spring as southern kingdoms would have understood it, with no flowers or green hills, only the first quiet signs that the world had chosen to survive another winter.
Eira paused briefly as the path climbed higher.
The air smelled different, colder than the coast and cleaner than the valleys, carrying the scent of melting snow and distant stone on the wind.
Ahead, the cliff opened toward the sky.
The gathering was smaller than many council meetings she had attended, exactly as she had hoped, with no feast, no celebration, and no banners, only the people who mattered: the elders, several captains, Mara, a handful of those closest to them, and Soren waiting near the edge of the cliff.
For a moment Eira simply looked at him.
Gone were the furs, the armor, and the heavy cloak that seemed permanently attached to the Alpha of Ironfang; today he wore dark grey wool and simple leather, nothing more.
Without the symbols of authority, he somehow looked even more dangerous and far more human.
His gaze found hers immediately, as it always did, and something softened in his expression, only for her.
Eira felt the familiar answering warmth of the bond, not demanding or urgent, but simply there, steady as breathing.
Mara appeared beside her.
"Stop staring."
"I wasn't staring."
"You were."
"I was observing."
Mara groaned.
"You've both become unbearable."
Eira smiled despite herself.
Then her attention shifted downward.
She had not noticed the clothing at first, not because it was elaborate, but because it wasn't.
It was dark gray wool with simple lines, no jewels, no embroidery worthy of a ruler, and no attempt to transform her into someone she was not.
The sleeves were lighter than those she normally wore, and the fabric moved easily in the wind.
Around one wrist someone had tied a narrow braid of dried mountain herbs, and a matching wreath rested lightly against her silver hair.
It was simple, northern, ancient, and perfect.
For the first time in her life, she stood before a ritual wearing clothing chosen for herself rather than for what others expected her to represent, and the realization settled unexpectedly deep.
An elder approached, the oldest woman of Ironfang, whose age had bent her back but not her gaze, and nothing seemed capable of bending that.
She looked at Eira, then at Soren, and nodded once.
"Good."
Apparently that was all the approval either of them would receive.
The elder turned toward the gathered witnesses as the wind swept across the cliff.
Far below, Ironfang stood against the mountains, beyond it stretched the valley, and beyond the valley lay the North.
The elder raised a single candle whose flame flickered but did not go out, and another was handed to Eira, a second to Soren.
For a moment they stood facing one another, each holding a small light against the vastness of the sky.
The symbolism was simple enough that even Ironfang could not overcomplicate it: two separate flames, two separate lives, two separate choices.
The elder spoke, not loudly, because she didn't need to, and everyone listened.
"Long before there were Alphas, there were promises."
The wind carried the words across the cliff.
"Long before there were laws, there were witnesses."
She looked toward the mountains.
"The mountains remember."
Then toward the valley.
"The valleys remember."
And toward the wolves gathered along the rocks beyond the ceremony.
"And the wolves remember."