7. Labradorite
I’ve wrapped fur around my face, leaving only my eyes uncovered as we fly through the woods.
While there had been easy conversation over the fire last night, it didn’t carry over into morning. As soon as the first pink-gray streaks of sunlight artfully painted the space where horizon meets deep black sky, snow started to drift down from the heavens, and we sank into silence. Even Niht. It was as if the air shifted into something darker—far more menacing.
If our sleeping and waking habits weren’t already in line with the overland’s daytime hours, I would’ve preferred to sleep through the sun’s intense radiance. It drains us after long hours riding.
The glacialmaras have grown tired as well, and their song shifted from pleasant twinkling to shrill pinpricks of sound in my ears, their color has shifted from clouded blue to dull grey. Even Rahda no longer soars above the treetops, so we are forced to dart between brown trunks as we move along.
I eat to keep from fainting, but the food sits heavy in my belly. My bond is silent, though perfectly intact.
It was unknown to me if our communication would sustain across the forests between us, and I am sad to see that we truly are separated for a time.
I wish that I could feel everything she was suffering through. Even if me standing in her place couldn’t spare her, at the very least, I would know exactly how to comfort her and mend her scars.
Especially because the trees remind me of the past. If there was someone who could understand the twisted games that giants play, it was me.
In fact… If I listen close enough, I can almost hear Lijasa’s voice call from a shadowy thicket, saying, You’ve teased me long enough. Tonight you will come to my bed.
Fighting away the memories of endless months spent in Zlosa is tiring, and I am already exhausted.
The darkness around us thickens as the sun disappears completely. The sound of the glacialmaras fades, and Rahda slows. There’s a low, ebbing hum—almost like waves of music—that reaches out to us.
“What’s that?” Ulla calls out, and looks at me with her piercing silver eyes showing through her scarf. Her breath manages to escape the furs and paint the air with puffs of white.
“I know that sound from the war,” Niht grumbles.
I stiffen. Of course...
It is one of the altars the Enduar hordes would stop at to rest.
No one else says a word as I yank on the reins, and let Rahda veer towards the sound. The billowing song crashes into me, and the nausea that has been plaguing me fades. The Fuegorra in my chest starts to beat and sing in time with the beacon, and it feels like coming home.
But not home.
It is merely a moment of peace. One I experienced dozens of times during the Great War where I could lay the death and bloodshed at the feet of my gods and rest for a night.
When the smooth, marble altar comes into view, I let out a long breath. It’s been five decades, and it still looks new. It doesn’t take long to recognize the carving: my goddess, Grutabela reaching down from her stoney, starry throne to Endu, who is the crag beneath our feet—the fissures in the earth, the mountains, the volcanoes.
Rahda halts, and I don’t bother to usher her on before I lift myself out of the saddle, ignoring the chafing between my legs and approach the icon.
There is a single white step, dusted with snow and I drop to my knees. The Fuegorra in my chest starts to glow, burn, and hum with recognition. My eyes burn from relief and the image of the lovers before me—reaching out toward each other—calms my restless soul.
My gods.
Without thinking, my fingertips brush the scene and I whisper, “Protect my mate,” in the old tongue.
“I think it would be best if we set up a camp here,” Ra”Salore says, and Ulla voices her agreement.
The moment between me and the icon settles, and I turn around to watch Turalyon tie Rahda alongside his glacialmara.
I get up, and help them clear away patches of snow to set up tents. More small creatures run past us, and I even allow myself a smile when one of them clings to Niht’s pant leg.
In no time, a fire is started, the tents are pitched, and we are eating dried supplies in silence. I pretend not to notice how Niht feeds the small squirrel more bits of his food.
It is harder to ignore when he tries to climb the tree after the creature.
Ulla laughs, but I turn back to my tent and close the leather flap behind me. It is lonely in the small space, but I need to rest better if we are to make it to the rebellion’s hideout tomorrow.
The dim light is alive with Ulla’s idle singing, and I sink into the bittersweet melody like some might sink into bed after a long day of hard work.
My eyes flutter closed after mere minutes, and I offer another prayer for Estela, also asking for a speedy trip to see our cousins.
A scream wakes me.I’m out of my tent in a second, still fully dressed, with a knife at the ready. Ra”Salore is there too, followed closely by Niht and Ulla. I count them, with my brow furrowed.
“Where’s Turalyon?” I demand.
Niht’s eyebrows shoot up and another scream fills the open air. This time, I take off running in the direction of the noise. I can tell the second we leave the perimeter of the protected camp because the nausea returns. A few more feet, and I see the large, red stain on the forest floor.
Turalyon’s scream is abruptly cut off, and a few tendrils of mist curl towards us from the trees.
“Shit,” Ra”Salore says from my side.
Every muscle inside of my body coils and tightens as I recognize the signs of the cold ones that nearly killed Estela and invaded our caves.
“Get back to the camp, Ulla,” I shout over my shoulder before tightening my grip on the knife.
My ears pick up on the sound of crunching snow behind the tree to the left. I peer into the mist as Ra”Salore and Niht join me on either side.
“Watch out for the teeth,” I say, thinking of Dyrn, the Enduar who was bitten and came back to life as one of those awful creatures.
From the shadow of the mist, a succubus emerges with something in tow. It takes very little time to identify it as Turalyon’s body.
A dull roar sounds in my ears as I take in the limp features of his body. Rage builds up like boiling water in a kettle, and I explode. For a moment, I regret not bringing Vann, as he and I have spent our lifetimes syncing our fighting strategies. Luckily, Ra”Salore moves with me. He isn’t as perfectly intuitive as Vann, but he has good instincts.
The stone he bends swirls around him, causing my hair to blow back.
The cold creature hisses at us, and I realize it is overfull. Its movements are slow, and it’s almost too easy to cleave my dagger through its throat seconds before I retract and Ra”Salore slices cleanly through the meaty conjunction where neck meets shoulder with a perfectly honed slice of rock.
The head falls to the ground, and we wait for signs of other creatures.
None come.
“What do we do with our brother Turalyon?” Ra”Salore asks.
I look at him, heart still racing, and chest pumping. He isn’t prone to niceties. He’s rejected such notions in the past, and I thought his brother’s death would only make him more of a hermit. But it seems his name is not the only thing that has changed since his brother sacrificed himself for our people.
I take one long breath and then dip down to pick up Turalyon. His throat is mostly ripped out, and his eyes are wide open, frozen in glassy fear. I reach down to gently push them closed.
“The best option would be to burn both bodies to make sure neither of them come back to life,” I say.
It’s a gruesome thought to burn one’s friend. But this friend is indeed dead, as is his wisdom and experience with the elves. The kindest gift I can give anyone is to ensure they stay dead after being subjected to the cold one’s poison.
Niht approaches and takes the creature and its head. I watch with dread curling in my gut. Did they follow us from Enduvida? I don”t know what this means, but I can”t dwell on it now.
When we approach Ulla, I already find her building the foundation for a much larger fire. “How did you find so much wood?” I ask, detached from the world around us.
She shrugs. “I gathered for quite a while before we went to rest, and I brought dried starter mushrooms. Highly flammable, and highly successful in creating hot flames. You must be quick though, I don’t know how long this will burn when there is so much snow.”
I nod sharply and approach the scorching heat. When I kneel down, I look back at our blood soaked friend, Turalyon. His blue skin has gone ashen, and his eyes have somehow slid part-way open again. I close them once more.
My eyesight blurs, and I force myself to take in every gruesome detail, from the body to the pyre.
Turalyon was on this trip because he had gone with Lothar to visit the elves, but I was the one who asked him to come. He was clever and hopeful—I saw a future councilman whenever I spoke with him.
I mourn that future, especially since he will never have a mate.
Niht helps me remove the last bits of metal and armor, leaving him in nothing more than his undergarments.
A tear falls down my face, just as Ulla starts to sing the hlumrynnasong. Every Fuegorra in the camp lights up, as do the two short towers of quartz Ulla brought to amplify her songs. It holds none of the vibrato of the Parting Cave, where we usually hold death ceremonies, but we use the same words.
“Far away, in Vidalena”s embrace,
Amid mountains warm, a sacred space…”
I close my eyes against the onslaught of tears. Two hundred and seventy-eight Enduares now.
Ulla’s song continues, and Ra”Salore and Niht’s voices pick up with the Enduar words.
“To our family, gone but not lost, we gather to say our last goodbye.
To express our love, and forever cherish them,
In our stones, their memory won”t dim.”
The melody reaches its end, and the time has come to say goodbye. Despite the blood dampening my clothes, it is a hard thing to place the body amid the flames. The heat licks at my arms, but I have long since learned that the heat doesn’t bother me as it should. Dealing with lava and magma has given me a thick skin.
“Say hello to our family in Vidalena,” I say down to the dead hunter, and lean forward. “Go with the Stone.”
Once his body is laid to rest, I stand and watch. I wonder how many may have been buried in this place—this old altar with a blessed camp space for soldiers. How many Enduares came back from battle half alive, and gave up their ghosts as soon as the song of home touched their sharp ears.
Having spent my days slicing, and my evenings trying to forget, it fell to me more than once to return back home and tell their families of their deaths. Two years into the Great War, we stopped visiting homes and started posting lists in the city centers.
My heart still hurts for their brothers and sisters who longed for their return. I hope the fallen are resting well.
We stand in quiet reverie, save Ulla’s humming and the gentle throb of the beacon.
When I look up, I meet Ra”Salore’s gaze. It is… softer than normal. It moves me to compassion. I wouldn’t want to force a soldier to sleep in a haunted place.
“When would you like to leave tonight?” I ask. We have had only a few hours of rest, but now that we have lost our guide, it would be worth it to leave earlier.
His jaw tightens. “If you say the word, I will go, My King.”
That isn’t a yes.
When I look at Ulla and Niht, I see the weariness etched in the lines around their eyes and mouths. “Never mind. This place is safe. We shall stay the rest of the night.”
Ulla visibly relaxes, but I don’t catch the rest of the conversation as the three of them move to burn the creature that killed Turalyon. Normally, I would have abhorred the idea of having their ashes anywhere near each other, but we simply don’t have enough wood for two fires.
It will have to be sufficient.
The tent flap closes behind me again as I crawl back in, and I sink to the ground atop my bedroll. The hole in my chest feels a little wider.
The ground shudders and moves under the weight of Ra”Salore’s stone bending. He buries the ashes, the memories… the lost souls.
I wonder if loss will be the tune my life is written to for the rest of my days.