Dog in the Dark

Chapter Ten

Chap stood on deck near the port rail as the Cloud Queen sailed on toward Chathburh. Under the breeze that drove the ship, the distant shoreline slipped by at a leisurely pace beneath a cloud-coated sky. No further incidents had occurred with either Magiere or Leanâlhâm, so Captain Bassett had relented, letting the passengers spend more time on deck. They could not be expected to pass the whole voyage in their cabins.

Magiere had settled to half sit on a tall barrel, midship near the cargo hatch, and appeared content in watching ahead. Leanâlhâm stood nearby with her back to Chap, but when the girl turned her head, he saw unhappiness in her profile. She tensed if a sailor passed too close in rushing about his duties. Leesil clutched the rail tighter every time the ship crested a swell. Still pale, at least he had begun to get his “sea legs,” as one sailor had jibed. He’d been coming up on deck more frequently and kept his food down more often. But Chap didn’t think too long on his companions.

Instead, he pondered Brot’an’s excursion into the woods north of Berhtburh. The old assassin stood a dozen paces beyond Leesil, nearer the forecastle, and with arms folded and face expressionless, he stared blankly toward the distant passing shore.

Chap had told Magiere and Leesil of trailing Brot’an. Most of what he’d overheard that night was still unclear, even when combined with what Magiere had learned. Chap was determined to gain more until he’d stripped Brot’an of every secret.

Wynn had given Osha a special journal. At the same time, Leesil’s mother and Brot’an, as well as the aging healer, Gleann, had already been part of the dissidents working to undermine Most Aged Father. Upon Osha’s return to his people, he had been detained. Last and most disturbing, Brot’an could communicate with Cuirin’nên’a and other dissidents on the world’s far side.

And there was that strange bit of polished wood in Brot’an’s possession.

From fragments in Wynn’s memories during their journey to her homeland, Chap knew something of her errant journal. The rest of these recently gained bits of information were revelations, though as yet none of it connected to why Brot’an had brought Osha and Leanâlhâm to this continent.

Perhaps here and now the best choice was for Leesil to take on Brot’an next, under Chap’s supervision and without Magiere.

Chap glanced around, wondering how to get her out of the way. Another sailor rushed by, hauling a bucket that slopped seawater onto the deck. Leanâlhâm backed up, almost tripping over the cargo hatch’s edge.

“I think I ... I will go below,” she said nervously.

Magiere frowned. “It does no good to hide all the time.”

There was Chap’s chance. He called up memory-words in Leanâlhâm’s mind.

—Say—you—are—cold—and need to—get out of—the wind—

The girl stiffened, blinking as she spun toward Chap.

“What did I tell you about that?” Magiere growled at him.

Chap wanted to groan in annoyance. The girl had about as much guile as a half-witted toddler!

“It is nothing,” Leanâlhâm replied, still eyeing Chap, and then she hesitantly looked to Magiere. “I am ... I am getting cold. That is all.”

At least she made a show of pulling her cloak tighter, and perhaps she was cold.

Magiere’s brow wrinkled. She looked suspiciously at Chap, and then with a huffing sigh she pushed off the barrel and took Leanâlhâm’s hand.

“Come on. We’ll see if we can get some hot tea in you.”

The two headed off for the aftcastle door and below.

“That was about as subtle as a rock to the head.”

At Leesil’s half-voiced snipe, Chap looked up.

“You’re lucky Magiere wouldn’t think Leanâlhâm was in on it,” Leesil added.

As if knowing what this was truly about, Leesil turned toward Brot’an. An echo of Chap’s own malice washed over Leesil’s tan but paled features.

Brot’an never looked their way, as if he didn’t know what was coming. Chap knew better, and that this would not be easy.

“Let’s get on with it,” Leesil whispered.

Three sailors sat within hearing, busily repairing a spare sail. The captain was on the aftcastle with his first mate, and the pilot was at the wheel. It was time to make a few things clear to Brot’an, but before Chap and Leesil even got close ...

“Is there something you two want?” Brot’an asked in fluent Belaskian.

—Go—at him—with—what—we know— ... —Force him—off guard—for me—

To Leesil’s credit, he didn’t flinch or betray that Chap had said anything with memory-words. Chap did not even need to guide him in the first assault. Leesil fired back in Belaskian, so that no one nearby would understand.

“Tell me how—and why—you were talking to my mother. What in seven hells have you gotten her into now?”

Brot’an would first see only a son who’d suffered a long life of guilt and a long journey, years back, to find and free his mother. Nein’a—Cuirin’nên’a—in being suspected as a dissident had been imprisoned for more than a decade in a remote glade. Brot’an, amid defending Magiere during her trial before the an’Cróan’s council of elders, had a hand in freeing her. But Leesil—and Chap—never forgot one more fact.

Brot’an did nothing unless it served his own ends.

It wasn’t easy to surprise him. Perhaps one of his amber eyes—the one between those four scars—twitched once at Leesil’s first assault. Leesil didn’t let up.

“Magiere told us Most Aged Father sent a ship after Osha ... to bring him in like some criminal, and that you went to Origin-Heart to find out why. What did they do to Osha? What was in that journal Wynn gave him, and what does it have to do with anything?”

Brot’an, still silent, glanced down at Chap—this also was no surprise. Brot’an was no fool. He knew well that Chap could feed Leesil questions to ask aloud. Brot’an knew which of the two he now faced was the greater danger.

Still, Chap was frustrated that he couldn’t penetrate the shadow-gripper’s mind, let alone speak to him directly.

The old assassin could have reacted any number of ways to Leesil’s interrogation. He could have turned the tables and demanded more of what had happened in the Wastes before offering anything in exchange. Leesil would have given him nothing for that. Brot’an could have tried to walk away, though Chap would have cut him off.

Instead Brot’an turned his back to the sea, leaned leisurely against the rail, and closed his eyes.

It was so submissive that Chap became wary, though Leesil grew visibly angry.

“You’ve started killing your own kind,” Leesil said. “What have you pulled my mother into with all this bloodshed between you and your caste?”

Chap would have cursed aloud, if he could have.

—No— ... —Press—him—about—Osha— ... —Stay focused—on—what leads to—the journal—

Brot’an opened his eyes and regarded Leesil tiredly. “Léshil,” he sighed.

Chap knew they had faltered. Leesil put himself at a disadvantage in focusing on his mother; that was not the way to put Brot’an in a corner.

—Osha—not—Nein’a—is—the way—to make—him—slip—

Leesil took a hissing breath through clenched teeth, and Chap almost shouted into his head again.

“What happened to Osha when he got back?” Leesil asked.

The question came out with much reluctance, and Brot’an would not miss this.

“I freed him,” Brot’an answered flatly, “and took him from Most Aged Father and out of Crijheäiche. But I did not know how determined the patriarch would be to gain the journal.”

“What was in the journal?”

Brot’an glanced away and down, shaking his head.

Brot’ân’duivé hesitated. Léshil likely viewed his questions as easy to answer—and they were not. Cuirin’nên’a’s mother, the great Eillean and Brot’ân’duivé’s secret love, was one founder of the dissident movement. Cuirin’nên’a had followed in her mother’s ways and sacrificed much to bring her half-blooded son into this world and train him beyond the caste’s reach.

It was necessary that Léshil remain outside the influence of any one people, culture, or division, so that none could cast blame or claim success in the face of any other faction. It would also be easier to keep him free for what would come, and to direct—control—him amid his feelings of being cast adrift in the world.

At least all of this could have been, if Léshil had not fled his parents and run into Magiere. And the one who orchestrated that meeting was obvious.

Brot’ân’duivé did not look at Chap in this moment. No one could have known back then what hid within a majay-hì puppy that a grandmother delivered secretly through a mother to a lonely half-blooded boy.

Only after Eillean’s watchful suspicions were satisfied had Brot’ân’duivé even been allowed contact with other dissidents. But he believed that Léshil should now be privy to some of the truth. The mixed-race grandson of the one Brot’ân’duivé loved—and had lost—had a pivotal role in their plans, should the worst come and the Ancient Enemy of many names return. If nothing else, giving Léshil some information might be one step to pulling him back on course until a destination could be found for him.

But Léshil was not the only one listening—nor truly the one asking these questions.

Brot’ân’duivé feared sharing anything with the deviant majay-hì.

“So, you got Osha out of Origin-Heart?” Léshil pressed again. “Was he all right?”

“No,” Brot’ân’duivé answered. “But nothing adverse happened in his meeting with Most Aged Father.”

Perhaps this was the place to start, on a course that could divert Chap to something superficially satisfying. And it might put this pair in his debt. A debt he could collect from Magiere.

“Osha was exhausted,” he continued, “from many days of travel ... and the loss of his jeóin, Sgäilsheilleache.”

The aggression on Léshil’s face faded slightly. “I know he was.”

Brot’ân’duivé knew that he had underestimated how heartsick Osha had been. At times he wondered whether he felt things to the same degree as others. Perhaps a life of discipline automatically disallowed this. When it came to even those who mattered to him, this had more than once caused him to be shortsighted where they were concerned.

He recounted to himself the details of that day when he had led the weary, emotionally damaged young anmaglâhk through the forest on a long journey to the main enclave of the Coilehkrotall clan. Simply knowing that they headed to the home of Gleannéohkân’thva appeared to give the young one strength. Osha might recover among people who cared for him—the family of his jeóin, who shared his loss just as deeply.

“I led him through our land, making certain we were not followed,” Brot’ân’duivé began. “He told me in detail of what happened between Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache. I do not need to repeat this ... as you were there.”

Léshil’s gaze hardened. Perhaps he, as well, had suffered the loss of Sgäilsheilleache.

From sheer exhaustion, Osha had fallen silent for the remainder of that day until they made camp. Sitting by the fire, he finally began to speak, telling Brot’ân’duivé more that would shake the foundation of their caste. Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache were not the first to die in an effort to steal the artifact from Magiere. Most Aged Father had sent a team of four after her. Along the way, two skilled senior anmaglâhk—A’harhk’nis and Kurhkâge—had been lost in the Pock Peaks.

Brot’ân’duivé could barely account for the ramifications: four of their finest dead because of Most Aged Father’s paranoia. No one outside the patriarch’s closest circle had learned of this until Osha’s return. Even then less than a handful knew the truth.

Such information was more evidence to wrest control of the caste from that too-long-lived madman—and Most Aged Father had known this. But sitting by the fire that night with Osha, Brot’ân’duivé kept all of this to himself, as well as the message stone from the Chein’âs delivered by a séyilf.

Osha had been too raw, broken, and unprepared for another purpose.

“Spit it out!” Léshil barked. “What was in that journal?”

“Little of use,” he answered. “But Most Aged Father did not know that.”

Late that night in camp, once Osha had rested, he had suddenly grown wary and glanced about the forest.

“There is no one here but us,” Brot’ân’duivé had assured him.

Still hesitant, Osha had pulled a small book from inside his tunic, held it out, and explained how he came by it.

Brot’ân’duivé looked directly at Léshil and ignored Chap.

“The irony was that Wynn intended the journal for only me,” he said, “and Osha would have rather died than fail her. She wanted me to know the basics of what happened in the Pock Peaks.”

“Wynn did this?” Léshil asked in mixed surprise and anger.

“Not everyone doubts me as you do,” he answered dryly. “She is as aware as any of you—perhaps more—that Most Aged Father is mad with fear.”

No, Wynn’s sending him information had not surprised him. What had was Osha’s reluctance to speak of the sage at all, as if any mention of her caused him pain. The young one had simply delivered the journal as he had sworn to do.

“Wynn intended to place information in my hands, should I need it,” Brot’ân’duivé added. “And as it was so intended, it is at my discretion to tell you anything within it ... or not.”

Léshil’s expression turned livid. Chap began to rumble, his hackles rising as his ears flattened.

Brot’ân’duivé softened his voice as he looked Léshil in the eyes and remembered the first of many times he had paged through Wynn’s delivered journal.

“It was difficult to read, between her hurried scrawl and the strange dialect she used, but it became easier with effort. The account was not long and simply covered the basic events of your journey ... from the beginning.”

Skimming toward the end, he had carefully read a brief account of what happened inside a six-towered castle in the Pock Peaks, and how the artifact had been carried out. When he reached the passages describing the Everfen, he had stopped and tucked the journal inside his shirt for later study. He had gained the basics, and for the remainder of that night he had focused on tending Osha.

“Wynn gave away no deep secrets,” he said. “Again, she only gave me the basics of what happened, perhaps in case Most Aged Father attempted to twist the truth ... which he will ... which he has. Who beside me could stand against him in that? Certainly not her ... or you.”

“You told Magiere the journal was at the heart of whatever changed Osha and Leanâlhâm from the people we knew.”

“It was, for them and others,” Brot’ân’duivé answered. “Most Aged Father believed the journal held information pertaining to the artifact—the first orb. I did not realize until too late how far he would go.”

Léshil frowned and glanced down at Chap, perhaps to formulate his next question ... or for Chap to give him one. The majay-hì never looked at Léshil. Chap’s gaze remained fixed on Brot’ân’duivé, but it would do him no good.

How could the majay-hì hope to snatch a memory from a shadow-gripper?

For one who could use his will to sink in silence and in shadow, in both thought and flesh, memory could be as willfully hidden. As long as Chap was watching, Brot’ân’duivé would always be hiding, even—especially—in plain sight of this majay-hì. He would bury Chap in darkness if he had to.

The ship lurched up another swell and this time fell sharply.

Brot’ân’duivé looked up. The overcast sky had darkened and so had the sea. The waves were mounting higher.

“All passengers below,” Captain Bassett shouted from the aftcastle. “Might be some rough weather ahead.”

Suddenly weary, Brot’ân’duivé left the rail and headed for the stairs below the aftcastle.

“What next?” Léshil called after him. “Did you get Osha back to the enclave?”

“Yes,” Brot’ân’duivé answered without halting. “And that is enough for now.”

He could have told Léshil more, but that did not serve his need. Simplified truths were always the most undetectable of lies.

Leesil watched Brot’an walk away as Chap snarled and took a step after the master anmaglâhk. He quickly reached down to grab the dog by the scruff.

“No,” Leesil whispered. “Let him go ... for now.”

Unless Brot’an felt like talking, they wouldn’t get anything more out of him. Since he had the excuse of the rising storm, chasing him down would get them nowhere, especially after he locked himself away in his cabin. Better to try again later, but soon, when they could catch him off guard.

Even when Brot’an did talk, he gave away so little, and Leesil had more than once wanted to turn the talk back to his mother. But Chap had kept at him about Osha as the way to learn more of what happened due to Wynn’s journal.

Leesil wanted to kick Wynn in the seat of her pants for that stupid book.

The whole time he’d been trying to get at Brot’an, he’d had a lingering feeling—no, a certainty—that the shadow-gripper said less than he knew. Sighing, Leesil took his hand from Chap’s fur.

“Too bad you can’t get inside his head.”

Chap’s rumble sharpened into a sudden snarl—and the ship bucked again.

Leesil’s lunch threatened to come up. He grew miserable, thinking the storm might put him back in his bunk.

“Come on,” he choked out. “Let’s see how Magiere and Leanâlhâm are doing.”

Leesil pulled himself along the rail to within reach of the aftcastle’s forward wall. Chap crept along ahead of him and more than once lost his footing as the deck dampened with sea spray. They ducked into the steep steps leading below, and Leesil jerked the deck door closed. When he stepped down into the lower passage behind Chap, Magiere slipped out of Leanâlhâm’s cabin as Brot’an was about to enter.

“She’s resting,” Magiere told Brot’an quietly. “I don’t think she slept well last night. If she wakes and this weather scares her, tell her she can come to our cabin.”

“She will be fine with me,” Brot’an returned, and before Magiere could argue, he slipped into the cabin and shut the door.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, spotting Leesil down the passage.

“Tell you later. Let’s get back to our room ... before I re-enjoy my lunch.”

As he came toward her with one hand against the wall, she grew visibly concerned and reached for him. Chap was not beside him, and he looked about.

There was Chap, sitting on his rump and glaring at Brot’an’s cabin door.

“Are you coming in?” Leesil asked.

—No—

The ship rocked sharply and didn’t right itself quickly enough.

Chap slid backward, and his butt hit the passage’s wall. Leesil slid, too, struggling to stay on his feet. He was getting too sick to care about Chap’s foul temper in trying to sit vigil at Brot’an’s door.

Magiere grabbed Leesil’s wrist and pulled him into the cabin. Once inside, Leesil left the door open in case Chap changed his mind. The door kept swinging on its own with every roll of the ship.

“What’s going on?” Magiere asked, as Leesil stumbled onto a bunk.

Her hair was in a single braid, but long strands had escaped to hang and float around her pale face. Groaning, he tried to answer in between the roiling in his stomach. He managed to relate what little Brot’an had said.

“Is that why that obstinate mutt is sliding around in the passage?” Magiere asked. “Because Brot’an didn’t tell you enough? What were you two thinking?”

Leesil was almost too sick to fight back. “What do you expect? That we’d just sit on our hands ... paws ... until Brot’an blackmails more out of you than he’ll give?”

“He’s not going to give up anything while Chap’s in plain sight.”

“We know that!” Leesil shot back. “But what else can we try while we’re stuck on this bucket, waiting for it to sink?”

“Oh, stop it,” Magiere told him, and another bang of the cabin door against the wall pulled her attention. “At least Chap’s watching someone beside me this time.”

“That you know of,” Leesil grumbled, “and only because you don’t have the orb to ...”

Leesil bit his lip as Magiere whirled on him. They’d barely regained part of the distance between them since leaving the Wastes. He had no wish to endanger that by treading on dangerous ground.

The ship rocked sharply.

Just before the door slammed completely shut, they both heard scrambling of claws on wood. Magiere suddenly toppled to the bunk’s end as the whole cabin tilted. A loud thump carried from out in the passage and was instantly followed by a sharp yelp and a snarl. Leesil moaned, digging his fingers into the mattress to keep from falling into Magiere.

“Go get him,” he told her, “before he ends up knocked out cold ... or slides all the way into the cargo hold!”

The cabin leveled but then began tilting the other way. Magiere grabbed the bunk’s end and made her way up to snatch the cabin door’s handle and pull it. The door swung sharply inward, and she grabbed the door’s outer handle as well and half dangled there for a moment.

Another thump echoed loudly out in the passage and was followed by another irritated snarl.

“Chap, damn you, get in here ... now!” Magiere shouted, clawing her way up the door.

On the next tilt of the cabin, Leesil flopped onto the mattress and clung to it. He lay there in misery, unable to stop the memories, all from that one bitter slip he’d almost made with Magiere.

And only because you don’t have the orb to ...

His thoughts slipped back to the Wastes....

Leesil ran beside the sled for days until he was numb inside as well as out. He and Chap had given up trying to keep Magiere from slipping her thôrhk’s knobs into the orb spike’s grooves every few nights. It was her way to readjust their direction.

To Leesil’s best awareness—and he was certain Chap kept vigil at night—she did this only in their presence and never tried to pull the spike by even half an inch. She didn’t need to, or so she claimed, but the look on her face, and her occasional tears, made every muscle in Leesil’s body tighten until she took her thôrhk off that cursed orb.

And in the mornings she redirected Ti’kwäg if necessary.

Magiere never said anything about where they were going. Either she didn’t know or she wasn’t sure or she wasn’t telling them.

Leesil was sick inside at the thought of what this could mean. How could the orb be directing her—and why? He kept thinking back to the voice that had whispered in her dreams ... directing her to the orb’s original hiding place. She swore this time was different.

He didn’t believe her.

At this journey’s start, he’d believed they suffered these hardships, so very far from their home and their tavern, to hide the orb someplace where Most Aged Father or the Enemy’s minions would never find it. Now Magiere had succumbed to some other unnatural drive.

Between Leesil and Chap, they watched her day and night as they pressed onward, farther north and east. Even Chap knew they had no choice. They had to keep going until they found a safe place to hide the orb. They seemed to agree that they’d know the right place when they saw it, and in that they let Magiere have her way for now. But the farther north they went, the more barren and bleak the land became, until calling it “land” wasn’t even funny as a joke.

Endless white around them hurt their eyes. More than half of their supplies were gone. Foraging was pointless, and the temperature was below freezing at all times.

Ti’kwäg began rationing the oil burned in the bone lamp. Its tiny flame barely kept their shelter a hair above the freezing temperature outside. In spite of the strange nature of this journey, their guide never questioned Magiere about where she was leading them. He kept to his duties, though at times it was clear he had concerns about their dwindling oil and rations.

Leesil began wondering how they could make it back to the coast, even if they succeeded in their task. One day when they’d pushed beyond the time they would usually stop, Ti’kwäg pointed ahead.

The guide had the lower half of his face covered with a rabbit fur that he always tied around the back of his head before fastening his hood. Leesil couldn’t see the man’s expression, but Ti’kwäg’s gaze was steadily fixed on something ahead.

Leesil squinted, trying to make out what it was. At first all he noticed was wind-driven snow strangely piled as if built up on something left on the frigid plain. Then he saw a smoke trail above a dome.

“What is it?” Magiere called from where she jogged behind the sled.

“A settlement,” Ti’kwäg called back. “A good thing for us.”

It wasn’t long before the sled slipped between a number of ice domes caked in snow. Leesil staggered to a halt and bent to brace his hands on his knees. Looking down, he saw that he’d almost stepped into a hole in the ice, and he shuffled back from it.

“For fishing,” Ti’kwäg called as he began checking his dog team.

Chap was looking all ways with obvious worry. The flap of the fur that Leesil had prepped and tied around the dog kept getting into Chap’s face.

Ti’kwäg was a careful sort who always appeared to know what he was doing. He’d not likely have led them somewhere dangerous. Before Leesil could ask about this place, small people covered in furs came crawling out of hide-curtained holes in the domes. Ti’kwäg pulled down his rabbit fur and smiled as he began babbling in a language Leesil had never heard.

Brown skinned, all bulked up in their fur clothing, the people smiled back, all of them chattering at the same time as they closed around the guide and his sled. A young woman broke from the pack and came toward Leesil. She held a small bowl that steamed heavily in the cold. When she neared, he saw the bowl was nearly filled with a rich brown fluid.

Shiny black hair escaped from under the top of her furred hood and down her round forehead. Her skin was darker than his. She peered at him and blinked her thin eyes, each barely a slit in her face, until an expression of wonder took over.

Leesil started to get a little uncomfortable, and then she broke into a great grin and shoved the steaming bowl toward his hands.

“Apkalawok!” she chattered at him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the bowl and not knowing what else to do. She lifted her hands, cupped together, and pantomimed a motion of drinking.

Whatever was in the bowl smelled something like a broth. He tasted it carefully and found it wasn’t quite as hot as it looked. He gulped half of it down, though it left a greasy film in his mouth. Then he pointed to Chap, who was off behind the sled and watching a couple of bulky-bundled children eyeing the dog in turn.

“Some for him?” he asked, pointing to Chap and then the bowl. But when he looked down, he was startled. Now three young women instead of one stared at him.

One of the new girls giggled and touched a fur-covered hand to her cheek, just below her right eye. The other new girl squeaked something back that began with, “Ooooooooh.”

Leesil needed no translation. They were discussing his amber-colored eyes, and he swallowed hard at the way the second girl leaned in a little in peering at him.

At that, the first one whispered something to the others, placed one of her wrists on top of the second girl’s wrist, and mimed tying something invisible around them. This made them burst into a fresh fit of giggling; one of them was blushing so much he could see it, even through her dark skin.

They were all grinning at him.

“Ah, not this, not now,” Leesil moaned. The last thing he needed was more girls looking at him like a catch for handfasting, or marriage, or ... something else. He looked about for help.

Magiere still hung back beyond Chap. Four men among the group had separated to one side and were talking in low voices. One glanced away toward Magiere.

“Come on,” Leesil called, frantically waving her over and trying to ignore his admirers. “It’s broth, and it won’t stay warm long.”

Magiere took a few steps to round Chap and the sled.

One of the young women turned, looking to where Leesil called. She froze, and then grabbed one of her companions’ arms. All three went silent, though Leesil couldn’t see their faces anymore.

More of the short natives spotted Magiere. Their chattering faded, as did their smiles. One among the cluster of four men said something to Ti’kwäg. The guide glanced at Magiere, shook his head at the four, and uttered something short and sharp in their tongue. At a guess, it sounded to Leesil like a caustic rebuke.

“What’s wrong?” he called.

“Nothing,” Ti’kwäg answered. “She is ... very tall for a woman, and her skin is very white.”

This simple but strained reply left Leesil wondering if that was all there was to it.

Ti’kwäg intercepted Magiere. “We sleep indoors and eat hot food tonight. Tomorrow we will trade here and then move on.”

She nodded, but she, too, noticed the others watching her as she circled around them to join Leesil. Everyone except perhaps those four men appeared to accept Ti’kwäg’s assurances. The trio of girls hurried off amid whispers.

“You think you could avoid the local girls just once?” Magiere growled.

“That’s not ... I never ... wouldn’t even think ...” Leesil bumbled out.

Magiere glanced sidelong at him from the corner of her eye. Her teasing him wasn’t much relief after that strange, tense moment.

Leesil soon found himself crawling along a narrow snow tunnel into one of the ice-dome dwellings. Emerging into an area beneath the dome, he was surprised at the warmth inside. Oil burning in large bowls heated the entire room and yet the ice did not melt. The floor was lined with furs, and as he began stripping off his heavy coat, he smiled when Magiere crawled out in the open.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel warm again,” he said.

She tried to smile back.

Chap squirmed out of the tunnel with Ti’kwäg on his tail. There was more chatter, followed by a few stern looks in Chap’s direction as several of the people came in as well.

“Their dogs sleep outside,” Ti’kwäg explained. “I had to convince them that he always stays with you.”

Chap rumbled softly, possibly offended, but he looked around with a sigh of satisfaction at all the furs on the floor. Then Magiere took off her gloves and pulled down her hood, and even before she’d stripped off her coat, gasps and more low chatter filled the space.

She froze with her coat barely off her shoulders.

The small native people stared from her face to her hands. Too many talked at once in hushed voices, though Leesil heard one sharp word repeated several times—“Kalaallisut!”

Ti’kwäg barked something at them and shook his head adamantly.

“What’s wrong?” Magiere asked.

This time Leesil was more than worried. They were in too small a space should this turn ugly. Ti’kwäg held up one palm toward Magiere.

“It is nothing,” he answered again, and then continued some argument with several of the others. A few finally nodded, but with another glance at Magiere, they turned one by one to crawl back out of the tunnel.

“They will bring food,” Ti’kwäg said, settling on the furs near Magiere. “But for better or worse, no one will share this communal space with us. They are a generous but superstitious people. Your skin ... and your hair ...”

At that he stopped and began removing his coat. Magiere finished stripping off her own.

“What about my skin and hair?” she asked.

Leesil scooted in on Magiere’s side, and Chap circled, finally settling off to Ti’kwäg’s left and nearer the entrance. Leesil still wasn’t accustomed to not being cold, but he was more interested in what the guide hadn’t finished saying.

“Stories ... legends are real to them,” Ti’kwäg went on, “such as tales of pale creatures who live out in the heart of the ice beyond where these people will go.” He shook his head. “Some speak of shapes or shadows in the blizzards that they call ‘the others,’ or the Kalaallisut. There is not a word for it in your language. It means something like a thing of ice or white that moves, but the word is not for a living being.”

Leesil saw Chap listening with rapt attention, and too often the dog glanced at Magiere. Not because of any suggested link to her, but rather because, at Leesil’s guess, he and Chap were both wondering what was out there, where she was leading them ... and why and how.

“Too many stories,” Ti’kwäg said with a shrug, “that always end with searchers who find no trace of those who went too far into the deep white. Stories for an ignorant people with ancestors who were lost, starved, or frozen out there ... or who fell through ice or were dragged off by the great bears.”

Leesil shifted in discomfort at the natives’ having viewed Magiere as something “white” and not alive.

“Do not concern yourself,” Ti’kwäg said. “They are just stories.”

Leesil knew he should be grateful that their guide had dismissed all this so readily, but he wasn’t. He was relieved when food was brought and the whole topic came to an end.

There were more bowls of the same greasy broth, along with fatty meats so tender they came apart at his touch. None of it looked appetizing at first, but then he thought he’d never tasted anything so good in his life. He had to force himself to stop after three helpings—and to almost physically pull an emptied bowl out of Chap’s jaws.

There were also bowls of clean, warm water, intended for washing by the way Ti’kwäg took one and sank his hands into it.

Magiere seemed slightly more at ease after Ti’kwäg’s assurances, but she ate only one serving. After washing up, and her long struggle getting grease off Chap’s muzzle and whiskers, she curled up beneath a pile of furs with Leesil. They slept soundly for once.

At dawn, trading commenced. Leesil handled this with Ti’kwäg’s assistance, as bartering didn’t always require a shared language. All he needed to do was indicate goods and supplies offered and raise fingers as counts of exchange for what he sought. Tobacco, herbs, and sugar proved especially popular.

Unfortunately, though the people traded dried meat and fish readily enough, they were reluctant to part with much oil. Ti’kwäg said they were storing up for a long winter.

“They are nomadic in this season,” he told Leesil as he repacked the sled. “We may come across more settlements on the move.”

By midmorning they were running beside the sled again, heading northeast across the frozen plain. Magiere appeared relieved, but as countless days passed, the temperature continued to drop. Days grew shorter and nights grew longer.

Soon Leesil forgot what it had felt like to sleep without his coat in that warm little dome of ice. He remembered only being cold and chewing dried fish that had frozen to other pieces inside its bag. Ti’kwäg often broke their supper apart with a heavy hunting knife and seared it over the whalebone lamp’s small flame. He began rationing their oil even more.

One night, as Ti’kwäg and Magiere began binding and bending the wooden rods to support the hide shelter, Leesil noticed Chap, exhausted and shaking visibly, standing near the sled. The sight made him angry. He longed to do something to help his oldest friend, but, aside from the tiny amount of heating oil Ti’kwäg allowed them to burn, they had nothing else to fuel a true fire.

Leesil dropped to his knees in the snow. In frustration he began rummaging through his pack. There had to be something to burn, anything to put a little extra heat into the shelter. He found a few pieces of spare clothing, a thin rope, a grappling hook ... and then his hand closed over something slender and solid at the pack’s bottom.

Pulling it out, Leesil studied the strange object in his hand. He’d almost forgotten it was there among his meager belongings.

The narrow wooden tube, barely wider than his thumb, had no seams at all, as if it had been fashioned from a single piece of wood. It was rounded at its bottom end, and its open top was sealed with an unadorned pewter cap. The whole of it was barely as long as his forearm, and what it held inside ...

Back in the Elven Territories of the an’Cróan, Magiere had been placed on trial before the council of the clan elders. Most Aged Father had denounced her as an undead. To speak on her behalf, Leesil had to prove he was an an’Cróan and accepted by their ancestors regardless of his mixed blood. He’d allowed Sgäile to lead him to their ancestral burial grounds for his name-taking, a custom observed by all an’Cróan in their early years before adulthood. From whatever the young elves experienced in that place, they took a new name, though they never shared the true experience with anyone. Well, most didn’t. Amid the burial ground’s clearing stood a tree like no other Leesil had ever heard of, let alone seen.

Roise Chârmune, as they called it, was barkless though alive. It glowed tawny all over, shimmering in the dark. The ancestors not only accepted Leesil, they had given him a name ... put it on him ... before he even understood what it meant. He’d tried never to think of it since he’d left that land.

Leshiârelaohk—Sorrow-Tear’s Champion.

Among the ghosts—the an’Cróan’s first ancestors—in that place had been one woman, an elder among those who had first journeyed across the world to that land. And her name was, had been, Leshiâra—Sorrow-Tear.

All those ghosts had tried to put some fate, like a curse, upon Leesil. He neither wanted nor accepted it. They believed he would play a destined role as her champion, whatever that meant. Leesil had no intention of championing anyone but Magiere. But that wasn’t all they’d done to him—given him.

He gripped the tube’s cap, and his fur-covered hand slipped twice before he could get the stopper out. He dropped the cap and tilted the tube until its narrow contents slipped out into his hand. This item was the proof he’d needed when he returned to Magiere’s trial. He’d been accepted by the ancestors and had the right to testify before the council of clan elders. He had taken this thing from the very hand of a translucent ghost, one warrior among those ancestors. The branch had been tawny and barkless, glistening and glowing, and as alive as the central tree from which it had come.

Leesil turned even colder in the near dark of the Wastes as he looked upon it.

The branch had turned to gray, dried, dead wood.

After Magiere was released, at last acquitted of Most Aged Father’s charges against her, Leesil had forgotten all about the branch. He’d wanted nothing to do with it until Sgäile had returned it to him in this new case on their journey to seek the orb in the Pock Peaks.

Leesil hadn’t wanted it back as a reminder of what those ghosts tried to do to him with a name. Sgäile had appeared offended, hurt, so Leesil had simply shoved the branch and its case into his pack. He’d never even looked at it again until now.

All the branch offered now was a slim chance to give Chap a moment of warmth. If Leesil could use a little oil to ignite it, perhaps along with the tube, they might trap a little extra heat in the tent. He looked up, about to call to Chap, but his grip faltered.

The branch slipped from his mitten and he tried to grab it but dropped the tube as well. His hand was so numb that he was too late. The grayed, dead branch toppled into the snow. Cursing to himself, he reached down for it.

Snow around the branch appeared to melt a little, or at least its moisture somehow spread over the gray wood. As he blinked, the branch began to change, and he drew his hand back.

Gray receded under the spread of a tint. Soon it appeared to swell a little. The last mark of death vanished from the branch, as did any stain of moisture. It became the glistening, tawny, living thing that he had first gripped in the an’Cróan burial ground of their first ancestors.

How could it have changed back to what it had been? And only upon touching the snow—frozen water.

“Chap?”

Leesil barely heard Magiere’s call, and then it came more loudly in panic.

“Chap!”

Leesil looked over his shoulder. Chap lay limp on the crusted snow; the flap of fur from the hide tied around his torso hid his head.

Leaving the branch behind, Leesil scrambled up into a run. He crashed down on his knees beside Chap’s limp form before Magiere even got there, and ripped back the flap of fur covering Chap’s head. The dog’s eyes were closed, and worst of all, he was no longer shivering.

“What’s wrong?” Magiere half shouted behind Leesil.

Leesil shoved his arms under Chap and heaved the dog up. When he tried to stand, he almost fell under Chap’s sagging weight. Magiere braced him from behind and tried to help grip Chap.

“No!” Leesil ordered. “Get the bedding out ... now!”

He made a stumbling run for the shelter before she could say another word. All he could think of was something he’d seen in his youth, in the Warlands. On occasion, in deep winter, some fool or unfortunate child had fallen into the lake that surrounded his master’s keep. The victim’s body temperature needed to be raised as quickly as possible.

Leesil hit his knees again at the shelter’s mouth and didn’t wait for a startled Ti’kwäg to move. He struggled to shove Chap into the shelter and was already stripping off his outer clothing by the time Magiere crawled in with an armload of skins and furs.

“Lay some of those out,” he said. “Use most to shield him from the snow beneath.”

When she had two furs spread, Leesil stripped the fur off Chap and flopped the dog atop the bedding. He snatched the knife Magiere had used to gouge holes for the shelter’s poles, and he slashed the straps of his hauberk. After removing his hauberk, he took off his wool pullover and even his shirt.

Magiere watched in confusion, but the instant Leesil grabbed three more furs at once and crawled over Chap, she began pulling off her own coat and armor. Neither of them even noticed Ti’kwäg watching her, looking her up and down as more pale skin was exposed.

Leesil pulled Chap in against himself, and the dog’s paws were almost as painfully cold as the snow outside. Chap didn’t move at all.

Ti’kwäg stared in astonishment at what Leesil was doing ... for a dog. Magiere dropped to her knees, half-naked, and burrowed in on Chap’s other side. Leesil pulled the remaining furs over all of them.

“Get some heat in here!” he snarled at Ti’kwäg.

Leesil stuck his face against Chap’s muzzle and gained the barest relief when he felt the dog’s weak breaths.

“Do it now,” Leesil told the guide, and Ti’kwäg turned to digging out the oil.

All Leesil could do was press his face against Chap’s.

“Wake up, you mangy mutt,” he whispered. “Don’t you die on me, you pain in the ass!”

Chap didn’t respond, but Magiere whispered with her face buried in the back of Chap’s neck, “Come back.”

It was one of the longest nights of their lives, and Leesil didn’t sleep as he hung on to his oldest friend. He never thought about the branch left in the snow until he heard a grumbling groan. The late sun’s light wasn’t even strong enough to notice through the crack of the shelter opening’s flap.

Magiere rose on one elbow, and her breath stopped as she looked down at Chap.

Chap twitched, and his forepaw poked Leesil in the stomach.

Leesil had never been so grateful for a face full of foul-smelling dog’s breath.

They had a very late start that day. It took more arguing with Ti’kwäg to get Chap bundled up and tied down in the sled’s rear. Chap didn’t make another sound and lay there quietly as Leesil pulled a fur over the dog’s head. He was exhausted from a sleepless night full of fear. Only then did he remember something left behind.

Off to the side, where the shelter had been raised, was a bulge in the new snowfall. He went to scrape the crust off his fallen pack, but what he’d seen right before Chap had collapsed kept nagging at him. Any instant Magiere, wanting to know what took him so long, would shout at him. But her shout didn’t come.

Leesil dug about in the hardening crust of last night’s thin snowfall—and there it was.

Whatever snow clung to the branch came off more easily than expected. He searched for the wooden tube and pewter cap until he found both. Quickly encasing the branch and trying not to think about it, he shoved the tube into his pack. When he stood up, he saw why Magiere hadn’t nagged him to hurry up.

She stood out beyond the dog team already tethered to the sled, and stared into the distance. Ti’kwäg watched her and more than once cast an anxious glance back at Leesil. When Leesil finally trudged toward Magiere and dropped his pack on the sled’s end, she didn’t turn to him. She continued staring ahead.

“What is it?” he asked as an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his neck.

Magiere pointed ahead.

Leesil saw nothing out there but a white, frozen wasteland.

That entire half day became a dim memory, with a strange mist floating low over the snow-crusted ice. Magiere was always out ahead as Leesil jogged beside the sled to keep an eye on Chap. After a while he gave up watching Magiere at all. It was nearly dark when Ti’kwäg barked something to his dogs, and the sled came to a stop. Leesil halted, looking for Magiere.

She was way out ahead of them and standing still, as if waiting for them to move on. Finally she returned as far as the team’s lead dog and then spun around to stare off into the distance.

Leesil checked on Chap—who merely grunted—and then stumbled out toward Magiere. He followed her gaze through the deepening dusk and at first saw nothing. The longer he looked, the more he noticed that the eastward horizon was too dark compared to the stars already appearing above it.

A black silhouette along that edge of the world blocked out any lower stars. Perhaps it was a range of ice higher than the plain. Maybe the ice met and piled up against solid ground, for they had been headed inland for too many days to count.

“Mountains,” Magiere whispered.

Leesil didn’t want to know how she knew this, and instead asked, “Is that where we’re supposed to go?”

“It’s where I have to go.”

“Not tonight,” he countered. “They’re farther off than they look on an open plain like this.”

She finally looked at him. “I want to go now.”

Had they at last reached their destination? Were those mountains nothing more than a safe place to hide the orb? He hoped so but wasn’t certain anymore. Whatever drove Magiere was different from the last time, when she’d been after the orb. This time it was something to do with the orb itself.

Leesil wanted to hack a hole in the ice, no matter how deep he had to go, and drop that cursed thing into the depths forever.

Magiere turned back for the sled without his insistence, and they spent another near-restless night. Chap fell asleep as soon as the shelter was up, and had to be awakened to eat. It was another three days before Leesil could clearly make out those mountains ahead.

Another four days passed with Magiere pressing them onward too long and too late. Their destination was always in sight and growing upon the horizon. At least the extra time let Chap fully recover. Another dawn came, and Ti’kwäg began having trouble with the dogs.

The sled too often stalled as some of the team yelped, snarled, barked, or even tried to break off or turn around. This didn’t sit well with the guide, though he always forced them onward. Leesil asked Chap whether he knew what was wrong. Chap huffed twice for no but appeared equally troubled by their behavior.

Two more days out, with Chap finally on his feet, and they were close enough that Leesil knew they should be into those mountains by the next day. The subtly rolling plain was so white that he was half-blinded and only stumbled along in following the sled like a beacon. Later he realized he hadn’t paid enough attention to Magiere out front. Too often Chap was out there on her heels and pushing himself more than he should have.

Magiere came to a sudden stop.

Leesil almost stumbled into Ti’kwäg’s back as the guide halted the sled, and Leesil tried to clear his sight.

Out beyond Magiere was a massive wall of jagged white rising into the sky. He couldn’t tell whether it was truly a range of iced-locked mountains, a fracture in the plain forced upward over centuries, or maybe the edge of a land mass coated by the frigid conditions.

But Magiere had stopped, and he didn’t believe it was simply that they couldn’t go on.

They were here ... wherever she’d been taking them. The more he tried to make out the massive wall of white barring their way, the more something on it caught his attention.

There were dark spots, not quite black, amid its craggy surface.

Leesil cupped his gaze with both hands, trying to block the plain’s glare. Those spots weren’t pocks and fractures. Some were too round, too smooth to have happened on their own—they were like half circles, like ... openings into tunnels.

Magiere still stood beyond the sled team with her back turned, and Chap began circling her in agitation with steamy air jetting in sharp pulses from his nose.

Leesil jogged out toward the pair. He heard Chap’s low, broken rumble before he closed half the distance, and he slowed. As he approached Magiere’s back, he couldn’t help looking closely at Chap.

Turning his head, and always keeping Magiere in his sight, Chap wove back and forth at Magiere’s left side. When he finally looked to Leesil ...

A sharp image rose instantly in Leesil’s head, and there was no mistaking Chap’s meaning.

Leesil saw the amulet, the one Magiere had carried herself in their early days and then given to him long ago. It had been more than a year since he’d even looked at it, for there’d been no need. Pulling off one fur mitten and feeling the cold bite his hand, he fumbled to open his coat’s neck. He jerked on the leather cord around his neck until the amulet came out to dangle before his eyes.

That plain bit of topaz set in pewter was glowing enough to see even in daylight.

It did that only when an undead was nearby.

He hadn’t felt its warmth through all the layers of clothing and armor he wore. How long had it been doing this out of his sight? He looked out to those unnatural dark spots on the ice wall and stepped closer behind Magiere in an attempt to get her attention.

“How long do you suppose those have been—?”

Leesil stopped short as Chap stepped in, rumbling low at him. Most times, before Leesil even felt the amulet begin to warm, he had heard Chap’s eerie hunting cry. Now the dog was almost silent but for the sound of heavy panting.

Leesil went numb all the way to his bones. He grabbed Magiere’s arm and jerked her around.

Her squinting eyes were flooded completely black, the irises having expanded to block the whites, and tears were already freezing on her face. The glare of the plain must be burning her eyes like nothing before. Her teeth had fully changed, fangs elongated behind her shuddering, half-parted lips.

Leesil looked to the massive white ridge. “What is this place?” he whispered. “What have you done?”

Nothing changed, though she blinked slowly. She turned her head to peer toward the great ridge, and her features twisted into something feral.

Leesil shouted, “Where have you brought us?”

As Leesil lay on his bunk aboard the Cloud Queen, that memory kept repeating over and over, and he couldn’t stop it.