Dog in the Dark

Chapter Six

For Leesil, the days and nights slipped by in sickening sameness as the Cloud Queen sailed along the coast. Once, he felt a flicker of hope that he might get off the ship for a night when he learned they were approaching Kêdinern, some port he’d never heard of.

It turned out to be a small town with no piers big enough to dock a large cargo ship. Captain Bassett set anchor offshore, and the crew used skiffs for a bit of light cargo exchange. Bassett went ashore for the night, but no one else set foot on the beach besides a few sailors handling the deliveries.

Leesil, still nauseous and weak, was left staring out at solid ground far beyond reach, and he stumbled back to his bunk. He wasn’t keeping much food down, and even drinking water was an effort. Peering out at that shore had only made him feel more trapped on this floating, rocking prison.

After the one-night stop, the ship sailed south again. More empty days and nights passed with him lying on his bunk in misery. Magiere took care of him: wiping his face, sitting with him into the night when he couldn’t sleep. Eventually even this made him feel worse, as he was failing in his need to watch over her.

Then one afternoon brought another glimmer of hope.

Magiere came to tell him they were making port and docking this time in a place called Berhtburh, an actual city. As she finished, the ship rocked sharply—along with his guts clenching up—and the vessel seemed to slow and settle. Even Magiere appeared suddenly concerned and headed out the cabin door. Leesil forced himself from his bunk and followed more slowly.

He made the climb up with effort and found almost everyone—including Brot’an—on deck at the port-side rail. Leanâlhâm was the only one missing, likely hiding in her cabin. It was later in the day than he realized, for the sun would soon touch the waters to the west.

Magiere turned from the rail and waved him over.

“Come and look,” she said, sounding pleased, or as pleased as she ever sounded. With her hair loose down her back, she’d forgone both her hauberk and cloak in the warm weather. She was dressed only in black breeches and a white shirt that billowed in the breeze.

Fighting dizziness, Leesil staggered in beside her to see a sprawling small city with four long, sturdy piers jutting out from its waterfront. He looked about and spotted Captain Bassett up at the wheel with the young man who’d upset Leanâlhâm. Neither gave the passengers any notice.

“Prepare to make port!” the captain called.

Those words were music to Leesil’s ears.

The ship slowed further, almost drifting along as it approached the outside pier. Soon the crew hustled about under the captain’s commands. But Leesil mostly watched the waterfront coming closer—and not quickly enough for him—until the ship finally docked.

“A sight for sick eyes,” he mumbled, gripping the rail as he gazed down at the pier.

Both Brot’an and Chap looked at him, though neither responded, nor did Chap raise any annoying memory-words in Leesil’s head. However, Magiere laid her hand over his on the rail.

“One sailor claimed this place has a few cheap inns,” she said. “Do you want to go ashore for the night?”

“Try to stop me.”

But when he looked into her face, really looked, a stirring filled his chest. Had he heard something else beneath her words? Could she be suggesting a night alone with him—and without Chap?

He’d spent so much time worrying about keeping her calm, about keeping her dhampir half from taking over. It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be with her ... in their earlier, better life together.

He didn’t begrudge anyone else a night ashore, including—especially—Chap, but Leesil and Magiere would get a room of their own.

“I will remain aboard,” Brot’an added. “We need nothing onshore, and Leanâlhâm requires seclusion.”

Leesil didn’t agree. What the girl really needed was more human interaction with proper guardianship from someone besides Brot’an. At the moment, he didn’t care enough to argue. Then unbidden words rose in his mind.

—I—stay—too— ... —I—watch—Brot’an—

Leesil glanced quickly at Chap. Other than that he did nothing to draw attention to the dog’s having said anything to him. Of course Chap wanted to keep an eye on Brot’an; they both did. But as little as Leesil trusted Brot’an, he sometimes worried about Chap’s attitude toward the old shadow-gripper. It went beyond distrust.

The captain was in no mood for another altercation. Likely he’d take an even dimmer view of anything between the passengers. Chap wasn’t above being ... well, overly vigilant when it came to Brot’an. Perhaps a subtle warning might temper that.

“Chap says he’ll stay, too,” Leesil announced.

Brot’an didn’t acknowledge this, though Magiere’s brow wrinkled. Perhaps she, too, had concerns about Chap, but she said nothing. Crouching down, Leesil scratched Chap’s neck, pretending to say his good-bye, but he leaned in to whisper, “Watch him.... Learn what you can, but do nothing to get us thrown off the ship.”

Chap wrinkled his jowls and flicked his tongue up over his nose. Leesil let the rude gesture pass. They’d both made their points, and he hoped that Chap took him seriously.

“Are we going?” Magiere asked.

Nothing was going to stop Leesil from getting off this ship with her for a whole night. Not Brot’an. Not Chap. Not even fear of being thrown off for good should Chap do something rash.

“Try to stop me,” Leesil repeated.

Shortly past dusk, Magiere led the way into a small, shabby room at an inn close to the waterfront. To her surprise, she grew suddenly nervous as she dropped her pack at the foot of the bed. For so many moons, she and Leesil had seemed trapped in a standstill, where a thousand words boiled beneath the surface but were never spoken. After what had happened at the journey’s end upon leaving the Wastes, he’d watched her carefully at all times, waiting for her to lose control again.

Always there to calm her, to deal with her, as if she’d become his sole and constant crisis to face. In turn, she’d both resented and needed him. She didn’t want to lose herself—to her other self. He was the one most capable of reaching her when she was pushed too near that edge. But the last quarter moon on the ship had been different.

He’d been so sick that she’d watched over him, and he’d been less watchful while needing her. As annoying as he could be, it was a relief to take care of him ... and embarrassing to remember that she wanted him to need her.

Leesil followed her into the little room and closed the door. Dropping his pack next to hers, he looked about the shabby place: the tiny bed with its worn-thin blanket and the one window, its panes glazed dull by wet coastal winds. There were no table or chairs or even a water basin, but this was what they could afford.

“Not luxurious,” he commented, “but I don’t care.”

The walk here had done him good, and the sickly pallor had faded halfway from his tan features. Unstrapping both sheathed punching blades, he dropped them atop the packs, went to the window, and closed his eyes as if listening.

“Strange how much I hate being at sea,” he said, “but I like hearing the waves against the shore. Reminds me of home.”

Magiere didn’t know what to say. He wanted to go back to their little Sea Lion tavern, to run the faro table while she tended the bar, serving ale and whatever wine had come in from up their own coast. When the nights grew late, and the last of the patrons ambled out the door, it would be just the two of them in their bed upstairs.

He didn’t want to be here chasing after ancient devices wielded by an enemy believed to have waged war on the world. But she had no choice. She couldn’t stop until all five orbs were recovered and hidden where no one might find them ever again.

Leesil looked so young standing by the window. With his eyes closed and only the port lights glimmering upon his face and white-blond hair, she couldn’t quite make out his faded scars.

As if they’d been wiped away forever.

With no warning, a terrible fear gripped Magiere. She sank onto the bed, and the words boiling beneath the surface spilled out before she could stop them.

“Don’t leave me.... Promise you won’t, no matter what happens.”

Leesil turned sharply from the window. “Leave you?”

In three fast, hard steps, he was beside her on the bed’s edge and grabbed her face. The way he looked at her left her stunned. He stared into her eyes like a man who’d been drowning and then thrown a lifeline.

“Is that what you’re ...” he began. “Magiere, you’re stuck with me. Understand? You’re not going anywhere without me.”

Knowing she shouldn’t go on with this, she still couldn’t stop. “What if I lose myself and can’t ... don’t come back?”

She had finally said it. The possibility was now real.

He couldn’t pretend, not to her, that he didn’t fear the same thing. This was the wall of smoke that hid them from clear view of each other. Both of them, not just her, were afraid to step through to see the other in the wake of this ugly truth.

Magiere didn’t see fear in Leesil’s face. His hands never even twitched upon her cheeks.

“Not going to happen,” he whispered fiercely. “Not ever. I’ll always bring you back.”

She stared into his amber eyes, the only place she could lose her doubts and share his certainty. Suddenly his mouth pressed against hers as his fingers combed up into her dark hair.

Magiere stiffened, still afraid to drop her guard because it was him so close. But his mouth worked softly against hers until she felt the tip of his tongue touch against her eyeteeth.

Nothing about her, not even those teeth that changed, elongated, whenever she lost herself, revolted him at all. He loved her ... wanted her ... entirely.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, she leaned back, pulling him down atop her.

“Magiere,” Leesil whispered with his hands still in her hair.

That was the last word either of them said for a long while.

Late that night, Magiere lay on her side watching Leesil and hoping he was sound asleep for once. She feared even moving and waking him after so many restless nights aboard ship. But sleep didn’t come for her.

Her head was too full of worries pulling against fragile hopes. And that opened the floodgates of memory. She couldn’t stop thinking about, remembering, so many things buried inside her. Like on another night, when they’d shared a rare welcome and a meal by the generosity of Hammer-Stag at the village of Shentángize.

Leesil believed her problems had begun later than that, on the way back out of the Wastes.

Magiere knew better.

It had all started in that tiny back room of the common house, or “greeting house” as the dwarf had called it. She’d lain awake then, as now, watching Leesil sleep....

Magiere lay in between Leesil and the chest containing the orb. Though her eyes were on Leesil and watching him by the lantern’s dimmed light, her hand still rested on the chest, as if she feared removing it but didn’t know why.

Leesil’s rib cage rose and fell almost in sync with Chap’s snoring, where the dog had curled up on the mat closest to the door. She would—could—never tell either of them how she felt while touching the chest.

As long as she remained this close to the orb, she kept reliving the moments back in the six-towered castle in the Pock Peaks. She’d used her thôrhk gifted by the Chein’âs, the Burning Ones, to hook and pull the orb’s spike, releasing its power.

She didn’t know why the thought of that moment brought her more satisfaction than food or sleep or sometimes even Leesil’s touch. She tried not to think about what this device had been made for, what purpose it had served in the end war of the Forgotten History. But each night she grew eager for the silence and stillness to relive those moments again. Yet every time she did, the urge to know what was within that orb, what held such power, ate at her more and more.

Magiere quietly looked from Leesil to Chap.

Both appeared fast asleep. Slow and silent, she peeled off her wool blanket and turned on her side to sit up. When the straw-stuffed mattress crackled under her shifting weight, she froze and looked over her shoulder.

Chap let out a slight grumble but immediately returned to his short, doggish snores. Leesil didn’t even skip a breath.

Shifting closer to the chest, Magiere carefully pulled its latch pin and lifted the lid. Reaching inside, she drew aside a fold of canvas wrapped around the chest’s contents.

There it lay ... the orb.

Slightly larger than a great helm, its central globe was made from a dark material. Not black, but as dark as char, not metal or any stone she’d ever seen, its surface was faintly rough to the touch like smoothly chiseled basalt. Atop it was the large tapered head of a spike that pierced down through the globe’s center—and the spike’s head was larger than the breadth of her fist. Its roughly pointed tip protruded through the orb’s bottom, and both spike and orb looked as if they’d been fashioned from one single piece. There was no mark of separation to hint that the spike could ever be removed.

Magiere knew that it could, because she’d done so.

Knobs at the open ends of her thôrhk fit perfectly into two grooves in the protruding spike’s head. She suddenly found herself reaching for her pack, where the thôrhk was stored, and she pulled it out without even looking.

That circlet, broken by design, was made of metal. Thick and heavy looking, its circumference was larger than a helmet’s, and it was covered in strange markings even Wynn hadn’t been able to decipher. About a fourth of its circumference was missing, and those protruding knobs at its ends pointed inward across the break, directly at each other.

An impulse took Magiere as she looked down into the chest.

She wouldn’t fully open the orb—no, of course not, or not as she had accidentally in the six-towered castle. Just a little, just to peek at what might lie within it, if she could. It would do no harm to pull the spike only far enough to see it separate from the orb. That was all she would do.

With one last glance to check on Leesil and Chap, she lowered the thôrhk’s open ends around the spike’s head. Fearful of any grating sound, she took what seemed like forever to slip the thôrhk’s knobs along the grooves ... until they settled fully into the spike’s wide head.

The thôrhk fit perfectly, like a handle made for this. An almost sleepy contentment stole over her with a soft buzzing inside her head, but she didn’t retreat. Her eyes widened as she wondered ...

Were those words in that sound?

A painful urge flooded Magiere; it was a hunger unlike the kind she felt amid rage whenever her other half overwhelmed her. It was far more sorrowful than that.

There were no words within that buzzing in her head. Only the urge, the need to do ... to go ...

North ... and farther north ... and farther ...

Magiere tugged steadily upon the spike.

A hum rose around her, seeming to fill the dim little room until it was all she could hear. She felt moisture on her face—from nowhere. A sudden mist formed around the orb before her eyes, like hanging vapor over a dawn field after a cold night. Droplets condensed on the back of her hand holding the thôrhk. She saw moisture begin to appear and cling to the orb’s dark surface.

A fierce hunger grew inside her ... and still she didn’t stop.

Under her pull, a crack appeared between the orb and its spike.

Light washed up over Magiere, blinding her for an instant. Rainbow hues spread through the orb’s sphere, bleeding into each other until its whole form burned her eyes with pure teal.

Any and all traces of hunger vanished inside Magiere. Her flesh felt fully sated, with no need to eat or drink, as if she would never again have to face the world as that monster that lay within her.

But the sorrow kept growing with the hum.

A droplet fell away from her face without her knowing how it had gotten there. It arced in toward the crack between orb and spike and was sucked away.

“Magiere!”

That shout was followed by a rolling snarl on the edge of her awareness. She ached inside, and in place of that vanished hunger in her flesh, a more sorrowful hunger in her spirit wanted to go ...

Amid the orb’s brilliance, the ghost shape of two hands slammed down on top of hers.

The thôrhk wrenched from her grip as its knobs slipped out of the spike’s grooves. She heard it clank off the orb’s side to clatter into the chest’s bottom as the spike dropped back into the orb.

All of its light winked out.

“No!” Magiere cried in the sudden dimness.

She lunged in, clawing to find the thôrhk.

Strong hands pulled her away. As she toppled, snarls erupted into growls and the snap of jaws. Hunger rushed back, and all she could think of was her lost thôrhk. Anger grew from that unknown sorrow, and it fed the hunger rising to burn in her throat.

Magiere thrashed to get free, and then the trunk’s lid slammed shut.

Chap stood upon the chest with his jowls pulled back and his ears flattened as he growled at her.

Magiere froze, feeling Leesil’s arms tighten around her from behind. Someone began pounding on the door.

“What’s going on in there?” a voice called from the outer passage.

“Nothing,” Leesil answered in broken Numanese. “Trip ... when get up ... to go ... Sorry.”

Footsteps faded down the outer passage amid unintelligible grumbling, but Magiere hadn’t taken her eyes off Chap.

Jowls quivering over exposed teeth, he glared at her in open anger, and her hunger withered. She finally stopped resisting and became still.

“Leesil?” she asked in confusion, for it had to be him behind her.

Chap fell quiet but remained fixed upon her, and Magiere shriveled inside at the thought of what she’d almost done. Leesil released her, hurried to the door, and looked outside. He closed it quietly and then picked up the lantern to flick its shutter open as he returned.

Chap’s crystal-blue eyes appeared to grow brighter the closer Leesil brought the lantern.

Magiere remembered the night in the deep cavern below the six-towered castle, when she’d unintentionally opened the orb fully. The cavern walls, wet with moisture from the frozen land above and the deep fiery depths below, had begun to bleed water. Globules had rained inward all around the cavern and hit anything in their paths as they were sucked into and eaten by the orb’s full light.

This memory wasn’t one she called up herself.

Magiere cringed under Chap’s admonishment, called up from her own memories.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Leesil whispered. “And why are you crying?”

At the second question, Magiere quickly put a hand to her face. It was so damp from the mist that had formed around the orb that she wasn’t certain why Leesil had asked that. She looked to the chest beneath Chap’s paws. Horror replaced the unexplained sorrow and the fury that had come when she’d lost sight of the orb.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

In the little room in the port of Berhtburh, Magiere shoved away the memory of that first terrible moment—the first of many that had followed. When Leesil murmured next to her and rolled onto his side, she froze, not wanting him to wake, not yet. Now that she’d let herself remember, let herself see the past for what it was, she didn’t want to stop. Rising quietly from the bed, she grabbed her shirt and pulled it on as she went to the window.

The faint rush of waves and the glimmer of moonlight on the ocean beyond the port pulled her back to ...

After saying farewell to Hammer-Stag and his comrades, Carrow and Tale-Pole, Magiere left Shentángize with Chap and Leesil. They followed the dwarf’s instructions and two days later found the road to the coast. Five days more and they reached a town where they were lucky enough to catch a Numan trading ship heading north up the coast.

To Magiere’s relief, Leesil had apparently decided that the event in the back room at the village had been an accident of curiosity. He didn’t mention it again, though soon enough he was seasick and wasn’t mentioning much of anything.

Chap was not so forgetful ... or forgiving.

Several times in their small cabin on the vessel, she’d reached for the orb’s chest to make certain it was still there. When she had settled back, she always found him watching her ... until she pulled her hand away and curled up, ignoring him. Worse were the times during that voyage north when she’d found herself alone with him.

Unbidden memories rose in her head about that night beneath the six-towered castle. She had opened the orb fully then, and remembering it brought her no sense of satisfaction.

Chap was not going to let her forget.

Amid the chaos of water bleeding from the cavern walls and raining inward to be swallowed in the orb’s light, each of them had experienced something different. When they later shared this, none of it matched.

Chap related through Wynn that he’d sensed the presence of a Fay. He could not determine how or why one of his kin, whom he’d disowned, had manifested at the orb’s opening.

Leesil said he’d seen the head of a huge scaled serpent or reptile, opening its jaws and bearing down above Magiere to swallow her whole. From what he’d described of that form composed of black shadow, Wynn had given it a name: a wêurm, or some immense form of dragon out of her people’s folklore.

And Magiere ... she had sensed the clear, almost overwhelming presence of an undead.

What did it mean—Fay, dragon, and undead? She didn’t want to think about it and soon avoided being alone with Chap.

Their small trading ship sailed north for more than a moon, and as it cut through the frigid water under cold winds, Magiere watched the landscape slowly change. Fewer and fewer trees dotted the shoreline, making way for barren rocky land. Snow soon crusted the squat bluffs, though it was only late summer. Days grew longer, and the nights shortened too much.

Before long all the land in sight appeared frozen.

On a bright afternoon so chill that it stung, Magiere stood alone on the deck at the prow when she saw what had to be a coastal settlement along the frosted shore.

“Last landfall before we turn south again.”

She glanced back to find the captain looking out beyond her. He was a big man, and though Numan, he wore a bearskin coat, open and flapping in the wind as if he didn’t feel the cold.

“We won’t go farther north than this,” he added.

“No farther?” she echoed, for she’d hoped to put off trekking overland a bit longer. “Why?”

“The season will soon change. The water here can freeze solid for leagues out from shore. Only Northlander longboats travel where the ice shifts and flows like water ... and can crush a larger vessel’s hull. Even some of their vessels get stuck. No farther for us—we head back after trading in White Hut.”

He pointed ahead.

Though disappointed, Magiere understood and watched the rapidly approaching settlement. It appeared small and primitive. She’d asked the captain to take them as far as possible, so he knew their journey was not over.

“It’s only a trading station,” he went on. “But you might find a guide with a sled and dog team for hire. Check with the local Northlanders, most of whom speak passable Numanese. They know the ways of working with the Wastelanders.”

“Wastelanders?”

“The Ongläk’kúlk, the natives who live out on the fringe of the white wastes.”

Magiere blinked, taking in his words. The course of the day was shifting rapidly.

She hurried below to get Leesil and Chap, and by the time they were packed and up on deck, several longboats approached from the shore. As the crew prepared to offload cargo, the captain put Magiere, Leesil, and Chap on the first boat heading back.

It might not have been a ship, but calling it a boat didn’t measure up. With two square sails furled to single cross poles on stout masts, it was narrow compared to a Numan ship but easily more than half the length of the vessel they had left.

When the longboat beached, and they climbed out around its tall and curling bowsprit, Leesil heaved an overly dramatic sigh of relief. Magiere took their packs, handed off by large Northlander rowers. Leesil finally paid attention and helped unload the chest. Magiere was at a loss when they plopped the chest at her feet and the Northlanders busily unloaded supplies acquired from the ship.

She and Leesil had dressed in heavy sheepskin coats with fur on the inside, and hoods and gloves as well, but she felt the bitter cold on her face. If it got any colder, it might be a problem for Chap, especially at night.

Magiere looked to the cluster of weatherworn, shabby buildings. The few people in sight were dressed in clothes made of thickly furred animal hides.

“What now?” Leesil asked, still appearing queasy. “Tell me this is the end of the line by sea.”

Magiere shook her head. “I don’t know. I’d thought we might hire a Northlander vessel wherever we ended up. But the captain said the coastal waters will soon freeze, and even these longboats have trouble with that.”

“No more boats, ships, or even a raft!” Leesil insisted. “And certainly no horses here, thank the dead gods.”

Chap snorted as Magiere frowned, waiting for Leesil to hit the hard realization—and then he looked about again.

“We’ll not make it far on foot with all this gear,” he said quietly, “and we’ll need even more if we’re heading inland.”

Uncertain what to do, Magiere sighed this time. The largest structure in White Hut had a painted plank over the door, but she couldn’t read it. Black smoke rose from its haphazard chimney. The building was a dome of sod, as if dug into, or made into, a large hillock.

“That’s the biggest one,” she said. “We’ll try there.”

Hauling and dragging their belongings, they walked into the trading post settlement. When they passed under the unreadable plank of that largest structure, they entered a smoky room filled with rough tables and stools spread around the dirt floor. Maybe a dozen people, mostly men all dressed in furs or thick hides, were seated or standing about. More than half sucked on pipes or sipped something steaming in clay and wooden bowls or cups. Many wore their hair long, most looked somewhat greasy, and all had darkly tanned skin.

Following some slightly rancid odor beneath the smoky haze, Magiere spotted a large iron pot. It hung on a hook over a fire in the makeshift hearth at the room’s rear. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

These weren’t villagers who stared openly. They took brief or indirect glances with no expression at what they saw. It was like being studied by a predator feigning disinterest while it tried to figure out whether what it saw was another predator ... or prey.

Leesil was far too silent. Magiere almost felt him turn instantly on guard as he glanced around, as detached as those in the dim room.

A long, faded counter made of battered planks on crates and barrels stretched across the left of the room. Crude shelves behind it were loaded with canvas bags, tins, folded furs and wool cloth, rope, and other sundry supplies and equipment, some of which Magiere didn’t recognize. Beneath those burdened shelves, a row of barrels stretched down the floor behind the counter.

There was no one tending the counter, so whoever ran this place must have been among those about the room. This had to be the heart of the so-called trading post, and Magiere had her first hint of how bad things could get.

She’d never been inside a place quite like this, but she recognized the feel of it, what it suggested about the land. Only the strong survived, if not thrived, here. This was a land where the weak died easily, suddenly, through ignorance or arrogance—or both. It showed in every face in the dim room.

Magiere hadn’t told Leesil or Chap about the captain’s mention of a sled and dogs. That was likely their only option now. It didn’t matter how much they’d been through in their years together. They were in a land they knew nothing about.

They were the weak in these Wastes.

“We’re looking for a guide,” she said in Numanese and hoped someone understood. “To take us north and inland.”

No one spoke until a large man in what appeared to be a wolf-skin cloak took the stem of a clay pipe out of his mouth and looked right at her.

“Why do you want to go into the white?” he asked in clear Numanese.

It took Magiere a breath to catch his meaning; he was likely referring to the deeper region of the Wastes. That was exactly where she, Chap, and Leesil had decided to go. Someplace so far from the civilized world that no one would ever find what they’d hide there.

The man frowned at her silence and returned to biting his pipe stem. He wasn’t wearing gloves. His hands, as well as a patch below his right cheekbone, were marred with small black spots. Magiere approached his table but didn’t sit on any of its empty stools.

“That’s my business,” she finally answered. “If this is your place, we need a sled, dogs, a guide, and supplies. Where do we find such?”

Leesil closed on her right and Chap on her left. She had no time for their arguments and didn’t look at either of them. They still had coins left from when Leesil had sold a valuable necklace belonging to a vampire that they’d killed back in their homeland. That money had gone a long way, but they had to make it last longer. And would foreign coins be any good here?

“Depends,” the man said, “on how far you’re going.”

Fewer eyes turned her way, as most in the room went back to their own thoughts, cups, and pipes. Magiere sat down, and Leesil joined her, though Chap kept shifting nervously about nearby.

“We’re not sure how far,” she said. “A moon, maybe more.”

The man didn’t even blink; he simply nodded. His nose was almost flat, and his pupils looked black in the dim room. At a guess, he wasn’t Numanese, and certainly not a Northlander, from what she’d seen of those people. Perhaps he had a mixed heritage of some kind.

“I am Ti’kwäg,” he said. “This is not my place, but I have dogs and a sound sled. I know the white ... the part of the Wastes that you seek.”

And after Magiere made her own introductions, the bartering began.

In the end she was relieved that he wanted to be paid in coins, though it left her puzzled. She didn’t see how money, especially foreign, had much use up here except in this place called White Hut. Maybe it was a way for him to deal directly with Northlanders and Numan ships bringing in goods rather than buy such through the trading post. Either way, she didn’t care. Precious metal wouldn’t be much use where they were going.

Ti’kwäg finally nodded and told her to stock up on small and light luxuries such as tobacco, tea, herbs, and especially sugar. He said these could be used to trade with his mother’s people for fresh meat and oil made from animal fat. This advice alone assured her that it was worth having met him, and confirmed he was half-blooded. His mother had to be one of the ... whatever the captain had called them, other than Wastelanders.

Before she verbally agreed to hire Ti’kwäg, she spotted Chap staring hard at the man. Had Chap caught something in the guide’s surfacing memories? She waited for him to call up any of her own memories and indicate either concern or agreement that she should proceed.

Chap finally looked up at her and huffed once for yes. Either he trusted what he’d seen in Ti’kwäg or at least thought the man competent.

Magiere, Leesil, and Chap spent the evening preparing for a long journey. They managed to pay for lodging, though here that amounted to a tent on the outskirts. They got little sleep their first night in this frigid land without a ship’s wooden walls to shield them, and Magiere spent the night full of uncertainties regarding what was to come.

Could they find a safe place to hide the orb? And if not ... what then?

At dawn Ti’kwäg met them in front of the same shabby main building, with a long sled pulled by a team of eight muscular, overfurred dogs. He packed and lashed their gear himself, and frowned when Magiere insisted that he fasten the heavy travel chest onto the sled as well. He did so, and the next stretch of their journey began as they headed northeast and inland.

Long days and short nights blurred from one into the next.

Magiere found it easier than expected to keep up with the dog team, for they traveled mostly on frozen ground, which slowed down the sled. She’d expected to hit snow and ice sooner, and when she asked about it, Ti’kwäg scoffed. They would soon see all the snow and ice they could ever want, but he didn’t appear bothered by this.

She assumed he’d spent most of his life beyond the hardened earth, with only snow and ice under his feet and the rails of his sled. Occasionally she wondered about his past but never asked. He knew what he was doing, and that was all that mattered.

Leesil, as usual, recovered quickly from seasickness. He, too, had no trouble keeping up with the sled. Once in a while one of them rested by riding on the sled’s base. Much of the time Ti’kwäg ran beside his dogs to help tug the sled over patches of rougher ground and shout at his team in some strange guttural tongue. The dogs appeared to know exactly what he wanted from them.

Slowly the nights began growing a bit longer. Even so, they often stopped while it was still daylight, though the temperature dropped faster than the sun. Ti’kwäg had brought a thick tent made from some kind of treated animal hide. He’d packed plenty of oil that stank when burned, but the tiny flame out of a whalebone lamp kept the temperature inside the tent above freezing ... barely.

They lived on water from melted snow, smoked fish, biscuits, and a paltry amount of dried fruit that had cost more than anything else. Ti’kwäg’s only vice was his pipe.

He asked no questions about their destination and seemed content with his duties and what he’d been paid so far. All in all the arrangement worked out better than Magiere had imagined when she’d envisioned herself, Chap, and Leesil traveling over this barren land.

Only two things bothered her.

First, she felt more and more smothered by Chap’s relentless watchfulness. He never stopped eyeing her every move. And second, her longing to touch the thôrhk to the orb again kept nagging her.

Magiere couldn’t stop thinking of how it had felt to pull the spike just a little, how all of her hunger had vanished as if it had never been. She wanted to know from where that strange pull to go north she’d felt and still felt had come. It was so unlike the oppressive presence that had entered her dreams—her nightmares—to lead her to the Pock Peaks and the orb’s long-lost resting place.

The one thing that Magiere didn’t want to feel again was the sorrow.

It had been so heavy inside her when she had opened the orb the last time. That feeling hadn’t struck her when she’d opened it fully in the cavern beneath the six-towered castle. And so she didn’t speak to either Leesil or Chap of this new awareness.

She understood it less than she did anything else. It would be another reason for Chap to get in her way.

One night, after an especially long day, Chap finished his supper of dried fish first. The cold was getting to him more than it did the rest of them, for he wasn’t conditioned to it like Ti’kwäg’s dogs were. He curled up on top of a fur near the tent’s flap and closed his eyes, and soon his breathing deepened. When Leesil dragged the fur away from the tent flap, which was Chap’s preferred sentry post, the dog barely stirred. Not long after, both Leesil and Ti’kwäg bedded down, and Magiere stretched out beside Leesil.

She didn’t sleep and watched Chap. He was dead tired and fully out for once, but she waited longer until Leesil and Ti’kwäg both breathed just as deeply. Then she slipped from under the blanket, crawled off the fur she shared with Leesil, and headed silently for the tent flap.

Though the shelter’s hide was thick, it provided barely enough space for all four of them to stretch out prone. They’d always left the chest on the sled at night. Ti’kwäg had assured her that the dogs would raise an alarm should anything come near.

She hadn’t cared for this at first, but now it served her needs. A few days after leaving White Hut, she had again taken to wearing her thôrhk around her neck over the collar of her wool pullover and beneath her armor and heavy coat. As she emerged from the tent, the sun was barely below the horizon. In the dying dusk, several dogs raised their heads, but none made a sound. They knew her by now, and the sight of her going to the sled was commonplace ... though not at night.

Magiere tugged the thôrhk out from beneath her coat and hauberk. It took longer to loosen enough of the lashings to open the chest’s lid. She pulled aside the cloth’s top fold, stiff from the cold, and she exhaled vapor into the air.

Seeing the orb and just being this close to it brought her a strange contentment. This time she set the thôrhk’s knobs fully into the spike’s grooves and waited. Without even pulling on the spike, almost instantly, she felt ... something.

It was more pronounced this time.

Beneath a tinge of that strange sorrow, she felt the pull—north and to the east.

Amid those disturbing dreams that had driven her onward to initially find the orb, she’d been terrified as much as obsessed. This was different—there was no desperation or fear. Only the clear but gentle pull and ...

And the sorrow.

Slowly she pulled on the spike, but less than she had that night in the back of the common house, only enough until ...

The air began to hum. Tiny flakes of ice and snow on her glove began to grow as the wind blew wetly in her face. Sorrow welled inside her, and a growl from behind her broke through the hum.

She ignored both. It didn’t matter as for once she felt nothing of the monster inside her, as if it had died.

“Magiere!”

She barely turned her head to see Chap charging her and Leesil coming right behind.

Magiere released her tension on the thôrhk, and the orb’s hum instantly silenced. She’d barely removed the thôrhk’s knobs from the spike’s grooves when Leesil grabbed her, pinning her arms and dropping his weight into the snow. She fell, held tightly in his lap.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

He was angry, but she didn’t answer. Chap arced in between her and the chest on the sled and actually snapped before her face.

Magiere didn’t even flinch.

Her mind was racing. This new pull was nothing like what had led her to the Pock Peaks. It was not a demand, not constant prodding, but more like ... a plea from something lost, trapped, and begging to be found. And then she remembered Leesil’s strained expression in the Pock Peaks every time she’d known to change directions slightly, to lead them right to the castle ... and the orb. He’d hated that she’d become some unwilling, driven hound sniffing out a trail even she couldn’t see or understand.

But he’d followed her. He always followed her.

“Let go of me,” she said quietly.

It took a moment before he did, though Chap didn’t back off. She stood up, looking at the still-open chest, though she couldn’t see the orb without having to get around Chap. And in the moment it wasn’t worth fighting him for that.

When she turned slowly to face Leesil, Ti’kwäg was standing outside the mouth of the tent, watching all of this with suspicion. Magiere turned her eyes on Leesil.

“We have to go northeast this time,” she whispered. “We need to head further east.”

It was fully dark, but Magiere was certain Leesil turned pale.

Magiere turned from the window of the small inn in Berhtburh when Leesil murmured in his sleep. She suddenly wanted to push down all of those memories, at least for a little while longer.

She returned to the narrow bed to watch his tan face. Now she saw the faded scars like claw marks on one side of his jaw and a single thicker scar down his cheek on the other side. And there, down on his exposed wrist, were the oldest ones ... from her teeth. There were newer scars along his other forearm.

He’d gained them all in his determination to stay with her.

Magiere slipped in beside Leesil, pulling the blanket up over both of them and feeling him nestle closer to her in his sleep.

She couldn’t stop until this was all over and done—until all five orbs were hidden away and forgotten once more. But now that she’d let herself remember again, she kept wondering.

Tonight she’d begged him not to leave her.

Was that even fair to him?