Frostfell

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hro'nyewachu

The belkagen's concern had long since deepened to worry, and his worry was becoming true fear. Lady Amira had been gone for too long.

It had been near midnight when she'd entered the pool, and in his heart that knew the turning of the seasons and the paths of the stars like a husband knows the curves of his wife's body, the belkagen knew dawn was not far away. Amira had been gone too long. He stood at the water's edge, leaning upon his staff, its green light reflecting off the water. After Amira had gone, the ripples left in her wake had caught the staff's light and painted the cavern in dancing light and shadow, but it had long since returned to a calm broken only by the minuscule plipping of water droplets falling from the ceiling. Now, save for one spot several paces out where the light of his staff floated like a tiny green moon, the water was black as slate. The belkagen stood waiting, his eyes open but no longer really watching.

Alone in the darkness, the words he had spoken to Lady Amira came back to him" Hro'nyewachu has a mother's heart. You have a mother's need.

Your hearts will beat the same song, I think. I could brave Hro'nyewachu again, and if you refuse, I will go." He had said it, had he not? I could brave Hro'nyewachu again… I will go… I will go … I will go… brave Hro'nyewachu again… His words came to him again and again, almost as if they were the echoes of the water drip-drip-dripping into the pool before him. Should he go after her? In his heart, he knew there was nothing he could do for her. He'd told her that, as well, and he knew it to be true. But neither could he just walk away. Not without knowing. Even if he couldn't help her, perhaps there was something he could learn to help them, some new vision thatHe heard a splash. Not of something falling into the water.

Nothing that hard. But he heard something breaking the surface of the water out beyond the reach of his light. "Lady Amira?" he called.

Nothing. Just the steady plip-plip of water droplets hitting the pool.

But as he watched, the small globe of light reflecting on the surface rippled. Something had disturbed the water farther out. He listened, his ears straining, but there was nothing more. The belkagen raised his staff and spoke an incantation. The flames flickering along its tip roared to new life, a green beacon in the darkness. There!

Something was floating in the water. It wasn't moving. The belkagen tore at the ties of his cloak and left it piled on the shore. It would soak in the water and weigh him down. His clothes would as well, but he didn't want to take the time to remove them. Staff held high, he charged into the water. The shape floated several paces away, the waves caused by his passage pushed it farther out. He could make out no distinct features, but even in the dim light he could see long, dark hair and fair skin. He cursed and pushed his legs harder. The water was splashing up his chest and over his shoulders when he drew close enough to reach out and grab the figure. His fingers closed around wet hair and he pulled. It was Amira, floating facedown in the water. The belkagen got a better grip on her forearm, then dragged her back to shore. He threw her down and turned her over. Her skin was pale, cold to the touch, and her lips were blue. Long, wet tendrils of her hair spread over her bare breasts, and the belkagen saw that her chest did not move. She wasn't breathing. "No!" He threw his staff aside and knelt beside her. Closing his eyes, he sent his senses through her body, washing over and through her skin, down into muscle, blood, and bone. There! Life still flickered within her, faint and growing weaker with each passing moment, but it was still there. She is not dead. The belkagen started and looked up. A great she-wolf, fur gray as clouds laden with spring rain, stood before the entrance, staring down at him with eyes the color of moonlight. "Hro'nyewachu!" said the belkagen. The she-wolf walked toward him, and with each step her form blurred and swirled, and motes of light and darkness danced before the belkagen's eyes. When she stopped a few paces away, a tall, lithe woman stood over him. Whatever color her skin was, it was hidden beneath a dark, slick wetness that by the smell the belkagen knew to be blood, though not from any creature that walked in this world. Her hair was made up in scores of tight braids that hung to her waist, and bits of bone, feathers, and spring flowers peeked out from among them.

In her right hand she held a staff almost as long as she was tall. It was made from some golden-red wood flecked with darker grains of brown and black. The belkagen had never seen its like. You remember me, Kwarun. Though her lips did not move, he heard her husky voice clearly in his mind. It has been many years. "I… I could never forget you, Holy One," said the belkagen, and for a moment the years did not weigh so heavily upon him, and he remembered a younger Kwarun, who had come here seeking wisdom and power-and the price he'd paid. It had come with pleasure and pain. He remembered the feel of the oracle's skin under his caresses, the burning heat of her breath-even now, his heart beat faster at the memory-and the agony of the burden she'd placed on him. Not long now, said the oracle. The burden shall be yours not much longer. "That will be both pain and relief." As are all things worth having. "Holy One," said the belkagen, and he looked down upon Amira.

"Why…? Is she…?" She lives. "You did this to her." Do you care for her so much? The oracle leaned forward slightly and sniffed.

Have you given your heart to her? "You know I haven't." The oracle's eyes flashed. I do know it. I could smell a lie on you-and I do not.

Your truth pleases me. You know my jealousy. "Is that why you did this to her?" No. "Then why?" She was impertinent. Arrogant. Still, she has a hunter's heart. Teach her some humility, and she might be great one day. "What is wrong with her, Holy One?" The oracle did not answer, and the belkagen looked up. Her form had shrunk somewhat, her features softened into the young maiden that a young Kwarun had first met so many years ago. A small smile played across her lips, but around her eyes was sadness. I wanted a moment alone with you, she said, before your final road. We shall not meet again. You should have come to me more often during your time in this world. "Our last coupling nearly killed me, Holy One." You did not seem to mind at the time. Kwarun blushed at the memory and found himself chuckling. I have a gift for the girl, said the oracle, and she held up the staff. "It will help her save her son?" No, said the oracle as she knelt and placed the gold-red staff in Amira's limp hand. But it will sharpen the bite she gives her enemies. Saving her son… that task is for another.

"Another, Holy One?" said the belkagen. "Who?" Amira's hand closed around the staff, she took a deep breath, and the oracle was gone.