Howl led us to the door, then out into the snow-shrouded street. I glanced up at the shimmering flakes that softly drifted to the ground. The elfin cloaks were warm, and I was grateful that Trenyth had stopped us before we left. We’d brought packs and gear, but now we were much better prepared. Smoky and Roz were carrying most of the equipment on their backs, leaving just our packs to Camille and me.
Passersby gave us wide berth—Howl was well known in Elqaneve and Dahnsburg, though he seldom went south of either city. The Winter Wolf Spirit was known to be volatile. He’d tear out your throat for as little as looking at him wrong, and yet he might just as easily rescue your child caught in the rapids of a rushing stream. Most people—elves, Fae, and Cryptos alike—found it safest to avoid the Elemental Lord.
We followed him through the darkened streets until we were on the outskirts. He led us to one of the barrows where a seldom-used portal waited. The guard look mildly surprised.
“Not many folks pass through here. Are you sure you want to go? The mountains are fiercely cold and winter is deep—” But then Howl, the Winter Wolf Spirit, walked to the front of the line. The guard fell silent, bowing his head quickly. He readied the portal.
“Where will this take us?” I asked.
“Deep into the upper reaches of the Tygerian Mountains, miss.” The guard glanced quietly at Howl, who did not speak. “From there, I assume you will be taking the portal to the Northlands. But you should rest for the night there—the village is safe for outsiders. Once you get into the heart of the Northlands, the accommodations are few and far between, and mostly to be found with private households.”
“I know the Northlands well, elf.” Smoky turned to him. “We won’t have any problems, but thank you for your concern.”
“The portal is ready. You may pass. May the Queen of Stars watch over you.” The elf stood back and we faced the glistening portal. The energy between the two standing stones crackled and popped, blue and white bolts rebounding from one stone to the other and back again.
Howl nodded to Smoky. “You first, then the incubus. Then the women. I will come last.” And so, without another word, we passed through to the Tygerian Mountains, where we did not tarry but instead crossed silently to the next portal and jumped all the way to the Northlands.
THE NORTHLANDS EXISTED in their own region, though they abutted Earthside, Otherworld, Valhalla, Kalevala, the Dragon Realms, and several other planes of existence. As we came through the portal, a blast of frigid air hit me—Elqaneve might have been chilly, but this was true cold. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as my breath puffed into white clouds in front of my face.
I stepped into a small room—it was a cavern actually, formed by hand, chipped out of the mountainside in the rough approximation of a square room. The man standing guard looked human, but I could tell he was one of the Northmen, a breed of humans who had sprung from the Norse and Finnish gods as they intermarried with humans.
Living between “heaven” and “earth,” the Northmen stayed in the Northlands between Valhalla, Kalevala, and Earthside. They were as strong and quick as most Fae, but over the years the powers they’d inherited from the gods had diminished. Even so, they were still hardier than any human and could take chill temperatures without exhaustion. Some of the Northmen could see in the dark, and others were extremely adept at fighting and shield work. Their magic was in their singing voices and in their ability to charm the energy of metals and woods and weather.
“Welcome to the edge of the world,” the guard said in the common tongue. He glanced at Smoky and let out a little cry, before giving the dragon a swift bow. “Lord Iampaatar, welcome back.”
Smoky returned the nod. “Well met, Hanson. We need lodging for the night. Can you send word ahead to the inn? Three rooms—one for myself and my wife, one for Lady Iris, and one for Rozurial. The Winter Wolf Spirit will no doubt wish to make his own accommodations.”
I gazed at Smoky. He was well known here, that much was obvious. Hanson motioned to another man who had been standing nearby, and the man took off with a single nod.
Howl let out a low grunt. “I have a standing room at the inn. We stay one night. Tomorrow we begin the journey at daybreak. We cannot afford to be out in the mountains come evening. I would survive, and the dragon, but the women and incubus would freeze.” He swept out of the stone room without another word and we followed him.
It had been cold inside, but outside, it was brilliant and icy. The darkness ate up every light except the glow from the crusted snow beneath our feet. The sky was clear—the stars twinkling over our heads.
Camille immediately pulled her cloak in front of her face and I did the same, although I was more adapted toward these temperatures than she. It felt a good fifteen degrees below zero, and we moved silently along the trail, which had been marked by ropes on both sides and eye catchers spaced evenly along the way. If we wandered off the path and got lost, we could die.
Howl led us along the trail, nimbly striding along the packed crust. As we skirted a snowbank to the right, then a thick copse of fir and cedar to the left, a faint light began to sparkle up ahead.
Rounding a curve in the path, we found ourselves facing an inn, just right of the path, about sixty yards ahead. Lit up like a Yule tree, with eye catchers all over the outside framing the three-story building, the inn had been carved out of stone. As I gazed at it, I suddenly remembered: I’d been here before. This inn had been witness to the end of my life in the Northlands.
THE JOURNEY DOWN from the temple had been achingly hard. There had been several blank spots in my memory, then the image of a sparkling woman in the mists who had carried me across a chasm. I’d struggled through the snows, not sure if I would survive even to reach the next morning.
They’d cast me out before I fully healed from their interrogations, and every joint in my body ached. The ishonar—magical flames of ice colder than anything in nature—had stripped my back with every lash, and while there were no open wounds, the weals that the whip had raised along my back ached. But the pain of my body was nothing compared to the pain in my head. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take a deep breath, to keep it together.
Vikkommin, Vikkommin . . . his name echoed in my head.
Did you kill Vikkommin?
No, I don’t know, I don’t know anything.
The pain of a lash slashing across my back. Did you bind his soul to a shadow?
I don’t know . . . I don’t remember anything. I loved him—I loved him with all my heart. How could I have done anything that horrendous to him?
Another lash, another hellishly cold sting of ishonar, another scream that I slowly realized was emanating from the back of my own throat.
Tell us what happened.
I don’t remember. . . There was a knock on my door. I answered to find a message from him. He had called me to his room. I went, and I remember him opening the door . . . then it’s all blank, until you found me.
A pause, and then the lashes began to fall in earnest, as if all the pain in the world could break through the wall that had formed in my memory. And I began to scream, unable to stop, as I realized I had just lost everything dear to me in the world. And at that moment, I willed myself to die.
Later, when they had done all they could to me, but could prove nothing—no truth uncovered—I stood on the edge of the temple as they administered the final punishment: With one quick lop, the High Priestess sheared off my ankle-length hair at the nape of my neck. Now everyone would know I’d been banished from the temple—at least as long as it took to grow it out again. As she threw the golden strands into a fire pit, my nose wrinkled at the smell, and I hung my head, weeping silently.