1633880583 (F) (44 page)

“There will be many times,” the Chooser said, “when he believes you do not love him. I wish I could put this moment in a bottle, bitter as it is, and give it to him, to open at those times.”

“Who the hell are you?” Gaunt snapped. It was unfair—she needed this Chooser’s help—but a dam was bursting.

“Too many possible answers. The question could destroy me. You may call me Cairn.” Cairn’s form twisted, blurred, grew transparent. It solidified again. “One more, then I must leave you!”

There was probably a perfectly tuned question, the right one to ask, but Gaunt’s heart wasn’t giving it to her. “Where are our friends,” she asked, “
right now?
”

Cairn raised her spear and the sea blurred and the sky flickered.

CHAPTER 24

SETER

A-Girl-Is-A-Joy squinted at the mountains of Svardmark, blowing snow from her eyebrows as she trudged across an alpine pasture beside Corinna, Malin, Katta, and Haytham. Deadfall moved low to the ground, unwilling to bear them any longer until the snowstorm cleared.

“Could you not at least form a canopy for us?” Haytham asked. He was having a hard time of it, carrying Haboob’s brazier, though at least the efrit was warming his hands.

“You do not understand,” Deadfall hummed. “Skrymir’s power grows. This must be his storm. He knows my essence and could snatch me back. I must be cautious.”

“Please leave my fellow inorganic entity be, O glorious master of flight,” came the voice of the efrit. “I have vast sympathy for anyone who’s been magically trapped.”

They had flown circuitously, at low altitudes, avoiding the Karvak army and Skrymir’s unnatural weather. But this snowstorm was worse than anything before, and Deadfall claimed it could not stand against it. They’d come down for a hard landing here.

“I don’t think this is Skrymir,” Joy said, rubbing her hands together. “At least not Skrymir only. This feels like the power of the Great Chain.”

“Can you combat it, Runethane?” said Corinna.

“I’ve been trying. But I still can’t command this power. If we’d been able to land at the Chain—”

“We would have been captured by the Karvaks encamped there,” Katta said gently.

“There’s a dairy up there,” Malin said, pointing.

She had spoken so little, it was startling to hear her. Joy squinted again and blew the snow from her eyes once more. “I don’t see anything.”

“Nor I,” said Corinna.

Katta shrugged. “I don’t notice anything evil that way.”

“I don’t see anything either,” said Haytham. “But Malin is unusually good at discerning detail. I recommend we trust her eyes.”

There was indeed a barn, but Malin halted them. “Uldra and trolls occupy seters in winter.”

“Seters?” asked Joy.

“The high pastures,” Corinna said. “Places like this are used in summer for herding and milking. She’s right about the seters being abandoned by humans. As for trolls and uldra, that’s what the country people say.”

“Do we have flint?” Malin said.

“What?” Joy said. “Our friend Flint was left behind on Brokewing Island. How do you know him?”

“No, flint! Not a person. Flint and steel. Not Steelfox either. The other folk don’t like flint, steel, and salmeboks.”

“That’s how the stories go,” said Corinna. “I don’t have a salmebok—a book of psalms such as the People of the Brush sang, long ago. It’s part of our Swan scripture, and they say it scares off the otherworldly.”

“I do carry flint and steel, however,” Haytham said, “as you never know when you might fall out of a balloon.”

They knocked at the barn, and Joy slowly opened the doors. There seemed nothing inside but a pile of hay.

“Well, that’s a relief—”

The hay rose upward and sprouted a single eye. Earthen hands burst out on either side; legs of wood appeared at the bottom. The whole thing was the size of a hut.

“You don’t even knock!” screamed the thing. “You don’t even say, ‘Hey, troll, Hay-troll?’ You’re worse than Skrymir’s bunch. I don’t want to be in any troll army, and I don’t want to make room for
you
!”

The troll rushed her. Her action was instinctive. She raised her hands, and the Runemark blazed.

Fire engulfed the hay-troll. Howling, it blazed away into the darkness. In the distance they heard a splash and a groan of relief.

The remaining hay in the barn caught fire, and the barn itself was engulfed.

“You said you needed flint and steel?” murmured Haytham.

“Sorry,” Joy said.

“So much for shelter,” said Corinna.

“The elements are invigorating,” said Katta. “We will be all right.”

“Wait,” Joy said, for when the power had risen within her, strange visions had crowded in her head. She had the sense of being watched by someone. She also had the notion that someone she loved was approaching.

She looked all around, and then into the sky, whence smoke was rising into the snowfall. There, in the distance, was the blue bulb of a Karvak balloon.

She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the craft.

Suddenly she saw the faces of her mentor Walking Stick and her mother Snow Pine and their friend Liron Flint.

“Mother,” she said. “My mother is aboard that balloon.”

“How can you know this?” Corinna said.

“How can they guide the craft?” Haytham said.

“Walking Stick is with them. He’s said he can, at great wear to his body, use the breath of his essence to call upon the breath of the wind.”

“I do not understand this,” Corinna said, “but I hope it is true.”

“Deadfall,” Katta said, “will you not go to them?”

“I will not,” hummed the carpet.

“Enough,” said Haboob. “If you will not reach them, I will. Stand aside, O inventor.”

“What?” said Haytham. “Yaaa—!”

Fire burst forth from the brazier. Haytham dropped it in the snow, but the blaze rose hundreds of feet, forming a highly attenuated, but very visible, image of a scowling man. The fiery figure made a thumbs-down gesture in the direction of the burning farmhouse.

The balloon descended.

“Never make me land in a narrow, forsaken place like this again,” Walking Stick told them. “It is agreeable to see you,” he added.

Snow Pine embraced Joy tightly, pushed her back to regard her daughter, and sternly said, “You are never gathering wood alone again.”

Joy hugged Flint too. “Find any treasure?” she asked him.

“Considerable knowledge,” Flint sighed, looking at Snow Pine, “but my only treasure is what I started with. Are you Malin? A friend is asking about you.”

Within the captured Karvak balloon lay Inga Peersdatter, who to Joy’s horror had lost an arm and gained a burning desire to fight Karvaks and trolls.

“Let them come!” Inga said after she’d gotten the startled Joy and Malin in a one-armed bear hug and explanations were made. “I’ve tangled with Skrymir himself. Bring them on!”

“I will fight beside you,” Joy said.

“Like hell you will,” Snow Pine said, following them into the ger. “If need be, you will hide in
A Tumult of Trees on Peculiar Peaks
, as you did once before.”

“And will the mark upon me fade within the world of the scroll?” Joy replied. “I think not, nor will the memory of my duty.”

“Duty? Your duty is to your mother, child. Did Walking Stick not teach you that?”

“Perhaps,” Liron Flint put in, “we should simply be grateful for now that we have each other to argue with.”

“Indeed!” said Haytham ibn Zakwan as he began shifting the balloon’s brazier to one side to make room for Haboob’s. “And for new help. How did you manage to command the Charstalker demon in its brazier?”

“It,” said Walking Stick, “was difficult. I have learned that demons do not entirely lack pressure points. If I had not been able to steal and control a balloon, we’d likely still be on Spydbanen. I am surprised you are not at Svanstad already, as you travel with this princess.”

Haytham sounded defensive to Joy. “We’ve done what we could!”

“Indeed,” said Corinna, “I can fault no one. Deadfall has labored heroically against the influence of Skrymir.”

“Thank you,” hummed the carpet, sounding surprised.

“And everyone here has borne the journey well. My own knights could not do better.”

Walking Stick bowed. “You are courteous, Princess Corinna, and I admire that. Alas, I cannot quite repay you in kind. Princess—your time is short. Sooner than you believe possible, the Karvak horde will be on your doorstep.”

“This I believe,” Corinna said. “But Soderland is strong, and surely we’ll have allies. This Jewelwolf will find us not so easily swept away. We are Kantenings. Children of ice and violence. They will regret ever coming here.”

“Those are fine words to spread among the people,” Walking Stick said, “for their spirits will need it. But this will be the battle of your life.”

“Then I wish to join it, not talk about it. If you ladies and gentlemen can get me back to Svanstad with this news, you will be well rewarded.”

“Haytham?” said Walking Stick. “Haboob?”

“Ready.”

“Ready, O superior man.”

“Thank you, O ironic efrit,” said Walking Stick. “We fly!”

Joy was glad to leave the seter behind. She winced for whoever’s barn was burning, but as the blaze disappeared beneath a haze of snow, Joy feared much worse was coming.

CHAPTER 25

COUNCIL

When
Anansi
reached the harbor at Svanstad, the waterfront was full of soldiers, warships bustled with activity, and the piers were crowded with ships from all parts of Kantenjord. Nan, standing beside Gaunt as the Kpalamaa vessel took anchor, said she saw flags and shields of Oxiland, Ostoland, Gullvik, Garmstad, and many another places. “I’ve never seen it so busy. I suppose we’ll have to wait to moor.”

“It’s a lovely city,” Gaunt remarked, looking upon cheerfully-colored multistoried buildings rearing beside the water with snow-spattered orange roofs. Beyond rose a cathedral of gray-white stone with stained-glass windows flashing in the sun. Upon a nearby hill she saw the statue of a regal man lofting a book, not a sword. “It looks surprisingly un-barbaric.” She added, “Excuse me. That was rude.”

Nan laughed. “It was not so very long ago that Kantenings terrorized the region. And farther north, the game of foamreaving’s not yet done.”

Gaunt frowned. “Is slavery done, here in Soderland?”

“Princess Corinna has forbidden for Swanlings to be in a condition of slavery here, or for anyone to be made a slave here.”

“Not quite the same as saying slavery is outlawed.” Gaunt smirked. “Those have the vinegar taste of carefully chosen words.”

“Indeed. But they are Corinna’s words, not mine.”

“Hm. I think I trust her. Mostly.”

“You speak as one who’s encountered her—Orm’s eye, is that a flying carpet?”

It was. The twisting, colorful rectangle of the carpet rose from a fortress of orange stone and arced toward the harbor, bearing directly upon
Anansi
, with four people upon it. Gaunt didn’t pause to squint. “Bone!” she cried as she ran belowdecks. “It’s Deadfall!”

She found Bone playing a strategy game with Eshe, something involving wooden basins and beads, as many of the off-watch crew observed, offering tips.

“Bone!” Gaunt called. “Sorry, the game must end! Deadfall is coming!”

“What? The carpet?” He said to Eshe, “You win down here, because it’s quite likely I’m about to lose up there. Deadfall’s a thing of evil.”

“It’s more a divided thing, Eshe,” Gaunt felt compelled to say. “Caught between bad and good.”

“Few things are perfectly divided, as in a game of oware,” Eshe said. “Interesting.”

Anansi
had a contingent of crew whose only business was fighting, and ten of these marine warriors were present as the carpet settled to the deck. They bore flashing longswords and bright shields in the shape of boats, with prows pointed upward, intricate carvings on the surfaces.

Gaunt found their presence reassuring, but most reassuring of all were the faces of the riders aboard the carpet.

“Snow Pine!” she called out. “Joy! Flint! Katta! It’s so good to see you all in the flesh!”

“We share your enthusiasm,” Katta said with a quizzical smile.

“We’ve all had narrow escapes,” Snow Pine said, embracing Gaunt.

“We’re all eager for you to turn them into epic poetry, Persimmon,” said Flint.

“I will! But you’ll have to wait in line.” Gaunt’s smile faded as she remembered the songs she owed the dead. She put her hands on her hips. “So. This is the flying carpet that freed Innocence . . . and who took him away from us.”

“You are correct,” came a humming voice from the carpet. “I have risked much flying from the Fortress, but I am told the need is critical.”

The marines stepped forward, swords at the ready. But Eshe had arrived, and she spoke rapidly in the language of Kpalamaa. The ship’s captain, a stern-looking, elderly woman in a uniform of yellow and green, intoned a command. The warriors backed off.

“It is very tempting,” Bone muttered, “to fetch a torch.”

“You are not the first to feel that way,” said the carpet.