Faces (2 page)

But if I break
, she thought,
with the power I have to rip magic from the living, to kill and destroy . . . how many more will die?

Keltan was still looking at her. “Mara, you're
not
a monster,” he said in a low voice. “You never will be. You never
could
be.”

How would you know?

The wind blew harder and harder, and the snow flew past more and more thickly.
Never mind people dying on the beach
, Mara thought.
They'll be dying in their tracks if we don't find this shelter the Lady promised.

She couldn't really see anything at all anymore except the bent back of the man in front of her, carrying a huge bundle while his wife struggled along beside him with a toddler in her arms. The small boy's white face stared at Mara over his mother's shoulder. She knew it had to be her imagination, but it seemed as if he were blaming her for his misery.

They had been trudging away from the beach for half an hour, while the last light faded from the overcast sky, when suddenly the column stumbled to a halt. “What's going on?” Keltan asked Mara.

“No more idea than you.” She craned her head to try to see, but the snow and darkness defeated her. But she heard shouts, being passed down the line, resolving, as they came closer and closer, into “Shelter to the right! Camp for the night!”

The man in front of them received the shout but didn't bother to pass it over his shoulder to Mara and Keltan. Mara heard it anyway, and felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank goodness,” she said to Keltan.

Keltan didn't look convinced. “What kind of shelter could there be out
here
?”

They found out soon enough, as the column turned right. Beneath a tall bluff that blocked the worst of the wind, which roared through the trees at the top of the cliff, they found four long, low, windowless structures, with rough log walls and roofs of branches, ranged around and revealed by the flickering flames of a giant bonfire. Their shapes reminded Mara uncomfortably of the longhouses of the mining camp. Smoke from holes cut in their roofs mingled with the smoke from the bonfire, chased up the face of the bluff by tumbling sparks until the wind finally caught it and ripped it to shreds.

“How did the Lady do all this alone?” Keltan said. “Magic?”

But Mara, peering through the falling snow and flickering shadows, shook her head. “No,” she said. “Or at least, not entirely. She
didn't
do it alone. Look.” She pointed.

“Who are
they
?” Keltan said, voice suspicious, as he saw what Mara had spotted first: strangers, men clad in furs like the Lady's, though gray and black rather than white (
rather like her wolves
, Mara thought), some still busily chinking the gaps in the logs on the buildings with a paste of some sort, while a few laid additional boughs on the roofs.

“I don't know,” Mara said, as surprised as Keltan. She'd somehow thought the Lady had been living in lonely isolation for all the years since she'd been driven from Aygrima—but why should she have been? Why
shouldn't
she have followers or subjects?

Or slaves?
she thought uneasily.
Does she draw power solely from the wolves?

That
was an uncomfortable thought.

Already, people were beginning to divide up among the four long structures. Edrik, Tralia, Hyram, and Alita were in the thick of it, directing families and couples to two of the huts, single women (Prella and Kirika among them) to another, men to the fourth. “I'd better help,” Keltan said. “And find the woman this bundle belongs to.” He gave Mara a quick smile and hurried off.

Mara hung back, watching. It all seemed to have very little to do with her, though of course she needed someplace to sleep that night, as well. The thought of going inside the longhouse to face the accusing faces of the other single women, though—especially Prella and Kirika—didn't appeal to her.

Something nuzzled her gloved hand. Startled, she jerked it away, then looked down to see one of the Lady's wolves grinning up at her. It trotted a few feet, then turned and whined.

Hardly believing she was doing it, Mara followed the animal. It led her through the camp, children watching wide-eyed as she passed, men and women drawing back. Their hostile expressions gave her no hope of being forgiven by the bulk of the unMasked Army any time soon.

The wolf guided her between two of the longhouses. Behind them stood a large tent, its white walls flickering orange from a fire inside. Smoke rose from the center of its roof. The wolf pushed through the closed flap, and Mara followed.

She found herself in a cozy canvas-walled chamber, floored with rough-woven brown cloth, warmed by a fire in a stone-lined pit dug at the very center, and further lit by an oil lamp hanging from one of the two stout poles holding up the tent, each the trunk of a tree so freshly cut that sticky sap still oozed from where the branches had been stripped away. The fresh scent of pine mingled with the smoke.

On either side of the fire pit, bedrolls lay open on piles of green branches. At the far end of the tent, on a red-upholstered folding bench wide enough for two, sat the Lady, still wearing her white furs. The smoke rising from the fire half-shrouded her, and the heat made her appearance wavering and uncertain. Six of the wolves rested at her feet; the wolf with Mara made seven. She wondered where the other six were. The Lady's left hand rested in the ruff of the wolf at her feet; her right hand toyed restlessly with an amulet of gold and crystal hanging from her neck. She smiled at Mara. “I thought you might be more comfortable here with me than in the shelters with the others.”

Mara rounded the fire, and as she did so, the wolf that had led her to the tent joined the others at the Lady's side. “Can you communicate with them?” she said, staring at the animals.

The Lady's smile widened. “Oh, yes. And see through their eyes.” She raised her own eyes to Mara. The firelight struck red sparks from them. “How else do you think I knew the unMasked Army was on its way? I have long kept watch on Catilla's pitiful band of would-be revolutionaries. It has been clear for years . . .
decades
 . . . that they would never pose a threat to the Autarch, though at least, I supposed, they have provided a refuge of sorts for those who somehow escaped Masking. But I admit I was startled when the Watchers suddenly descended on the Secret City and drove them out.” She studied Mara. “I did not know, then, that it was your doing.”

“I didn't—” Mara began.

The Lady raised a placating hand. “You didn't mean to. Yes, I know. And yet you
did
. And I am thankful for it, for it brought you to me.” She ruffled the silver mane of the wolf at her side, whose red tongue lolled as it watched Mara through amber eyes. “Though for a time, I thought I had lost you. I knew you had left Tamita—in rather spectacular fashion—and knew you had fled to the coast with Prince Chell, but my lupine spies do have some limitations, and following a boat out to sea is, of course, beyond them. Once you sailed into the night from the village where you stole your craft, you were beyond my ken.” Her hand tightened on the wolf's fur. “I was not happy about that, and so I was delighted when I saw you arrive among the remnants of the unMasked Army with the prince . . . and considerably less so when you sailed away again. By that time, of course, we were already on our way to the coast. My consolation, had you not returned, would have been that at least I would return home with the survivors of the unMasked Army. My village—the one that gave me succor when I made my journey through the mountains as a girl—is dwindling. An influx of fresh people is just what we need. But to my relief, you reappeared. The rest you know.”

“The rest I do
not
know,” Mara said. “How did you even know I existed?”

“The Secret City is not the only place I've watched closely over the decades,” the Lady said. “The mine of magic is another. Aside from the handful of magic-collection huts scattered around Aygrima, it is the sole source of magic for the Autarchy. I have long understood that if I am ever to move against the Autarch, it is the first place I must strike. As it happens, I was not watching it when you arrived. I
was
watching it when it was almost leveled by an explosion—an explosion contained by magic. And I was watching as you returned to the Secret City. It was absolutely clear what had happened, crystal clear that you have been Gifted, as I have been Gifted, with the ability to use all colors of magic, and to draw magic from living things.” Her left hand again caressed the mane of the wolf. “I knew I had a potential . . . ally, if only I could make contact with you.”

“If you're so powerful,” Mara said, “why didn't you just stroll into Aygrima yourself and present yourself at the Secret City?”

The hand in the wolf's fur tightened into a fist for a moment, then relaxed. “I cannot enter Aygrima,” the Lady said. “The Autarch has guarded the borders against me. Or rather,” her mouth twisted into a moue of distaste, “he stands on the shoulders of giants to do so. He has neither the skill nor the power to create such magics himself. But centuries ago, when magic first came to Aygrima and the first powerful Gifted arose, they learned much about its use that we have forgotten.” Her right hand returned to the amulet at her neck. It obviously meant something to her, but Mara had no clue what. “Magic is in the very ground of Aygrima,” the Lady said softly. “Diffuse, too diffuse to be of use even to me—to us. But black lodestone dust is everywhere, and even those minute particles draw magic to themselves. And taken in total, across all the miles and miles of plain and forest and mountain and valley that make up Aygrima, the power is immense. The ancients learned to craft that magic into vast spells that could be activated at need. The Autarch cannot create such spells himself—no one can in these days—but he knows how to trigger them. As I told you on the beach, it was such a spell that summoned the storm that prevented your prince from sailing away with the unMasked Army. No doubt the Autarch gave the means of activating the spell to the commander of the Watchers he sent north to the Secret City. A scout probably saw the unMasked Army boarding the ships and reported back, and the commander called up the border magic to ensure his prey did not escape.

“Sixty years ago, the first thing the Autarch did when he returned to Tamita after having forced me out of Aygrima was to aim the magic protecting the borders directly at
me
. If I enter Aygrima anywhere, by sea, by land—even by air, if I could manage such a thing—I will be struck down by the land itself, crushed in an instant as easily as you would slap a mosquito.”

Mara shivered. “Then I don't see how—”

“The magic is not aimed at
you
,” the Lady said softly. “You
can
reenter Aygrima. And at the place in the mountains where I will show you, you can destroy the ward that keeps me out. Then, together, we and my followers and the unMasked Army can march south to overthrow the Autarch.”

Mara stared at the woman in the folding chair. “March south. Against all the Watchers he can throw at us, all the magic he has stored in the Palace? I don't know how many fighters
you
have, but the mighty unMasked Army is down to a few handfuls.” She shook her head. “You're crazy.”

The Lady's eyes narrowed and Mara shivered; it seemed the temperature in the tent had suddenly dropped. “You had best hope not. Because neither you nor all those with you whose survival now depends on my power and generosity have any choice in the matter.” She straightened suddenly, lowering the hand that had been fondling the amulet. “You should sleep.” She glanced to the right. “Your bed is there.” She stood. “I will return later. I must ensure that all is well in the rest of the camp.” Pulling her furs more closely around her, the Lady moved to the tent flap, the wolves rising as one animal to follow. They stopped and glanced back at the same moment the Lady did, one hand poised to push open the canvas. “Sleep well,” she said to Mara. “If you can.” And then she swept out.

The wolves trailed her one by one. The last of them turned and looked at her. Its amber eyes caught the red light of the fire, casting it back in red sparks identical to what she had seen in the eyes of the Lady itself.

If she's telling the truth
, Mara thought,
those
are
her eyes. Or can be.

And then the wolf nosed through the tent flap, the canvas closed behind it, and Mara was alone.

M
ARA,
warm beneath wool blankets and exhausted beyond measure, fell asleep in moments. But in the middle of the night, the nightmares from which she had been blessedly shielded while at sea found her once more.

It didn't matter that she had seen them all before: that naked, headless Grute, the slaughtered Warden, the broken-necked Watcher, the blood-soaked Guardian Stanik, the ground-entombed horsemen, and her murdered father were all familiar sights. The horror they brought with them remained unabated, and she fought her way up from sleep like someone struggling through thick mud, carrying with her a scream that burst from her throat the moment that, at last, she woke . . .

...and found herself staring into the eyes of a wolf.

The fire in the tent had burned down to little more than embers, and so the light was dim and red, but there was still more than enough for her to see those eyes, the pupils so wide they looked pure black, and the shaggy, furred face that surrounded them. The wolf whined, then pushed its muzzle into Mara's side. She put a tentative hand on its head, between its ears, and the wolf, with a contented sigh, sank down onto its belly and rested its chin on her blankets.

Mara blinked sleepily at it, the terror already fading. Then she looked beyond it and saw another set of glittering eyes: the eyes of the Lady, lying wide awake on her blankets on the far side of the tent, surrounded by several sleeping wolves.

Mara slipped back down into slumber.

She had no more nightmares that night.

···

When she woke, it was still dark in the tent, but not
as
dark; a faint gray light made it through the canvas, more than enough to show her that the Lady was gone, once more out and about in the camp, she supposed, her wolves at her side . . .

...though not
all
of her wolves. The one that had come to her in the night remained. Its head lifted as she stirred, and she found herself looking into its eyes once more. In the growing light, she could see that they were amber, the same color as those of the wolf that had guided her to the tent the night before and been the last to bid her farewell when the Lady had gone into the camp. Was it the same animal? She couldn't be sure, though it had a similar blaze of white fur on its chest. But she found its presence comforting: oddly enough, since it could rip out her throat anytime it chose.

“You wouldn't do that, though, would you?” she said out loud, rubbing the wolf's ears. It . . .
he
, she realized, looking closer . . . whined, and his tail thudded against the ground. “You're just a big puppy dog.”

A big puppy dog full of magic through whose eyes the Lady of Pain and Fire can spy whenever she chooses
, she reminded herself. But she was still glad the beast was there.

A few minutes later she pushed through the tent flap, the wolf at her side, emerging into a camp beginning to bustle as fires were stoked, breakfasts prepared, and preparations made for the day's journey. The snow had piled into deep drifts around the shelters and lay thick and white everywhere else, but the wind had died and the sky was a pale blue above the dark ridges of the forested hills all around. It took Mara only a moment to spot the Lady at the eastern edge of the camp, conferring with one of the men she had brought with her, presumably discussing the trail ahead. Like Mara, she had a single wolf with her; Mara wondered where the others had gone. Scouting, perhaps.

A little more exploration took care of the next important item on her to-do list: find the latrine. Much more comfortable, albeit considerably colder, she went in search of Keltan.

She found him kneeling beside one of the fires, toasting bread on a stick. “That smells wonderful,” Mara said as she came up beside him. He glanced up, and flinched a little as he saw the wolf. She dropped a hand to the wolf's mane. “Don't worry, he's harmless.”

“Right. Harmless.” Keltan shook his head, then turned his attention back to the toast. “The bread is a week old. It smells better than it tastes. But if you're hungry, you're welcome to it.” He took the stick out of the fire and held the bread out to her. “Alas, milady, I fear we're fresh out of butter and honey. No deliveries this morning.”

Mara laughed. “I'll get by.” She took the bread gingerly, tossing it from hand to hand to cool it. “But what about you?”

“I've already had one piece of stale bread. I'm fine.”

Mara bit into the bread. It certainly was stale, but she was hungry enough not to mind. “Are we really that short of food?”

“Yes.” Keltan glanced over his shoulder toward where the Lady still stood talking to her man. “Do you know where she's taking us?”

“A village of some kind. Up in the mountains,” Mara mumbled through a full mouth. She chewed and swallowed. “Could be up to a week's travel, she says.”

Keltan made a face. “Lots of really hungry people before we get there. Lots of really hungry
kids
.”

The toast had never tasted all that great. Suddenly it tasted like sawdust.

“Did you . . . sleep all right?” Keltan asked softly.

Mara knew what he meant: he was well aware of her nightmares. She nodded. “Not at first. But then . . .” Her hand went to the wolf's fur again. The wolf rolled his eyes to look up at her. “The Lady sent this big fellow to me. And the dreams just . . . went away.”

“I don't understand.” Keltan regarded the wolf. “What
are
they? They're not like any wolves I've ever seen.”

“I think the Lady . . .
made
them, somehow,” Mara said slowly. “I don't know everything she uses them for. But I do know they hold magic—magic the Lady can use.
And
she says she can look through their eyes when she chooses.”

Keltan's own widened. “You mean she could be looking at me
right now
?”

“She is,” said a voice behind them that made them both jump. Mara turned to see the Lady of Pain and Fire staring down at them. “But not through the eyes of Whiteblaze there . . .
this
time.” She chuckled. It sounded rusty, as though mirth were not something she was accustomed to displaying, or possibly feeling. “Mara, you and I will both walk in front today. I may need to use magic to clear our trail, here or there. I would like you to see how I do it.”

“I'm coming with her,” Keltan said, getting to his feet.

The Lady's silvery white eyebrow arched above her left eye. “Are you? And who are you, again?”

“His name is Keltan,” Mara said.

The Lady's right eyebrow lifted to match the left. “Keltan? That's the name of the Autarch's—”

“It's not my real name,” Keltan said wearily. “I don't use my real name.”

“He's my friend,” Mara said. She reached out and took his gloved hand in her own, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back.

The eyebrows came down in a frown. “I see.” The Lady stared at Keltan, her ice-blue eyes not that different in shade from those of the lone wolf still accompanying her. For three breaths she said nothing, then she suddenly looked away. “Very well, if you wish. Come now, both of you. Full day is upon us and we should already be on our way.”

Despite her urgency, another hour passed before the ragtag column of refugees and stranded Korellian sailors left the campsite in the wake of Mara, Keltan, and the Lady. The Lady's wolves—and her villagers, a dozen sturdy men, armed with swords and bows and wearing metal-studded leather beneath their furs and cloaks—ranged ahead and behind, in the uneasy company of scouts appointed by Edrik from the ranks of the unMasked Army and sailors from Chell's contingent. Edrik, along with Chell and his captains, walked in the second rank behind the Lady, Keltan, Mara, and her new lupine companion, Whiteblaze. Catilla and the few other truly elderly people among the unMasked Army rode on toboggans pulled by dogs that had come with the villagers: ordinary dogs, not the wolves of the Lady, though the dogs themselves, with their sharp-pricked ears and curling, bushy tails, were definitely on the wolfish side.

Heavy snow clogged the trail, and the refugees made slow work of it, trudging up ridges, carefully descending slippery inland slopes. Always, the upward slope was longer and steeper than the downward. Children tripped and fell and cried. Men and women walked mostly in grim silence. The Lady's followers broke the trail ahead, so that at least there were footsteps for Mara and the Lady to follow, but the snow dragged at her booted feet nonetheless, and the wind bit at her cheeks. She tried to remember the date, and failed. Surely spring could not be far away . . . though, this far north and climbing toward the mountains, who knew how long it might be delayed?

Still, though they moved slowly, they moved steadily. As the day wore on, the new snow on the trail grew less. “Storms from the sea spend themselves quickly against the rising land,” the Lady explained when Mara commented on it. “Even magical ones, apparently. By tomorrow, we may see no signs of fresh snow at all.” She glanced up to the right, where the first peak of the all-but-impenetrable range that marked the northern border of Aygrima loomed. “The real hazard lies up there. This much snow, this late in the year . . . let us hope it stays in place.”

They halted that evening in a small valley at the very foot of that towering peak. Here there were no prepared lodges, but fortunately the wind had calmed. As stars pricked the clearing sky, the refugees set about erecting whatever crude shelters they could, using the trees on every side and the tents and other materials they had brought with them from the Secret City.

Fires blossomed like red flowers, and soon the camp had settled into place. Before doing anything else, the Lady's select group of villagers had erected the tent she and Mara shared. Keltan had left Mara to help Hyram set up the tent
they
shared . . . though watching Alita with Hyram, the way they touched at every opportunity, the way they spoke softly, heads close together, Mara suspected Hyram wished he was sharing with Alita and Keltan was on his own.

It made no sense to be jealous. Hyram had made it clear he felt nothing for her anymore, not since her foolish actions had brought the Watchers down upon the Secret City. She suspected his interest had only ever been because she was new and mysterious when she'd arrived at the Secret City. But she remembered those weeks and felt a faint pang all the same.

Followed by Whiteblaze, who had clung to her heels all day, Mara approached the Lady's tent, but paused with her hand on the flap, feeling a strange vibration in the ground beneath her feet. Whiteblaze whined, hackles rising.
What . . . ?

She didn't finish her thought. “Avalanche!” screamed a voice, and she jerked her head up.

High above them, the slope of the mountain peak was
moving
, billowing clouds of white swallowing what had looked like a solid sheet of ice seconds before. A wall of swirling snow hurtled toward them at unbelievable speed. The ground shook. Behind her, in the camp, people shouted and screamed, but she stood frozen in shock, staring at her imminent death.

It never arrived. A wall of red fire rushed past her, enveloping her for an instant in powerful magic that made her gasp, and raced up the slope. The magical flame had an angular shape, like the prow of a boat. It slammed into the base of the descending mass of snow, and in an explosion of flying snow and clouds of steam the avalanche divided, splitting and rumbling away to either side of the glimmering red apex of the fiery barrier. Trees far to her left and right thrashed and broke and disappeared beneath tons of snow, but right where she stood, where the camp stood, nothing changed.

The thundering descent of snow and ice quieted, slowed, stopped. Though shouts and cries and sobs still rang out in the camp behind her, to Mara it seemed for a moment as though utter stillness had descended. She stared up the slope. Half a dozen of the Lady's followers had been working in the trees, harvesting firewood. Every one of them had fallen to his knees, ax or saw dropping from limp hands into the snow.

Whiteblaze whined, looked up at her, and wagged his tail.

Mara turned around and saw the Lady standing perhaps thirty feet behind her, arms spread wide, palms upraised, eyes closed. The six wolves with her had all lain down on their bellies. Their heads rested on their outstretched paws. Their eyes were closed.

Mara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid air or the near-escape from white death. Her question had been answered. The Lady of Pain and Fire had not only drawn magic from her wolves,
she had drawn it from her villagers
. Just as Mara had done at the mining camp, she had ripped magic from their living bodies.

The Lady's eyes opened. She took a deep breath. Her gaze met Mara's. She smiled. “As I said . . . you have much to learn.”