Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (25 page)

Whyborne

I
screamed as I fell. My fingers clawed at nothing, my legs flailed for purchase that
couldn’t be found. I was falling, and I was going to die, and—

Something
vast and dark passed beneath me.

I struck
it, hard, but the gelatinous surface yielded beneath the impact. The wings folded
up, and we dropped a heart stopping distance, before the umbra straightened
again.

Dazed, I
clung to the back of the umbra that had swooped in to save me. “Mother of
Shadows?” I whispered, and for the first time wished I could actually
communicate with them. Had whatever masters shaped both our races made certain
we couldn’t speak to one another, and so collude against them?

Definitely
a thought for another time. I clutched at the umbra’s—skin?
surface?—but there was no handhold, no hair or protrusion to grip. It
seemed to realize my predicament, flattening itself as much as possible even as
it sliced through the air. I caught a dizzying glimpse of the city—then
we were rising up, toward the temple.

A
shudder ran through it abruptly. I raised my face from its reeking ebony
surface, got a confused glimpse of the temple, of Griffin and Turner standing
upon it, and the new-hatched queen coiling behind.

“Griffin,”
I gasped. The umbra bucked, hard. I grabbed wildly, but my fingers found only
slick skin. I slid free and fell—

My body
hit one of the ramps leading to the temple, only a few feet below. Pain spiked
through my hip and shoulder, but nothing seemed broken as I rolled onto my
back.

“Whyborne!”
Jack ran to me hand outstretched. “You’re alive!”

“I can
hardly believe it myself,” I agreed. I had the feeling I’d curl into a ball if
I dwelled too long on my narrow escape, so I said, “Griffin—we have to
save him!”

“He
thought you were dead. I tried to stop him, but he was determined to confront
Turner.” For the first time I noticed Jack’s bruised and split lip. “I meant to
follow him, but the umbra came at me, and—and then you fell off.”

“Follow
me.” I raced up the ramp, ignoring the twinge in my leg. I’d expended all of
the arcane energy I’d stolen from the seals, and briefly wished I’d withheld
something to use against Turner and the queen he’d enslaved.

To the
devil with that. I’d be damned if I let a two-bit sorcerer like Turner, a
reject of the blasted Endicotts, best me.

I gained
the top of the platform, and my heart leapt, because Griffin was still on his
feet. Behind him writhed the malformed coils of the newly emerged queen. Her
orange eye glowed like flame, the three pupils contracting at different rates,
giving her a hideously asymmetrical appearance. The lone plinth jutted up
between them, its surface curved, as if to receive some object.

And in
front of them was Turner. Or rather, the shredded coat and melted bones that
were all which remained.

Had
Griffin distracted him, while the umbra came in from behind? My heart pounding,
I shouted, “Griffin!” and started toward him.

But when
he turned, I froze in my tracks.

His head
tilted slightly to one side, as if he couldn’t quite see me. His eyes had
washed from emerald to green frost, the pupils contracted to pinpoints.

Did the
Mother of Shadows manage to possess him at this distance?

“Alone,”
he grated, and his hands curled into loose fists. “There is nothing left but
pain and death.”

The
remaining umbrae swirled madly. A rifle shot rang through the air as one sank
toward the roof of a building not far from the balcony. Another made for
Christine’s perch. Smoke rose into the air, but the protective flames no longer
burned. What had happened to Iskander?

“Griffin,”
I whispered. But in his eyes I saw no recognition at all.

Griffin

Nothing
existed but pain and fury, and a bleak world that had hurt us.

Other
creatures stirred around us—the cruel ones, who went on two legs and had
no feelers, misshapen and horrible and
wrong
.

But they
called us wrong. Said we were nothing.

“Such
creatures don’t really feel things the way we do,”
Scarrow
said.

And
Jack:
“You said th-things like him don’t have friends.”

And
worst of all, Pa, condemnation in his voice:
“It’s just pleasures of the
flesh, and the worst kind at that.”

Your
Pa is dead. Heart trouble. Don’t come for the funeral.

We were
abnormal, twisted, monsters. Too horrible and broken for anyone to believe we
could feel. Only Ival had understood, and now he was gone, they’d taken him,
and we would do as I’d promised.

We’d
burn down the world.

“Griffin,
stop!” One of them stood before us, hands outstretched, a pleading look on his
face. And we should have known him, but we didn’t.

We
looked through another of our eyes, saw a limp figure stir slightly atop a
building. And another, her face white as she crouched behind a balcony, her
finger pulling on a trigger—

We
recoiled, shrieking. The nearest creature ran toward us, but we lunged forward,
feelers reaching, and he fell back.

“Griffin,
please,” he begged. “Look at me! You have to stop this. I know she has you, I
know it seems like you can’t possibly break free, but she’s going to hurt our
friends.
You’re
going to! Please.”

“There
is fire in your blood,” we said, because we could see it so clearly, like a
flame burning inside him. Our soldier, the one who had devoured Turner, moved
up behind him. He flinched, but he didn’t flee. Didn’t do anything but hold his
hands out to us.

“Yes,”
he said. “It’s what the ketoi call me, my sea name. Fire in His Blood. But I
don’t care about that. I just care about what you call me.”

The
soldier stretched out its feelers. It was almost on him now. “Why don’t you use
your fire?” we asked. “Unleash it against us!”

He shook
his head. He looked unspeakably tired, his coat filthy, one sleeve burned away,
his face smeared with blood and soot. “You know why, Griffin. You know. Say my
name.”

It trembled
on the edge of my tongue. But the pain was so great, the loneliness, the fear.
I struggled to remember something, anything. “Pa didn’t want me.”

He
blinked, and water made tracks through the grime on his face. “I know, darling.
But I do.”

“Ival?”

A
tremulous smile touched his face, even as the umbra closed the final few
inches. “I love you.”

“So do
I,” said another voice. And I turned, we turned, and saw Jack, just as he
thrust the Lapidem into its cradle on the plinth.

~ * ~

The
world exploded as the Mother of Shadows reached through the gem and into us.

Pain and
grief.

But most
of all, love.

The
queen who shared my mind was malformed, birthed too soon. Broken and hurt, and
she would never be a Mother of Shadows herself. Never lay eggs, or sing to
beautiful children. Never be what she should have been, had Turner not
interfered.

But it
didn’t matter. Because the Mother of Shadows—her mother—loved her
anyway.

We cried
out and fell forward. Ival caught us—me—and crushed me to his chest
as we sank to the ground.

The
Lapidem blazed with light within the plinth, ancient magic flowing through it,
and through us. I
felt
Ival. Felt his love for me, that didn’t care if I
was broken. All the pieces of myself I’d laid at his feet over our years
together, all the cracks that still showed where he helped me heal, didn’t
matter. He loved me, beyond my ability to understand.

Then
Jack’s arms locked around us both, and his lips pressed against my forehead. “I’m
sorry, Griffin,” he whispered. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t love you the way
he should have, but I do. I love you, brother, and I want to be a part of your
family, but you have to let this pain go. You have to let it go and let us care
about you.”

We were
all linked, bound to the Mother of Shadows and the pain of the newborn queen
above us. Tears slicked my cheeks, but I didn’t care. I wept for Pa, because he’d
never been able to let his love for me overcome his fear of an angry God. And I
wept for Christine, whose parents wouldn’t embrace the man she loved because of
the color of his skin. I wept for Ival, and all the pain bound up in his father
and his brother, and for Iskander, whose mother chose duty over family, and
never told him why. For Ma, who asked me not to stand by her side when they
laid Pa to rest.

And
finally for Jack, because some part of us still stood there together, on the
orphan train. He turned to me, struggling to be brave, and draped his own coat
around my shoulders.

“Stay
warm,” he said. And walked away into a future where everyone who should have cared
for him failed to do so.

The
queen didn’t move for a long moment. The gem burned like a flame now, and the
Mother whispered through it. Because it didn’t matter if her daughter was
broken, or deformed, or hurt. It didn’t change her love at all.

The little
queen reached out, her feelers gently cradling the Lapidem, lifting it from the
plinth. Her pained cries had died away without my even noticing. She slowly
coiled back into herself, hugging the gem as a child might a favorite doll, as
a talisman against the monsters in the dark.

A pair
of remaining soldiers slid forth from the shadows. They gathered her carefully,
supporting her as her stunted wings never would. I could sense workers moving toward
us, coming to help now the danger had passed. They’d found Scarrow and begun to
tend him, even as he stared at them in a mix of revulsion and fascination. And
Iskander, groggily coming around after his fall, with Christine at his side.

The
soldiers hesitated, and the queen stirred within their grasp. I looked up, to
see her holding the Lapidem out to me. I reached out automatically, and she
placed it in my hands.

“In
case you have need in the future, my child,”
whispered the
Mother of Shadows.
“You can always call upon us.”

Then
they were gone. I sat blinking, held by my husband and my brother.

My
husband.

“Ival?”
Realization dawned. “You’re…you’re alive!”

“Clever
of you to notice,” he said. “I see why you’re so successful a detective.”

I shook
my head, then dragged him down and kissed him. And we held each other and wept,
while the city came to life with umbrae around us.

Griffin

“Well,
this could have gone better,” Christine said a month later.

We stood
on the docks of St. Michael, where we’d managed to find passage on a steamer
making its way back to San Francisco.

The stab
wound still pained her, although she’d never admit it. Iskander’s left arm rested
in a sling, having been broken when he struck the stone. Scarrow used makeshift
crutches, and had insisted on leaving Hoarfrost even with his burned leg still
heavily bandaged.

We would
never have made it back to Hoarfrost without the help of the umbrae. Although
we didn’t go quite so far as to hitch them to sleds as Christine suggested,
they aided us the rest of the way out of their subterranean kingdom, back to
the camp where the sleds and dogs waited.

No one
in the gold mining camp knew precisely what had happened on the glacier. We’d woven
a wild tale of collapsed caves, falls into crevasses, and a mutiny on the part
of Turner and our guides to explain our injuries. None of us had any
compunction about slandering Turner’s memory, so we’d claimed to have recovered
a few valuable artifacts, which were all that remained of the city we’d gone to
find. Turner had stolen them to sell to collectors and abandoned us to die on
the glacier. When he failed to ever turn up again, his death would be put down
just one more life taken by the Alaskan wilderness.

Still,
we’d left the area as quickly as possible, taking only the stele with us, once
more in pieces after Whyborne melted the frozen mud holding it together. It
would cause some comment in the archaeological world, although Christine’s dreams
of unveiling a primordial city were obviously dashed.

“Our
work will still be accounted an interesting find,” Whyborne said. “An unknown
civilization, linked to the Eltdown Shards…”

“Or
everyone will call it a hoax, as they did the shards.” Her brows drew down in a
scowl. “Bah!”

“So long
as the umbrae aren’t disturbed, I’ll call it a victory,” Iskander said, taking
her elbow. “Mr. Hogue, it was…an adventure. I hope to see you again some day.”

Jack
nodded. “Same here.”

“Hmph. I
suppose you can be forgiven for siding with Turner, as you didn’t know any
better,” Christine said grudgingly. “I shall send you an invitation to our
wedding.”

“I’d be
honored,” my brother said with a bow. “I can’t promise to attend, but I’ll do
my best.”

“What do
you think the museum will say?” I asked Whyborne, once they’d gone aboard.

Whyborne
shrugged. “I don’t know. Fortunately Father picked up most of the expenses, and
we are coming back with
something.
But it’s hardly the spectacular find the
director hoped for. Perhaps I should consider a paper analyzing the writing on
the stele as compared to the Eltdown Shards, just to restore my reputation.” A
small scowl crossed his face. “But some dratted sorcerer or other would
probably take advantage somehow.”

“No
doubt,” Reverend Scarrow said. Pain etched deep lines around his mouth, but he
smiled as he held out his hand. “Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Whyborne.
The Cabal will be in touch.”

“Well
that
wasn’t ominous at all,” Whyborne muttered as Scarrow limped away. “Why can’t
everyone just leave me alone?”

I looked
up at him. The sea wind ruffled the fur around his hood, his mouth drawn into a
small frown. My altered perceptions hadn’t left me, but I’d grown used to
seeing him with more than ordinary sight. “Because you’re
you,
” I said
wryly.

“A
philologist of small renown?” he suggested.

“Try a
very powerful sorcerer with inhuman blood, related to the Endicotts.”

“And I
thought Father’s side of the family was a problem.” Whyborne hunched his
shoulders. “Oh well.” Thrusting out his hand to Jack, he said, “Perhaps we’ll
see you again.”

“I hope
so.” Jack clasped his hand warmly. “You’re a fine man, Dr. Whyborne. I’m glad
my brother has you to look out for him.”

A faint
smile ghosted across Whyborne’s face, there and gone. “I rather think it’s the
other way around. Until next time.”

We both
watched him board. “I meant what I said.” Jack turned to me. “I never knew love
was real, you know. But now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I can hope to
find it myself, with the right person.”

“I hope
you do,” I replied. “Where do you think you’ll go now?”

“I don’t
know.” Grief flashed briefly through his eyes. “I thought Nicholas had shown me
a new path.”

“He did.”
I shrugged at his startled look. “I don’t agree with Turner in the particulars
of the matter, obviously. But you’ve proved your courage, and your heart. I
think he was right when he said you can make a real difference in this world.”

Jack
blinked rapidly, then pulled me into a hug. “Thank you, brother.”

I
returned the embrace. “You’re welcome. Write as soon as you can.”

“I will,”
he promised. “And I’ll come to Widdershins for a visit, eventually. I just need
some time to think on my own. Away from sorcerers of any stripe.”

“I
understand.”

“Still…I
was thinking.” We drew apart, and he offered me a hopeful smile. “I don’t know
why I kept the Hogue name all these years, except out of habit, when they never
did anything for me. I’m thinking about changing it back to Flaherty.”

A grin
spread across my face. “I’d like that.”

“I’m
glad.” He patted me on the arm, then stepped back. “Your steamer is about to
leave, and I think Whyborne would put a curse on me if I made you miss it.”

I found
Whyborne standing alongside the rail. As the steamer pulled away from the dock,
we both waved a farewell to Jack. Christine and Iskander had already gone
below, and the night was too frigid for any other passengers to brave the deck.

“Are you
going to be all right?” he asked, as the aurora danced above us.

“People
keep asking me that.”

“For
good reason.” He glanced down at me.

I
shifted my shoulders, feeling the weight of the pack on my back. We hadn’t yet
gone to our room to stow our few personal belongings, and the Mother of Shadow’s
gift nestled in the pack between my spare union suit and Whyborne’s frayed puce
scarf.

I hadn’t
heard her since we walked out of the caves at the base of the glacier and
stumbled back to Hoarfrost. But at night, when the memory of Whyborne falling
haunted my dreams, the stone’s presence gave me an odd comfort. The Endicotts
might still want us both dead, and the Cabal’s designs were unclear. But we
weren’t without allies in the world, even if they were shadowy horrors lurking
just past the edge of human civilization.

No one
else stirred on the deck, save for sailors busy elsewhere, so I put my hand on
his. “I am,” I said. “It may sound strange, but after encountering the Mother,
I want to try writing to Ma again. Cousin Ruth will speak to her on my behalf
as well, I’m certain. Perhaps we may yet reconcile.”

“I hope
so.” Whyborne put his other hand atop mine.

“And if
we don’t, I’ll at least have tried. And I feel at peace with that.” I looked up
at the stars and the dancing aurora. “And with other things. With Pa, and my
brother. With Glenn’s ghost. With myself.”

“I’m
glad.”

“There
is one thing I’m not at peace with, though,” I went on in a serious tone.

He
cocked his head worriedly. “Oh?”

“Indeed.
My husband and I have a room all to ourselves for the first time in what seems
like forever, and yet we’re standing about on the deck talking.”

A slow,
hungry grin stretched his mouth. “A complaint I share. Shall we go below and
discover the most creative way to fit us both into one bunk?”

“I
thought you’d never ask,” I said. Taking his hand in mine, we left the arctic
night behind in exchange for each other’s warmth.

Coming Soon:

You are cordially invited to the wedding of

Dr. Christine Esther Putnam

and

Mr. Iskander Gregory Barnett

Widdershins, MA