In Stone's Clasp (10 page)

As he came to earth, the sun slipped below the horizon. Kevla slid off into the snow and realized that there was no place that was not piled high with the stuff.

“I cannot sleep on wet snow,” she said, hearing how petulant her voice sounded in her own ears.

“The trees keep the snow from falling on the earth in the forests,” the Dragon said. “You can pile up some branches and make yourself quite a comfortable bed.”

Her
rhia
was again soaked. The slender straps of leather that served her for sandals were utterly insufficient to the task of walking through the drifts. She stared at him, her arms folded tightly across her breasts, knowing that she looked like a lost child. It was not altogether inappropriate; after what she had experienced, she felt like one. It was a strange feeling. She had hardly had a sheltered childhood, calling for men to come and pay to visit her mother’s bed, and she had negotiated the tricky intricacies of Clan politics successfully for many years. But this—the combination of being away from everything she knew, the strange, sinister aspect of this snow-draped land, and the corpses she had seen had unnerved her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt vulnerable. The strength of will that had enabled her to build a pyre and burn the bodies had long since ebbed. She was physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and hungry. Again she wished they would find the Stone Dancer quickly, so that she could step back into the supportive role she was more comfortable with.

The Dragon trundled over to some trees, snapped off huge branches as if they were twigs, and shook them free of their blankets of snow. He then cleared an area and arranged the branches. Curling himself around the pile, he said, “Come then, little one. Sleep next to me.”

The branches were hard and their needles jabbed her, but Kevla uttered no word of complaint. She would rather sleep next to her companion on a pile of stones than in a soft down bed in the ominous forest.

Now that they were out of the Emperor’s demesne, Kevla felt it safe to light a fire. It sprang to cheerful life, burning brightly despite the wetness of the wood, and Kevla found comfort in its yellow-orange flames.

She could do more than summon flame; she could scry in it, or use it to transport her from her fire to that of another’s. A thought occurred to her.

“I’m going to see if I can locate the Dancer.” If she could see him, she could speak to him—and find him.

“Excellent idea,” rumbled the Dragon, leaning his head in for a better view.

Kevla gazed into the fire, letting her gaze soften. “Show me the Stone Dancer,” she said.

Nothing. The fire did not change. Disappointment knifed through Kevla. Somehow, she had simply assumed she would be able to locate him.

“He may not have built a fire yet,” the Dragon pointed out.

“It’s getting dark,” Kevla retorted, frustration making her words sharper than she had intended. “Surely there is a fire in his home by now.”

“And he may simply not be beside it,” the Dragon continued reasonably. “Your powers are great, Flame Dancer, and they will only increase as you perfect them. But even they have limits.”

Kevla sighed and rubbed at eyes that had seen too much today. “You speak sense, Dragon. But still, I had hoped…”

He bent down and brushed his chin against the top of her head in as gentle a nuzzle as he could manage. “Keep hoping.”

The next day, they saw more clearings. Kevla and the Dragon both tried to extend their senses, and listen for the “little voice” of which the Dragon had spoken. At first, she sensed nothing, only the stillness and emptiness of winter. But when they flew over a clearing which boasted a small cluster of houses, something inside Kevla jumped. Her heart sped up as she remembered what she had beheld the last time they had seen such a falsely pleasant image. She was not happy about the prospect of descending and investigating this village, but somehow she knew that they needed to try.

“I think we should go down.”

“Do you sense the Stone Dancer?” the Dragon asked.

“I’m not sure what I’m sensing. This is all still so new to me. But something is telling me we need to land here.”

“That’s enough for me,” the Dragon said. As the Dragon searched for a place to land, Kevla noticed there was something else in one of the smaller clearings, on the top of a hill. Several somethings, in fact; dark and unrecognizable from this height, standing in a row and moving slightly in the wind. A faint sound reached her ears as the Dragon glided over the hill to land in another open area not far from the ones that contained the houses.

“You will have to approach on your own, Kevla,” the Dragon said as he landed on the cushioning snow. “I cannot make it easily through the forest.”

She nodded her understanding. “Perhaps it’s just as well. You would probably terrify them. Wait until I call for you.”

Kevla slid off him into knee-deep snow. At once, her
rhia
was soaked. Not for the first time, she wondered how people managed to travel at all in the substance. Resignedly she slogged through the white stuff, thinking that if she had to do this often her legs would become powerful with muscle.

The strange, but not unpleasant, noise increased as she ascended. It sounded like music, but if it was, then it was made by no instrument she had ever heard and the notes seemed to her ear completely random. She stumbled more than once, going down in the fluffy whiteness and clambering to her feet again. By the time she crested the hill, she was panting, her eyes down at her feet to make sure she didn’t slip.

When she reached the top, Kevla glanced up. She uttered a startled cry and almost fell again. She was staring at corpses suspended from pikes stuck in the ground, twisting slowly in the wind.

The relief that washed through her as she realized that the “corpses” were only slaughtered animals made her legs feel weak. The blood that had dripped when the meat was still fresh had frozen into small, scarlet droplets. The flesh was gray and likely quite hard to the touch now.

Kevla was not unfamiliar with such a practice. She realized that the people here needed to rely on the wind to dry the meat, not the heat of the sun. She now also saw what had made the bright, singing sound—strips of metal hung together. When the wind blew, the metal pieces were jostled against one another, and the pleasant sound was produced. It was probably to keep animals away.

She stared a moment longer at the swinging, musical metal and frowned. Helpful to keep animals away, yes, but surely a people as hungry as these snow-people must be would not trust to that alone. They probably had someone watching—

Kevla whirled around.

There were at least two dozen of them, and they looked like no other people Kevla had ever seen. Tall and swaddled so thoroughly in fur that they first seemed to be part animal, every one of them carried something that was clearly intended to be used as a weapon. They wore head coverings and strange footgear—poles and wide shoes that seemed to be strapped to their feet. Like the corpses, these people all had pale faces and yellow hair. Those white faces now wore expressions of open hostility. Even as Kevla stood wondering what to do next, they closed in and formed a circle around her. Her eyes searched the crowd, hoping to find the familiar face of the Stone Dancer.

Kevla was not alarmed, although she was outnumbered several to one. An array of torches and wood-and-metal farm tools would be no match for her powers. There were a few archers among them, arrows nocked and ready to fly, and a handful of swords. Even those were no true threat, not to her.

I could destroy them with a thought.
But she was not here to fight them.

Kevla drew herself upright and looked at them calmly. “I am Kevla-sha-Tahmu,” she said. “I have come from the land of Arukan in search of the man known as the Stone Dancer.”

The wall of strangers continued to clutch their weapons. It was as though she had not spoken. She tried again. “I am no threat to you,” she said. “But I must find this man.”

Again, there was no reaction, other than a shuffling of feet and a few exchanged glances. Kevla looked around, trying to find the group’s
khashim.

“Take her,” came a woman’s voice. “But don’t harm her.”

The circle began to close in on Kevla. She tensed. She had no desire to hurt these people, but she could not permit them to take her captive. Perhaps a demonstration of what she was capable of—

“Burn!” she cried, and immediately the trees closest to her burst into flame.

The pale-skinned people recoiled and cried out. Some fell to their knees. Others turned and fled, the peculiar things on their feet enabling them to speed over the top of the snow instead of trudging through it. But one woman did not flee. Instead, she called after the others, “Would you abandon weeks of food so easily, you cowards?”

A woman stands her ground in front of such a display of power,
Kevla thought. The words of the Dragon floated back to her:
The people of this land may never thirst, Kevla, but it is likely that they are cold and hungry.

Apparently the woman’s argument was a compelling one, for those who had started to run halted and turned, obeying the implied order of this fair-haired woman who clutched a scythe and trembled visibly and who yet did not flee.

Kevla thought the woman’s courage deserved acknowledgement. She bowed, waved her hand, and at once, the fires scorching the trees were extinguished.

“You are very brave,” Kevla said impulsively to the woman. The stranger’s blue eyes narrowed.

“You make the trees burn to frighten us,
taaskal.
Are you now attempting to enchant me as well?”

Kevla stared. The woman’s response made no sense at all, unless—A troubling thought struck her. Keeping her eyes on the woman with the scythe, Kevla sent a thought to the Dragon.

Dragon, what is going on?

They do not understand you,
he replied.

Kevla’s eyes widened. Somehow, this had not occurred to her.
But we must speak with them!

I can speak their tongue. Although if they are frightened of you, they will be utterly terrified of me.

Still, you had better join me. How do you know their language?
Kevla asked, her eyes never leaving the woman.

She felt the Dragon gather himself to fly the short distance as he answered her.
The Dancers and their Companions would have a hard time of it indeed if they were not able to communicate. You already comprehend this language. Soon, you will understand how to speak it.

Kevla heard the familiar sound of the beating of powerful wings. Her would-be captors looked up and, if such a thing were possible, went even paler. Some of them moaned, soft and low, and fell to their knees in the snow. But they did not flee this time. Either they were terrified past action or the woman’s courage inspired—or shamed—them into staying. The Dragon flattened several trees as he landed, and the earth trembled from the impact. Quickly, Kevla went to him and stroked him, letting the villagers know that he answered to her.

“So, what would you have me say to them?” The Dragon turned his piercing golden gaze on the crowd. “They do look rather distressed.”

Kevla chose the words carefully. “Give them honorable greetings. Tell them I am the Flame Dancer and that you and I come as friends, seeking one who will know us.”

The Dragon relayed the information, and again Kevla frowned. She understood everything the Dragon had said, yet somehow she knew he had not spoken in her native tongue.

This time, it was clear to Kevla that the villagers understood. The Dragon’s greeting, however, did not seem to put them at ease.

“Monster of the sky,” the woman with the scythe said in a deep voice, “we do not fear you or the
taaskal
who commands you. Leave our land and our food, or we will fight.”

Kevla wondered what a
taaskal
was and continued to admire their courage.

“Monster of the sky, indeed,” the Dragon muttered to Kevla. “These Northern folk are quite rude.”

“They’re afraid,” Kevla said compassionately. “Tell them, their bravery brings them honor, and we are no threat to them. We don’t want their food. We have come to this land in search of a man who might be known to them as the Stone Dancer.”

Again, the Dragon spoke for both of them. The woman listened, but shook her head. “That name means nothing to us.” She jerked her yellow head in Kevla’s direction. “Why does she not speak to us?”

“Tell them I cannot, though I understand the conversation.” Kevla hoped that the Dragon was right, that soon she would be able to speak this strange language as easily as he seemed to. This method of communication would grow tiresome quickly. “Tell them I will learn their language. They will find us helpful,” she added. “As they have noticed, you are able to take to the skies. You can assist their men in the hunt.”

The Dragon repeated everything she had said. For some reason, it was the wrong thing to say. The woman gripped her scythe more tightly. “We need no assistance.”

It was then that Kevla realized just how few men there actually were in the crowd. Most of the adults were women, all as grim-faced as this one who apparently led them. There were two or three old men, whose weapons appeared to be as much for support as defense, and a few boys with their first growth of beard.

“The men are gone,” Kevla murmured to the Dragon. “Otherwise they would be here, to fight the threat they think we pose.”

“Perhaps the men from this village were the ones who attacked the other homes we saw earlier,” said the Dragon.

It was an awful thing to contemplate, but Kevla knew it needed to be considered.

“It is possible,” she agreed, “but it is equally possible that their men are victims of marauders as well.”

Kevla hesitated. Her instinct was to aid them, but if they were responsible for the massacre she had seen earlier…

I will not condemn them without being certain of their guilt,
she thought fiercely. “Can you find something for them to eat?”

“I can try,” the Dragon answered. “Although I have not noticed an overabundance of animal life in this land.”

“I’ll stay here. I want to show them what I can do—how I can help them. Maybe if we demonstrate that we have good intentions, they will believe us.”

“As you wish.” The Dragon gathered himself and sprang into the sky. The villagers watched him, mouths hanging open. When he had disappeared from view, they again turned their attention to her. She shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, and for several long moments, no one spoke.

Suddenly a cry of fury shattered the air. Out of the corner of her eye Kevla saw a blur of movement. A boy charged at her, screaming and brandishing a torch.

“Olar, no!” cried the head woman.

Reacting instinctively, Kevla gestured. The orange-red flame at the top of the torch blazed higher and the youth, shocked, dropped it. He clutched his hands, checking to see that they were undamaged. The fire sizzled and died in the snow.

Kevla was frustrated. She didn’t want to frighten these people further, she wanted to win their trust. She stepped forward and picked up the torch the youth had dropped.

“Burn,” she said.

The sodden torch flickered to life and an instant later blazed as strongly as if it were good, dry wood. Slowly, smiling, Kevla stepped toward the boy who had attacked her and extended the torch.

She locked gazes with the youth. He was so very young, and his blue eyes were wide with terror. Even though she knew he couldn’t understand her, she said softly, “It’s all right. Take the fire.”

Cautiously, the boy reached out a trembling hand and took the torch from her. Their fingers brushed and he hissed, startled. She kept the smile on her face, and as she hoped, he relaxed ever so slightly.

Kevla looked up from the boy’s face to discover the head woman watching her intently, blue eyes shrewd.

They think the fire’s a threat, even though I gave it to the boy,
Kevla realized. What else could she do to win their trust? How could she use her skills in a positive way that would not frighten them? If only the Stone Dancer were here! He knew these people, he could…

Stone.

Kevla squatted and began to paw through the snow. The villagers murmured to themselves but made no move to stop her.

They probably think I’m mad,
thought Kevla.
There are moments when I wonder that myself.

At last, she found what she was searching for—a large stone, bigger than her head and partially buried in the frozen earth. Kevla cleared the snow away from it, so that the villagers could see it easily. She pointed at the rock and motioned them forward. Not surprisingly, no one moved.

Kevla placed her hands on the rough surface, hoping that after such an obvious display that she would be able to execute her idea. She had only recently come into her powers and she did not know their limits. With luck, this would work.

Heat,
she thought.

Immediately the large rock began to grow hot. Within five heartbeats Kevla could see the waves of heat distorting the air around it. She made a sound of pleasure and held her hands out to the rock as she might to a fire. To make sure they understood and did not hurt themselves, she tossed some snow on the rock. It hissed and melted at once.

Kevla stepped away from the stone and waved them to approach. The woman was the first to do so, stepping forward hesitantly on her strange footgear and reaching her hands out to the rock. Her lips curved in a slow smile. It did something remarkable to her face, which suddenly softened and seemed to lose many hard years. She waved another, younger woman forward who repeated her gestures. They spoke in voices so soft that Kevla couldn’t hear them.

The woman turned to regard Kevla. Kevla returned the gaze, although she wanted to duck her head. She had spent most of her life as a servant who had not dared to be so impertinent as to look an
uhlala
straight in the eye, but Kevla sensed that to break the gaze now would be unwise, possibly even dangerous. Kevla had never felt as
seen
as she did now.

“The sky-monster said you could understand us. Is this so, fire-woman?”

Kevla nodded.

“You have shown us you can make warmth that does not harm. Are you offering to aid us?”

Again, Kevla nodded.

“
Taaskali
are a dangerous lot, but you have skills that we need.” She glanced up at the gray sky. “When winter lasts forever, we must take aid where we may. Even from a
taaskal.
I do not know where your monster has gone, but if you wish to come to our village, you would be welcomed.”

Kevla was pleased, but she pointed up at the sky.

“He is returning?”

Kevla nodded.

“Then we will wait.”

And wait they did, all of them. One by one, at first, then in small groups, the villagers came forward to warm themselves by the heated stone. Their fear seemed to dissipate as they extended wrapped hands to the welcome heat Kevla had provided. Kevla regarded them, wondering if they were victims or perpetrators.

At length she heard the familiar sound of the Dragon’s wings as he approached. In his forepaws, the Dragon clutched two large animals. They were covered in brown fur, dotted now with blood, and faintly resembled
liahs,
save that their horns branched into several smaller ones and their fur was thick and shaggy. More murmurings, but this time there was a definite note of appreciation in the sound. The Dragon landed and dropped the limp bodies to the earth.

“Dragon, you are wonderful!” Kevla exclaimed. He inclined his head modestly. “Tell them that these are gifts.”

The Dragon obliged. The woman turned again to regard Kevla, smiling. “We will take a Fire Maiden over an Ice Maiden gladly,” she said, “and rejoice to have a
taaskal
with us and not against us.”

Kevla smiled in return, relieved. At least now, she had begun to win their trust. She wondered at the term “ice maiden” and had opened her mouth to have the Dragon inquire about that term and
taaskal
when the older woman spoke.

“I am Gelsan Tulari, and I am head woman of Arrun Woods. You may stay with me until you can speak our tongue.”

“Thank you,” Kevla said.

“The Flame Dancer is grateful for your hospitality,” the Dragon translated.