Saint Elm's Deep (The Legend of Vanx Malic) (15 page)

He knew that he wasn’t in any urgent situation of need, and that she was most likely occupied with matters far more important than the strange feelings that were calling him, but still he wanted to call her before he left on this quest. The goddess had more than once referred to him as her champion, and he knew he owed the spark that quickened his mixed blood to her alone. He felt he had a duty to tell her that he was about to go off in search of some dark force that may or may not be a direct blood relation to him.

He was glad that the temple was empty. He took a taper from a holder and lit it in one of the torches ensconced on the plain stone wall.

None of the other candles waiting on the royal coral altar block were lit as of yet, which meant that he was the first one to visit Nepton’s shrine this day. It wasn’t surprising. Most sailors were either working off their hangovers or still sound asleep at this fairly early hour of the day.

Vanx knelt and let his eyes focus on the candle flame. “Mighty Nepton, lord of the deep, master of storm and swell,” he started his prayer in a barely audible mumble that faded as his subconscious voice took over. “Watch over my father’s bones. He went down with his ship when he could’ve fled. He did this to honor the men whose lives you took that night. He did this to honor his ship
Foamfollower
. He did this to honor you, and so that I might be born with your favor. These things I’ve told you are the truth, and all I ask of you is this: Keep my father safe. Let him rest forever in the peace and tranquility of your depths.”

Vanx’s mind was silent for a long while after that, then he began to clear the visionary field of his mind’s eye. He turned it into a blank white slate, which wasn’t hard. It was sort of like envisioning the open tundra on any given day, a sight he’d seen plenty of lately.

Once he had cleansed his mind of everything, he began to picture the goddess before him. Flowing silvery hair, milky skin, and lips as red as strawberries. In his mind’s eye, she slowly shimmered into being, her slight yet well-proportioned body reverently erotic as the translucent color-shifting gown clung to her otherwise naked form. To him, she was beauty incarnate, and he found his heart hammering in his chest as a brilliant smile spread across her face.

“Ahhh.” Her voice was a melodic, breathy sigh of wind. “My emerald-eyed young champion,” the goddess said. Her form had taken on a life of its own now, and her arms opened wide in an inviting embrace. An invisible wind gently touched her hair, and the few parts of her garb that weren’t stretched tight over her body fluttered with it. “You represented yourself well with the fire given, Vanx.”

Chiming tingles ran down Vanx’s spine as she spoke.

“You should be proud of yourself, but I see that you are troubled instead. What is it that dampens the sparkle in those orbs I gave you?”

“My lady, my goddess, thank you for the life you’ve given me. You’re—”

“Stop,” she interrupted. “All of that is for another time. What is it that troubles you so?”

“Aserica Rime,” Vanx told her. “The Hoar Witch.”

The look that passed across her face was so sudden it startled him. “Go on.” Her voice had grown colder, and its melodious chime took on a more irritated sound.

“It’s been said that she is the mother of my father. If that is true, that makes her my blood kin. There is an insistent nagging feeling rooted inside me, pulling me toward the Bitterpeaks that she once called her home. I’m going to follow the feeling, and I seek your advice.”

There was a long silence. Vanx watched her ever-flowing hair and gown, and the hard look of concentration that came across her beautiful visage. It was hard for him to keep his mind from wandering to her body, though.

“Follow your heart, Vanx,” she said, interrupting his reverie. “Though this feeling that seeks to guide you is not a call from Aserica Rime at all, it will lead you to her. It is your heart’s desire you must follow. In all things, that is what you must do.” She reached out her hand, as if to caress his cheek.

Vanx felt the grace of angel’s breath across his face, where her touch would have been.

“She is evil, love,” the goddess went on. The icy tone of her voice had shifted and warmed back into a loving, if a bit warning, tone. “She will try to kill you or enslave you. She will use the blood-bond you share to achieve this end. It is her way. When you are in her domain, it will be beyond my ability to help you. She is a powerful entity, this Hoar Witch, and she has the favor of the dark one himself. It is plain that your heart will seek answers about your father, answers that can only be gotten from her. Remember, though, that you have the same power of the blood-bond that she does. If you are to survive her, then you will have to use that part of you that is inherited from her. But be wary. By tapping that darker part of your nature, you can open yourself to the dark one’s influence. I’d hate to lose you, love. The sparkle of your eyes is one of my most favorite wonders to look upon.”

She started to fade before Vanx could ask her anything. He had about a hundred questions swirling around in his mind. He could still hear her whispering, so he stilled his curiosity.

“Take this,” she said. “It will help protect you when the time comes. Take this, Vanx. Take this from me.”

Vanx was startled out of his entranced state by a rude priest of Nepton.

“Here, take this,” the man said insistently and pressed a velvet drawstring bag into Vanx’s hand. “Take this, and be on your way.”

He was then roughly escorted out of Nepton’s temple and shoved into the street.

Chapter Sixteen

Out upon the open slide,
there ain’t no hills or trees.
It’s so cold and empty,
that if you stop, you’ll freeze.
-- a song from Orendyn

Vanx could feel the tiny white-gold leaf she had given him. He was wearing it around his neck. Even under all the heavy clothes and the thick shrew-fur coat he was wearing, the metal felt icy cold against his chest. His thoughts drifted back to the warnings of his goddess again, and just as every other time he dwelled on the subject for very long, the silvery charm found a way to reassure and remind him that she wasn’t so far away.

Squinting through his heavy head wrap, he tried to make out the shadowy forms of Gallarael and Brody striding before him. It was hard, even with his keen eyes. The pillowy flakes of snow were blowing crazily across his field of vision. The air was dense with them, making the snow-caked forms ahead seem more like wraiths than people.

Sir Poopsalot looked somewhat like a fat young bear cub in his own shrew-fur bundles. He trudged and leapt and worked mightily to keep up with them. As much worry as it caused Vanx, he let the dog run free. After what happened out on the tundra, he’d sworn never to leash him again.

Vanx knew Chelda was up there somewhere ahead of them. She had two of her shrew fangs jutting proudly up over her shoulders from where they were strapped to either side of her backpack. Xavian would be directly behind her, but Vanx hadn’t seen either of them in a while. He only hoped that Brody was still following them and not some unreal shadowy specter of his imagination. If it got any worse, Vanx was going to stop them and make them all rope up, so no one got lost.

They’d left the two young haulkat handlers in the foothills that morning. It was late afternoon now, Vanx guessed, but with nothing other than an oppressive ceiling of gray overhead, it was hard to say for sure.

He could tell they were walking uphill again. It wasn’t a steep grade—they were still in the lower foothills—but it was enough to put a burn in his thighs. In a day or two, he knew, the way would become far less forgiving. From out in the lower foothills, when they were still riding, the jagged mountains had loomed up over them like some great forbidding beast. The sight of the imposing peaks, with their icy ledges and jagged outcroppings, had disheartened all of them, save for Chelda. She was brimming with anticipation, as if crossing over the arduous mountains were no harder than building a fire. Vanx supposed that was exactly how hard it was, for without his or Xavian’s magic, and the few small bundles of wood they carried in their packs, a sustainable fire would have been next to impossible.

Poops let out a sudden peal of protective barks, and a thread of fiery warning shot up Vanx’s spine.

“Still the dog,” Chelda’s voice hissed from somewhere up ahead. “Be still, all of you.”

The rare sound of fear in the big woman’s voice gave the warning merit.

“Shhh,” Vanx whispered. “Come here, Poops, and hush. What is it?”

Poops didn’t change the snarling expression on his face, but he did quit barking. He shivered and shook with anticipation as Vanx knelt and tried to soothe him. Out of the corner of his eye, Vanx saw a dusky fur-clad form moving not too far away from their line. When it turned, he saw two angry eyes that looked like droplets of fresh blood against their stark surroundings. Poops lurched in Vanx’s restraining grasp and let out a low, rumbling growl, but not in the direction Vanx was looking.

“Hush Poops,” Chelda hissed. She was closer now, and her sharp, insistent tone gave the dog enough pause.

Vanx felt a surge of warning work its way up his spine and he sensed something huge and very close.

A massive form seemed to be undulating past them, but it was impossible to see it. The earth under everybody’s feet vibrated slightly, and Poops suddenly quit his posturing and skulked behind Vanx. The strange sensation of something working its way past them continued for a long while, but whatever it was, it was so big as to be indifferent to their presence.

Finally, the vibration ceased, and Chelda let out a long, whooshing breath. All of them came into a huddle so that they could see each other better. Vanx noted that Gallarael wasn’t among them but knew he’d seen her breaking away from the group.

“What in the seven hells was that?” Xavian said with a shudder.

“A giant wyrmoth,” Chelda said.

“It was as big around as your saber shrew was.” Gallarael came up out of nowhere. She seemed a little excited and breathless, as if she’d been running. “Maybe fifty times as long, and white as the snow.”

“You saw it?” Xavian asked.

Gallarael nodded. “It moved like one of those little furry butterfly worms you see in the garden.”

“That’s what it is,” Chelda told her. “But after it cocoons, it turns into a great moth, not a butterfly. They live way up high in the ice caves around the frozen falls.”

“Then why was it down here?” Brody asked.

“She meant the moths. It turns into a moth and then lives up in the ice caves,” Xavian explained to him, “and I can tell you exactly where something like that wyrmoth lives.”

“And where is that?” Brody asked.

“Wherever it wants,” Vanx said, spoiling Xavian’s jest.

Chelda snorted out a laugh.

“Tie this rope off to each other, so we don’t get separated in this.” Vanx gestured to the heavy flurrying snow but stared hard at Gallarael until she cast her eyes away. “Not only do I not want to have to go looking for anyone in this mess, but I don’t want to worry anymore over it.”

She looked up and then mouthed the word “sorry” to him.

“How much farther?” Xavian asked.

“To where?” Chelda snorted out another chuckle. “We’re still two days from the first of my people’s settlements but probably a full week from Rimehold.”

“I meant how much longer until we stop for the day,” Xavian shot back. “And if you keep acting as if we are all just stupid city folks, I’ll make your hair fall out.”

She glared at him but eased up a bit. “It’s not that you act like stupid city folk, Xavian, it’s that you act like doll-hugging, teat-suckling maidens.”

Brody couldn’t help but laugh, even though she had been including him in her comparison. She gestured at the vast mountain range ahead of them. “People have lived and worked and hunted the peaks for thousands of years. You act like it’s some desolate, uninhabitable place. It’s not even winter, and you act like it’s so cold your parts will freeze and fall off.”

“It’s not my fault your people weren’t smart enough to pick a relatively normal climate to live in,” Xavian argued. “I’m cold, but more than that, my feet are sore. I know we’ve got a long way to go, but I’m not used to traipsing around out here in the deep snow.” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “These fargin boots are fargin new and rubbing my fargin blisters raw, and that fargin pack I’m carrying weighs more than I do.”