Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (19 page)

From the ledge at the cave’s entrance, Teia looked down on a trackless white wilderness. The blizzards that had kept the hunters inside for four days had blown on, leaving the landscape changed in their wake. Familiar landmarks were smothered, the trees on the slopes so bent and stooped by snow they resembled a crowd of old women mantled against the cold. The iron-coloured sky spat flurries of fine snow, but it was clear the storm was spent.

Wrapping her fur collar close around her neck, she stared out over the foothills. She did not really feel the chill or the prickle of snowflakes on her skin; she was already numb. Numb from the inside out, cold as a stone.

Some time later, she had no idea how long, she heard feet crunching through the snow behind her, drawing closer. Only when a hand touched her arm did she glance around.

Her father stood behind her, dark eyes anxious. ‘You should come inside,’ he said.

‘Not just yet, Dada.’ She hadn’t called him that in years, not since she was tiny. ‘I wanted to see outside again.’

With heavy cloud masking the sun, the only light came from the snow itself, the ghostly glow of a fresh fall, shadowless and pure. A few tiny flakes whirled away on the breeze. Deep beneath their snowy blanket the plains slept, waiting to be reborn.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said her father, stepping up beside her. ‘Beautiful but cold.’

He did not say that he was pleased she would soon be wed, that one day he could count the new chieftain of the Crainnh amongst his grandchildren. He did not have to. Just being there said so much more than Teir’s few words ever could.

He laid a tentative arm around her waist. Teia let her head rest on his shoulder and he hugged her. ‘Come inside, sweetling. This chill is not good for you.’

‘I know. It’s just the days are so short now, and in the caves . . .’ She trailed off with a helpless shrug. ‘I wish the winter was over.’

‘Soon, Teisha, I promise.’ He kissed the top of her head and Teia smiled.

‘You used to call me that when I was a little girl.’

‘You are still my little girl. No matter how tall you get, you’ll always be my Teisha.’

Tears threatened and she was too tired to try to blink them away. They spilled over her lashes, became a flood. ‘I missed you so much, Dada.’

Teir pulled her into his arms and held her tight. She buried her face in the front of his jerkin and let herself weep, wrapped in his warmth and the strong, steady beat of his heart.

It had always been her father who banished the monsters of childhood, never her mother. If she had woken from a bad dream to find Ana there, she had wailed all the louder until Teir came and made her world safe again. How she wished he could save her now.

‘Ytha has done something terrible.’ The words were out almost before she knew they were forming and once they had escaped she could not call them back, or stop the ones that followed. ‘She has made a terrible mistake and she doesn’t even know it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘At the Gathering, when she summoned the shade of Maegern, I was pulled into the weaving. I saw Ytha perform the sacrifice and heard her make bargain with the Raven: Her freedom in exchange for Her aid.’ Teia took a ragged breath, scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘She’s going to unleash the Wild Hunt, Dada, and she doesn’t realise that she’ll never be able to control it.’

Teir swore under his breath. ‘Are you sure? How do you know this?’

‘I’ve seen it in my dreams, over and over. I hear the Hounds in my sleep.’

‘You have the foretelling?’ he asked, and she spread her hands helplessly.

‘I don’t know. All I know is that sometimes I see things and some of them have come true.’

‘And the rest?’

She could only shrug. ‘I don’t think they’ve happened yet.’

A grim frown drew his brows down, mimicking the lines of his moustaches. He had worn a similar expression to do battle with the kelpies and kobolds that had stalked her as a girl. She knew these new demons would not be banished by a war cry as the drapes were swept aside. It would take more than a cook-pot-lid buckler to defend her, even one wielded on Teir’s doughty arm. But she did not know where else to turn.

‘When Ytha told me you had the gift, I could scarce believe it,’ he said. ‘There have been no Speakers in our line in near three hundred years. You are certain of what you saw?’

‘I’m sure.’ Of that she had no doubt at all. ‘I saw Her when the Speakers summoned Her; I heard Her speak. She called them little women and mocked them for their weakness.’

That awful voice grated around inside her skull again and she flinched at the memory.

‘The Speaker has powers beyond our comprehension, Teisha,’ Teir said dubiously.

‘Enough to best one of the Eldest? I have powers too, Dada, and seeing Maegern appear in the circle near made me soil myself.’ Teia half-laughed, incredulous at Ytha’s audacity, her towering arrogance, terrified of what it meant for her people. Hysteria tickled the edges of her mind. ‘How does she imagine she can ever bend the Raven to her will? She might as well try to compel the wind to blow westerly.’

‘Then you must warn her.’

‘She already knows. She saw the blood scrying. The images were there in the water, clear as day, but I think she saw them as a sign of victory. It was only after that I realised what I’d seen was the Hunt turned on our own people. On all people, even the Empire.’

Her father frowned. ‘We were sent here by the Empire, Teisha. I doubt many in the clan would grieve to see it gone.’

‘That means nothing to the Hunt,’ she said. ‘Blood feud, history – it doesn’t matter. To the Hunt we are all prey.’

Though it was barely dawn, the day had become gloomy as dusk, without a bird call or any sound but the low moan of the wind. Blown snow crystals stung Teia’s face and the chill suddenly pinched her so hard it hurt. Inside, she wanted to curl up and weep.

‘Does anyone else know what you have seen?’ her father asked at last.

She shook her head. ‘Who could I tell? Who would believe me, even if I did tell them?’

Teir’s teeth flashed suddenly, whitely in the murky light. ‘I believe you.’

‘It’s my word against hers, Dada. What is my word worth against the Speaker of the Crainnh?’

‘More than you think, my daughter. To me, anyway –’ he squeezed her shoulders ‘– and my word still counts for a little amongst the men. Some of them, anyway. If this weather holds, we’ll hunt again soon. I’ll speak to them then, quietly.’ Blowing out his moustaches, Teir raked his fingers back through his hair. ‘I’m not sure what else I can do, but I believe you.’

‘Ytha cannot find out what I know, or know I have shared it. Not yet.’ She didn’t dare voice her fears of what would happen to her then.

‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

She pulled her coat tighter around her. The cold had struck into her bones and she was suddenly so very tired.

‘Let’s go inside,’ Teir said, putting his arm around her. ‘Come visit us on Firstmoon, stay for supper. Ana misses you.’

‘But clan law—’ She broke off. According to clan law, her father shouldn’t even be standing there, and there he was, with his arm protectively around her. The rush of fierce affection that followed that thought was as warming as a bowl of soup. Being promised bride to the chief had to count for something, didn’t it?

She leaned into his embrace. ‘I miss her, too. I’ll come if I can.’

With her head on her father’s shoulder, she walked back into the maw of the mountain.

That night, Teia dreamed a new dream. Ytha stood proud in her snow-fox robe, whitewood staff in one hand, the other hand pushed deep into the ruff of a massive Hound that sat on its haunches at her side. Another lay at her feet. Bigger than plains wolves, larger even than the timber wolves that lived on the slopes of the mountains, they had a wolf’s deep chest and plumed tail but the massive jaws of a mastiff. As she watched, the Hound at Ytha’s feet yawned lazily, exposing teeth as sharp as icicles and a tongue so red it was almost purple. Then it looked right at Teia with its fiery eyes and grinned.

She came awake with a start, her heart racing. Beside her Drwyn stirred, asking what was wrong, his voice thick with sleep.

‘I had a bad dream,’ she told him. ‘Go back to sleep.’

Pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes, she got up and poured herself a beaker of water. It tasted flat from standing in the jug, but it gave her mouth some moisture and swallowing it relaxed the knot of tension in her chest.

The beast’s eyes had been frighteningly aware, as if an intelligence greater than its own had been looking through them and laughing at her. She shuddered. Water finished, she climbed back into bed and pulled the still-warm furs around her.

At the summoning, Maegern had said She would send Hounds to guide them. Teia pictured those massive forms running through the snow, true as arrows, towards their destination. According to the legends they would run for ever, day or night, through stormy weather or fair, and they would not stop. Ever. When their quarry was brought to ground, they would feast.

She winced, sick from her premonition. Whatever they would feast on, it did not bear contemplation.

For three nights after she’d confessed her fears to her father, Teia saw more Hounds in her dreams. Sometimes a single animal, sometimes a whole pack, spreading across the plains like a great yellow tide, always with the smoke-and-shadow figure of Maegern behind, urging them on.

Each morning she woke filled with a heightened sense of dread about the days to come. The weight of the mountains above grew more oppressive and she felt ever smaller and more helpless in the face of it. As the wandering moon waxed towards Firstmoon, her appetite deserted her and even the clearing skies, bright with the promise of spring to come, did nothing to cheer her.

The break in the storms had sent the Crainnh out hunting again, every man who could lift a spear – her father included. The smoke-room was raked out and fresh fire kindled, ready to preserve their catch. Though her baby-sickness was diminishing, Teia pleaded a tender stomach to excuse herself; she had boiled enough elk-fat soap to last her years. Nothing could help her escape the stink, though, even up at the mouth of the caves. It clung to her clothes and her hair like smoke, and not even the sharp mountain breeze could blow it away.

On the fourth day, Ytha gave a perfunctory scratch at the door-curtain.

‘It is time to begin your instruction,’ she said when Teia greeted her. Then the Speaker looked her up and down, noting the shadows around her eyes, and her lips formed themselves into a dissatisfied quirk.

‘Perhaps I should come another time.’

‘Not at all, Speaker. Please, come in.’ Teia stood aside to let the older woman enter.

‘Are you sick?’

‘I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.’

‘More dreams?’

Ytha’s agate-green eyes were cool, incisive, but Teia met them squarely. She could lie to them now; she knew she could. She had to. Ytha could not know the truth of her visions, not until she was sure what to do about them. The Speaker had been in her head more than once and she had kept her Talent hidden from her. In comparison, not speaking the truth to her face should be easy.

‘Something I ate, I think.’

Ytha sniffed. ‘You must have a care for your diet, girl. Remember you are feeding your chief’s heir, not just yourself.’

‘It was only a sour stomach, but I will be more careful in future, I promise.’ Lowering her eyes, dipping her head, Teia was every inch the chastened girl before her clan Speaker. It seemed to work.

‘So. Are you ready for your first lesson?’

From the ashes in her mind, a green leaf of hope unfolded. If she learned to shape and control her foretellings, maybe she could understand them better, learn what to do, even if it was only to find a way to warn Ytha of the dangers in treating with the Eldest. Yet she had to be careful and show the proper deference, or surely the Speaker would suspect that she knew far more than she ought.

She controlled her expression but could not prevent a tremble in her voice. ‘I think so.’

‘You must be sure!’ Ytha’s tone cracked like a breaking spear. ‘You have a rare Talent, a strong Talent, and I will not see it wasted through uncertainty or doubt. I may yet have a use for your abilities after your child is born, if the other Talents I found with you prove not to be strong enough to train as apprentices.’