faerie rift chronicles 01 - faerie rift (122 page)

Rell, as Hunt-Leader, had inherited the Scim.

There were tales and legends of how it might have been crafted, stories about fire hotter than the sun, and the crushing force of giants—no matter how it had come to be, Laova cherished every time Rell drew it from the hide wrapping that swung at her side. Normally, only the battered handle was visible. Rell rarely drew the Scim, fighting and hunting with spear and bow and knife almost without exception.

Laova shouldered her gear, day-dreaming. When she was initiated as a Hunter, she would be in the running to be Hunt-Leader someday. Maybe someday, the Scim would ride her belt, at her side.

Maybe… if she had the chance to live longer than Rell. Laova looked up through the night that hung thick between the trees.

Looming large and gray above them were the Stormjaw Mountains. It was a literal name, taken from the jagged, fanged line of peaks and cliffs and spires that huddled together, near its base. True, the crags were good for hunting mountain sheep and the foothills that the hunting party had long passed were rich with wool-heavy snow buffalo. But further up, there was no hunting. Nothing mortal lived or breathed there.

And yet, the base of Star-Reach grew closer with each spent day.

Laova felt them watch her with unease. Bamet’s grouchy attitude was the most plain, but Laova saw it in Taren’s nervous smiles, Khara’s giving each new arrow a few extra swipes of her blade, to make sure each point was sharp as a crack when its turn came.

And Nemlach—

“Laova, might I speak with you?”

Her breath stopped, and Laova struggled to draw it back in without him seeing. Nemlach stood at her side, drawing her aside. She nodded, concentrating on thawing out her frozen tongue, and let him take her elbow and walk a short distance away, around a ridge of stone punched upward through the hill.

Was this real? Laova couldn’t be sure.

“What is it?” she asked as he came to a stop. The camp was not far away; just on the other side of this stone ridge. It might as well have been on the moon; Laova felt their isolation with exaggerated and unreal gravity.

“Laova,” Nemlach began. He twisted his lips behind the thick hair of his beard. The part of her that was still a child wanted to hope… “Laova… Rell and the others asked me to speak to you. They are curious… and worried.”

Laova’s heart sank, but she kept her face still while he continued. “You know what lies close by. You know our people don’t come to this place. We are afraid, and not ashamed to admit it.” He smiled at her grimly. “Mortals are meant to fear gods.”

The night turned slowly, endlessly on its side as Laova hustled to imagine something, anything, to explain. She’d known they would notice. She expected them to notice. But why did it have to be so soon? And of all the people to confront her, why did it have to be him?

“I…” What was she going to say? Laova’s tongue felt like a rock. Was she about to admit she’d followed the lead of dreams to bring them here? Prophetic visions usually didn’t lead to good hunting; Laova doubted fully that the members of her new extended family would appreciate being drug from their purpose to chase the wishes of the spirit or the divine.

And then, what was she hounding, anyway? What if it was a malevolent spirit?

“I…” Laova was still staring into Nemlach’s blue eyes, and she was thankful he could not read her, as Taren could. Perhaps Taren would keep her secret. But if anyone else found out about the dreams, there would be no more hunts. The Grandmother was ever-watchful for children with the sense or the touch, young ones that could be schooled to succeed her in the spiritual ways.

Laova was not spiritual. She wanted to hunt.

“I…” She couldn’t even consider telling him.

Nemlach watched her, timelessly patient.

“Actually, I have a question for you,” Laova said softly. She took a step, then two, and suddenly she was just where she’d always dreamed of being: so close to Nemlach that the front of her coat pressed slightly into his chest. She looked into his face. “Am I too young?”

Of all the things he might have expected, Laova saw with a dizzying thrill of white-hot, jittering nerves that this was not one of them. His mouth gaped open, speechless.

“Laova… Too young…?”

The worst thing he could do was reject her. Laova’s entire body shuddered with the horror, the sickening dread of that thought, but it was clearly the lesser evil. Nemlach was what she wanted; her new life as a hunter was what she already had. Possibly throwing away one was worth preserving the other. Possibly…possibly…

He hadn’t moved away. Not yet.

Where had she ever found this courage? She held his eyes. “You know what I mean,” she told him, resting her gloved hands on his chest.

It was Nemlach’s turn to be speechless. He searched her face for what seemed like a long time, too long. This close, Laova had time to admire the startling blue of his eyes. They were like ice pools in spring, light and cold and deepening to rich sky blue in the center. The fairest of lines framed his eyes and nose and scored his forehead—leather that was not old, but well-worn.

Her boldness was disappearing the longer she waited. The only sound was the spiteful, cackled whistling of the wind, and the distant noises of their group, their fellow hunters. She couldn’t keep it off her face; any moment, he would see she understood, and then he’d pity her. Laova knew he would; he was kind and good, and she hated that even in rejecting her, she would love that kindness. Laova took a step backward.

Finally, Nemlach moved. The confusion and concentration had fled.

“In the eyes of the clan, you are an adult now,” he answered finally. “If I thought you were too young, I would be wrong.”

Giddy, in disbelief, Laova watched him as he loosened the ties of his glove and slipped his hand free into the sharp-toothed cold of the mountain winter. As if nothing could be more natural, he took her hand, and tugged the knots open until her glove, too, was removed.

His open hand closed around hers, and Laova remembered suddenly that she’d never even touched Nemlach’s skin before. The thought came to her from a distance, as if someone far away was shouting it back to her. His hand was rough, of course, as hers was. Rough, and deliciously strong, and warm in the thin, frigid air.

She watched, and could do nothing but remain still as he lifted her hand to his lips, their eyes connected by something powerful and without name. Laova couldn’t look away, and feared if she tried to move she might simply tumble apart. He gave her a lifetime, it seemed, to pull away or protest. Laova could not and did not; there was nothing in this earthly plane for which she’d make him stop.

He kissed the back of her knuckles. He kissed each finger, her thumb, and the sensitive patch of skin just inside it. Nothing could have prepared her for it; Laova’s anxious shivers turned into a trembling deep in her core, where the root of who and what she was grew fast. His eyes closed as he turned her hand over and ran his lips over her palm. Laova nearly closed hers as well, but the sight of him was melting her. She wanted every moment of it.

His eyes glanced back to hers, and he glided to the edge of her coat, to the nervous patch of soft skin on the underside her wrist. Laova’s pulse thudded in her ears; Nemlach smiled, a small, sly smile, and closed his teeth gently across the veins that lived close to her skin.

It was electric, and Laova wanted him to continue. But Nemlach released her hand, as if finished.

Laova was not. She reached up, finally, finally, burying her fingers through his hair, and pulled his face to hers.

Lips met, and there was storm. He freed his other hand, and suddenly both were cupping Laova’s face, pulling her closer, tracing the edges of her jaw as if he were blind and she was the only thing he wished to see. Laova forgot the long night, forgot the dreams, forgot Star-Reach. She clutched Nemlach and dug her fingernails into his scalp, wishing there was even another inch closer they could be, needing to be closer, needing there to be nothing between them.

“Nemlach,” she gasped around his lips.

He didn’t seem to need directions. His large hands clasped her torso, and even through the layers of hide and fur Laova could feel their strength. He brushed his thumbs over her breasts; suddenly Laova didn’t care how cold it was. She started to tug at the neck of her coat.

“Wait,” Nemlach stopped her. His voice was hoarse. “Wait. You’ll freeze. We’ll both freeze.” He chuckled, breathless. He rested a hand, more carefully now, around the back of her head and looked into her face. Laova’s entire being felt twisted too tight, and she needed him to finish what he’d started. What she’d started. What they’d started together.

Nemlach looked back towards the others, as if he could see them through the rock. “The others are waiting to leave. But tonight… tonight I will come to you.”

Her head spun at the thought. All the night’s she’d dreamed, and now he was promising to make it real.

Nemlach kissed her again. “Tonight.”

Laova pulled him fiercely by the coat collar, desperate for just another taste of him.

When she reluctantly pulled away, Laova nodded. “Tonight.”

They walked back to camp together. All discussion of Star-Reach or the hunt was forgotten.

Chapter 4

To say Laova was distracted that day seemed insufficient.

A clutter of shifting, shouting thoughts assailed her endlessly, pounding at the inside of her head and making it difficult to even answer simple questions. For several hours, she had been ranging through the trees that mantled the lower reaches of the god mountain, threading this way and that, following whatever trails appeared in the attempt to convince the others of her sincerity. The black sky overhead rumbled with wind and unshed snow; there would be snow tonight, for certain.

Laova slipped on a hidden patch of ice, thinking of tonight. Tonight, in the warm retreat of a low, hide tent. Tonight, when the fire had burned low.

Tonight, when Nemlach would join her.

It would have been prudent to push the thought away, to concentrate, but it thrilled Laova. Excited, terrified, and thrilled her.

The lazy tracks of something crossing the mountain’s rocky slopes scored the snow ahead, and Laova pretended to examine them. The seven of them were scattered across perhaps a quarter-league, within shouting distance. The closest was Taren, and he seemed to be quite remote in the dusky winter night.

Her night sight was good, better than many of her clan. The legends said the Elder Men could turn night into day; Laova wondered if that meant they could not see in the dark, as her people could. Even at such a distance, she knew the others could see her movements.

Worry poured in at that thought, and the chill breath of the mountain seemed to caress her face in affirmation of her doubts. They’d sent Nemlach to confront her, which meant they were growing desperate indeed. It was completely irregular to interrogate an initiate outside the ritual. She’d been depending on their acceptance of her lead, assuming that she’d be able to just swindle them right up the side of Star-Reach.

That was not possible, and Laova was trying hard to deny that fact. The thought of continuing alone was out of the question. How could she survive alone, up on that bare, white slope? Without firewood, without anyone to keep her sane and share the burden of warmth?

But she was always alone in the dreams.

A fear so clawing, so bone-snapping and resolute that it felt to be a living thing, bared its teeth and roared within her as she was forced to remember this fact. Laova padded onward through the long night, following meaningless tracks and digging herself deeper and deeper into troubling thoughts. For the first time, she worried about the time when she would lay down to sleep, tucked away in her shelter. She was afraid of drifting into the dream world, into the world where the mountain swelled beneath her feet as she climbed, and the trees passed thinner and thinner with her ascent, and the spirit lights bannered and watched overhead.

A stand of brush stood in the path of the trail, and Laova busied herself, looking over the branches mechanically, finding broken edges here and there and flattened boughs that told the passing of something big.

But before the dream, Laova recalled again with a shiver that had turned sweet and feverish, she would have Nemlach. After all her dreaming and wishing, it had been a moment of blind foolishness that had pulled him to her. Laova stilled, hardly seeing the darkness around her. She was lost in memory, reliving with acid clarity every touch, every look, every sound he’d made…

“Laova?”

She jumped and spun about guiltily. Taren was approaching, bow held loosely at his side; his face asked a clear question, and Laova nodded.

“Something… something’s passed here. I—”

“I see.” Taren nodded. Laova nodded. That wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, then, and Laova would have been swamped with relief, if she weren’t too busy dreading his true purpose. She almost wished he did want to talk about the hunt; after all, she and Taren knew each other too well.

“Laova, what were you doing with Nemlach today?” he asked, propping the point of his bow near his feet.

Annoyed, Laova scoffed. “You should know. You and Rell and the others put him up to it.”

Taren frowned. “I didn’t. They did.”

“The result is the same.”

“I meant, what did you do over there, out of sight?”

Yes, they were too perceptive, one to the other. Laova knew he’d seen, and Taren knew what had happened, but both of them knew the other would not breach the topic willingly. So Taren was taking an offensive.

“We talked. And then we kissed, some.”

Taren’s look thundered into something stony, something masklike. “Why?”

Why?

Laova just stood there, perhaps shocked or perhaps simply speechless. What a strange thing for Taren to ask. Her hair itched down her neck, but she’d have a hard time reaching it with her thick gloves and coat; it prickled in unwelcome imitation of their awkward little talk.

It occurred to Laova that for Taren to ask why, he must really not understand.