Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2) (55 page)

He did not fear death, not in the same way he had eighteen years earlier when it gripped him in its jaws and threatened to tear him from his tenuous grip on life. Yovenna said she saved him because they all had their parts to play, each and every one of them, but if that was the case why had she shown him all those things that would never be. There was no warning of their intensity, no caution for the ferocity with which that knowledge would tear apart the pieces of his heart and soul and leave him feeling empty. She simply gave him memories he would never make and whispered, “This can never be.”

Cruel, yes, and yet he loved her all the same because the girl in front of him, on that very journey with him, was not yet the cruel being who’d shown him her heart and then torn it away.

By the time the U’lfer returned to camp, the feral scent of wolf still clinging to his skin, they’d finished setting up without his help, started a fire and though he was still exhausted from a full afternoon maintaining the barrier as they traveled, he mustered the energy to lift a protective wall around them.

Finn brought flowers with him, a rare mix of autumn buds and blooms he’d plucked on the walk back from his hunt. The grin he wore, a sight which generally made Brendolowyn feel sick to his stomach on account of the smugness it usually signaled, actually alleviated some of the pressure inside him. He watched as her face lit up, her tentative hand reaching to accept the offering, and when she leaned back into her mate Bren knew that though it hurt, her happiness was all that truly mattered in the end.

Finn and Lorelei were meant for one another, and had been since the beginning. By all rights, given the nature of their relationship, they should have embarked on that road the first time around by themselves.

He never should have been tangled into their destiny or their affairs, but Yovenna told him time and again they all had their place in the woven fabric of time. The tugging of a single thread could unravel the entire tapestry, waking the serpent that held it in repetitive sway.

“Maybe that’s what I’m meant to do,” he challenged her. “If I don’t go with them, it will wake the serpent.”

“Don’t be a fool, Brendolowyn. Without you on their journey, they will die.”

He didn’t like hearing that, but he liked even less how easy it was to believe.

In all fairness he hadn’t ever really given the U’lfer a chance. He’d come into meeting him the first time already expecting to dislike the wolf. Of course, Finn didn’t make matters any easier. He was coarse, unrefined, loud and obnoxious, but just standing apart from the two of them for a moment’s observation Bren saw time and time again how much he loved the girl.

It was that kind of love she deserved, and not for him to decide he could do it better. Because he hadn’t, obviously. He hadn’t loved her well enough at all, judging from the glimpse of darkness Gwendoliir bestowed upon him—visions she herself withheld when she showed him a future that would never, could never belong to him.

He retracted his gaze, staring into the thick murk of the shroud of trees where they made their camp. It didn’t matter the way he felt, it couldn’t matter and from that moment forward he wouldn’t let it destroy him no matter how it hurt to let go of something he’d never even held in his hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“So then he threw down the whole bag screaming like a little girl, and there was grain all over floor, but when they started crawling away Rue was screaming too, so I kneel down to see what everyone is screaming about, and Eornlaith is laughing at them both from the table, saying they should just sweep it up and put it on for dinner because throwing it away would be a waste of good protein.”

“Did you eat it?”

“I don’t know, probably. It was a long time ago, but I remember Viln and Rue refused to eat anything but fresh vegetables for a week, which my mother pointed out had probably been host to all kinds of pests when they were growing in the ground.”

Lorelei shrieked with laughter, her nose wrinkling as she howled. “That’s so disgusting!”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I don’t know. Who’s to say we don’t eat them all the time and just never notice?”

“Not me! I’d never eat weevils.”

“I bet you have before,” he teased. “I bet you’ve got a whole belly full of ‘em right now, and don’t even know it.”

“Stop, you’re going to make me sick.”

“The Alvarii probably consider them a delicacy,” he shrugged, glancing over at Bren. “Ask the mage, he could tell you.”

“I grew up with an Alvarii nursemaid,” she reminded him, “and she never talked of eating weevils.”

“How about it, Mage? You ever eat any weevils?”

“Please stop calling me that.”

They’d been traveling three days, the coast stretching beyond the trees to their right and glimpses of Great Sorrow’s Peak appearing between the boughs as they delved deeper into the valley. A few travelers crossed their path, and they’d looked harmless enough, but the mage, as Finn was not supposed to refer to him anymore, insisted upon keeping the exhaustive and stifling magical barrier around them as they voyaged in order to keep those travelers from confessing to having seen three strange companions on the road heading north.

Finn and Lorelei were getting on surprisingly well, and though he was somewhat glad for it, Brendolowyn had been quiet and broody since they departed Nua Duaan. So it surprised Finn to hear his protest, even more so when he went on to add, “My name is Brendolowyn. Not half-elf, not half-blood, not mage or any other derogatory title you can conjure up to call me. My mother named me Brendolowyn,” and then for good measure he added, “and those I trust with my life are free to call me Bren. Since we are walking into what could very well end disastrously for any one of us, I think it’s time we embrace that kind of trust, don’t you?”

So the mage had a pair of stones after all. Finn didn’t allow his expression to give away how much that impressed him. Since they met all his cuts were done in secret, casual digs both of them knew were meant to hurt, yet disguised enough from everyone else around them to keep up somewhat civil appearances. Except for Lorelei. She always seemed to know when they were sending verbal daggers at one another, especially when they were doing it in secret.

Her thoughtful gaze turned in Finn’s direction, her brow arched in a very telling fashion. When he wasn’t prompted by that look to reply, she cleared her throat. “I think he has a point, Finn. The three of us made a promise before we left Nua Duaan. We’re meant to watch each other’s backs and put our own lives on the line to protect one another should the need arise. If we’re all to come out of this in one piece…”

“But Brendolowyn is such a mouthful,” he grumbled.

“Then please,” the half-elf said almost stiffly, “by all means, unburden your tongue and call me Bren.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Bren it is, then.” A few minutes later, the grin returned to Finn’s lips and he asked, “So, Bren, you never did answer the real question. Do the Alvarii eat a lot of weevils?”

The flash of Brendolowyn’s grin was surprising, and then in a rather serious tone he confessed, “They did not consider weevils a delicacy when I lived among them with my mother, but it’s been a very long time since I left home.”

“There you have it,” Finn offered Lorelei an almost cocky grin and she rolled her eyes away from him, turning her full attention on their companion.

“How long ago was that, Bren?” she asked, steering the subject away from the tiny beetles that often infested unprotected grains. “That you lived with your mother’s people, I mean?”

As if adding up the years in his mind, the mage’s face twisted with thought. It was several long seconds and an uncomfortable swallow before he confessed, “Thirty-two years.”

“Thirty-two years,” she balked in disbelief. “But you hardly look a day over five and twenty! How old were you when you left Thulasaliir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Twenty-six.”

For a long time no one said anything, and then after adding it up in her head she finally said, “That would make you fifty-eight years old! Gods, I feel like such a baby now.”

“The Alvarii tend to live extraordinarily long lives,” he said. “Even those of us who can only count Alvariin’s blessing in one of our parents.”

“How long would a half-blood like you live?”

Lorelei cut him another severe glare and he immediately corrected himself. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. How long would someone with only one Alvarii parent live?”

“Several hundred years if he is not a warrior. Slightly longer for battle-mages. The use of our magic on a regular basis prolongs life and preserves the body. The Alvarii believe this is due to our deep connection to the elemental forces.”

“Huh,” Finn shrugged. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you look remarkable for your age, old man.”

Again, Brendolowyn’s face twitched with half a grin, and though they hadn’t said as many words, Finn knew the tension between them was far from over. They could set their differences aside to do what needed to be done and to ensure Lorelei was protected, but beyond that they would be civil and nothing more.

He still didn’t trust him. He’d thought more than he normally did on a single subject about Bren’s confession that Finn’s death at Great Sorrow’s Peak during previous cycles was in some way his fault. He couldn’t let that happen. No matter what they faced in that mountain, he wasn’t going to die there unless he absolutely had to so Lorelei could live. She was the only person on that journey, nay, in the world, he was willing to die for.

For three days they’d been riding upward, watching in silence as the lush grass and autumn foliage yielded to rocky soil and sparse but sturdy trees. The valley sloped behind them and they climbed Sorrows Foothills. The air was thicker in that place, reminding him of how dense it felt in his lungs as they’d been climbing Great Sontok. The sky-kissing mountains that masked the horizon in front of them didn’t promise things would get much better the higher they climbed.

Sorrow’s Foothills. What a name, he thought. Peppered with slate-grey patches of tumbling stone, the sun barely seemed to crest the mountain’s peaks as it passed across the sky by day before sinking in the west. Those evergreen trees, sparse as they were, clung to the incline like determined Dvergr climbing the mountain to make their way home beneath the snow-capped peaks, and he wondered how long it had been since one of them stood in the place he stood, surveying that mountain and longing to get inside where it was safe and warm.

It was the first time in days, perhaps even weeks, he’d thought about home. The trees in the Edgelands would be afire with autumn’s touch, blanketing the ground and filling the air with the overwhelming scent his mother called autumn’s breath. The air in Sorrow’s Foothills smelled like pine, rust-colored needles littering the earth and crushing beneath their horses’ hooves, and though he’d never thought much about it before the stone itself had a very distinct scent too. Solid, dusty… Every breath that filled his lungs felt heavy as the mountain’s weight. Underneath it all was the barest hint of salt from the sea, which was less than half a day’s ride from where they were and sometimes brought thick mists rolling across the land that didn’t recede until mid-morning.

They were so close to their destination, so near the moment of reckoning it should have filled him with dread, and perhaps some part of him was afraid of what lay within the belly of that mountain, but for the moment Finn couldn’t wait for the opportunity to run free for a little while. Taking in the land, exploring it with all his senses. The wolf beneath his skin perked at the prospect, suddenly agitated and impatient as he spied a mountain goat trotting away from their horses and disappearing into a dark cavern in the mountain.

When they stopped to set up camp, he hung back even though the wolf demanded his attention, and helped set up the tents until Lorelei, who seemed to pick up on his agitation, shooed him away and told him to go hunt for the hidden trail they would follow come morning. Brendolowyn located the trail on one of the maps he’d copied from the ancient texts in the libraries of Dunvarak, a difficult to find passage the Dvergr marked with small runes carved into the stone of the mountain so that a brother would always be able to find his way home.

He found a site just yards from camp, ducked beneath the low-hanging branches and began to strip out of his leathers. He stood for a moment in nothing but his skin, appreciating the cool breath of the wind whispering across his flesh like a lover. He cracked his neck ceremoniously, and recognizing the signal that always preceded transformation, the wolf began to move through him. He stretched into its skin, both delighting and dreading the tear and discomfort of the muscles and bones reforming.

He dropped onto the pads of his front paws and shook out his coat. It snapped beautifully in the wind, a sound that always gave him an extra sense of pride in what he was. And then he lowered his nose to the stony earth and breathed in its smells before throwing back his shoulders and chasing into the wind.

Sometimes the beast daydreamed, pausing to lift his nose and then following a strange scent he’d picked up. The wolf liked to think about what it might be like to share moments such as that with his mate. The thought exhilarated, but also saddened him because he’d come to believe he might not even live to see his mate embrace her wolf spirit.

As he padded across the cool stone and patches of yellowed grass and dirt, he comforted himself with thoughts that had been confusing to him at first, but grew to make perfect sense.

His father, Deken, had not been afraid to die so his family could live.

Finn did not fear dying, not if it meant saving Lorelei, but he sure was disappointed by the thought he might never know her the way his soul was meant to. She said she loved him, and that only made the possibility of no future with her harder to endure.