Spellbreakers (30 page)

****

Ljung was thinking about the strange impulse that had
come over him in the Elders’ Ring. He had not been sure he would offer to
accompany the girls to the Ice Waste until Rutger had spoken the question.

He had never been very deep into the Waste, but he had
skirted the edge of the glaciers several times, often while hunting down some
of the fell beasts that came out of them. He had almost gotten lost in the
serac labyrinth that was pretty much the true gateway to the frozen heart of
Dalarna. He didn’t relish the idea of passing that labyrinth again, and going
up to the fabled blue ice at the center of the glacier. But if Daria and Leal
were set to go, somebody must go with them. And it was a fact that he was
already wet, metaphorically speaking.

He had been to even more evil places, back in the
Vaelta’a, trying to find Naya and save her from the shadows. He knew the power
and horror of black magic. He had already lost a lover to it. He had sworn an
oath to himself many years before to never go and mix with that sort of sorcery
ever again.

But that was then, and now Daria’s rueful grin and
Leal’s need were more important than his old fears.

Why were the Elders bothering to help these two girls?

The Elders never did anything by chance. They were
natural born schemers. Mostly benevolent schemers, sure, but their interest lay
with the elvers of Elverhjem, and nobody else. Human travelers being warmly
welcomed in the Elverlaen, fed like kings, and clad in elvren clothes was
almost unheard of these days.

Ljung had found a home of sorts in Elverhjem, when he
had come running, broken and alone, out of the smoking ruins of the
Itaanvaelta’a, but he did not entirely like the way the Elders ran the lives of
people here. He resented the borders and the stifling laws and rituals.

Take Paavi and Senija for example. They had had as
hard a life as anyone could bear. Half-bloods and outcasts, both of them, they
lived on the edge of disaster in their strange cottage. They would have been
safe within the guarded borders of the Elverlaen, but the Elders forbade anyone
not of elver race to settle within their land.

No, if the Elders were helping Leal, it was not out of
purely altruistic reasons. Something else was going on, something darker and
bigger. Rutger had almost plainly said as much.
Something
that had to do with him, Ljung, in some roundabout way.
That could only
mean that the trouble was stirring once more in the Itaanvaelta’a, spreading
westward fast enough for the Elders to take notice, finally.

Indeed the elvers would need a strong leader if that
was true, a Warlord like it hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years.

Kjetil Alversen Haukka-Silma’a, old champion, you’d
better be alive in that palace of ice. That’s enough snoozing.
Time to wake up.

And with that thought Ljung finally fell into an
uneasy nap.

****

Leal also fell asleep eventually, alone in the small
bedroom. Much later, and much to her surprise, she woke up at the sound of voices
in the main room of the house.
Many voices, not just Daria
and Ljung’s.
She sat up disoriented, and shook her head trying to clear
her thoughts. Before she could get up, Daria carefully opened the door of the
room.

“Hey. You are awake,” she said. “There is a bunch of
elvers with all kinds of hot food and packed provisions, and ice axes and
crampons and fur clothes enough to dress a battalion of polar bears. I think
you should come and pick stuff in your size. You will have to try all the
things together to make sure you can still walk when you have everything on.”

Daria was not joking. There were so many layers of
linen, wool and fur clothes that they both spent the rest of the afternoon
trying out fur trousers, shifts and small clothes, thick socks, gloves,
mittens, long tailed coats with big furry hoods, trying them all on, gasping in
the heat of the house, laughing at their clumsiness with the unfamiliar elvren
fastenings,
 
stroking the splendid white
and silvery pelts which made up most of the outer, thicker layers of their new
equipment, and wondering if all that would really be necessary, and how on
earth they would manage to carry it all for days on their backs.

Ingri was there, flirting with Ljung in a very
shameless way, but the directing minds behind the preparations were a strangely
matched couple. He, Leif Leivsen, was a grey-haired elver hunter who looked
much older than the Elders, perhaps because of the very noticeable limp on his
left leg. He had been on the ice many times, and had taken an almost mortal
wound on his leg while hunting a skøll, which, from what Leal and Daria could
make out, was a kind of warg. He was considered the best authority on the
glaciers currently available in Elverhjem. He gave them instructions on the use
of each piece of equipment that was given to them, and told them many tales on
the beauty and perils of the glaciers. He did not make light of the dangers,
yet Leal suspected that he would have given anything to come with them and see
the ice once more. Only his bad leg held him back.

Leif’s accomplice in the refitting of the travelers
was Julie Jorundottir, a striking red-haired elver woman whose patchwork skills
were said to be the best in Elverhjem. She measured them all in turns, not with
any tape, knotted string or other instrument but with her hands, palms,
fingers, murmuring numbers, parts, and colors in a musical mysterious drone.

“These are our usual winter hunting clothes,” she
said, kneeling at Daria’s feet, basting the shortened edge of a pair of trousers
with unbelievably quick, skillful stitches. “They are made for the snowy moors
and will keep you almost unseen on the glaciers, I hope. I hope I manage to sew
more white fox into them, and perhaps some blue and green, some very, very pale
celadon silk I have...” She unpinned the edge of Daria’s trousers and quickly
attacked the wrists of her jacket.

Leal, slightly taller, had found some clothes very
close to her size, but Daria, much to her chagrin, needed a bit of work for a
good fit.
 
She had always hated standing
still under a seamstress’s hands.

“But of course,” said Julie, sewing fast, “I have
never been to the Ice Waste, so it would all be guesswork. This great lout
here,” she said tossing her head towards Leif with some disdain, “is perfectly
useless as a color guide. I ask, this ice, you tell me it’s blue, but blue how,
celadon, aquamarine, turquoise, sapphire, ultramarine, indigo,
what blue
?
He mumbles and all he says is, ‘I don’t know, kinda blue.’ Ah!”

Leal laughed, while Leif muttered something
incomprehensible, which made Ljung snigger. The tailors and seamstresses of
Castel Argell were pale, overworked, dispirited creatures on the whole, but it
was obvious that Julie found real satisfaction in her sewing and in the colors
she so skillfully wove into the hunters’ clothes. And well she may, thought
Leal, thinking of how Ljung’s clothing had made him perfectly invisible in the
forest. They were the traditional garments of their race, and the survival and
success of the elver hunters often depended on them, but even in Elverhjem some
craftsmen and women were more skilled and proud than others.

When every item of their new wardrobe was chosen,
tried out, marked and pinned for the necessary adjustments, Julie, helped by
her assistants, carried everything away with the promise that it would be back
and ready by the next evening.

Leif also left, and Ljung went with him. They talked
fast in the Elvren tongue, as Leif tried to squeeze a lifetime of experience
about the glaciers into Ljung in the little time they had.

It was almost dark outside, and a fine rain was
falling quietly. The elvers had bidden them eat as they wished, without regard
for dinner time or etiquette, and to tuck in heartily against their coming
trials. Leal sat by the fire tasting the several kinds of food that they had
brought. Daria soon joined her. It was incredibly comforting to be in a safe
quiet home once more, without the immediate need to go anywhere. The most
dangerous stage of their journey was right in front of them now, but it was
outside that door. For one day they were sheltered from all weather and
dangers.

“This is a weird town and people,” said Leal between
mouthfuls. “They keep telling us how unwelcome strangers are in their woods,
and yet we’ve seldom seen such hospitality on our trip.”

Daria nodded vaguely. “Yeah, it makes one wonder,
doesn’t it? But it’s not the only weird thing. I have seen at least three
different girls smiling to Ljung with sheep eyes and touching him all over.
That Ingri was very particular.” She frowned. “Either they have quite a
different way to greet their friends over here, or, how shall I put it, people
don’t give much weight to marriage vows and such.”

Leal smiled, but she could sense the tension in Daria.

“They do have more free customs than us. For a man, a
hunter to touch a ... a princess in Escarra ... it would be death, or nearly.”

Leal trailed off uncertainly. This line of
conversation might offend Daria in so many ways that she regretted even
speaking the first words. But Daria just nodded.

“I know what you mean. They don’t treat women like
property here. Or like worshipful objects. Or like small children. Can you
imagine growing up in a place where a woman wearing breeches is perfectly
normal, instead of being looked at like a cow on stilts all the time?” she
asked while dipping some crisp fried roots in a spicy pale green sauce.

“Not really. But it is a nice change.”

“Indeed. Pass me the red sauce, will you?”

Leal was quiet for a long while. She wanted to talk
about the Ice Waste, but she didn’t want to spoil the relaxed mood of that
evening. She felt that Daria was distracted by something, and she didn’t know
how to talk to her. She wished the elvers had stayed behind, to fill the room
with voices. It was the first time in their lives that she felt a barrier
between them.

She knew what was bothering Daria. She, too, had seen
how free the women who had visited them had been with Ljung—and Leif, for that
matter. But, unlike Daria perhaps, she had never allowed herself to dream that
Ljung might become part of her future life.

The fact that he would be coming to the Ice Waste was
as alarming as it was reassuring. It was splendid to have a capable guide they
trusted with them on the journey north, yet at the same time Leal worried about
how distracting it would be to have him around.

A pure heart,
she
thought again and again.
Is my heart pure enough for this? How can it be? My
love is all spent, long before I even get to the Waste. Every time I try to
imagine kissing Hawkeneye back to life, all I see is Ljung’s face...

The uneasy silence followed them in bed. Leal turned
to her side, close enough to Daria to make it clear there wasn’t any grudge,
but she forced herself to lie still until sleep overcame her.

But when she woke up again much later in the night
Daria wasn’t there anymore.

****

Daria remained awake. She craved for Ljung’s rangy
hard body more than she could possibly express, even to herself. She stroked
her sex quietly, careful not to wake Leal, and wondered if their strange three-ways
romance in the forest had been nothing but a freak, a one-time thing that would
never happen again. Leal had closed up after that. Daria wondered if she
regretted what had happened. She had not talked about it all day. Not a word.
Daria didn’t know what to make of her silence.

Leal had seemed well pleased with Ljung’s lovemaking,
that was for sure, but perhaps she resented Daria’s growing attachment to him?
It was hard to tell. It was hard to know what went on in her head at all these
days. It was as if the closer they got to their goal the more absorbed Leal
became in their quest.
Which is good of course, but, but, but. It would be
so much easier to leave that frozen hero where he is, and bring Ljung south
with us. Destiny
be
damned, I say. Why can’t we just
be
practical
for once?

Daria sometimes wished that Leal would not be so
solemn and metaphysical all the time, but Dee’s influence was very strong on
her. It made it hard work to be around her sometimes. Daria had looked after
her all her life, but never until now had it become a burden. Not a heavy
burden, sure, because she loved her, but sometimes, just sometimes, and to her
shame, she felt the need for letting go, sitting back a bit, and maybe for
someone to see to her, Daria’s, needs. It was becoming somewhat taxing to be
always the light-hearted, positive one, the optimistic, practical-minded one,
the one looking out for Leal whenever she was too occupied with her high
destiny to mind the every day’s chores and gifts of life.

Daria just wished they could relax once in a while and
just be happy and thoughtless together as they used to be before the Challenge.
She wished she could just let go of all Leal’s cares and worries for one night.
Was it so much to ask?

She turned belly up in the soft bed, with a deep sigh
and stuck a finger deeply in her wet slit to moisten her hungering clitoris.
She almost whimpered at the thought of Ljung’s body, Ljung’s smooth lips and
Ljung’s rough chin. She had always wondered how women could bear the bristly
touch of a man’s jaw, and now that she had felt it once, she could not live
without it. Oh, for another touch of that scratchy beard! She stroked herself
harder, and sighed again, but it was a forlorn sigh this time.