“The Shrouded Ones are the Old Gods, as are the animal spirits: the predator-cat Stawar God in Eastmark, the Wolf God of the
vyrkin
, the Bear God of Trevath, and the Eagle God, still the patron of the Sworn. They were worshipped here long before the Winter Kingdoms were formed, when there were just bands of tribes wandering these lands, and later, when the first warlords began to bind those tribes into fiefdoms. But raiders came from the east and from the south. They worshipped a new goddess, one with eight faces. The Sacred Lady.” Pevre paused.
“The Light Aspects of the Sacred Lady—the Mother, the Childe, Chenne the Warrior, and the Lover—took the animal gods as their consorts. But the Dark Aspects—Sinha the Crone, Athira the Whore, Istra, the Dark Lady, and Nameless, the Formless One—fought the Shrouded Ones. Through their mages and shamans, they broke the power of the Shrouded Ones,” Pevre said. “Athira lured the Shrouded Ones to their downfall, and Sinha bound their monsters and sent them to the Abyss. Nameless scoured most of the followers of the Shrouded Ones from the lands. Istra called to the Dread to guard the Abyss, and she charged her best warriors to become the Sworn protectors of the barrows, to guard the Dread and keep the wardings.”
“But Nameless didn’t destroy all of the followers of the Shrouded Ones,” Talwyn added. “For centuries, in the far country, or up in the mountains, there were those who remembered the old ways and kept their rituals secret. Each time plague or famine would rise, the followers of Shanthadura, the Durim, would come to the fore again. And when the dark times passed, they would disappear once more. And now, plague, war, and famine have swept across the Winter Kingdoms. And like the pox, the Durim return to shed more blood.”
Jair sat in silence, letting the story sink in. “What do the Durim think will happen if they free whatever is down in the Abyss?”
Pevre shrugged. “We don’t know for certain. They won’t tell their secrets, and no one leaves the cult of Shanthadura alive. But I suspect their motives are simple. They would turn the monsters on their enemies and reinstate the worship of the Shrouded Ones.” He met Jair’s eyes. “And if that day comes, the Winter Kingdoms will fall into darkness. I’ve heard stories from some of the old
vayash moru
about how the Black Robes terrorized the people, about the human sacrifices and the ritual deaths. We can’t allow those times to return.”
“What now?” Jair looked from Talwyn to Pevre. “Can we renew the warding that was broken on the barrow they desecrated?”
Talwyn avoided his eyes. “Yes.”
“Yes… but?” Jair probed, getting the feeling that he was not going to like the full answer.
“I have to spirit walk into the barrow. My magic isn’t strong enough by itself to reinstate the wardings. I have to ask the Dread for help.”
“They’re neutral in this, right?” Jair asked, fearing for Talwyn’s safety. “You’ll be able to return when you’re through?”
Talwyn took a deep breath. “I’ll need an anchor. I’m not a summoner, so my soul doesn’t actually leave my body, but my consciousness—my spirit—does. Sometimes, when the spirit walks, it can lose its way, especially in the dark places. Normally, I’d ask Father to anchor me, but I need him to work some of the wardings.” She reached out to take Jair’s hand. “We’re oath-bound. You can anchor me. I’ll see the light of your spirit to find my way back to my body.”
“And if you can’t?”
Talwyn looked away again. “Then my body remains, but without consciousness. It will sleep without waking until it dies from hunger or thirst, but my spirit will be lost.”
“I don’t like this,” Jair said, looking from Talwyn to Pevre. “Surely there’s another way.”
“There’s no other choice,” Pevre said, and his tone gave Jair to know that Pevre did not like Talwyn’s plan, either.
Jair could see in Talwyn’s eyes that she understood the risk, to herself, to the Sworn, and to the Winter Kingdoms should she fail. And Jair knew that he could not refuse her, even though his fear for her chilled him to the bone. “Then you know I’ll be your anchor. You knew before you asked.”
Talwyn gave him a wan smile. “I believed you would do what must be done.”
The moon was rising as Talwyn, Pevre, and Jair went to the barrows. With them went four of the Sworn’s warriors,
to assure that the working would be uninterrupted. Jair knew that tonight, the
stelian
that hung from his belt would be useless. Tonight’s battle would be decided by Talwyn’s magic and the cooperation—or lack thereof—of the Dread.
He watched nervously as Talwyn and Pevre made their preparations. Magic was widely practiced in Dhasson, but unlike his cousin, Tris Drayke, Jair had no magical power of his own. He hoped, and feared, that Kenver would inherit his mother’s power. His own lack of magic left Jair feeling helpless as the others prepared for the confrontation. Talwyn wore the robes that were a mark of her role as shaman and as the daughter—and heir—of the chief. Talwyn’s robes were woven in rich shades of ochre, sepia, and hues of green, the colors of the ground and the plants from which the Sworn called their power. Embroidered into the robes were symbols and runes as well as a complex pattern that seemed to brighten and dim with every breath Talwyn took.
Pevre, also, was dressed to work magic. Tonight, Pevre wore the ceremonial regalia of a Sworn chieftain, and the mantle of a shaman. A breastplate of leather set with runes in carved bone and precious stones covered his chest and back. Leather vambraces set with silver covered his forearms. A tunic woven in shades of blue, green, and brown extended beneath his breastplate, matching his trews, and a mantle that matched the robe Talwyn wore lay across Pevre’s shoulders. From his belt hung tokens of favor from the Consort Spirits: the claw of a stawar, the eyetooth of a bear, a charm made with the fur of a wolf, and two wing feathers from an eagle.
Jair came dressed to fight. He wore the leather battle
armor of the Sworn warriors, and his
stelian
hung close by his side, along with an array of knives and throwing blades sheathed in a baldric across his chest. On his right hand, he wore the signet ring of the heir to the throne of Dhasson, and on his left palm, the tattoo that marked him as one of the
trinnen
. Though he would have been well-armed for any mortal battle, tonight, Jair felt at a decided disadvantage.
Talwyn raised her arms to signal that she was ready to begin the working. Pevre began a steady rhythmic beat on the hand drum he had carried from the village. Talwyn started to chant in the language of the Sworn, and Jair followed along, swaying to the rhythm of her words.
“Faces of the Sacred Lady, turn to me. I am your daughter. Honored dead, protect me. We are kin. Consorts, I ask you to accompany me. Spirits of the Dread, permit me to enter.” As Talwyn spoke, her form began to shimmer. And as she called to the spirits, a mist rose from the land around her, and as Jair watched, shapes began to appear in the mist, only to vanish like smoke a moment later. Jair thought he glimpsed the ghosts of Sworn warriors, still bearing their death wounds, and the wizened faces of long-dead ancestors. The figure of a woman with long, black hair turned to face Jair, and for an instant, he thought he had come face-to-face with Istra, the Dark Lady. The image vanished as quickly as it came, and Jair saw new shapes coalesce in the mist. Beside Talwyn were a bear, a large wolf, and a large, black predatory cat that was as big as the wolf. Jair recognized it as a stawar, one of the most feared hunters of the Eastern plains. Talwyn took a deep breath, and her robes fell away, leaving her skyclad. From the mist above her head, the figure of an eagle landed on her outstretched forearm.
Talwyn’s body collapsed atop her discarded robes, and a spirit image stepped away from her still form. The spirit image gave one glance back toward Jair and then moved to the crude doorway the Black Robes had erected over the hole they had dug into the side of the barrow. Darkness extended down into the tomb. Talwyn’s spirit image paused at the entrance and she bowed, and then her lips moved, but Jair could not hear her words. Accompanied by the spirits of the Consorts, Talwyn vanished into the darkness.
“How will I know if she needs me?” Jair asked, when Pevre slowed his drumming.
“You’ll know. It’s not unlike the bond between a healer and his assistant. It’s your life energy that her spirit will follow back to you and back to her body.”
Jair looked toward the place where Talwyn’s body lay crumpled and still surrounded by her robes. Everything in him wanted to run to her and gather her into his arms, but both Talwyn and Pevre had warned him to disturb nothing. Instead, he stared into the darkness of the shaft Talwyn had entered, straining to see a glow or a wisp that might give him any hint of what was going on.
Jair felt suddenly off balance, as if someone had shoved him hard from the side. He opened his eyes, and everything around him changed as quickly as if tapestries with a different landscape had been unfurled all around him. Distantly, he heard Pevre’s voice.
“Steady, lad. Talwyn’s drawn you into the bond. You see what she sees. Watch, and do nothing.”
Pevre’s warning was easier heard than followed. Through the bond, Jair felt Talwyn’s fear as she and the spirit guides wound their way deeper into the barrow. The
path led through complete darkness, and a mortal might have had to crawl to follow the winding, mazelike passageway. More than once, the path dropped away into air, as if whoever had made the barrows for the Dread anticipated mortal tomb raiders and set traps for them. Talwyn and her spirit guides continued, unimpeded.
A growing feeling of uneasiness seized Jair, like the wind before a storm. His skin prickled with fear, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Talwyn was afraid, but Jair felt her muster her courage to press forward. The darkness became oppressive, suffocating, as if the shadows themselves had mass. Jair felt Talwyn and her spirit guides stop.
“Show yourselves!” Talwyn’s voice rang out in the darkness. “I’ve come to restore the wardings. I can’t do it without your help.”
Before Talwyn spoke, Jair thought the darkness of the barrow was absolute. But as he watched through Talwyn’s eyes, the darkness grew even blacker, but this time, Jair knew that the Dread moved in the shadows. Through Talwyn, Jair could feel the gaze of the ancient watchers, and a shiver of power ran through him. Whoever—whatever—the Dread were, they had not been human in a very long time.
“Blood has awakened what long slumbered,” a sonorous voice rumbled from the sentient shadows. “Our task has become more difficult.”
“We hunt the ones who disturbed your rest, the ones who shed blood to awaken what you guard. But I can’t do the magic to seal the barrow again by myself. I don’t have your power. Will you work with me?”
“You are not the only one who seeks our help,” the
rumbling voice replied. “For a thousand years, we have remained below, to guard the abyss. We have not meddled in your ways. Now, new powers have arisen, and they would court us. What do you know of this?”
“New powers? The Durim?”
“No. The Durim do as they are bid. Distant power, drenched in blood. It calls to us, but it truly seeks those whom we guard.”
“I know nothing of these ‘new powers,’ ” Talwyn replied. “But if they seek to awaken the monsters of the Abyss, then surely, they are the enemy of the Sworn.”
“Perhaps.” The voice echoed through the deep places of the barrow and Jair shivered. The tone of the disembodied voice said as much as its words. While the Dread had been buried with their prisoners for centuries, whether or not they chose to remain so was up to the Dread. For the first time, Jair realized that the wardings had no power over the Dread themselves, serving only to keep mortals from entering the barrows and to keep the monsters sealed in the Abyss from escaping. Now, Jair shared Talwyn’s realization that should the Dread choose to walk again among mortals, no power in the Winter Kingdoms could stop them.
In the distant shadows, Jair heard whispers of other voices, and farther beyond, the muted snarls of horrors he did not wish to see. As if the Dread had conferred among themselves, the rumbling voice suddenly returned.
“We will help you, daughter of the Sworn. But heed this warning: We keep our own counsel. A great darkness is coming. We have not yet determined how—or whether—we will act. Do not presume to know our mind.”
Talwyn clasped her hands in front of her and bowed
to the spirits. “Thank you, guardians. I will bear your warning.”
“Leave us now. When you rejoin your body, you will have the knowledge and the power you need to ward the barrow. Do not come to us again unless we summon you.”
Jair shook off the trance and looked up. Talwyn’s spirit image and her guides were making their way toward them through the mist. The spirit-Talwyn stood before her crumpled body, and then stepped into the form, raising it around her. Talwyn blinked and took a deep breath. Her amber eyes glowed with power, and the spirit guides moved beside her as she walked toward the barrows. She spoke in a language Jair had never heard, and the words seemed impossible to fix in his mind, as if it was not given for mortals to remember them. The hole in the side of the barrow filled in; no, Jair thought, it
healed
as if the soil and rock were sinew and skin.
Pevre was the first to move. He began to beat his hand drum in rhythm with the strange chant that Talwyn sang. Jair felt fatigue wash over him, and he realized that Talwyn had begun to draw from his energy to sustain herself as she worked the magic. Linked to Talwyn, Jair felt energy crackle around him as if lightning had struck at close range. The pull from Talwyn was stronger now, and her face was set with fierce concentration. Jair had only rarely seen Talwyn work this level of magic. He could not shake off a primal fear of the power that consumed her and the steady pull that drew from his own life force.