Arc 22: 'Neath Winter Snows
“All is calm, quiet, cold; that which curs 'neath winter snows.”
* Varasar the Poet, recovered fragment
- - -
Peanut's hooves, each twice as wide and tall as my out-stretched hand, crunch with his every long stride. Frost has covered the bare earth of the lake-shore road, a thin, crystalline gray over rutted, muddy brown. His shaggy fetlocks are stained with it, long strands of horse-hair clumping and freezing into a nightmarish tangle. It will be hell to pick them apart later, a difficult task made worse by the facts that the cold has numbed my fingers.
I left Fischer where he fell; in a bower of broken cattails and a bed of freezing mud. I left the bolt, too, digging my heels into Peanut's massive flanks and urging him, begging him, to carry me away from there, as fast and far as a horse his size could run. He did, loping for mile after mile while I gasped for breath, dashed tears from my eyes, and fought every urge I had to throw Loren's repulsive crossbow beneath his hooves. Steam curled from his massive body when he finally slowed, his hide dark and damp with sweat.
When I camped that night, I doted on him for it. The night after, I did it to calm myself. I huddled beneath my cloak before a guttering, smokeless fire and, on the edge of sleep, my drowsing mind would conjure any mix of the half-dozen horrors that I witnessed in the place I would reach tomorrow. Today, now.
I remember sailing south with Clarke and Juliana. I remember the motion sickness that plagued us, the nest in the crates I made for myself, and how Juliana defeated all comers in arm-wrestling. I remember the sound of the wind, its keening wail through rope and wire, the slap and smack of sailcloth. I remember the ship, how the waters made it creak and groan.
I remember the crew, the call that rose on the morning of that last day.
Port's on the hori-ZON!
It was then, as it is now, no more than a smudge in the distance. Then, I'd been eager to arrive, eager to save my Royah kin from danger. I'd waited impatiently for that smudge to define itself, to become a city. Now, I watch in fear of the same.
I grip Peanut's reins tightly, leather creaking in my grip, and breathe in, deep and slow. I smell snow. The slate-gray sky has threatened it since dawn; now it follows through. Flakes fall thick and fast, swirling down to blot out all the world but what is close to me. The fear settles. It's nonsense, utter foolishness – Port Viara is still there – but nonetheless, the fear settles. Peanut trudges on, snorting great plumes of misted breath that curl and fade into the still, quiet air.
“What am I doing?” I ask the only companion I have left. He flicks an ear back. “Truly, Peanut; what in the moon-cursed hell am I doing? She thinks I'm dead – Merigold, I mean. I don't have to do this. I could just...ride right past the Port, head south into the Grasslands, and maybe find something beautiful to see down there. The schools of magic in Talent. The great sail-towers in Galmash. The red plains themselves, how they just...roll away, forever, like the sea. I wanted to see that, you know, before all this started?”
Peanut tosses his head.
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“I know,” I agree, shaking mine, “I was stupid. Naive. I thought I could just...walk this road I'd been sent down and – and it'd all be fine! Yes, I knew there were dangers, but I thought – I thought I was ready! She told me I was! Why would my mother lie to me?”
I lean forward, run a cold-stiffened hand along Peanut's long, broad neck. He snorts agreeably.
“I'm not sure she did, though,” I confess, “I'm still here, aren't I? Still alive, despite everything?” I sigh. “I don't feel very alive, if I'm being honest, Peanut. I can't sleep, I barely eat...I don't remember the last time I felt anything but hateful. When was it?”
Peanut flicks an ear back.
“I suppose it doesn't matter.” I watch my breath curl and fade into the falling snow. “They were right, you know, about me being selfish? I knew I'd end up like this, alone – except for you. I knew Juliana wouldn't want me to do this when I started. I always knew, I just...it's not as if I didn't care, I just – I just wanted this more. Does that make me a bad person, do you think?”
Peanut looks back at me with one large, dark eye. Then he looks away.
I nod. “I thought so, too.”
- - -
I hear the lake, hear Peanut's hooves clatter over a stony shoreline, see the dark shapes of huge boulders beyond the veil of falling snow. My mouth goes dry; I know this place. I know the chill of the water, the drag of my sodden clothes around my legs. I know the embankment nearby, a sharp incline of rock and bare earth, now buried beneath winter white. We'd huddled there, had Clarke and I, watching the trees beyond for any sight of the man we thought would kill us. He let us go.
Would I have, were our roles reversed? If I had Rolland Pike at my mercy, would I grant him it? I don't know. I don't think so, but I need to decide soon; another thing I know about this place is how close it is. I can't see it, not yet, but Port Viara beckons.
“Last chance to turn away,” Peanut's ear flicks, but I'm talking to myself. I've done it now and again since I left Amberdusk to run Fischer down. It helps fill the silence – the empty, lonely space – that Clarke's absence has made.
That I made.
I shake my head, disturbing the gathered flakes on my hood. They run in little rills down my cloaked shoulders. I turn Peanut's head up the stony beach, back towards the road we somehow left behind. He snorts a plume of steam and trudges on, dragging his hooves through drifts of snow. I'll need to rest him soon; brush him, too: sweat and snow have turned to frost across his broad, golden body. A beard of little icicles hangs from his snout. I swipe away what I can, but I won't be able to get it all until and unless I stop.
We reach the road – I think – and I rein him in. He stomps the frozen ground and tosses his massive head. His little beard breaks apart. I pat his neck. Drag my fingers through his mane.
“You're a good horse, Peanut.” He swishes his tail. “I know; I'm tired, too. We're almost there, though. They've got a stable; it's warm, full of hay! You can eat as much as you want!”
The Windrunners – Connall, Bailey, Loren, and Fischer – didn't have much money on them, but it'll be enough to put a roof over his head until either I'm done or I'm dead. I prod his flanks with my heels and click my tongue. With a great equine sigh, Peanut starts once more to crunch through the frost and snow.
What will I do, though? Port Viara beckons, I can see it through the snow, and I don't know how I'm going to find Merigold; or Pike, for that matter. Do I even want to find Pike?
Yes. I do. He terrifies me like nothing else does, and I want him to fear me the same. I want to have him at my mercy the way I was at his. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why he didn't kill us. I want to find out if I'll spare him the way he spared me.
What about Merigold?
She'll be easy to find, I should think; I just need to wait in a public space long enough for her to appear. I must've heard a dozen speeches when I was here last, waiting for Juliana to recover from her gate-crush injuries. She'd been in love with the sound of her own voice then; I can't imagine she's any less fond of it now.
From there, I'll do what I did with the Windrunners in Amberdusk: follow her everywhere. I've no doubt she'll be protected, most likely by Vance and his men. If I'm really unlucky, she'll have the knights with her: Turner, Hull, and Flint. I'll have to avoid being seen by all of them. They think I'm dead. It'll help.
What about after, assuming there is one? If I'm injured, I suppose I'll find somewhere safe to hide and heal. Valdenwood, maybe. If by some miracle I pull this off without injury, I suppose I'll just leave; leave the Port, leave the Timberland, and ride south. Find my family along the way, maybe.
First things first.
Port Viara beckons.