Chapter 9

“We’re lost!” Peony said.

“You have a nail fixed in your head!” Regina snapped back. “We are not, and you will stop stop saying we are, or it will become so.”

“What does what I say have to do with where we are?”

“What does the pretty song you say have to do with fire?”

“Everything! It’s actually a multilayered thaumodynamic principle at work—“

“Eet! Close your beak! Enough of school! Morana has seen fit to move winter to a new time and now comes for our souls. Focus on the road and finding.”

“You know, Morana has only ever appeared in myth, there’s no confirmed inhabitation by that deity—“

“Zitto! This is not the road.”

Peony looked over the horses head, wondering what Regina thought it was, if it was not the road. It looked like the road to him, or as much like the road as anything did in this blizzard. He was following what might have been their back-trail, but who could tell tell in this? It all looked the same.

The wind gusted and a fat snowflake slapped into Peony’s open eye. He cried out, pawing at it with the back of his hand, trying not to lose hold of the reigns again. His fingers were numb. His feet were numb. Parts of his thighs had begun to grow numb. He smelled ice. It was a strange crisp smell, almost burnt, but clear, like something pure, but dangerous, like fire. Which reminded him, his nose was numb.

The landscape had dwindled to what he could see through squinted eyes, and that was all snow. He’d been trying to follow the road, but it all looked the same now. White, layered and dimpled like a blanket on the valley floor. Besides, the blowing snow made seeing anything beyond ten feet impossible. It was also getting darker.

Peony didn’t know if the growing gloom was a product of the great dark snow clouds that had suddenly crashed into being, or if it was actually that late. How long had it been since that man had drawn on the stump and conjured the tower of fire? He didn’t know.

He wanted to find that man again. Drawing magic like that was unknown to Peony. He ached to learn it. His mind replayed the column of green fire that had pierced the sky.

Fire!

Of course!

Peony pulled the horse to the left as he saw a tree loom up out of the snow and gloom.

“Do you see something?” Regina asked.

“Yes!” Peony said, “I found a way to keep us from freezing.”

***

Bird stepped over the intestine rope that crossed the doorway, again. He’d made a quick check of the building and now needed to go find his party in a blizzard. Sigrun had refused to stay behind and let him gather the party, even though she was only a hinderance at this point.

The low-slung structure had a covered porch, and Bird stood on the edge before stepping out into the swirling snow. The snow was falling heavily enough that it was near whiteout conditions. Bird had heard a rumor that the old mad king had held the power to call down the fury of the north, but he had written that off as just a tale. It seemed the strangest things were true.

The smell hit him, the cold air seeming reluctant to carry odors. It smelled of a forge, freshly minted iron, but it also smelled of offal, like a fresh kill in the woods. Bird tasted a sour tinge of bile in the back of his throat. It was a taste he associated with war. He hated having the association of what a man being strung up smelled like, closely tied to gutting and skinning a fresh kill out in the woods. Bird spat off the porch. Everything that had been sacred, the old madman had found a way to twist and taint it.

Bird sighed. And the damn old fool was likable. He'd always sworn if he ever got the chance, he would avenge his fallen brother without a second's hesitation because that's what you did. When there was a monster terrorizing the world, you put it down to save the innocent. But not only had the man met him face to face, he hadn't tried to cower, apologize, make excuses, or justify what he had done. And now the fool had ridden off to try and protect farmers—farmers, the lowest caste in all the seven kingdoms—and this man valued their lives.

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Why was the world not straight? Why was it twisted in ways that didn't make sense? Bird supposed that was just the way of it. It was the way of the forest. It was the way of the trails. It was the way of the plains. It was the way of the darkness that had infected the world and twisted everything up. And it was the way of men. Men were never just one thing.

Bird knew that from his youth. But yet... he had allowed himself and his hatred to grow in a naive belief that someone deserved his unmitigated hatred.

Sigrun was sitting her horse, the great roan eager to get its blood flowing in this blowing cold. The property had a barn, and Bird had no desire to try and deal with a horse that had a broken ankle, or leg, or fell into a deep drift in this storm.

"Leave it!" Bird yelled over the wind.

Sigrun looked perplexed. "What, are you going on foot?”

“You're the fool that wanted to come with me."

Bird helped Sigrun stable the horse. It looked like she had never been trained how. He knew that, but it still shocked him every single time. He had ridden with this party long enough that he should remember, but she seemed competent in too many areas. The simplest things surprised him continually when she not only had no grasp of it but seemed incapable of developing a quick handle on it. The idea of caring for a mount slipping through her awareness. She had spent far too many years training in the barracks at the palace.

The task done, Bird's horse and Sigrun's were well-stabled. Bird stepped back into the storm and cast his senses out, allowing himself to slip into the Raven’s sight. There was little to see in the blowing swirls of snow and wind. The bird didn't see in the same way that humans did. It turned out he didn't need to look for people; they had chosen to light a signal fire. It seemed like half the horizon was glowing orange. Well, at least he knew where to find Peony.

Bird returned to himself and double-checking that Sigrun still wanted to come with him, Bird set off at a trot. The storm might blow the fire out, but with the size of the glowing orange that he saw, it also might not. Bird tried hard to both pick up the pace and not leave Sigrun behind.

***

Peony stared at the conflagration in front of him. The blue spruce and other conifer trees had lit more quickly than he would have believed. He had tried to only light one of the smaller trees in order to warm himself, Regina, and their horse. One of the tall trees that was ablaze let out a high-pitched scream as a piece of the trunk broke apart and the sap inside boiled, letting out steam in a pressurized flaming jet.

Branches all over the burning trees exploded. The sap inside of them reached boiling point, and the pressure caused them to go off like miniature cracks of thunder. The blaze had effectively warmed Peony. He was standing close enough that he was feeling quite comfortable now. It had melted the snow in a wide circle. There were a good fifteen trees burning now.

Regina stepped up beside him. "I told you this was a bad idea!" she shouted over the roar of the fire.

Peony could only shrug at this. It was obviously a bad idea, but at least they weren't freezing to death anymore.

"How are we going to put it out?" Regina shouted.

He only looked over at her. He shrugged. He was open to suggestion if she had ideas.

"Don't you have some magic for undoing the fire?" she said.

He only shook his head. He didn't have any magic for undoing fire, only storing it. The only affinity that he had developed so far was for fire. It was a very helpful affinity. He'd found hundreds of uses for it, but putting out fire was not one of them.

"I thought that you could take a fire and store it," Regina said.

Peony nodded, bobbing his head from side to side. It was true, he could, and he currently had a campfire stored. He looked at her. "I've never tried to store so much," he said. "I don't think it would work."

Regina threw her arms wide. "Why? Just try it."

"But I already have a campfire stored," Peony said.

Regina glowered at him. She had a very nice glower. Peony had found that he had really come to enjoy earning her glowers. He had earned quite a number in the weeks they had traveled together. He smiled in return and shrugged. "What do I do with the campfire?"

Regina looked up at the sky, "Mettere paglia al fuoco, save me,” she muttered. “You add it to the big fire in front of you. Then you try to store it all.”

"Huh." He had never thought of that. Add it to the big fire and then try and take it all. It was worth a shot, he supposed.

So, Peony formed his hands together, making a circle, chanting. He brought the words together, and he formed in his mind the precise glyph, the image that matched the words. And then he sang, the single clear note, pitch-perfect. Once it was correct, he released his hands and pressed them forward. From between them burst a ball of fire, swirling and scintillating. It scythed through the air in a trajectory and hit one of the blazing trees.

Peony pumped his fist in the air. "Woo-hoo!” That had been what he was aiming for. He glanced at Regina. Yep, this had earned him another glare. He smiled in return.

Then, concentrating, he changed the glyph in his mind until it was its mirror image. Once he had that complete, he began the chant, careful to start at the end and head towards the beginning. Once he had reached the beginning of the chant, he uttered a clear, pure note. But as he did, he let his mind wander to the idea of filling up a flask.

But this wouldn't do this time. He couldn't fill a flask, not with this much fire. And so he allowed himself to picture filling up a cistern. That seemed like it might be enough. He'd seen some impressive cistern work once he had inquired of the palace architects.

Once he had that picture clear in his mind, he allowed the beautiful red light to begin to pour into the giant cistern. It poured and poured and poured. And something inside of Peony began to ache. He realized he ought to stop now. But he was stuck. Committed to the task of drawing, he hadn't realized that he had to take all of what he set out to take. He figured if it became too much, he could just put a stop to it. This had just proved not to be the case.

***