“The song called and you answered. And our journey is not yet done.”
She spoke with a calm authority but Vaelin could not suppress his skepticism, gesturing at the slowly moving ice surrounding them. “It holds no warning about this?”
“It has sounded a warning note since we began this journey. But it also holds certainty. We are on the right course, the endless man awaits our coming. I know it.”
? ? ?
The first island came into view four days later, a small snow-covered rise some miles to the south, several larger cousins appearing a day later. The berg’s collisions increased as the floe became constricted by the channels through the islands. After many hours constant shuddering, and an ominous crack that shook the ice beneath their feet, it came to a grinding halt.
Wise Bear led them across the now-fractured ice-scape to the nearest island, taller than the others with bare rock jutting from its snow-covered slopes. His mood became sombre as they tracked around its southern shore, coming eventually to a collection of huts beneath a tall cliff. They were conical in shape, the walls constructed from seal hides over a framework of bone and wood, long out of use from their evident state of disrepair. Many were missing hides and others half-ruined by the constant assault of the elements.
“You know this place?” Vaelin asked the shaman.
“Bear People hunting camp,” he said, standing still and expressionless.
“We could press on,” Vaelin suggested, sensing his reluctance. “Find another island.”
“Nearest two days away.” Wise Bear started forward, moving with deliberate purpose and pointing his staff towards the north. “More storm coming. We rest here until it passes.”
They repaired the huts as best they could, using horse-hide to cover the gaps, the night coming on fast and bringing a bitter wind. By now they were all well attuned to the moods of the ice, the speed with which a storm could descend, birthing a new level of cooperation between the Sentar and Orven’s guardsmen. They worked together with wordless efficiency, seemingly unhampered by any language barrier.
“Once the ice made all men brothers,” Wise Bear said that night. They had repaired five huts, enough to shelter the whole company from the storm already howling outside, the surviving horses herded into a single hut with what scant fodder remained. The shaman sat beside the fire in the centre of the hut, the smoke rising to a small hole in the roof as he carved a new symbol into his bone-staff.
“The Long Night longer then, years not months,” he went on, eyes fixed on the knifepoint etching into the bone. “No tribes, just one people, made so by the Long Night. When gone, one people became three, brothers no more.”
He paused to blow powdered bone from the staff, revealing an irregular pattern of dots, each connected with a line. “What does it mean?” Cara asked, leaning forward. She was still alarmingly thin but had regained a great deal of strength during their time on the berg, though Vaelin doubted she could have endured long enough to shield them from the latest storm.
Wise Bear frowned, seeking the right words. “A story now told,” he said finally, his gaze roaming over the Gifted. “Story of journey and joining. When storm passes we make new story, of learning and fighting.”
? ? ?
Wise Bear led them on a south-easterly course three days later, the islands growing in size and number with every passing mile, some even featuring a few trees or bushes the farther south they went. However, there was little for the horses to feed on and, with the fodder now exhausted, soon only Scar was left, plodding in Vaelin’s wake with his head sagging ever lower.
When darkness fell Wise Bear would gather the Gifted, trying to impart some of his knowledge, though his agitation, their ignorance, and his still-rudimentary grasp of Realm Tongue, made it a frustrating task. “Speak!” he commanded Dahrena, raising her hand and placing the palm on his forehead.
“Speak what?” she asked in bemusement.
“Not with mouth,” he snapped, jabbing a finger to her temple. “Speak one word, here.”
Dahrena closed her eyes in concentration, pressing her hand harder against the old man’s forehead but he only grunted in consternation. “Call power,” he said. “Not all. Just small power.”
Dahrena sighed and tried again, stiffening a little, her face losing expression and taking on a familiar, pale cast.
“Tower!” Wise Bear said with a satisfied cackle, adding, “Stop now. Not use too much.”
Dahrena removed her hand from his forehead, flexing her fingers, a look of confused awe on her face. “I didn’t know . . . Can all Gifted do this?”