“Avenshura is the bright star that appears in the morning sky. Beral Shak Ur is the Shadow of the Raven.”
Astorek and Many Wings exchanged a glance, faces suddenly grave. They said nothing but from the way Wise Bear straightened Vaelin divined they were communicating by other means.
“Gather your people,” Astorek said after a moment. “You will follow us.”
“To what purpose?” Vaelin asked.
“Follow and find out.” The Volarian turned and started back to his sled, the wolves rising as one to fall in on either side as their master cast a final word over his shoulder, “Or stay here and perish when the Long Night falls.”
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The island stretched away on either side for several miles, liberally covered with trees, a steep-sided mountain of snow-speckled granite rising from its centre. “Wolf Home,” Wise Bear called it in rough translation of its unpronounceable true name. “I not see this for many year.”
The journey had taken four days hard trekking across the ice, which became noticeably thinner the farther south they travelled. It was unnerving to see through it when the sun rose high, light playing on the bubbles visible beneath a barrier no more than a few feet thick. “It melts in summer,” Astorek explained. “And the islands become isolated, reachable only by boat. Though we have plenty of those.”
He had been an affable guide so far, unwilling to take offence at the instinctive suspicion of the Sentar or the open hostility of the Realm folk. “Offering trust to such as him does not seem wise, my lord,” Orven advised, his dark expression a mirror of his soldiers as he regarded the Volarian. Like all the men from the Realm he had been forced to abandon a daily grooming regimen and was now of somewhat wild appearance, the unkempt beard and long hair rendering him nearly unrecognisable. “We know to our cost how well they use their spies.”
“He’s no spy,” Kiral said, the only one in their company besides Wise Bear to display no enmity towards the young shaman. “My song tells of no deceit.”
“These people trust him,” Vaelin pointed out as Orven plainly found scant reassurance in the huntress’s words. “And Wise Bear trusts them. Besides, we have little choice.”
A large gathering of Wolf People waited on a spit of land on the island’s west-facing coast, several hundred men, women and children staring in open curiosity at the newcomers. Clustered among them were several wolf packs each numbering ten or more with a single shaman at their centre, whilst a great flock of spear-hawks circled above. Many Wings raised her bone-staff to order a halt as a man came forward to greet them, a little taller than her with a broader build than most ice people. From the closeness of the embrace he shared with Many Wings and Astorek, Vaelin deduced he was witnessing a family reunion.
“My father bids you welcome,” Astorek related. “He leads here. In your tongue his name means Whale Killer.”
“I thank him for his hospitality,” Vaelin replied, noting that, in contrast to Many Wings, the shaman was required to translate his words aloud to the Wolf People chieftain.
Whale Killer favoured Vaelin with much the same scrutiny shown by his wife, though with a more friendly countenance. “He says it is strange when an old tale takes form,” Astorek translated.
Vaelin began to ask for clarification but Whale Killer had already moved on, approaching Wise Bear with arms wide. They embraced, exchanging greetings in the tongue of the ice people from which, despite all the weeks hearing it, Vaelin still failed to discern any meaning.
“We thought the Bear People wiped out,” Astorek explained. “My father is glad to see we were wrong.”
“They warred with the Volarians,” Vaelin said. “Driven across the ice to find refuge in our lands. Not so with your people, I see.”
Astorek’s face grew sombre and Vaelin noted Kiral’s sympathetic wince, making him wonder what tune she heard from her song. “We had war,” the Volarian said. “It was ugly, but short.”
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