Not her child, but as Naelin stared at the space where the ragged child had stood, she felt hope stir within her, so hot and fierce that it felt as if her veins were filled with boiling water. “Ven, was that—”
“Yes, I saw him too.” Ven bounded across the rocks as they undulated beneath his feet, rising and falling in response to an earth spirit burrowing beneath them. Naelin felt it slither past, deep within the ground, a massive bulbous worm with sluggish thoughts of destruction. She called to one of her own spirits, an earth spirit that looked like a horse made of smooth black stone, and climbed onto its back.
Follow the child, she ordered her spirits. Do no harm.
Swarming around her, the spirits changed course. They poured in a river over the rocks and into the crevasses. She rode with them, the horse’s stone hooves striking the backs of other spirits and then they in turn clawing past the horse spirit, a writhing stream of bodies.
“You’ll scare him, Naelin! Hold back!” Ven called.
“You’re the one with the sword!” Naelin called to him. But she reined in her spirits, letting them swirl around her. Absently, she stroked the back of a winged ermine spirit who flew beside her. It hissed through its fangs. Shh, I will stay with you, she soothed the spirits.
She felt their agitation through her bond with them, vibrating like a plucked string, and she blanketed them with calming thoughts. It only partially worked. Her own thoughts were nowhere near calm. If a child could survive here, then maybe my children could have.
It was common knowledge that no one survived the untamed lands.
But common knowledge could be wrong.
She pushed her mind toward the spirits on the edges of her swarm, watching Ven through their eyes. He climbed over the rocks, batting away an ice spirit that tried to sink its icicle claws into his arm. His mouth was moving—he was calling to the child. Naelin pushed herself deeper into the spirits, listening.
“We swear we won’t hurt you!” Ven called. “Come back! We’re looking for someone! We need help. Please!” He was aware he didn’t present the least-threatening sight, with his green leather armor, scarred and bearded face, sword in his hand, and bow and arrows on his back. He also had spare knives in his boots and an extra in his front pocket. But he had to be less alarming than Naelin, with her spirits.
Frankly, he found her intimidating like this.
Not that he’d admit that.
He scrambled over the rocks, which would not stay still. Gah! This place is a nightmare! As he climbed a boulder, the rocks rumbled again, split, and a spurt of fire shot up from the crevasse. “Naelin, can you do something about this?”
Two ice spirits, laughing, shot past him. He rubbed his ear as the cold stung and watched as they dove into the fiery crevasse, filling it with ice crystals that crinkled and crackled until they solidified into a solid blue sheet. The ice spirits danced beneath the ice, spreading flowerlike patterns from below. Ven jumped off the boulder and, crouching, slid down the new ice river.
“Boy! We need your help! Come back!”
Seeing the end of the ice river, Ven leapt to the side. He held still, listening. The mist coiled and curled around him, and he heard a crack of thunder. Rain began to fall, smacking his cheeks and seeping beneath his armor, soaking his shirt underneath.
Just as suddenly, the rain stopped. Sun beamed down for a moment and then was swallowed. I lost him. Straightening, he turned to trudge back to Naelin.
And there before him was the boy.
Ven did not move. “We’re looking for someone. Two someones, a boy and a girl named Llor and Erian.” He thought about asking about Bayn as well. It’s too much to hope for that he’s survived. Protector of Queens or not. Bayn had been in the untamed lands for far longer than Erian and Llor. Then again . . . this boy survives here . . . “Can you help us find them? And a wolf? We call him Bayn.” He kept his voice soft and gentle, sheathed his sword, and spread his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm.
The boy did not speak.
But then the boy beckoned to Ven and began walking, jumping from rock to rock, using his hands for balance, as if he were a squirrel in a tree. Ven didn’t hesitate, keeping his eye on the boy as he followed. He trusted that Naelin would be behind him, keeping the spirits in check.
The land around them continued to change: toward the north, a mountain spewed flames on one side of its face while it wept waterfalls on the other. Ice crystals shaped like trees sprouted into a forest farther to the west, only for wind to blow them apart. Unnatural place, he thought. And yet, what the spirits did here was nothing compared to what he saw next. Because when he crossed the latest ridge, he halted, shocked.
It was a village. Of sorts.
A collection of huts made from uneven planks of wood lashed together and leaning up against boulders, the town—More like a camp, he thought—was smushed close, as if the buildings themselves were huddled together, afraid of the outside world. Which, he supposed, is exactly what they are afraid of. He saw fire pits between them, a few lit with pots hanging on spits, and laundry was strung between windows. Perhaps more than anything, it was the laundry that disturbed him. It was such an easy sign of domesticity that would get overlooked elsewhere, but here, it drove home just how out of place all this was in the untamed lands.
A few people came out of the huts as they approached: men, women, children, all of them as dirty and underfed as the boy. Ven raised his hand in a wave. “We mean no harm!”
One of the women scurried forward and pulled him down from the rocks. “Quickly, quickly,” she muttered, “before the spirits see you.” As soon as he passed the first hut, the people all surrounded him, pressing close, patting his arms, his hair, his pack, and murmuring at him.
“I’m looking for a girl and a boy named Erian and Llor”—and then, because this was all impossible anyway, he added, “as well as a wolf named Bayn. Have you seen them?” He pushed away the fingers of a young girl who was probing his front pocket. “What is this place? Who are you all?”
The woman who had brought him in stepped forward to answer, and then she whitened and shrieked. Others began to run. The children were herded together. Curiously, after the initial shriek, there were no more screams, just a grim determination to flee. They’ve done this before, he thought. Whipping out his sword, Ven turned, ready, and saw Naelin riding in on a wave of spirits. Her hair streaming behind her and her expression fierce, she looked almost like a spirit herself.
He lowered his sword. “It’s all right! She’s a friend! She won’t hurt you! A friend!”
“She brings the spirits!” a man cried.
“She controls them,” Ven said. “She’s a queen!”
Clustered together, they stopped running. But they clung to one another as the spirits whipped between their huts and around him.
“Call them off, Naelin!” he shouted.
And the spirits retreated. Small and large, they huddled in a ring around the village, perched on the rocks and hovering in the air. Naelin dismounted and hurried forward. “Erian? Llor? Are you here? It’s me! Please be here!”
“We’re looking for her children,” Ven explained. “They were brought into the untamed lands by two spirits.”
“You said you also seek the wolf, the Protector,” an old woman said.
They knew Bayn? “Yes,” Ven said. “Is he here?”
“And my children?” Naelin added. “Have you seen them? Are they alive? Are they all right? Where are they?” She grabbed the old woman by the shoulders.
Gently, Ven pried her hands off the woman. “You’re scaring them,” he said to Naelin. He knew what she was feeling . . . No, he didn’t know, but he could imagine it and he could see it, reflected in the agitation of the spirits. “Clamp it down. You’re spilling.”