She glanced up at the spirits, who were hissing and spitting and growling. She closed her eyes for an instant, and the spirits calmed minutely. “I’m sorry.” He saw her take a deep breath, and he wanted to put his arms around her and hold her close. This has to be agony for her. But answers would come only if they didn’t drive them away.
“You must mean the children at the grave,” a woman said.
Naelin staggered backward.
“Grave?” Ven repeated. Not dead. Please, don’t let them be dead.
“The Grave of the Great Mother,” the woman said—this one appeared to be a mother herself. She had two boys clinging to her legs, and she was cuddling them closer to her as if her arms could protect them from the spirits, if they decided to attack. How had these people survived here? Ven wondered. The woman continued, “They came recently, with two spirits, nasty creatures. The Protector chased away the spirits, but kept the children. Those are their names: Erian and Llor.”
Bayn did that? He’s here, and he saved them?
“Alive?” Naelin breathed.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Naelin felt . . .
There were no words for what she felt.
But there were colors: sun-gold yellow and deep summer green and clear blue, the colors of growth and wellness and life. And the spirits absorbed the burst of her emotions, and around them the wind spirits whipped into dust devils, the ice spirits shed fireworks of snow, the earth spirits exploded from the ground in a shower of dirt and pebbles that rained down.
“Scary again,” Ven murmured to her.
She tried to pull back on the vicious hope, but only just a bit. She didn’t care if she was scaring these people. My children are alive! “I need to see them. Take me to them.”
The woman cowered away from her. “Only the Protector can approach the grave.” Stepping forward, a little girl piped up, “We don’t know the way!”
“Come,” an older man said. “Let us show the hospitality of our village. You must be tired from your journey here. Rest yourselves. Share a meal with us. Please, what are your names?”
“Naelin.”
“Queen Naelin, formerly of Aratay,” Ven put in. “And I am Champion Ven.”
The older man’s hand shook, and there were gasps from the people crowded around them. Hushed whispers: “A miracle! I never thought I’d see the day.” And then the boy they’d followed: “Have you come to save us?”
I’ve come for my children, Naelin thought. But Ven was already answering, kneeling on one knee to be at an even height with the boy, “What do you need saving from? You’ve survived here, in this hostile land. How have you done it?”
A woman answered, “We move when we must. Harvest when we can.”
“But the spirits,” Ven said. “You’re outnumbered, vastly. Without a queen to control them—how do you stay alive?” Stop asking questions, Naelin wanted to say to him. First Erian and Llor, then you can ask anything you want. But she was afraid if she spoke, the villagers would retreat again.
The woman shrugged. “Not so many of us to threaten them.” She gestured at the few dozen people that huddled close. “Plus they don’t like to come here, so near the grave.”
“Then it’s near?” Naelin pounced. The idea of her children being alive, being near, but her not being able to touch them, to hold them, ate at her until she wanted to claw at her own skin. I need to see them!
“Are there others like you? Humans, in the untamed lands?” Ven asked.
Naelin wanted to scream at him. Erian and Llor! Ask about them!
“Yes, we’ve seen a few other groups. We keep our distance, for the most part. Safer in smaller numbers, and easier to find food if we’re spread out too.”
“Fascinating,” Ven said.
Naelin shot him a look.
“Well, it is,” Ven defended himself. “Miraculous, really. We always believed entering the untamed lands was a death sentence, but you’re here thriving.”
A man snorted. “‘Thriving,’ he says. Each year more of us die than are born. Some days there’s no food for any of us. Some days it’s all saltwater for miles around. Some days we wake to fire and ash. Some days we wake to cold so deep that some of us don’t wake at all.”
“We need a queen,” another said, “and here you are, an answer to a prayer.” And a few pressed closer again, stroking Naelin’s arm, and it was if she were seeing them for the first time. How dirty and tired and hungry and scared they looked. And . . . how hopeful too. Strangely, it reminded her of the spirits now surrounding them, the ones that called her queen. How they too had felt hope. It confused her, yet she couldn’t shake it. She patted their hands, unsure what else she could possibly do. She’d thought life in the outer forest was difficult, but these people . . . They were living lives of unimaginable hardship. Naelin looked at them, really looked at them, and saw the hope in their faces shining broader and brighter with each passing minute.
She didn’t know how to tell him she’d only come for her children.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to.
Before she could decide how to respond to them, she heard a howl, and Ven cried, “Bayn!”
The wolf ran out of the haze, between her spirits, toward them, and Naelin let herself feel a little more hope herself.
Chapter 30
Ven knelt and threw his arms around Bayn’s neck. The wolf panted onto his shoulder and leaned against him heavily, as if he were hugging the man back. “Never thought I’d see you again, my friend.”
The wolf licked his cheek.
“Uh, thanks? You missed me too?”
Naelin crouched beside them. “Bayn, are my children all right? Can you take us to them? Please?”
Bayn looked at her with such intelligence in his eyes—pity, understanding—that Ven was embarrassed he’d ever thought Bayn was an ordinary beast. Clearly, he’s extraordinary. “You survived,” Ven said. “I didn’t know. I would’ve come sooner, if I’d known. Why didn’t you come back to us?”
An old woman, one who had spoken before, said, “He belongs to this place. He cannot leave it, not without a queen to help him cross. One helped him cross long ago, or so the stories say. We have awaited his return—and the coming of a queen—for many lifetimes.”
Ven wanted to ask more questions. Had Merecot been right? Was Bayn some kind of “evolved spirit”? How long ago had he crossed? And what queen had helped him? He was certain it hadn’t been Daleina or Fara. I would’ve known if either had ever left Renthia. Exactly how old was Bayn? Was “lifetimes” literal or hyperbole? And why were they waiting for him? And for a queen? There were no queens in the untamed lands—that was part of the very definition. If they wanted a queen, they should have come to Renthia.
He wished Bayn could speak.
“Please,” Naelin said. “My children.”
Bayn trotted away from them, looking back once, and then breaking into a loping run. Ven and Naelin ran after him. From behind them, he heard the people calling, “Don’t leave!” “Help us!” “We need you!” And: “Come back for us! Don’t forget us!” And also: “We hope you find your children! Good luck!”
He waved once to show he’d heard them, and then all his focus was on chasing Bayn across the uneven landscape. Thunder crackled in the sky above them as blue and purple clouds mixed. Rain spattered his face.
Naelin’s spirits flowed around them, smoothing the way—stifling a fire, diverting a river, filing a chasm—as they followed Bayn. Ahead, through the rain, Ven saw a cave leading into a gray rock that loomed out of the haze. Running faster, Naelin scrambled over the rocks calling, “Erian! Llor!”
And they came. Erian and Llor, out of the cave, across the rocks, and throwing themselves into Naelin’s arms. Laughing. Crying.
Alive.
My children!
Dropping to her knees, Naelin held out her arms, and her children ran into them. She felt their warm bodies impact against her. She stroked their hair. Breathed them in, sweat and smoke and the sweetest smell that only came from the two lives she’d brought into the world. Rain fell around them, and she wasn’t even sure any of it hit them . . . or if she cared that it did. “You’re alive,” she whispered into their hair. “You’re here.”