Then, he stepped to the fire and stared at the flames, his profile illuminated by the light. Tiny reflections danced in the black mail and plate he wore. His jaw was covered in a heavy dusting of black scruff. He looked like a king to me then. Weary and weighted by responsibility, one who’d been at war far too long.
He lifted his hand, holding it palm down above the flames. And then he withdrew the flames from the wood into his hand.
All my life I’d watched the people of Anu manipulate water. To summon it at will. But witnessing Balen withdrawing flame from wood… I would not have guessed such a thing was possible. He spoke no words nor made a great show of it. From wood to hand. Just like that.
“He’s the only one of us able to do that,” Ferryn commented quietly, also watching him.
A cool fluttering spread through my belly, causing goose bumps on my skin. We moved carefully toward the horses. I felt unsteady inside, my emotions chaotic and confusing.
“This must be a shock to you,” he said, his voice stammering through the pain, “to learn you’re to save our world.”
I tried a smile, but it failed. “Something like that.”
“Balen will see you through.” Ferryn’s eyes shone with belief. He mistook my failed smile and words; he thought I’d accepted the foretelling.
I didn’t correct the assumption. How could I tell him otherwise, that I was uncertain and angry the distinction had been thrust upon me? No, I couldn’t tell him, not when he was so obviously devoted to Balen and believed in the foretelling.
“You love him. Respect him,” I noted.
“We all do. He is more than a king; he is one of us. He’ll die for us. How can you not love someone like that?”
How indeed.
The scent of wood and moss and dead leaves hung thick in the night air. The frost hadn’t penetrated as far into the deep woods, so it was warmer, much warmer than Murias. Falias would be a welcome sight.
The city was close to my mother’s estate. I remembered going there as a little girl to shop in the market or play in the fountain while Mother talked with the Keepers of the Cauldron—the priests of Dagda and protectors of her gift, the Cauldron of Plenty.
The Danaans of the House of Dagda were the most tolerant of humans. Before the Old War, many humans had come through the gate within the forest. Many had lived there, choosing never to go home again. And eventually they’d died there. Although that was long ago, the House of Dagda still held humans in slightly better regard than the rest of the Danaan population. They didn’t blame the entire race of men on the betrayal of a few.
Despite all that, Mother and I always went to the city without Father. And she always wrapped my hair in a tight veil and used her colored powders to darken my eyebrows and lighten my skin. Still, my nature was known to the priest class and many of the shop- keeps. Mother had been well loved in Falias, so the mystery of my birth and differences remained hushed, never mentioned aloud.
At least to Mother and me.
But Father had been like a prisoner. And he’d been so unhappy. I could see that now.
The words Balen had spoken before, about loyalty and his desire to save his people no matter the cost, sprang to mind as well as my own negative response. But on reflection, perhaps my loyalty and purpose resided with the people of the Woodlands who had once sheltered me, and to Balen who would die honorably for his people, and to the land itself, a land which had given me such peace and joy.
I studied Balen’s back as we rode in single file.
If the darkness and frost could be stopped, wasn’t it my responsibility to try? Mother would have wanted me to; she wouldn’t have expected me to, but she would have hoped…
The rhythmic cadence of the horse’s gait lulled me into deeper thoughts. We traveled in silence, me on my mount and Balen riding tandem behind Ferryn so that he could support the young Sydhr with one arm around his waist.
Somewhere along the way, a subtle trickle of wariness began. I sat straighter, scanning the dense black forest, listening for signs of trouble. Finally I heard it, the rustling of leaves, of soft thuds on the ground. My horse heard it too, its ears flicking, its head higher, more alert.
Ahead, large, silent shadows appeared on either side of the trail and merged next to Balen’s mount.
Great Bears.
Their slumberous gate was just an illusion. They were so large they covered as much ground at a walk as our horses could at a trot.
I glanced behind me and saw that a third had fallen in behind us. When I returned to the trail it was to find Balen looking at me over his shoulder, his head dipping in a slight nod, telling me everything would be all right. I nodded back and then thought of the War Raven, hoping it didn’t choose that moment to make another unfortunate appearance.
The Great Bears of Dagda were no stranger to me. They’d ruled this part of the forest for as long as anyone could remember. They were vicious protectors of their territory and, like Sydhrs, slow to involve themselves in politics. They were made by Dagda, just as the War Raven was made by Sydhr, from magic and bear and Danaan. They were protectors of her land, able to take the shape of Danaan or the Great Bear at will, though they most often chose the predominate form of the bear. Unlike the War Raven, which, until now had been thought extinct, Great Bears flourished in the Woodlands.
I’d been gone for so long that I’d forgotten so much. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they knew about our arrival, nor that they’d escort us through their territory.
Ferryn leaned heavily against Balen’s arm, his head hanging tiredly. Champion or not, Balen had to be weakening. At this pace, we’d never get to Falias.
For two days, we traveled with the Great Bears.
Ferryn developed an infection. His body wasn’t regenerating as well as it should. This, Balen explained, could be the result of the War Raven’s blood or saliva mixing with Ferryn’s wounds. A bite or blood from the creature could be deadly, yet another reason they were so feared by Danaans.
And why so few remained.
The Great Bears never shape-shifted into their Danaan form, and when we camped, they remained on the perimeter, lying down in the cushion of leaves and pine needles. Balen and I cared for Ferryn, too tired to handle anything but the basic necessities.
It was midday when the Great Bears escorted us through the city gate, a wide arching tunnel carved into the trunk of a massive oak tree. The entire city of Falias was surrounded by a vast ring of oaks, their trunks pressed tightly together, forming a natural protective wall against invasion.
Light shone at the end of the tunnel, much brighter within the city than under the deep canopy of the crowded forest trees. The thick scent of bark and earth filled my nostrils as the faint sounds of city life echoed through the tunnel.
I nudged my horse next to Balen’s. “We should take Ferryn to the priests.”
Ferryn raised the back of his head from Balen’s shoulder. “I’m fine.” His glassy eyes couldn’t even focus on me.
“Aye, we know,” Balen said dryly.
We exited the tunnel into a market square. The scent of freshly baked bread made my stomach rumble. Faint music from flutes and a lyre drifted from a nearby tavern. I remembered the smells and sounds, remembered looking up as a child at the high bridges that spanned from tree to tree and the low arched bridges spanning the river, which meandered through the city.
I expected the Great Bears to leave, but they continued to lead us through the city, down winding streets and main thoroughfares.
The descendants of Dagda varied in form, which made them unusual compared to those of other houses. Some were tall and beautiful, possessing slightly darker skin like my own, with large round eyes the color of every flower one could imagine and hair in every shade of brown, their coloring allowing them to blend effortlessly into the forest.
The city was also a haven for other Danaans who preferred the quiet, relaxation and solitude of the forest. The Woodland estates beyond the city were a popular place to unwind and vacation. And the libraries and apprentice schools were some of the most respected in all of Innis Fail, which reminded me that I needed to restock my ink and paper supplies as soon as we were settled.
The Great Bears led us beneath a wide arch supporting the city’s main aqueduct, the faint sound of running water echoing in the space. The aqueduct fed the public bath houses and fountains, as well as many private dwellings and public establishments.
I recognized many things as we entered a quieter area of the city. The high stone wall covered in sweet aromatic wisteria, the fountain I used to play in as a child, the stone steps leading into the Hall of Records, and opposite that, the same steps that led into the public temple with its great wooden columns.
We rode the horses between buildings and down a well-worn dirt path, thick on either side with trees and bushes and vines that hung overhead on low arching branches. The path went downward then leveled out into a vast green park filled with ancient Hawthorne and apple trees. In the middle of the park was the sacred lake of Dagda, so serene and quiet that its surface appeared to be made of glass.
A campus of temples, dormitories, and teaching halls had been built in the park. The main temple was an enormous rotunda, built on low stilts in the center of the lake, accessible by the bridge that spanned the entire length of the lake and ran right through the first floor of the rotunda.
The park was home to the Cauldron and its Keepers, a race of Danaans unlike any other. They were tall and willowy like the reeds that ringed the far edge of the lake. Mother had always told me that Dagda herself had created them long ago from the reeds, the lake water, and her own blood so that they’d always protect her sacred waters and the cauldron that lay somewhere within.
I breathed in deeply and then let out a shaky breath, the memories of my mother so vivid in this place that they brought tears to my eyes.
As a child, I’d never really noticed the beauty around me. But now I saw it. I felt it. I glanced over to see if Balen felt it too. But he remained alert, always on guard. Ferryn had lost consciousness again. We were a weary, ragged bunch, at odds with our surroundings and the priests who passed by in their robes of finely spun linen and wool.
