The Last Winter Read online

  The Ice King laughed and gloated in his victory. “Ghostmane is dead, and soon his pathetic cubs will join him. The spirit of Sprign will weep frozen tears tonight.” A baleful wind sang coldly in the air as Wintyr looked at his armies that had surrounded the last of the Pandyr and the Bearzyrk. “Today, sons of Icegard, Mistgard shall fall!”

  The giants bellowed in fiendish pleasure as the axe of their great king rose high in the sky, blotting out the golden skull’s light. From deep inside the fractured chest of the Ice King, a strange purple light glowed dimly. Wintyr’s body was struck by an invisible force. The jolt shook him from head to shattered foot. He dropped his axe and clutched at his chest. A horrific splitting sound emanated loudly in the cold air. The sound came from inside the Ice King.

  The light inside Wintyr, once dim, now grew in strength and beamed through the king’s splintered breast, sending out brilliant purple rays. A spasm racked Wintyr as if he were being torn apart from within.

  “No! Nooooo!” he screamed.

  That day, the frost giants heard a sound come from their king that they had never heard before.

  It was the sound of fear.

  Wintyr tore at his mouth and shoved his fingers deep into his gaping maw, but to no avail. He clutched and pounded at his chest, and a fearful cry slipped forth from icy blue lips. A terrific ringing sound split the din of the morning. Wintyr’s gleaming blue eye rolled back into his skull, and the king of the frost giants wavered on his heels, trying desperately to stay up.

  “Grab the wounded and fall back!” yelled the Storm Speaker.

  Pandyr and Bearzyrk alike grabbed their fallen and pulled them as far back as they could, dodging the crushing footfalls of the enormous frost giant.

  Ursara yelled to the Storm Speaker, “Father, look!”

  The Storm Speaker followed her gaze. There, piercing the icy chest of Wintyr, was the glowing red tip of a spearhead. It gleamed brightly against Wintyr’s azure skin like a single drop of fiery blood. With brutal force, the spearhead was pushed farther and farther out until, finally, it burst forth in a spray of ice. Lord Wintyr looked down at the last thing that he would see: a glowing red-bladed spear and, clutching it, a large white paw.

  Wintyr stumbled backward and fell helplessly upon the ground, trapping a score or more of his own beneath his enormous body—not that the frost giants felt it. As the king of Icegard fell dead, so, too, did his minions. Where once stood vile and screaming fiends of living frost, there now lay nothing but mounds of foul-smelling ice.

  The Pandyr approached the body of Wintyr, whose gaze was fixed blankly at the Skulls in the Sky, a look of confusion forever etched into his frozen visage.

  “The fiend’s heart still beats. Listen,” said Ullstag, drawing back an arrow.

  “There is a heart that pounds from within the body of Wintyr, but it is not a heart born in Icegard,” said the Storm Speaker.

  The pounding continued for a few more seconds until, from out of the center of Wintyr’s chest, a familiar figure burst forth. Shards of ice coated his white fur, and the figure staggered from the body of the Ice King. Upon his ninth step, he stopped and fell to the ground.

  He lay next to the lord of the frost giants, looking up at the sky with icy blue eyes. The stormy winds of Wintyr gave one final gust, blowing aside the giant furs that wrapped the figure’s body. A faint whisper could be heard from him.

  “Ursara?”

  “Frostpaw!” she yelled as she rushed to his side. The Storm Speaker and the others gathered around the fallen boy.

  “By Sprign,” said Ullstag, scratching his head.

  It was indeed Frostpaw. Upon his large frame hung the skin of the great Ghostmane, and in his hand was a broken spear, the Eye of Fire. Its flames flickered out, and the blade turned to black iron.

  Ursara held his head in her arms. Frostpaw was deathly cold to the touch and shook tremendously. “Frostpaw . . . Frostpaw! Father, do something!” she cried helplessly.

  The Storm Speaker was by her side, and he looked at the boy with a smile.

  Tears streamed down Ursara’s face and fell upon Frostpaw’s, freezing immediately. He feebly raised his hand to her neck and touched the necklace he had made for her. Frostpaw smiled at Ursara, then slowly closed his eyes. She looked down and touched the necklace she had given him. Through all the battles and hardships, it still rested snugly around his wrist.

  “Wherever you go, my heart goes with you, Frostpaw.”

  Frostvang bulled through the Pandyr, but he hardly looked like the old Bearzyrk they had known earlier. He lumbered heavily on all fours; his coat was clawed and torn, and he bore many grievous wounds. His eyes still burned with intelligence, but his body had regressed to that of a primal beast. Fangs and horns jutted from jaw and skull, and he sniffed the fallen boy.

  In words thick and primitive, he spoke. “Ghostmane killed many, but it was Frostpaw who killed Wintyr. Your love kept him warm. He died a good death.”

  Ursara put her arms around Frostvang’s massive head and cried into his mane. The Storm Speaker was quiet. He walked over to the body of his son and stood for a few moments, rubbing his beard.

  “I would have to disagree with you, old friend. For a good death, surely one must die.”

  This startled both Frostvang and Ursara out of their grief, and they looked up, confused. Ursara turned toward her father. “But he’s not breathing, Father. I felt his last breath upon my face,” she said with tear-filled eyes.

  “Watch closely now . . .”

  Many moments passed, and just as Ursara was about to lose her mind, she saw something.

  Frostpaw’s chest rose slowly.

  Ursara knelt over Frostpaw, placing her ear on his chest. She waited again for what seemed like an eternity, and just as she was going to attribute what she saw to her eyes cruelly teasing her, she heard a faint heartbeat. She took Frostpaw’s cold hand in hers and looked at his wrist. There, within the heart stone, a distant red glimmer danced. She turned to the Storm Speaker and the gathered clansmen. “How is this possible, Father?” she said softly.

  The Storm Speaker put his arms around his daughter and held her. “He wore the skin of the greatest of all Bearzyrk. Perhaps that was the reason, or maybe it was his love for you, my daughter. Maybe the freezing temperatures that dwelled in Wintyr’s body preserved him from death, leaving him in a deep sleep.” The Storm Speaker’s voice hitched in his throat as he lifted Frostpaw to his chest and wept. “I do not know the answer for this, and for the first time in my nine hundred and ninety-nine years, I am fine without knowing the answer. I am just happy that my son is alive.”

  CHAPTER 34

  THROUGH FROST AND FIRE

  HE BATTLE OF MISTGARD WAS over.

  The giants were defeated, and the children of Sprign lived. But there was little time to celebrate. The following days were spent burying the dead and healing the wounded.

  The Hammerheart grieved tremendously at the loss of their brave leader. When his body was dug from the snow, they found him still clutching his hammer with a frozen smile upon his face.

  As Thoryn had lived, so had he died.

  No matter how much the Hammerheart were asked, they refused to bury their chieftain atop the Aesirmyr with the rest of the fallen. He would follow them back down the mountain to their homeland and sleep in the Circle in the Sky, where his fathers and grandfathers slept.

  The storms that raged below the Aesirmyr dissipated, and the Pandyr were finally able to start their long journey home.

  The other creatures of Mistgard returned to their lands as well. The old jaegyr hound Fenryr and his pack were the last to leave the Pandyr, looking back to the clans and offering a round of howls for the fallen. After their song, they raced off and faded into the mists.

  As the Pandyr made the trek down the Aesirmyr, they were horrified with what they saw. Trees were blackened and twisted by the fires that had raged through the forests. The ice storms had turned the earth to frigid, lifele
ss rock. Nothing had been spared from the devastation.

  Days later, when the clans approached the Tundyr, they were amazed to see that the great frozen lakes had melted and were choked with icebergs and fallen trees. The Bearzyrk homelands were in ruins.

  The Storm Speaker spoke quietly to his daughter as they approached the Den of the Slayers, or what was left of it. “The Bearzyrk need us, Ursara,” he said worriedly. “Their bodies and minds are wounded, and their lands are ruined. I believe that when we return to our lands, we will find the same thing. I cannot be in two places at once and—”

  “I’ll stay here with the Bearzyrk, Father,” she said, smiling. Through the whole trip down the mountain, Ursara had ridden with Frostpaw on a litter pulled by a massive spearhorn. “The Bearzyrk gave up so much to help us, and it is the least we can do to repay them for their sacrifices. I will help them heal, and when they are healed, I will help them rebuild.”

  The Storm Speaker hugged his daughter and kissed her gently on her forehead. Overhead, the great albatross, Fog, soared high. “I’ll be checking in on you from time to time.”

  Gloam landed on her shoulder and cheeped into her ear. “And we will be checking in on you, too, Father. Someone needs to make sure you eat and sleep enough.”

  Frostvang and Ullstag approached, and they, too, said their goodbyes to the Storm Speaker and their new clansmen.

  “Farewell, little chieftain,” said Ullstag, wrapping his arms around Ullyr in a great hug.

  Ullyr gave the Bearzyrk a hug back as best as he could with his remaining arm. “Thank you, Ullstag. We thank you for everything.” Ullyr unslung Dawn Breaker from his back and held it up to the Bearzyrk.

  Smiling, Ullstag patted the bow fondly and lumbered over to the warriors of the Hammerheart clan.

  “Your chieftain drank with us, and he fought with us, and he even died with us. It will be known to all that the noble son of the Hammerheart toppled the lord of Icegard with a single blow! The Bearzyrk will forever remember him in our stories.”

  The Storm Speaker bade farewell to the Bearzyrk and then walked over to his son, who lay still and silent, covered in the skin of Ghostmane. Goodbye, my boy. When you wake up, I will be there to welcome you back. Until then, sleep well. He touched his son’s brow and felt the freezing chill of Wintyr that clung to his face.

  The Pandyr continued down the mountain. Snow and ice covered the land but were slowly melting away. Like the clansmen’s wounds, Mistgard, too, would need some time to heal.

  The Pandyr traveled many miles, always under the watchful Skulls in the Sky. With every day, the skulls grew closer and closer.

  Soon, they will unite, thought the Storm Speaker.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE END BEGINS

  EEKS LATER, THE PANDYR FINALLY returned to their ancestral homes. There was no parade to welcome them, and the only arms that reached up to greet them were the broken and blackened beams of their once-magnificent halls. Few structures were left standing. Around the Circle in the Sky, the stone totems that once stood watch lay toppled and ravaged. The parents of the children left in the care of the Under-King, Fell, were beyond lost with grief. With Fell gone, there was no way to reach their cubs, and amidst the ruins, mothers and fathers grieved silently for their little ones. The clans worked furiously, but try as they might, they could not break through the mountainside where the children were trapped.

  The following days were bleak and dreary. The land was devastated; nothing grew or bloomed. No scent of grass or pine floated in the wind, and the trees were stripped bare like rotted skeletons. High above the blight, Fog and the Storm Speaker surveyed the lifeless world.

  “Without Sprign, Mistgard dies,” said the Storm Speaker. He guardedly looked high overhead at the giant, staring skulls. “And the joining of the skulls is soon to come.”

  He guided Fog down and dismounted from Traveler, who futilely searched for grass to forage. The Storm Speaker rested his hand upon his mount. “Fog, tell Ursara it is time to gather the clans. Let the nine clans stand together one last time.” With a screech, Fog rose high into the clouds and disappeared from sight.

  The Storm Speaker moved about the remnants of the clans, helping where he could, consoling grieving parents and tending to the wounded. The clans had grown close during the battle and the days that followed. Upon returning, they had worked together to clean up the refuse and to search for anything that could help them survive.

  In the following days, Ursara and the Bearzyrk arrived, and father and daughter were reunited. It felt as if it had been years since he had held his girl.

  “You look well, Father. You’ve been sleeping?” said Ursara.

  The Storm Speaker laughed. “A little bit.” He looked at the beasts that were once the indomitable Bearzyrk. “How fares the ninth clan?”

  She smiled sadly. “There is little left of them. Most can no longer communicate as they once did, and they tend to wander the lakes and mountains, hunting and searching for food. Fewer and fewer return every night. The kinship they shared seems lost. Now they prefer to be alone.” The Storm Speaker’s head fell in grief, and his daughter put her tiny hand on his. “Still, there is some hope. Not all were as devastated by the change. Ullstag seems hardly affected, and he has busied himself repairing the Den of the Slayers,” said Ursara with a slight smile.

  “And Frostvang?” said the Storm Speaker grimly.

  Ursara’s smile faded, and though it did not completely leave, it bore a touch of sorrow again. “Frostvang lives, though not the way we knew him before. He can speak, but with much difficulty. I feel it is only a matter of time before he, too, is lost to us.”

  “And what of Frostpaw?” said the Storm Speaker.

  His daughter smiled wanly.

  They looked to the sky, where the ever-present skulls loomed overhead, nearly on top of each other. The Storm Speaker held Ursara tenderly and stroked her brow.

  Behind them, Traveler wandered in the Circle in the Sky, looking on the frozen ground for anything suitable to eat. She stopped abruptly when she found a particular patch of earth, and she prodded it with her hoof. Leaning down, the gray elkhorn started nibbling at something with interest.

  The Storm Speaker walked over and knelt down, moving his mount aside, much to Traveler’s protests. He looked at his daughter and smiled. “The coming night will bring many things, but I have a feeling in my bones that they are not as bad as we think.”

  Ursara moved to the spot of earth that Traveler had seemed so occupied with moments ago. She knelt down and looked at the hard ground, scanning for anything that would hold her father’s attention.

  By her feet, jutting through the lifeless ground, sprouted little blades of grass.

  ***

  Together for the first time in many thousands of years, the great Skulls in the Sky touched, and the golden skull joined with its silver twin. The union cast an ever-growing reddish light upon the island of Mistgard.

  The Storm Speaker and Ursara went to join the nine clans of Mistgard, not with heavy hearts but with hope. A slight breeze blew from the east, rustling the Storm Speaker’s beard, and with it came the faintest of scents, which caused the Storm Speaker to smile. Ursara looked at her father and wondered if she was going mad.

  “Father, is that what . . .”

  The Storm Speaker nodded. “Yes, Daughter. The wind smells of honeypine. Soon, the end begins.”

  CHAPTER 36

  A REUNION OF SORTS

  HE NINE CLANS DID NOT spend the day in fear or in solitude but united.

  What little food they had stored was brought out and eaten. One of the clans had found that their mead cellars had been untouched by the ravages of the giant hordes, hidden under fallen timber and scorched beam. At the mention of mead, the clansmen had made short work of the heavy logs and swept away the debris as easily as if it had been sweat from their brow. Iceclaw and Ironbeard drank with Mistcloak and Darkcloud. Hammerheart jested and grappled with Thundermaw over
who had the strongest clansmen. Jadebow and Bearzyrk sat with Sunspear, and they spoke in reverent tones about the losses their clans bore.

  After many cups and boasts, Ullstag and Ullyr challenged each other to archery contests, each splitting the other’s arrows in twain till their quivers were empty. The Hammerheart gave toasts to their chieftain’s name and to his mighty hammer, which sat on an elevated shield at the head of their table. The revelry continued under the reddish light, and all the while, the Storm Speaker stood with Ursara and Frostvang, quietly watching the sky.

  “The union nears its end, my friends. Look!” said the Storm Speaker as he pointed his spear toward the skulls.

  The crowds grew silent as the moment approached. The skulls broke free from each other, and the earth rumbled, knocking over tables and beds. Instead of running madly and succumbing to fear, the Pandyr held their friends and loved ones, reciting the words of their people. “By tooth and by claw, by fang and by paw.” They recited the words again and again. Unafraid, they waited for whatever would happen next. And they waited together.

  The rumbling continued for many minutes. Ullstag took up a fallen horn of mead and drank down what was left. “I expected the end of the world would be a bit more climactic than this,” he mumbled through frothy lips.

  After some time, the rumbling stopped, and something that had been missing from the clans for what seemed like years drifted to the ears of the Pandyr.

  It was the magical choir of children’s laughter.

  The beautiful noise caused many to rush, heedless of danger, toward the sound.

  From over the hills that surrounded the Circle in the Sky came a throng of small figures. They saw the Pandyr and began yelling and running toward them with wild abandon.

  “Papa!”