The Last Winter Page 8

  The Pandyr watched for a moment, unsure what to do. Ullyr patted Dawnstrider and coaxed her forward onto the ice. The others looked skeptical but followed suit. Though at first their hooves skated and slid, the fleet-footed elkhorn soon traversed the frosty ice as though it were their own rocky hills. They continued on into the blackening night until suddenly Ullstag motioned for the riders to halt. He sniffed the air and grunted in disgust. He looked at his fellow Jadebow and grimaced.

  “Giants,” he said reproachfully. The old bear drew one of his sapling-sized arrows out of his quiver. It was then that howls could be heard through the ripping wind. Howls that were born not from storm, ice, or fire, but from living throats. Though the words were lost to the winds, their tone was clear: They were the wails of the dying mixed with the sound of battle.

  “The Sunspear!” said Ullyr. He nocked his arrow and charged forward.

  ***

  The caves were silent except for a few embers that popped from dying fires and the occasional snore of the weary. The only other sound was that of the wind as it moaned through the cavern like a spirit of frost. Frostpaw wandered his way through the caves until he found where Ursara was. Having no large clan to worry about, Ursara had found a spot large enough to house both Traveler and Cinder, as well as a small alcove for herself and Frostpaw. Knowing the ways of her father, Ursara doubted the Storm Speaker would move from his watch at the cave’s mouth. The cold was somewhat abated in the hollow she had chosen, thanks to the pools of warm mineral water that dotted the cavern floor. Ursara tended a small fire and had it glowing brightly in the corner when Frostpaw entered and sat down, his large body taking up as much room as the elk, it seemed.

  “How are you, Frostpaw? Much has happened today. It must weigh heavily on your mind. All this time Father knew about the Bearzyrk, and he never told you,” she said quietly.

  Frostpaw knew the reason for his father’s actions. He would tell her eventually, but for now he sat in silence.

  “I can’t imagine what you must be going through. Everything we have known is gone.” Anger started to fill her eyes. “We war with each other?” Ursara wiped tears that were swiftly falling down her cheeks. “And what happened to you, Frostpaw, in the cave with Byorgn? Your fangs, the blood? What happened to you tonight?” She walked a few steps away, trying in vain to hide her tears.

  Frostpaw rose and put his arms around Ursara’s small shoulders. “Even after all that has happened, nothing has really changed.” His voice was steady and calm. “I am still looked upon as an outcast, an ill omen, by the clans.” He laughed softly. “Even more so now by the Sunspear. But that doesn’t matter.” He turned Ursara around to face him, her eyes still wet. He touched his maw, gently probing the incisors that protruded farther than they had in the early morning. “This change has happened to me before, Ursara, and it appears that it is likely to happen again.”

  Ursara looked confused, but before she could speak, she was quieted by a gesture from Frostpaw.

  “When you were telling the story tonight about the kids and—and what happened when they, you know, pushed me . . . you didn’t tell them what happened afterward. You don’t even know. Something happened to me that day that only the Storm Speaker and I know about. If you remember, I was gone for a few days.” It was Frostpaw’s turn to look away. “You probably thought I was off running like a fool again in the woods, but I wasn’t.”

  Ursara listened to Frostpaw, who was now speaking more to himself than to her.

  “I wasn’t running; I couldn’t have if I had wanted to. After carrying the elkhorn to the Storm Speaker for help, I—I collapsed. I could barely move. I lay in bed for days, drifting in and out of reality. All the while, I heard that voice whispering to me things of violence and slaughter. I don’t recall much of it. But when I could walk again, the Storm Speaker and I both noticed immediately.”

  Ursara stood quietly. The small fire made Frostpaw’s shadow look like a gigantic ghost on the cavern wall. With a gasp, she spoke. “You changed—

  I remember now! You looked not just taller but larger all around.”

  Frostpaw turned and held Ursara gently. “When their words and stones were hitting me, I could deal with that. I have grown up dealing with pain and hurt.” He placed his hand on the side of Ursara’s face, cradling it. “But when the stones were cast at something . . . someone I cared for, I forgot everything other than to stop whatever was hurting her.” Frostpaw took Ursara’s hand in his own. They looked at each other for long moments, and the uncomfortable youth who was normally Frostpaw seemed not to be in the cave that night. “The world is in chaos and on the edge of destruction, and I am still hated by the clans. Nothing has changed for me because the most important things in my life are still with me.”

  He slowly released Ursara and walked over to where the elkhorn dozed. “My oldest companion, Traveler, is still with me.” The gray elkhorn snorted as Frostpaw petted her affectionately. He pointed toward the entrance of their small alcove. “The only father I have ever known is still here with me, watching over the clans.” Frostpaw walked back to Ursara and stopped just short of her small frame. “And the most important person in my little clan of four is still with me. You, you are still with me. Knowing that, I can bear any burden I am given.”

  Ursara closed the span between them, and her arms wrapped around him. He held her with a grip that is given only to the first love of one’s life. The act of concealing their feelings—from each other, from the Storm Speaker, from the clans, and even from themselves—was abandoned with their first kiss.

  ***

  Ullyr and his men charged across the frozen lake’s surface, sending up flutters of ice and snow. The elkhorn frothed at the mouth, frost coating their muzzles as they labored through the storm. The din of battle roared on, and the riders surveyed the scene that appeared before them.

  The Sunspear clan was embattled by frost and firekin. The Pandyr parried axes of ice and swords of glowing iron, and many bodies from both sides littered the surface of the frozen lake. The storm was making the fight all the more difficult, but the size of the giantkin made them easy targets for the Jadebow clansmen. The riders, on Ullyr’s command, nocked green wooden arrows into bows of hardened yew and let loose a hurricane of razor-barbed death upon the giantkin. Bodies dropped like dead trees upon the crimson-slick ice, and cheers rang up from the Sunspear.

  Emboldened by the arrival of their allies, the Sunspear tightened their ranks and formed a wall of death, bristling with spears, pikes, and javelins with which they impaled the charging giantkin. The Jadebow released another wave of devastation upon their foes, peppering red and blue hides with deadly feathers of green.

  “Hail Sunspear!” yelled Ullyr and his riders.

  “Welcome to the battle, Jadebow!” Byorgn yelled back with a throat hoarse from screaming. The Sunspear chieftain looked battered and beaten, but he still stood his ground.

  “I think they are pulling back. Look, they run to the forests. Loose another volley, my archers!” shouted Ullyr.

  Ullstag launched another spear-sized arrow that impaled two giantkin together. Suddenly he noticed something peculiar. “Is it dawn already?” muttered the Bearzyrk.

  Ullyr looked at the dim light glowing eerily over the tree line. “Only if the golden skull rises from the south. What treachery is at hand?” His answer came a moment later.

  From out of the frozen forest came the living Son of Fire himself. Oak and pine trees burned as he walked through them as though they were mere blades of grass. The giantkin slowly moved back into the forest as their lord and master, King Sumyr, broke the tree line and stood facing the Sunspear and Jadebow clans. He was easily thirty feet tall, dwarfing all but the tallest of trees, and his skin was a bloody copper hue, pocked with basalt and obsidian shards. He wore blackened iron plate and ring mail that glowed from the heat, and his beard was an inferno of flame. Atop his head floated a massive crown of iron and fire. He towered above the Sunspear chief
tain as a mountain does a stone.

  The king of Firehome laughed wickedly and produced a large sword that he carried across his back. The sound of it being unsheathed was that of a thousand forges igniting at once. The iron sword blazed a crimson red and burst into flame as he raised it above his head. Magma dripped from the twenty-foot blade like poison from a serpent’s fang. The icy lake’s surface began to melt and crack, and Ullyr and his riders backed away, sensing the imminent conclusion to this encounter.

  “Get off the ice! Retreat, retreat!” Ullyr yelled frantically.

  Those close to fallen Sunspear helped the wounded onto their elkhorn. Ullstag rode up to the Sunspear leader, arm extended. “Come, Chieftain. The battle is lost. We must run.”

  Byorgn glared at the Bearzyrk and shouted back in rage, “Get away from me, you white demon!” He raised his broken spear with murderous intent when the sword of Sumyr smashed down upon the frozen lake.

  There was a hissing mist of white-hot steam followed by a blast of boiling water. The surface cracked, and the lake became a spider web of jagged shards of ice. Ullyr and his men had scarcely been able to turn and run when they felt the ground giving way beneath them.

  “Run like never before, Dawnstrider! Run for our lives!” shouted Ullyr. Dawnstrider and the rest of the elkhorn barreled across the cracking surface. Ullyr looked back at Ullstag, whose spearhorn was no match for the swiftness of the elkhorn.

  “Run, little chieftain. I’ll meet you—”

  Ullyr saw the giant Bearzyrk and his mount fall through the broken lake, the hole quickly covered up by melting chunks of ice. There was a ripping sound, almost like that of stone being torn apart. Beneath the hooves of Dawnstrider, Ullyr saw a white crack dance below the surface of the ice like a bolt of lightning. He looked to his men and to Dawnstrider as the ice splintered, fractured, and gave way to the boiling water underneath.

  Ullyr and his riders fell into the roiling blackness of the burning lake.

  CHAPTER 21

  HEARTS AND ORIGINS

  ROSTPAW.

  The youth awoke from a sound sleep. Ursara lay curled in his arms, and the fire was nothing but embers. Frostpaw closed his eyes and listened to the wind whisper.

  Frostpaw.

  This time he stood up. Ursara woke as well and looked around the cave. “What is it, Frostpaw?” she said.

  “Did you hear that? I heard my name.”

  Ursara blinked sleepily and lay back amongst the quilted blankets, wrapping herself up against the chill. “Maybe it was Father calling for you,” she said as she started to drift back to sleep.

  Nodding to himself, Frostpaw knelt down and went under the blankets again, thinking of the Storm Speaker. I should go check on him. It is cold and late, and this journey has taken its toll.

  He was just asleep when he heard the voice again.

  Frostpaw.

  This time, the voice did not startle him. Instead, he sat there silently and listened.

  Where the warriors sleep and dream, I would speak.

  That was neither the Storm Speaker nor the wind, thought Frostpaw. He kissed Ursara lightly on the head. “I’ll be back. I’m going to check on the Storm Speaker.”

  Ursara rolled over, put her hand on his face, and looked gently upon him. “You are sweet to care for him so.” She sat up and removed a thin braided cord from around her neck. Dangling from the necklace was a small reddish gem that glowed from deep within. “I wish for you to have this, Frostpaw.”

  Frostpaw shook his head slowly. “Ursara, no, I cannot. That was your mother’s. She meant for you to have it.”

  “Indeed, it was my mother’s. Before that, it was Father’s. He gave it to her, and when my mother died, she left this to me. And now, I give it to you.” Ursara deftly untied the fastener and tried to put the necklace around Frostpaw’s neck, but the cord was too small. She tied it around his wrist.

  Frostpaw held up his arm and looked at the gem, frowning. The gemstone, normally a vibrant red, seemed dull and empty of light. “What happened to the light within? It seems to—”

  “Watch, Frostpaw.” Ursara and Frostpaw stood close together, and she pressed the stone to his wrist. They watched the tiny gem go from dormant darkness to a ruddy red, and he felt a gentle warmth slowly spread up from his wrist. “This is called a heart stone. It is just a simple stone, but when it’s held over a warm hearth or body, the stone absorbs the heat, and the elements within the gem glow. Father said that the Under-King’s realm is full of them, every size and color imaginable.”

  “It’s beautiful, Ursara,” said Frostpaw as he pulled her close. He placed his hand upon hers and thought for a moment. He took up a length of his white hair, braided it quickly, and with a flick of his claw, cut it loose. He looked around and found a suitable bit of wood from the fire and set to work, carving away at it till the wood resembled a crude heart. He bound the braid and wooden heart together, making a simple necklace and charm. With a few more scrapes, Frostpaw engraved the wood with his rune symbol. It was not the work of a master jeweler by any means, but it was a heart forged from the heart. He placed the braid around Ursara’s neck, and the charm hung just above her chest.

  She looked at him and smiled, speaking softly in the quiet cave. “Wherever you go, Frostpaw, my heart goes with you.”

  “And wherever I go, my heart stays with you,” Frostpaw said.

  He silently walked out of their small cave. Traveler stood quietly as he went past. “We’re not leaving now, old friend. Rest awhile longer. I’ll be back soon,” he said as he stroked the dappled gray’s mane.

  Frostpaw wound his way through the twisting caves. Bodies were strewn wherever the ground provided space. He vaguely noted that there were still no Sunspear among the sleeping Pandyr, and he felt a pang of guilt. He saw the mouth of the cave yawn before him, where his father still sat at his vigil. Frostpaw crept over to the Storm Speaker and smiled. The old Pandyr slept silently and deeply. His cloak had fallen around his feet, and Frostpaw took it up and laid it over him once more.

  Frostpaw began to head back toward where Ursara lay, but he stopped and slowly turned to the cave entrance. Snow and ash blew in and covered the floor in icy grime. He stood for a moment, gazing at the snowfall, and suddenly walked out into the storm. Ice and snow fell all around him, coating him in a layer of frost. He looked into the storm and then at the cave that led back to Ursara.

  “Frostpaw?”

  The youth started and whirled around. From out of the storm, a giant silhouette emerged, and through the wind and sleet, Frostpaw was able to identify the burly figure. “Frostvang, over here.”

  The Bearzyrk rode up and dismounted. He shook a blanket of snow off his hide, and it fell in heavy clumps to the ground. “So what brings you out into the storm when the warmth of the cave looks so inviting?” Frostvang said.

  Frostpaw tried to provide an answer that would not make him sound completely crazy, but he kept stumbling over his words. “I woke up and heard something, so I figured it was . . . But he was asleep and—”

  Frostvang nodded and held up his hand. “I understand.”

  Frostpaw was confused. “You understand?”

  Frostvang put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked at him intently. “He spoke to you, didn’t he, lad? He spoke your name.”

  Frostpaw shook his head. “Who speaks to me? I have heard my name whispered on the winds since we got to these caves, even before, when we passed the . . .” Frostpaw’s words trailed off, and he looked back at the storm.

  “Come, lad, we will ride. The news I bring is nothing different than we expected. The council refuses to join with the eight clans. That news can wait till dawn. Let us give your father rest for a few more hours. We must ride and talk.”

  The old bear mounted his spearhorn and put his arm out. He pulled the boy up with him, and they went off into the storm. After a short distance, Frostvang spoke. “The Bearzyrk were all born from one of the eight clans, Frostpaw, though
many of our kind forget or choose not to remember. As you saw today with old Ullstag, there are still those who remember their past. Most don’t, but I remember. I remember well.” Frostvang pulled off his cloak pin and handed it to Frostpaw. The boy turned it over and inspected the beaten brass brooch. It was a crudely carved disk that looked like a sun. The brass fastening pin was the shape of a war spear.

  Frostpaw looked at the Bearzyrk in shock. “You are from the Sunspear clan?”

  “Aye, lad,” said Frostvang, turning slowly to the boy. “As are you.”

  Frostpaw felt as if he had been hit with a warhammer. He sat dazed for a moment, and the brooch he was holding fell into the snow. He leapt off of the spearhorn and dug through the snow till he found it. He brushed off the brooch as tears fell and froze on his face. Frostvang dismounted and stood beside the boy, who handed the pin back to him. “I am no Sunspear. The Sunspear have never been family to me. They have cursed me and beaten me since I was a cub. I would sooner be dead than be part of them!” Frostpaw’s face bore both rage and grief.

  Frostvang donned his cloak pin and adjusted it proudly. “Do not think of the Sunspear as what they have become, but what they once represented, what the Sunspear were before they became the weak-minded fools they are today. Nowadays they are led by that pompous, hate-cloaked half-chieftain. But back in the days of old, we were led by the greatest chieftain there ever was, the greatest of the Pandyr as well as the greatest of our kind. It is from his blood we truly are born.”

  “Who is this you speak of, Frostvang?” said Frostpaw.

  Frostvang leapt upon the spearhorn and held out his hand to Frostpaw. “The one who calls you this night. Come. We will go see him.”

  Frostpaw took the Bearzyrk’s hand and mounted behind him on the massive beast. The spearhorn lumbered forward, undaunted by the storm, carrying both elder and youth many miles to their final destination. The Circle of the Fallen stood stoically against the predawn sky, and in the center of it was the ice-bound Den of the Slayers. Frostpaw and Frostvang dismounted, walked to the den, and stood in front of a large slab of rock. Frostvang stepped to the door and gave it an immense push, but he could not budge it.