The Eye of the Hunter (27 page)

* * *

Winter came, frigid beyond expectation, at times the wind hammering for days on end. The land froze and the sea as well, as far as the eye could see. Ice covered all, that or snow. And Faeril and Gwylly and Riatha learned what Aravan already knew; the arctic was not a fit place to dwell, given nearly any other alternative.

Yet the Aleutans thrived on this land, if land it could be called. But even they in the long winter months seldom ventured far. For storms came unexpectedly, savage in their fury, and to be trapped or lost in such often led to death. And so they sheltered in coastal vales in earthen houses crafted from sod and stone and logs of vale pine, smoke hole in the roofs, bare dirt floors within. Also sheltered in the deep vales were the gathered herds of
ren
, deerlike and antlered, wealth of the Aleutans. But even among the pine forests in the vales, winter was harsh and living hard.

Even so, still the foursome learned to cope, living among the Aleutans in the sod and stone huts as they did, lacking the amenities of life they had become accustomed to in Arden. And swiftly they discovered that even the winters of Arden had been mild compared to wintering in Aleut, where the brumal wind of the Boreal Sea hammered harshly down upon them and hurled blinding snow and stinging ice horizontally across the land. Here it was in these conditions
that they learned arctic survival, taking lessons from the villagers—eiders and youths alike.

And as the short days and long nights passed, they came to know the Aleutans, and the coppery-faced folk treated them with deference, for these were
Mygga
and
Fé
, straight out of the legends. Did they not have the bearing of Chieftains? Did they not charm the dogs? Did they not carry upon their persons weapons of terrible might, weapons of steel and silver and starlight and crystal? Surely only the
Mygga
and
Fé
would have foe so powerful to need killing with such.

Shortly after their arrival, they spoke with the elders and arranged for transportation by dogsled unto the Great North Glacier, some seven hundred fifty miles away, the trip to be made in the waning days of winter ere spring came to the land. And the elders gathered and considered who would be chosen—who the tribe would honor by assigning them to bear the
Mygga
and
Fé
on their mysterious journey. B’arr and Tchuka and Ruluk were selected, for they had the best three teams.

In the long, long nights they made their final plans, seeking the advice of the three sledmasters. As the foursome had discussed in Arden Vale, they did not wish to arrive too early, for then their wait would be extended and they would risk discovery by the Foul Folk there in the Grimwalls. On the other hand, they knew that some time during the days of spring the words of the prophecy would fall due, and so they wished to be on the glacier by the time of the vernal equinox, on the glacier some seven miles north of the abandoned monastery, For that is when the “Light of the Bear” last had been seen by Riatha, the glow now trapped in a slowly grinding eddy of the glacier, a vast, creeping churn of solid ice trapped in a wide, shallow col along the eastern edge of the ice field, an eddy turning once every seventy years or so, as it had done for the past two centuries. Here the foursome intended to set watch until the prophecy was fulfilled—assuming that they would know. When not at the eddy, the comrades intended to stay at the monastery, the cloister providing shelter as the winter passed and throughout the spring.

B’arr told them that the terrain was such that the dogs could make the journey in fourteen or fifteen days, barring storm delays. Tchuka and Ruluk agreed, holding up seven
fingers and announcing
“Sju synskrets hver isaer dag
…” and B’arr translating, “Seven horizons each day…can dog do long.” Faeril concluded that given the height of the Aleutans and the distance they could see to the horizon, they meant fifty miles a day was well within the capability of the dogs over many days’ time. Then she laughed, saying, “I’m glad it’s Human horizons and not Warrow horizons, else we’d be twice as long on the trail.” Hence, it was decided that the trip would begin in the final month of winter, some three weeks ere Springday. This would give them a sevenday buffer for storm or other things unforeseen, and should the journey be swift, then they would only be a week in the monastery ere spring commenced. Of course, exactly when the prophecy might fall due no one knew, though as Aravan said, “The Eye of the Hunter will not ride the night sky for the full spring. It comes some twenty nights ere Springday night, growing brighter and longer with each darktide. Then comes the equinox, and the harbinger lasts for twenty nights more. Then does it course into the day to run invisibly with the Sun; where it goes thereafter is not known, for it cannot be seen, but surely it must flee back whence it came and dwell there among the millennia until it is time to bring its dooms again. Hence, if the rede be true, we should spend but some twenty or thirty days at the glacier, no more. Then will the sledmasters and dogs return from their place of safety two days north, when the Eye of the Hunter can no longer be seen.”

And so their plans were laid in the long nights of winter as ice and snow hurtled over the land and the north wind howled in savage fury.

But there were other nights as well, when the wind blew not and the skies were clear, and spectral lights draped in folds of shifting color across the vault above. And on these nights when the ghostly light shimmered and shifted o’erhead. Faeril’s thoughts were strangely drawn to the silk-wrapped crystal shut in a box of iron. Yet she yielded not to the temptation, but left it tucked safely away.

And on one of these Boreal nights as the skies above ran red and the four stood beneath and marvelled at the display, Aravan canted an ancient chant of the Fjordlanders, one that had been sung by them for as long as their Dragonships had roamed the seas:

The cruel winter eked toward spring, the Longnight at last coming to an end, the Sun returning, the long, long nights thereafter gradually growing shorter. With the return of the Sun, hearts lifted, and each day was a bit longer as the Sun slowly climbed upward in the southern sky. Faeril, Gwylly, Riatha, and Aravan continued to learn from their Aleutan hosts, discovering that these Folk had several hundred names for snow alone, though none of the four tried to master the list.

Steadily spring drew nigh, and finally came what was to be their last day in the village; on the morrow they would leave. But an elder seeking an augury cast a handful of carven ivory shapes and then shook her head, saying that the bones told of a bad storm, and none would be able to move for some days to come.

In the darkness of the night the storm yawled out from the Boreal Sea and whelmed upon the land, the blizzard fierce beyond measure and to venture forth was to court suicide. And so they waited, fretting, trapped, while shrieking days passed. Seven howling days and nights the wind and snow and ice hammered through the vales and into the barrens beyond. And seven howling days and nights Riatha and Aravan and Faeril and Gwylly paced the dirt floor and spoke of their plans going awry and checked their supplies and checked them again and snapped crossly at questions and…

Late on the eighth day the storm blew itself out, blessed quiet falling upon the land. The foursome pushed aside the
layers of musk ox hides weighted at the bottom which served as a door, and they stepped out into the night. A light snow drifted down, and high clouds still covered the sky, moving swiftly eastward, driven so by unfelt winds aloft. To the soddie of B’arr they went, finding the sledmaster awake, and it was apparent that he had been playing with his two children as his wife looked on. Yet all scrambled to their feet and smiled and bowed as the foursome was invited in. But in the flickering light of a seal-fat lamp Riatha wasted little time on formalities, saying, “We must leave in the morning, B’arr, for even now we are seven days late.”

B’arr looked at the commanding
Infé
, then at the
Anfé
, and finally smiled down at the wee
Mygga
, and bobbed his head, agreeing, for were they not Chieftains all? “B’arr ready. Tchuka ready, Ruluk ready. Sled ready. Dogs ready, too.”

The four then returned to their own sod dwelling, preparing to rest, for on the morrow they would begin an overland journey of some seven hundred and fifty miles, a journey lasting some fourteen or fifteen days. And they were late. Seven days late. They had planned on staying in the monastery and waiting, but now they would barely reach the Glacier by Springday, assuming no more storms delayed them along the route. And Faeril wondered if the prophecy would come true or not, and she remembered the words of her dam: “…
even prophecies need help now and again.”
Yet the damman did not see how she could aid this prophecy; only the sledmasters and their dogs could do so. With these thoughts running through her mind, Faeril bedded down next to Gwylly.

Buccan and damman tossed and turned, trying to sleep but failing. Now and again Faeril would look to see Riatha and Aravan sitting quietly in the shadows as Elves are wont to do, not sleeping but nevertheless resting. But the damman knew that she and her buccaran would not sleep this night, and even as she thought this, she drifted into slumber.

It was well after mid of night when Faeril awakened once more and saw Riatha standing. The Elfess motioned to the damman, and quietly they stepped outside. The sky had cleared and the stars glittered in the frigid darkness. Without speaking Riatha pointed, and Faeril looked and her
heart jumped into her throat, for there streaming high in the east was the Eye of the Hunter, its luminous tail long and bloody.

* * *

Ere the Sun rose the next morning they set forth from Innuk, B’arr’s team in the lead with Tchuka and Ruluk coming after. Faeril and Gwylly sat in the first sled, along with supplies for Man and dog and
Mygga
. Riatha rode in the second, and Aravan in the third, their sleds, too, laden with food and goods for the journey. The village entire turned out to see them go, and there was a small ceremony of leaving. Yet even the elders could sense the impatience of
Fé
and
Mygga
to be on their way.

At last
“Hypp! Hypp!”
called out B’arr, and Shlee eagerly lunged forward, all dogs in the team leaping, setting the sled into motion. Tchuka’s and Ruluk’s teams followed as those two sledmasters each cried
Hypp!
in turn, Laska surging forward, Garr, too. And up out from the vale and away from Innuk ran the dogs, sleds gliding after, sledmasters running alongside, then stepping onto the runners as the
spans
reached their strides.

They crested the lip of the vale and headed out into the Untended Lands, into the barrens beyond—sleds, dogs, passengers, sledmasters. And on board, Faeril, Gwylly, Riatha, and Aravan each felt that they might be too late to fulfill the prophecy, yet they would try regardless, East-southeast they fared, toward a goal afar,
Mygga
and
Fé
and B’arr and Tchuka and Ruluk, not knowing what the future held, but knowing that they coursed into danger.

Early Spring, 5E988
[The Present]

“’W
are, Riatha!”
cried Aravan, shivers of ice slithering down the shifting ramp of shatter as he clambered up behind Gwylly and Faeril and into the golden glow. “It may be Stoke.”

Desperately, using nought but her hands, Riatha began digging away at the fragmented wall, great splinters and shards clattering down the icy slope of sliding scree. “Nay, Aravan, were it Stoke, then the fingers would be long and grasping. ’Tis the hand of Urus! Now aid me!”

Again a faint twitch rippled along the fingers of the huge Man’s hand jutting forth from the glacier, central to the light shining out from the wall.

“Surely he cannot be alive,” breathed Gwylly. “It must be the quaking causing—”

“Faeril, Gwylly,” barked Aravan as he backslung his spear and climbed up beside Riatha, “ward us, for though the blue stone grows warm, foe may return.”

Hearts hammering, buccan and damman turned to look out over the ’scape. The view was blocked by the great piece that had calved off from the glacial wall. “Quick, Gwylly,” urged Faeril, pointing at the mass, “let us take a stand on that.”

Up to their knees in sliding fragments of ice, they made their way down the heap, shards and splinters chinking and chinging as would shattered glass, cascading before them as they descended. At the base of the mound, they gazed at
the solid mass rearing up, searching in the bright moonlight for a way onto the calved bulk. Behind them, more ice clattered down as Riatha and Aravan dug away at the wall. Gwylly turned right and Faeril left, as each scoured the gigantic block for a place to climb. “Here, love,” called Gwylly, seeing a way up.

Ascending a series of jagged ledges, the Warrows made their way up to the cloven surface of the shorn-off mass. “You stand at that end, I’ll take this one,” directed Faeril knife in hand, heading south.

A dagger in his left grip, Gwylly started north, his track taking him across from Riatha and Aravan, the Elves now reaching up and back into the wall, casting broken ice out, taking care to remove it from the upper part of the zone of shatter downward so that none would come crashing atop them or on the one trapped within. And just as the buccan came opposite the Elves, his eye fell upon—
“Ai-oi Faeril!”
he called softly. “Love, come here and see.”