The King of Forever (Scarlet and the White Wolf, #4) (4 page)

“Apples,” Jochi said, deadpan.

***

T
hick, leafless limbs of fruit trees, fringed with snow, made a lacy canopy over their heads. Scarlet cat-footed through a stone arch in the grove, the third of many such arches and pylons built over the centuries. He’d been comforted when Liall revealed that the markers denoted the location of graves.

“Not royal graves,” Liall had said. “When royalty dies, they are taken to the Kingsdal, to be entombed and preserved in ice forever. The snows never melt in the far north.”

Scarlet’s village had contained an
afarit,
where the earthly remains of Hilurin were buried to nourish the fruit trees that grew there. Others preferred to be settled deep in their own grain fields. There had been a few tombstones in the afarit for those of non-Hilurin blood, and the wealthy could afford to consign their remains to the priests of Deva, who took them to charnel grounds high in the mountains for sky burials.

Scarlet yearned to ask Liall if he could build a small
templon
in the grove to honor his parents, but he knew that asking for a Hilurin shrine on Rshani land was an unwise request, one that Liall would want to grant anyway and they would both regret.

Tesk followed Scarlet a few paces back, being much more silent than Scarlet thought anyone with feet that big could manage. The ground crunched softly under their boots as they tracked the paw prints of a large hare. They went deeper into the grove, almost out of sight of their party. Scarlet could hear the breath of the horses still, and Jochi’s low whispers as he spoke to the guards. If he could hear them, the game could.

He motioned to Tesk to follow him as he rounded a stand of apple trees. They roamed deeper into the silent woods for another quarter of an hour, their progress slow and quiet, until they were nearing the eastern wall of the grove.

Scarlet stopped under an apple tree. Most of its silver limbs were still bare, but on a low branch, several sprigs of bright green sprouted from the bark.

It had been so long since he saw budding green. Suddenly, he had an impulse to help it along. “Tesk,” he whispered. He touched a finger to the branch and warmth flowed from his skin.

Tesk watched him curiously.

Scarlet leaned close to the tree and breathed a withy chant onto the tiny green leaves. They stirred, twisted, and bright pink buds popped into existence. They unfurled swiftly into white blossoms with blushing petals.

Tesk’s eyes went round and he exhaled in awe. “Amazing.”

Scarlet smiled in real pleasure. He hadn’t had much chance to use his Gift since he landed in Rshan, and almost none at all since Liall was made king. Smiling, he gave the withy another little push.
“On danaee Deva shani,”
he whispered.

It was too much.

The blossoms withered, dropped, and small, red fruits appeared, no bigger than his smallest fingernail. They weren’t small for long. He stopped the withy in mid-chant and tried to pull back his Gift, but it wouldn’t come.

He stepped away, hoping the distance would break the connection, but the apples kept growing. The slender branch bowed and snapped with a crack.

Scarlet stared in dismay at the ruined branch and the apples at his feet.

“Ser?” Worry was in Tesk’s voice.

“That’s not how that’s supposed to happen,” Scarlet murmured. He looked at the palm of his hand. “I’ve never been able to do that. I heard tell of folk who could, but not me.”

“You’re young,” Tesk said. “Perhaps you just needed time.” Snowflakes landed on his silver eyelashes as he stared unblinking at Scarlet’s hands.

Like Jochi, Tesk was a Setna, but the resemblance ended there. Jochi was reserved; Tesk was a born charmer and probably a libertine in his spare time. Now he was simply fascinated, like all Setna when it came to magic.

Scarlet shook his head. “Maybe.” He picked up one of the apples, fearing it would be spoiled or deformed in some way, but it was red and firm. He sniffed it before tucking it into his pocket.

Tesk bent and gathered one as well. “A magic apple.” He smiled. “Do you think it will turn me into a toad?”

“Only for a little while.” Scarlet chuckled at Tesk’s look. “I’m kidding. It’s safe enough. Don’t blame me if you get a bellyache, though. It might be not be ripe.”

“So noted.” Tesk lifted his chin and searched the grove. “North?” he suggested.

Scarlet nodded. They changed direction and slipped through the trees for some time, silent as ghosts, senses alert for any movement. The land turned wilder, the trees untrimmed, and the ground uneven. Scarlet stopped in his tracks.

In the lee of a round hill shaded by looming trees was a large animal, not a hundred paces away. A deer, but much bigger than the gangly creatures of the forests of Lysia. It was pale like a snow bear and dotted with sooty spots along its back. The twin antlers were curved in a long, graceful swoop and tipped with wicked points.

At his signal, Tesk sank down to a crouch. The deer snuffled as it buried its nose in a hump of snow and rooted for the lichen hidden beneath.

We’re upwind of it,
Scarlet realized. Ever so slowly, he raised Whisper, curled his fingers around the bowstring, and pressed into the bow. He closed one eye to take a better aim and waited. He wanted to be sure. He waited so long in the drawn stance that his arm began to shake. Finally, the wind changed and the deer scented them. It lifted its neck—
his
neck—and turned his rump to the hunters with his scut raised, preparing to flee. Scarlet loosed.

The arrow hissed through the air and struck. The buck whistled out a panicked breath and collapsed, his legs kicking.

Tesk released the breath he’d been holding. “Well done!” He grinned. He clapped Scarlet on the shoulder. “Very well done, ser. I wasn’t sure you were going to take him. What were you waiting for?”

“I had to be sure he was fair game.”

“And how did you find that out? Did the reindeer speak to you? I did not know your magic worked that way.”

“It doesn’t, but bucks and hinds both grow antlers here. In Lysia, only the bucks have them, and we don’t hunt the females in springtime.” Scarlet curled his hand like he held something cupped in his palm, and Tesk’s jaw dropped.

“You were waiting for sight of his
balls
?”

Scarlet shrugged as Tesk erupted into laughter so loud he knew they wouldn’t get near another animal today. They’d probably spooked the game for half a league. He chuckled as Tesk wheezed in mirth and held his sides.

“Want-wit,” Scarlet snickered. He laid his bow on the ground and knelt by the spotted reindeer. “He’s a big one. Rain-deer did you say?” He slipped the curved hunting knife that Liall had given him from his boot. “Why do you call them that?”

He’d barely grasped the animal’s antlers when he heard a sound like hissing steam behind him. He turned and saw nothing, then looked up.

He had never seen an ice cat before. It wasn’t much larger than a dog, but it was wiry, the muscles beneath its short gray coat rippling like water. It perched on the branches of the apple tree, black claws dug deep into the wood, sharp ears forward, short tail slashing with fury.

Scarlet froze. There were river cats in Byzantur almost this size, but they were shy, reclusive creatures that fled from all contact with humans. He had never heard of one attacking a person. Not ever.

The ice cat opened its jaws and hissed again, a cloud of mist rushing past twin fangs the size of daggers. Its peaked shoulders tensed to spring. When it moved, it leapt from the branches soundlessly, its gray body matching the color of the clouds against the sky, nearly invisible.

Tesk’s arrow took it through the neck in mid-leap. Blood sprayed from the hole, and the graceful leap turned to a screaming, jangled thrashing as it hit the snow.

It had missed Scarlet by the length of one arm.

Blood stained the ice as the cat clawed its way toward him, and Tesk grabbed his shoulder, shoving him back. Scarlet fell out of the way and the cat changed direction, struggling up the hill with the arrow shaft bobbing from its neck. Tesk nocked another arrow and loosed. The cat screamed, shuddered, then was still.

“Deva save us.” Scarlet looked wide-eyed at Tesk, knife still in hand.

Tesk’s boots stomped up clouds of snow as he strode to him, anger in every muscle. “Hell’s teeth! Why didn’t you move?”

Scarlet saw that Tesk was shaking.
Not with fear for me, surely.
He swallowed and glanced at the carcass on the hill, curls of steam rising from its blood. “I didn’t know it would attack. I thought they were like river cats back home. In Byzantur, no one would believe a cat trying to take down a man.”

Tesk slung his bow over his shoulder. “That was
not
a Byzan animal, ser. She was of Rshan. I thought you’d learned by now: every creature in Rshan can be deadly.”

Scarlet nodded, staring at the dead cat. Tesk muttered curses in Sinha and helped him up.

On his feet, Scarlet nodded his thanks. “I owe you, friend.” He looked at the hill with the cat crowning it. “She’ll make a fine pelt anyway.”

Tesk didn’t seem to be listening. He was looking around at the scraggly apple trees as if they might sprout arms and lunge for them. “We should return to the hunting party now, ser.”

“Oh, they’ll come running soon enough. You could hear that cat for miles.” Scarlet sheathed his knife. He’d be damned if he’d leave without his buck, but Tesk should have something for his trouble, too. He tramped a few steps up the steep hill, his calves disappearing into snow. The ground beneath felt rocky, uneven.

“Ser, get down!” Tesk called in alarm.

For Deva’s sake, he was halfway up already! “In a moment. I’m just—”

The hill gave a loud
crack
like an iceberg breaking in half.

Just getting your kill,
he thought, then the hill collapsed and the earth gave way, and he was falling past sharpness and rock.

Scarlet felt a burning, tearing pain claw up his leg. His arm was seized and jerked nearly out of its socket. He sucked in a breath of ice crystals and falling earth, but there was not enough air to shout. Stone crashed against his cheek and he was clasped in darkness like a coffin inside a tomb.

***

T
he Overworld was not like he imagined.

Scarlet brushed a hanging branch of cedar aside, intent on following a patch of golden light far in the distance. He was in a clearing in a forest, the sun warm on his shoulders. He looked down and saw that he was wearing his red pedlar’s coat. It had been months since he took it from the chest. It was patched on the elbows and cuffs, worn and grubby, but it comforted him all the same.

There was music on the wind. Faint, like whispers or birdsong, and not like any music he knew of. The wind smelled like late spring, of flowers and earth.

“Hello?” he called. If it was truly the Overworld, his father should be here to greet him, along with Linhona and all his friends; everyone who had died in Lysia. His chest ached to think of that awful last day, the smell of ashes and rubble, and how empty the world became when he realized his home was gone forever.

Earth is dirt,
came Scaja’s voice in his ear.
Home is being with the people you love, nothing more.

He turned and Scaja was there, just like that. “Dad?”

Scaja’s smile broke his heart.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Scarlet touched Scaja’s face with a fingertip, afraid he might vanish like a dream.
But I am dreaming,
he thought.

Scaja clasped him in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. “There’s my wild lad!”

No dream, then. He could scarcely breathe, but he didn’t care a bit. Scaja was all right, everyone was all right. He could feel them, all his friends. Old Rufa, who owned the taberna in Lysia. Tommur the baker. Kozi, who had vanished on the Iron Road when they were boys. They were all here!

Except...

Slowly, Scaja let him go. “He’s not here, son. Not yet,” he said. A wistful smile touched his lined face. “Like you.”

“But I am!” Scarlet felt like weeping. “I’m here. You’re not a dream.”

Scaja ruffled his hair. “Not a dream. Not quite. Things are different where you are. You’re closer to the source. You can channel the power for yourself now. Everything you need is at hand.”

Channels. Source. Melev had spoken like that. It frightened him.

“Dad?” he said uncertainly.

Scaja faded, like a cloud had passed between them, and Scarlet felt cold steal over his skin.

“What’s happening?” he breathed. He reached out, but Scaja was no longer there.

“No,” he moaned. “Please come back.”
Please don’t leave me again
. He smelled jasmine and knew they were in the afarit of Lysia. He could even make out the moon-limned shapes of tombstones in all the grayness.

The Overworld turned brighter. He thought the sun might be coming out, but no. It was snow.

A man approached from a swirling column of snowflakes, as tall as Liall, white-haired, and wearing a red robe. His features were blurred.

The man touched his forehead in a gesture that was oddly familiar, then with two fingers he traced a rune in the air.

Scarlet recognized the rune and recoiled.

“Deva. Om-Ret. Senkhara. The blood of Lyr,” the man intoned. The rune seemed to drip fire, and Scarlet could finally see the stranger’s eyes. They were gray as steel.

Scarlet shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I don’t think I want to.” Senkhara was a Minh god. That couldn’t mean anything good.

“Come to us,” the stranger said. “Come to the temple mountain, the place of gods. All your answers are there, and everyone you love. It’s all waiting for you, Scarlet.”

Again, Melev came to mind. The ancient had wanted more than just magic from him. He had wanted the Creatrix, a powerful instrument of the Shining Ones that had been hidden deep inside a distant mountain. Scarlet knew where that mountain was, but he had told no one except Liall. Liall had refused to speak of it ever again.

But he couldn’t mean the Nerit,
he thought. It was thousands of leagues away, across the sea.