The Bitter Kingdom
Page 24She rolls her eyes at me, then she and Hector pack my tent while I finish eating.
More snow fell during the night. Away from our trampled-down campsite, it is almost knee-deep. Pine boughs sag under its weight. The trees nearest our campfire drip icicles.
“We need to hurry,” Belén says. “Another snowfall like that and we’ll lose the trail.”
“The ash has made everything worse,” Waterfall says. “The last time the volcano erupted—in my grandfather’s time—the world experienced the worst winter in known history.”
“I traveled this path several times during the years when I was an ambassador,” Storm says. “Volcano aside, more snow will make traveling impossible higher up unless we cross the divide soon.”
“At least the Deciregi will face the same delays we do,” I say.
Hector guides his horse beside mine and says, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Oh?”
“They can’t have missed the eruption. And Pine sensed when the sacrifice was killed. He felt a lessening of power.”
“Oh.” I frown as understanding dawns.
Hector nods. “They know you’re coming for them. Either they will travel as quickly as possible, or—”
“Or they will wait to ambush me.” I sigh. Will there ever be a time in my life when someone isn’t seeking to murder me? Will I ever feel safe again? “I’ll send Belén on scouting forays. Which means you must ride point so he can stay as rested as possible.”
“I can scout,” comes a high, little-girl voice.
I twist in my saddle to find Mula staring at me eagerly. She rides a horse of her own finally—a dapple gray gelding with a fuzzy winter coat.
“Belén is teaching me. I’m very quiet. Orlín said I had the softest feet he ever knew. That’s why I was the one who snuck into the rooms and . . . But I don’t do that anymore!”
Hector and I exchange an amused glance.
“If Belén says you can go with him, I won’t stop you,” I say. “But only if he says. And you’re not going alone.”
She grins triumphantly. “Yes, my lady.”
At some point we’ll have to tutor her in proper address. Not to mention the fine art of eating with utensils instead of one’s hands, or the fact that a little girl ought not expose herself by raising the hem of her shirt to wipe her nose. And one of us should teach her to read and write. If we ever get back home safely, I’ll find a good tutor or buy her an apprenticeship.
I’m not sure when I decided that she would come home with us, but now I wouldn’t consider any other alternative. Mara would be furious if we left her in anyone else’s care. Maybe even Belén.
We make camp in a clearing. Mara gets a fire started, and Hector and I set up tents while the horses paw through the snow to reach the frozen grass beneath. After a cold meal of what Mula calls “tasty balls”—nuts, ground meat, and cake crumbs rolled together with olive oil and sheep fat, I send Belén to scout. He does not agree to take Mula with him, so I allow her to stand the first watch with me.
As everyone else turns in, she retrieves Lucero’s Godstone from her pocket and hands it to me. “I kept it safe for you,” she says solemnly.
I pluck it from her fingers and shove it in my own pocket, thinking to stow it in the box beside my Godstone crown when I get a chance. “Thank you, Mula.”
Moments later, it begins to snow again.
Belén returns in the morning. “No sign of an ambush ahead,” he says, shaking snow from his cloak. “But last night’s storm makes tracking difficult. I did find a few footprints from a large party traveling ahead of us, but they were old and already mostly snowed in. If we move fast, I might be able to catch them in a day or two on a scouting foray. We’d have to get really close, though. I just can’t cover as much ground in the snow.”
I shake my head. “I need you sharp, Belén. I won’t make the same mistake I made before and exhaust you.”
“I can sleep in the saddle with Hector at point.”
Hector sits on a nearby boulder, scraping one of his daggers with a whetstone. “And Mara will take up the rear—she’s handy with her bow. Storm has the next best distance advantage, with that Godstone of his. I want him beside Elisa. And I want Waterfall where someone can see her at all times.”
“You can trust her,” Storm says from the side of his mount. He buckles a saddlebag and gives the cinch a final tug.
“You really can,” Waterfall echoes in her soft, syrupy voice. “I have no use for any of you Joyans, and I would just as soon murder you all in your sleep, but my brother is now heir to Crooked Sequoia House and I am bound by oath to obey him.”
Storm leans toward her and says in a teaching voice, “Joyans consider it is rude to express one’s true opinion unless it is unequivocally flattering.”
Her brow furrows. “Then how do they express anything at all?”
I roll my eyes at both of them and walk over to mount Horse. She cranes her neck to give me a side-eyed gaze. I stroke her neck. “Good morning, stupid girl. Ready to ride?” I grab the reins and lead her toward the trail. A head toss sends her ridiculous mane flying, and she steps high through the snow.
We travel in silence. There is an odd, expectant hush over the world, as if the thick snow and rolling clouds demand quiet, and everything is helpless but to obey. Even the footsteps of our horses are muted. I marvel at how like a desert this place is, with nuances of light and color that gradually separate themselves from a seemingly uniform and barren landscape.
It is almost time for our afternoon meal and rest break when Storm clicks to his mount and pulls even with me and Horse. “I smell a storm,” he says.
“Well, obviously,” I say, reaching out with a gloved hand to catch snow in the palm of my hand.
“No, I mean it’s going to get worse.”
I wipe my hand on my pants. “Any more will block our trail.”
He nods. “We are still at least a day away from the divide. We should take shelter at the nearest way station.”
Storm leans over, grabs Horse’s reins from my pommel, and yanks us to a stop. I glare at him, but all my anger fades when he says, “If we don’t stop, we’ll die.”
“That bad?” I say in a small voice.
“I know little about your desert. I could not survive on my own there. I have needed help and guidance to make my journeys as an ambassador. But I do know the mountains. Here, you need my help and guidance. And I say we stop.”
I know what Hector would think; he’d worry that Storm is betraying us, that he stalls us on purpose.
As if my thoughts have summoned him, Hector calls a halt at the front of the line and turns his horse around. “Elisa!” he calls. “I feel a storm coming. A bad one.”
When two people I trust say the same thing, I must consider it a majority opinion. “Storm, can you guide us to the next way station?”
“It’s still a ways off. We must hurry.”
“Take point, then.”
He and Hector trade places, and we set off again. The trail is narrow enough that my leg occasionally brushes Hector’s, but neither of us moves to a single-file position.
“Do you have any rope?” he says after a while.
“A little. We all do. Why?”
“The storm could make it too difficult to see one another. I don’t want anyone getting lost.”
“Just like a sandstorm.”
“Just like a sandstorm. If it comes to that, we’ll attach ourselves to a rope line.”
Moments ago, I would never have imagined such a thing as the delicate fluff of snow whirling so thick and hard that it could separate us. But the wind is picking up, turning the falling snow to needles on my face, and I blink rapidly, as if focusing my eyes harder will suddenly make my way clear.
Lightning splits the sky right above us. Thunder booms immediately after, followed by a great crack that echoes like a drumbeat. To our right, a massive sequoia topples over. It crashes through the trees around it, shedding snow and trailing sparks, barely missing our path. The sharp tang of burned resin fills the air.
The horses mill frantically, and it’s a moment before we have them under control again.
“A thunder snow,” Storm calls out. “Quickly!” He kicks his horse into as fast a gallop as the snow will allow. We follow after, and even Horse picks up her pace with little urging.
“Turnoff ahead!” Storm shouts through the rising wind. “So stay close.”
Once we are lined up, we fork off from the trail onto a path that is completely invisible to me. Our way is narrow and rocky. It’s also steeper, with dangerous switchbacks, and I lean over Horse’s back to keep my seat as she climbs. It would be easy to lose footing in this snow and slip over the edge.
Lightning flashes again, and the sky is so bright for a moment that a picture of the world around us—the tight slope hugged by snow-laden pines, backlit by a greenish sky—is seared into my mind. Thunder booms, and Horse rears up a little, but I pat her neck and she settles.
Ahead, Belén leans precariously in his saddle, and at first I think he’s falling, but then he reaches down and scoops up a large fallen branch. He regains his seat nimbly, then cracks the smaller, forking branches off it as we travel, tossing them into the snow. He’s left with a thick pole that’s almost as tall as he is. I watch in awe as he balances the heavy pole along his left thigh and rides with it.
The wind whips through the trees, across the ground, sending flurries everywhere. Belén and his horse become a blurry outline of darkness, choked out by relentless white. Someone up ahead yells something, but I’ve no idea what.
And then a wind blows through, so monstrous that it nearly knocks me from my saddle. I grasp at the pommel, taking comfort in the fact that the others are near, for the rope connecting us remains taut. But I can neither see nor hear them. I am alone in a darkness of pure white.
Horse plows forward resolutely, head down against the wind. “That’s a good girl,” I mutter, even though I know she can’t hear my voice. “The best girl.”
My feet and hands are becoming numb, dangerously numb, and my teeth chatter. I pray warmth into my limbs. Please, God, help us get through this. You’ve seen us through worse, so I know it’s possible. I’m not sure how Storm will find the way station in this mess, but with you to guide him . . .
Warmth races through my blood in response to my prayer. I’ve never known if the Godstone’s warmth is a true warmth. I’ve considered that it’s illusory only, a mental manifestation that comes from communion with God. I suppose that if I get to the way station and discover frostbite, I’ll know. I just wish in the meantime that I could pray warmth into my companions as well.
I don’t know how long we travel. I slump over the horse as the wind batters me. I am limp and useless, with a jaw that aches from clenching so hard and a forehead with perspiration gone icy.
“We’re here, Elisa,” someone says. “We made it.” Hands pull me from the saddle, and I don’t protest. “Can you stand?”
I’m wobbly, but yes, I can. I look into Hector’s worried face and nod. He wraps me in his arms, and we are both so bundled up it’s like two pillows hugging. I squeeze back as best I can.
24
WE’VE reached a cave, its opening almost completely covered in deadfall and snowdrifts. Without a word, we attack the entrance, dragging dead branches out of the way and scooping at snow with gloved hands. It’s a race against the weather, for every bit of snow we shovel away is half returned to us by relentless wind.
My fingers are numb and my back aches, but I don’t stop until we’ve cleared enough of an opening for the horses to pass through. Hector draws his sword and disappears inside. He returns a moment later. “All clear!” he yells.
The cave’s opening is low and crooked and dark, and Horse balks. I give her a kiss on the nose and say in soothing tones, “Are you the stupidest horse who ever lived? Yes, you are!” Her hears perk forward, her nostrils flare, and she follows me inside.
The entrance opens into a wide chamber barely large enough for all of us. In the center is an old fire pit, but with the snow so heavy, blocking any vents, we’ll have to be careful. Indentions in the far wall are used for shelves. They hold a small iron pot, some broken cutlery, two chipped wooden cups, and a bundle of kindling.
We lead the horses toward the back, where the cavern curves around a lip of stone and opens into another small chamber. This one is just high enough for the horses to stand comfortably. A small pile of moldy hay lies against one wall. Between that and the little grain we have left, we might have enough to feed them for a day or two.
Mara sets herself the task of getting a fire going, and soon the cave is bathed in cheery warmth. The ceiling is too low, the cavern too crowded, and we might be running out of food. Still, we exchange smiles of shared relief as we unsling our packs and array our bedrolls around the fire pit.