Inker and Crown

Chapter 19

19

Mara

“A day in the white is more than a thousand score,

For once you’ve climbed to the white, you see spring nevermore.

Nevermore summer, nevermore spring,

Nevermore feel a pleasant young thing.”

“Enough,” Mara called to the wagon rumbling along behind hers.

“Sorry, map maker,” Smitter shouted back over the clatter of the wheels and grumblings of the dogs. “Didn’t mean to offend the lady.”

Mara clenched the rough wooden edge of her seat. “I’m not offended, Smitter. It’s just making me cold already. Can’t we enjoy the last bit of color left to us?”

“Best enjoy it fast,” Smitter called back.

“Right you are.” It was impossible to ignore the white, even if Mara had wanted to.

Even here, thirty miles from where the permanent snow began, the white mountains towered in front of them. Reaching so high into the sky they kissed the clouds, the white mountains coated the entire northern horizon. Just looking up to their peaks sent Mara’s head spinning.

They weren’t to climb to the top. Such a feat would be impossible even if the sorcerers cared to help. The King’s orders were to explore the mountains for signs of life. No creature could survive where the summits met the sky.

“Afraid of freezing, map maker?” Tham asked.

Mara. I wish he could call me Mara.

Her fingers ached to touch him. To graze his palm or caress his cheek. The tiniest hint of his skin against hers would satisfy her, or at least make the longing better for a few hours. But if any of the expedition party saw, there would be hell to pay back home.

“I’m not afraid of freezing any more than I would be of burning.” Mara didn’t look at Tham as she spoke. She wouldn’t be able to keep a smile from her lips. It was hard enough to hide her sheer joy at riding through the crisp air beside him when she couldn’t see his dark eyes.

“Two days from now, we’ll be on the snow,” Tham said, “and the wagons will be on their way back to Ilara.”

“It is rather rude of them to abandon us.” Mara gripped the side of the wagon as a wheel thumped into a divot in the road. “But I do suppose a wagon would be useless in an hour and the horses dead in a week.”

“Whitend ahead!” The shout echoed back from the front wagon.

Trusting Tham not to let her fall, Mara stood on her seat.

A clump of low houses with faded wooden sides had appeared over the rise. The cluster held no more than twenty dwellings, all built around a wide stone circle at the center.

“Not much to see, is it?” Smitter said.

“It’s the end of the world as far as most are concerned.” Mara could see where the belief came from.

Beyond the drab cluster of houses, a span of scruffy tundra reached into the distance. Near the village, the turf had been touched by the green of spring. But farther north, the green gradually disappeared, swallowed by dead, brown scrub bushes. Beyond the brown, white took hold as the ground became permanently coated in snow.

A cold wind whipped down from the north, lifting the hairs on the nape of Mara’s neck.

The white is waiting for us.

Mara batted away the childish thought and jumped back down to the floor of the wagon.

“And the King thinks there might be people living in the mountains?” Tham said.

“Let’s hope for all our sakes he’s wrong.”

“Shall we trundle right into the village, Lamac?” a voice called from the front of the line.

Mara turned to watch the wagon’s canvas drape pull aside as Lamac peered out into the sunlight for the first time that afternoon.

“May Aximander bless all our souls.” Lamac stood on a supply crate, cutting a daring figure despite the wrinkles on his green uniform. “I don’t suppose we have a choice.”

“Careful, Lamac.” Mara kept her tone cheerful and bright. “The soldiers don’t pray to Aximander. Let them keep their own saint.”

“Why?” Lamac reached into the canvas shelter and grabbed his scroll tube and boots. “Do you think Saint Dannach watches soldiers while they’re on journeys?”

“What you and I believe isn’t the point. We’re about to go into the cold and―”

Tham pressed his arm against Mara’s, cutting off her words.

“If we’re all going to be living in tight quarters”―Mara forced the cheerfulness back into her tone―“it’s best to let the soldiers keep to their own beliefs. It keeps the peace.”

“Following orders keeps the peace,” Lamac laughed. “Everything else is just politics.”

“As you say, Lamac.”

Movement stirred in the village―people coming out of their houses, barely visible from this distance. The brown of their clothes matched the dull colors of their homes, making it difficult to tell the difference between person and dwelling.

“Are we really to stay here for the night?” Lamac said. “If we’re going to sleep in the mud, I’d just as soon do it without curious locals prowling around.”

“Hadn’t we best learn from them?” Mara said as the first wagon stopped at the edge of the village. “They hold more knowledge of the white mountains than all the books we’ve studied.”

“Because they’ve stuck their toes into the ageless snow?” Lamac lowered his voice as their wagon stopped. “I somehow doubt that.”

A man with bright white hair moved slowly toward the wagon, head c****d to the side.

What Mara had taken for filth on the clothes of the people was actually the fur of some brown animal.

“You the map makers?”

The white-haired villager was not a man as Mara had thought, but a woman with closely cropped hair and pants made of fur.

“We are.” Mara jumped from the wagon and approached the woman. “We’ve been sent by order of the King to map the white mountains.”

“Pity.” The woman worried her wrinkled lips.

“Did you not receive word of the King’s proclamations at Winter’s End?” Lamac asked, his voice raised as though the woman were deaf.

“That?” the woman pointed to a tattered piece of parchment tacked to the side of a house. The ink had been washed away by rain and the corners torn by the wind. “Man came up on a horse and hung it.”

“And could you read it?” Lamac said, his voice still raised.

“What Map Maker Lamac means”―Mara stepped in front of Lamac, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand―“is we hope we aren’t inconveniencing your village by stopping here for the night. We made better time than we’d planned on the way north, and you may not have expected us yet.”

“Last good time you’ll make.” The woman laughed, the rasp of it like dry brush rubbing together. “Makes no difference to us when you’re here. Don’t break into the houses, and don’t go wandering off and get lost. We don’t rescue strangers around here.”

“We are map makers,” Lamac said, stepping up to stand beside Mara. “Wandering is what we do.”

“I like it better when the girl talks.” The old woman glared at Lamac. “I’ll speak to her from now on.”

“If that’s what pleases you.” Mara bowed. “May I ask where we should camp for the night?”

“North side since that’s where you’ll be going.” The woman pointed through the houses to a patch of tundra beyond. “Give the mountains a chance to get your scent. Maybe then they’ll know not to devour you.”

“This way,” Tham called to the wagons, leading them through the narrow strip of bare dirt between houses.

“May I ask your name?” Mara said.

“Bernate.” She grasped Mara’s hand with shocking strength.

“Thank you for allowing us in your home, Bernate,” Mara said.

“You’ll be wishing I hadn’t soon enough.” Bernate waved for Mara to follow her.

“You shouldn’t undercut me like that in front of the locals, Map Maker Landil,” Lamac murmured as they followed Bernate toward the stone circle.

“Since when do you care to speak to the locals?” Mara asked.

“Fair enough, but I will not be made to look a fool in front of the soldiers.”

You need no help from me.

“You been in the white before?” Bernate rounded on Mara so quickly, she had to jump back to keep from running into the woman.

“Not quite. Only to the foot of the white mountains,” Mara said, pressing away the horrible cold that nipped the back of her neck. “I’ve traveled this way with Lord Karron.”

Lamac’s eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bernate held up a hand to silence him.

“The white must like you then.” She took Mara’s chin in her hand.

Mara held steady, not flinching at the touch of the Bernate’s wrinkled and frigid fingers.

“You should be the first to go in.” Bernate tipped Mara’s chin down so she could examine her eyes. “The wind must like your scent to let you leave her home.”

“Thank you. I’ll do as you suggest.”

“It’s customary for map makers to rotate who takes the front when there are two equals leading an expedition,” Lamac said.

“Lead wherever you like, boy.” Bernate didn’t look away from Mara as she spoke. “The white will kill you before you reach the heart of the mountains. If you have a letter to your loved ones, best to leave it with us. We don’t get messengers coming here much, but I’ll give it to them when they do.”

“Ma’am, we are Guilded map makers,” Lamac said, anger sounding in every word. “I don’t think it is for you to judge the success of our journey before it has even begun.”

“Saint Aximander?” Bernate said.

Mara took a deep breath as Bernate let go of her chin and turned to Lamac.

“What of him?” Lamac asked.

“Is he who will see you through the mountains and back? Is he who will make sure you have fire to heat and food to eat? The mountains and the wind care nothing for your measly saint. The forces that run through the endless winter are deeper and more magical than any saint could fight against.” Bernate seized Lamac’s wrist and dragged him toward the great stone circle.

Mara hadn’t noticed the people surrounding them until they began following Bernate and Lamac. There were at least sixty villagers. Some young, some old. The bushy beards of the men was the only distinction between the sexes.

“Look upon it.”

Bernate’s voice carried through the crowd to Mara.

A pile of stones rose up from the center of the rock circle.

Mara weaved her way through the pack of onlookers, following Bernate’s voice.

“We have kept watch over the mound for centuries. Protecting all who dwell south from Kareen. You wander into the white looking for things you don’t want to find, and you don’t even understand what danger could ravage all of Ilbrea if we in Whitend didn’t spend our days upon the tundra protecting you.”

Mara reached the front of the crowd. The villagers all looked silently on as Bernate pointed a trembling finger at Lamac.

“Rocks?” Lamac said, his tone somewhere between entertained and furious. “You protect all of us from a pile of rocks?”

Mara could see no significance in the massive pile. Thousands of stones about the size of her fist had been shaped into a mound twelve feet high and thirty feet around, with no visible break in the structure.

“It’s not the rocks. It’s what’s under them.”

At Bernate’s words, all the villagers seemed to tense.

“Well, now that you’ve buried whatever it is you think could ravage Ilbrea under a few thousand rocks, I’m sure we’ll all be safe,” Lamac said. “If you don’t mind, I have important duties to attend to. I am, after all, a Guilded map maker on a journey ordered by the King.”

Bernate spoke before he’d taken four steps. “Your letter, map maker.”

Lamac shook his head and weaved through the crowd.

Murmurs floated through the villagers. A few sounded angry at Lamac’s slight, but most were mournful. And their sorrow was more terrifying than if they had tried to drive the journey away by force.

“I’m sorry.” Mara’s voice carried over the crowd. “We are grateful for the hospitality of Whitend.”

“Hospitality.” Bernate shook her head. “Call it what you like. We have people here all the time. They wander up to see the mountains. Most don’t even know how dreadfully far away they are. Think they can reach the edge of the white in a day.”

“I’ve told them it will be longer,” Mara said. “The ground isn’t properly frozen, not all the way to the surface. Trying to get horses and dogs through will take time.”

“At least they sent one with sense.” Bernate shooed the villagers away. Even the largest of the men slunk back into their houses. “It’ll be getting dark soon. That’s one of the tricks of being so far north. This time of year, it looks like the sun will never go down, then she vanishes, leaving you to the wind.”

“I should get to my camp then.” Mara gave a small bow. “Thank you for―”

“You aren’t going to ask about Kareen?” Deep creases furrowed Bernate’s already wrinkled brow. “You know there are things in the white that can’t be explained by the Guilds. I can see it in your eyes.”

Mara opened her mouth to argue, but there was no point. Not if Bernate could see the truth.

“Do you know of something hiding in the white?” Mara asked. “Do you know where I can find it?”

“There’s nothing you can find, girl.” Bernate pointed at the summits of the mountains.

The sun had nearly reached their peaks. The last light of the day threw the ridges into sharp relief.

An entire world could be hidden up there, and she’d never be able to reach it.

“But if you spend long enough looking,” Bernate said, “something will find you.”

Mara’s shoulders shook against her will.

“Tell me about Kareen,” Mara said.

Bernate stood by Mara’s side, watching as the sun kissed the tops of the mountains.

“Many centuries ago, when Ilbrea and magic still joined freely, a great warrior came down from the north. Her heart burned for the magic of Ilbrea. To find it all and gather it for herself so none other could compete with her power. Sword and shield in hand, she rode a great white wolf down the side of the highest peak. The people of Whitend saw her beastly mount and knew they had to stop her. Knew drawing all the magic from Ilbrea was a crime against Dudia himself. So the villagers fought.”

As if on Bernate’s command, the sun turned the white peaks of the mountains red, casting a tragic glow on their beauty.

“The people of Whitend fought with sticks and fire, but Kareen was too strong for men to defeat. So the great wind blew and burned all the forests between Whitend and the mountains, scorching their trees so badly they would never again take root in the frost. The fire burned Kareen and her wolf, and they fell. But they could not be killed. Not the way you and I die.

“Kareen holds the magic of the unending winter in her. If she rises, and the winds don’t see fit to save us, Kareen will ride her white wolf through Ilbrea and kill everything with a beating heart.”

“And the rocks hold her?” Mara asked.

The sun passed behind the mountains, leaving the sky a bloodied gray.

“Each of us must journey to the mountains and bring back a stone. The power of the mountains keeps her buried.” Bernate took Mara’s hands. “Ferrying a stone will show the mountains and the winds you mean to help their cause. Carry a stone, girl, and may the stone be enough to keep you alive.”