She throws her hands up in mock exasperation. “You’re insufferable.” She can’t fully hide her smile though.
“Come on, children.” I laugh, nudging Maeve forward. “Let’s see what the Chìens have for us.”
DUSK SETTLES OVER THE TUNDRA as we reach the Chìens. The distances here are deceptive, and what looked like a short ride has stretched into hours. By the time we reach their camp, I’m willing to give every chip in my purse for some warmer clothing.
I glance up at the Celestial Moon, now almost halfway full, and the sight of it fills me with anxiety. How much farther will it be to Anam’gate? I’ve had too many delays so far, leaving little room for more failure. If I’m not there by the time it reaches its peak, everything will have been in vain—or so the dark-eyed lady said. That leaves approximately one and a half weeks—fifteen days. Assuming I’m keeping track of the time accurately.
Making sure not to be perceived as a threat, we decide to dismount and walk the last stretch. Prying my frozen fingers free from the reins, I drop to the ground, casting a longing gaze toward the large fire at the center of their camp as I stomp my feet in a futile attempt to gain some warmth back. Taking in the area as we approach, I notice three enormous animals that I can only assume have been pulling the wagons. There’s also a pack of wolves, all curled up and asleep, just out of reach of the fire’s light.
“What are those?” Seniia whispers, gesturing toward three magnificent creatures on the outskirts of the camp. They must be at least ten feet at their shoulder, if not more, their massive humped bodiescovered in thick, shaggy fur, their heads adorned with curled tusks and majestic curved horns.
“Great mallochs,” Vilder says, his voice almost reverent. Gray’s nose lifts, scenting the air. Her tail gives a single wag—curious, not aggressive.
As we draw nearer, they lift their heads, and their piercing blue eyes, framed by thick white hair, instantly captivate me. I also notice how they all make a low rumbling sound, the vibrations moving through my body, and although it’s oddly strange, it’s not unpleasant. It’s a soothing melody, as if they’re playing the tune of Rea herself, their vibrations singing of immense power and ancient wisdom. Their unique fragrance, with its earthy, musky notes, fills me with contentment and an unprecedented sense of belonging. I let out a blissful sigh.
“Don’t get too caught up in their vibrations,” Vilder warns. “They are as addictive as a drug. They are not few who have encountered a Chìen tribe never to leave.”
“And you didn’t bother to mention that vital piece of information before we approached this camp?” Seniia arches an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “Between this and freezing to death, I’d say the choice was simple.” He turns toward me. “Do not take your brace off though. I don’t know what effects they may have on humans, but your brace should take the edge off of the worst of it. It is a sort of magic, after all. Earth magic, but magic nonetheless.” He turns back toward Seniia. “As wielders of elen, we should be fine. Our glyphs protect us from their enchantment.”
I nod. Not that I was planning to take the brace off under any circumstance. I’m too afraid to risk another umbra attack.
A couple walks toward us. They are the same size as all Reans—he tall, she more petite—but what distinguishes them from other I’ve met is their fair skin, sharp cheekbones, and tilted sapphire-blue eyes. Her raven-black hair falls below her hips, hanging loose save for a handful of thin braids decorated with bones and feathers. His shoulder-lengthdark hair is entwined with light gray strands, similar to the ashina’s, and is held back by a thin leather strap.
As I take them in, the ashina’s resemblance to them is striking in more than one way, leading me to believe she is Chìen herself.How different her life must be from how she grew up.
“Where there is warmth, there is water,” the female says as she raises her hands, palms facing Vilder.
“And where there is water, there is warmth,” he says as he presses his palms toward hers. I can tell from the look in her eyes that she is pleased to see he knows their customs.
She acknowledges Gray, who stands by Vilder’s side, then turns her attention back to Vilder again.
“Singer.” She dips her chin in a clear sign of respect.
“Wise one.” He echoes her gesture.
She turns to Seniia, taking in her serpent staff. “Priestess.”
“Wise one.” Seniia bows her head.
Then she turns toward me with an incredulous expression. “And who are you, child?”
“I’m simply Laïna,” I say, adding a deeper, more respectful bow, assuming it won’t hurt given my lack of specialness.
Her eyes narrow as she examines me with great care, and I have to fight the urge to flee. Her piercing gaze, searching and unforgiving, makes me feel as though she can see right through me.
“I do not believe ‘simple’ is the right word,” she says, then turns and walks toward the camp, gesturing for Vilder, who she clearly sees as the leader of our small pack, to walk with her.
Her male companion silently signs for me and Seniia to follow suit—so far, he has not said one word—and I shamelessly eavesdrop on Vilder’s conversation with the wise one as we trail behind.
“Your presence outside the Western Plains is an uncommon sight, Singer. Pray tell, what brings you this way?”
I tense my shoulders, afraid of what he may reveal to this stranger, but I needn’t have worried.
“I’m afraid that is not my story to tell,” he says. “But I would deem it an honor to offer my own stories for a warm meal and a place by your fire.”
I share a glance with Seniia. Will we finally get to see him as a singer?
