The wise one seems to contemplate this for some time. “And so it shall be,” she says with a curt nod. “Your stories in exchange for warmth and food for the three of you.” She turns and studies us with her sapphire eyes. “And of course, if you decide to stay with us, we always have room for more...”
Her hypnotic gaze makes me blink, and I’m grateful for the protection of my brace. No wonder travelers are lured in, never to return.
“We appreciate your generosity, Wise One,” Vilder says, bringing her attention back to him. “And if it is not too much trouble, we would also like to purchase some of your malloch skins and boots, if you have anything to spare?”
At the mention of warm skins, I’m again reminded of how freezing it is.
“Your presence is a great honor to us, Singer,” the wise one says. “Seven nights of stories, and you can have whatever you and your companions need.” She’s looking Vilder square in the eyes in a way that makes my stomach drop. Can he fight off her bewitching influence? Waiting seven nights will undoubtably slow us down too much, but we need the skins. There’s not much point in going forward only to freeze to death. I contemplate going alone, but I know in my heart that they won’t let me—they’ll insist on coming as well, and then we’ll all be dead. I study Vilder as he considers her offer, his hand resting on Gray’s back.
“Although I would be honored to,” he says carefully, “time is not on our side, I’m afraid. We need to be at Anam’gate by Mi’Awal.”
The wise one nods as if she expected as much. “Anam’gate,” she says, raising her eyebrows. Still, she doesn’t seem too surprised. “The gate of the soul.” Her gaze swipes across me and Seniia. “Iwill not inquire into the nature of your mission at these foreboding gates. The path of the soul is inherently solitary. Three nights, then. And your priestess will heal anyone who needs it. You will leave the morning of the third day.” It is clear from her tone that this offer is not up for negotiation.
As Vilder accepts, I pray that will leave us with enough time. It has to.
“And so it shall be,” she repeats, sealing their agreement. She gestures toward the fire. “Please, have a seat. Our hearth is your hearth from this day until the last day.”
I bow my head in appreciation—it seems like the right thing to do—and find a seat by the fire. I extend my hands, and it doesn’t take long before my eyes are welling up with the pain caused by the thawing of my frozen limbs. Still, I’m grateful for the warmth and for the fact that we have a safe place to stay for the night. And when a warm bowl of hot stew is pushed into my hands and a thick skin is laid across my shoulders, I would be blissfully happy if it weren’t for the looming uncertainty in front of us.
But then Vilder begins his tales, and I almost forget my troubles completely. From the moment he starts to speak, it’s clear he’s a natural. His words flow effortlessly, spinning captivating tales that move even the most hardened of men. Laughter and tears flow freely, and I find it fascinating how Vilder, usually so reserved, can spellbind an entire tribe, causing even the most stoic of the Chìen warriors to wipe their eyes.
Once he finishes his stories, the tribe brings out their drums, and Vilder pulls out a harmonica I didn’t know he possessed. Done with their dinner, half of the tribe joins the drummers, using their bowls as makeshift instruments, while the rest of the group begins to dance. And as a background accompaniment, the deep rhythmic melody of the great mallochs resonates like a bass drum. I smile at their obvious joy. Their life is so simple, yet so rich, their community strong and warm and welcoming. Everything I have ever wished for.With my two best friends and family right here with me, laughing and dancing by my side, there’s a moment where I can almost forget all the death that has surrounded me. The death that lingers right at the edges of the fire, where the warm light gives way to the darkness of the night. For a heartbeat, I have everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s almost as if staying here, close enough to the fire, within its ring of light, will allow me to escape the death reaching for me from the shadows.
Out of breath from the dance, I fall, laughing, onto a pile of skins. Squeezing my eyes tight, I etch this mesmerizing scene into my mind so I can sketch it in my journal and revisit it whenever I need a reminder that lifecanbe good. That despite everything, hope can still be found.
“You are welcome to stay, you know,” a voice says. “Reans and humans are equally welcome by our fires.”
I smile at the young Rean female sitting next to me. “Thank you,” I say. “Your offer means more to me than you know.” I gesture toward the dancing crowd. “I’ve never known anything such as this, and I’d be lying if I said it’s not tempting to stay here.” I sigh. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to be on my way though. But thank you for inviting me to stay in your home.”
She beams at me, then jumps back up to join the dance, and Vilder sinks down next to me.
“Your stories are amazing,” I say, smiling at him. “The way you do the voices, the songs. How you play the harmonica. I’ve heard nothing like it.”
He shrugs. “It’s what I was trained to do.”
I give his arm a comforting squeeze, knowing what it must have cost him to revisit this part of himself. For a while, we are comfortable just lying on our backs, covered in warm skins, staring at the canopy of soul stars above.
“All Reans are born of the fire. Of stars.” He points to the myriad of soul stars above. “Can you believe some of them have just been born?”
I follow his gaze, noticing once more the countless strings—each one attached to a separate soul star—shimmering faintly, weaving a golden tapestry across the dark night sky. “They’re beautiful,” I say. I don’t think I could ever tire of the breathtaking view of the night sky.
His pointer finger traces one of the golden orbs as it falls through space and disappears. “Do you know that once our soul star flickers out, it can take anywhere from a breath to a millennium before a Rean is born again, but eventually, we all are?” He keeps his eyes on the night sky as he talks. “We are born and die, but death is not the abyss it appears to be; it is a gateway to another life, not a final ending.”
I shake my head, not sure if the thought is comforting or not. For once, I’m happy to be human; I’d rather have peace in my death. “Where does the soul go in the meantime?”
“When a soul falls, it becomes part of the Sea of Souls,” he says, but before I can ask where that is, Vilder throws his blanket off and leaps to his feet. A heartbeat later, a resonant horn blasts through the air.
“It’s the great mallochs,” Vilder says in answer to my questioning stare. “Someone or something is approaching, and not in a friendly manner.”
The tribe springs to their feet in what initially seems like utter chaos but quickly transforms into an organized display of coordinated action. Ladders are raised to the backs of the great mallochs, and four of the Chìen males climb onto their backs.
“They have farsight,” Vilder explains. “The great mallochs can sense or hear movement through their feet over vast distances, and the gift of farsight those four warriors have is a form of lesser earth magic, granted by the earth moon. A tribe will commonly also have lesser magic, such as water finders granted by the water moon andfire wielders granted by the fire moon. If you possess a combination of lesser magic, you often become a wise one, like Rìven. Despite the relentless wind of these plains, the wind moon is not prevalent here in Chì, which is why they honor us singers so much.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him refer to himself as one of them. “What about the wielders of elen?” I ask. “The moonborn?”
“We have no place in a tribe. Our calling is to the Arc.”
Yet here they both are, with me.
