Turalyon’s scream is abruptly cut off, and a few tendrils of mist curl towards us from the trees.
“Shit,” Ra'Salore says from my side.
Every muscle inside of my body coils and tightens as I recognize the signs of the cold ones that nearly killed Estela and invaded our caves.
“Get back to the camp, Ulla,” I shout over my shoulder before tightening my grip on the knife.
My ears pick up on the sound of crunching snow behind the tree to the left. I peer into the mist as Ra'Salore and Niht join me on either side.
“Watch out for the teeth,” I say, thinking of Dyrn, theEnduar who was bitten and came back to life as one of those awful creatures.
From the shadow of the mist, a succubus emerges with something in tow. It takes very little time to identify it as Turalyon’s body.
A dull roar sounds in my ears as I take in the limp features of his body. Rage builds up like boiling water in a kettle, and I explode. For a moment, I regret not bringing Vann, as he and I have spent our lifetimes syncing our fighting strategies. Luckily, Ra'Salore moves with me. He isn’t as perfectly intuitive as Vann, but he has good instincts.
The stone he bends swirls around him, causing my hair to blow back.
The cold creature hisses at us, and I realize it is overfull. Its movements are slow, and it’s almost too easy to cleave my dagger through its throat seconds before I retract and Ra'Salore slices cleanly through the meaty conjunction where neck meets shoulder with a perfectly honed slice of rock.
The head falls to the ground, and we wait for signs of other creatures.
None come.
“What do we do with our brother Turalyon?” Ra'Salore asks.
I look at him, heart still racing, and chest pumping. He isn’t prone to niceties. He’s rejected such notions in the past, and I thought his brother’s death would only make him more of a hermit. But it seems his name is not the only thing that has changed since his brother sacrificed himself for our people.
I take one long breath and then dip down to pick up Turalyon. His throat is mostly ripped out, and his eyes are wide open, frozen in glassy fear. I reach down to gently push them closed.
“The best option would be to burn both bodies to make sure neither of them come back to life,” I say.
It’s a gruesome thought to burn one’s friend. But this friend is indeed dead, as is his wisdom and experience with the elves. The kindest gift I can give anyone is to ensure they stay dead after being subjected to the cold one’s poison.
Niht approaches and takes the creature and its head. I watch with dread curling in my gut. Did they follow us from Enduvida? I don't know what this means, but I can't dwell on it now.
When we approach Ulla, I already find her building the foundation for a much larger fire. “How did you find so much wood?” I ask, detached from the world around us.
She shrugs. “I gathered for quite a while before we went to rest, and I brought dried starter mushrooms. Highly flammable, and highly successful in creating hot flames. You must be quick though, I don’t know how long this will burn when there is so much snow.”
I nod sharply and approach the scorching heat. When I kneel down, I look back at our blood soaked friend, Turalyon. His blue skin has gone ashen, and his eyes have somehow slid part-way open again. I close them once more.
My eyesight blurs, and I force myself to take in every gruesome detail, from the body to the pyre.
Turalyon was on this trip because he had gone with Lothar to visit the elves, but I was the one who asked him to come. He was clever and hopeful—I saw a future councilman whenever I spoke with him.
I mourn that future, especially since he will never have a mate.
Niht helps me remove the last bits of metal and armor, leaving him in nothing more than his undergarments.
A tear falls down my face, just as Ulla starts to sing thehlumrynnasong. Every Fuegorra in the camp lights up, as do the two short towers of quartz Ulla brought to amplify her songs. It holds none of the vibrato of the Parting Cave, wherewe usually hold death ceremonies, but we use the same words.
“Far away, in Vidalena's embrace,
Amid mountains warm, a sacred space…”
I close my eyes against the onslaught of tears. Two hundred and seventy-eight Enduares now.
Ulla’s song continues, and Ra'Salore and Niht’s voices pick up with the Enduar words.
