Chapter One
The Snows,
whenever and never, always and yet not
unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing
The first thing Vren knew was the cold.
Frosty, clean, and dancing on his skin, the air felt alive and vibrant.His first breath was deep, though he expected harsh cruelness in his chest, he could not resist.To his delight, that inhale was energizing, cleansing in a way he’d never felt before.Crisp, in a way that lifted his heart, sweet with the scent of…anticipation.
Vren’s breath fogged in the air.He shivered, though not with a chill.The air dancing over him was welcome, cooling the sweat on his brow.He wasn’t naked, thankfully, still dressed in his leathers.Around him, the rolling hills were covered in blankets of snow, glowing and perfect.And the stars above…
Vren turned in a circle, threw his head back, throwing his arms wide, seeing nothing but the stars, bright and glittering against a black so deep he could lose himself in those depths.
“Heyla,” Vren shouted to the night above him, a wondrous joy, a mystery beckoning him on…
“Heyla,” came a voice in return, strong and welcoming.
Vren twisted, dropping his arms, embarrassed, to see a figure, dressed in a furred cape with a hood and holding a torch, approaching through the snow.Not young, but not old, bundled in furs, eyes lost in the depths of the hood, smile gleaming bright through his greying beard.
“Oh, uh, heyla,” Vren answered, feeling a bit awkward, not knowing where he was or how he’d got there, and not sure what to say.Or even ask.
The stranger seemed not to notice the hesitation.He drew closer and reached out his hand, a friendly gesture in a strange place.Vren clasped his forearm.
“Vren of the Horse,” the man said, gripping Vren’s forearm tight.“Willing sacrifice, willingly made.”
Vren sucked in a breath as memory returned: the fight, the fall, all of it.He clutched the man’s arm harder to keep his balance, and the grasp was returned, strong and sure.
The snows…so he was—
“How?”Vren questioned.
“How do I know of you?”The man shrugged and released his arm.“The snows are rarelythiswelcoming.”He threw back his hood and titled his head back to look at the stars.“The stars rarelythisbright.”He flashed Vren a grin.“Besides, look where you’re standing.”
Vren looked down and found himself in a huge stone circle, his feet right at the center.“Is this the Heart?”
“Yes.The Heart of the Plains, as it was, as it will be again.”The man looked off, with the oddest look of pride.Maybe contentment.
A man who was home.
The wind started to pick up, showering them with sparkling crystals that danced over the stone.
“Elder, may I know your name?”Vren asked, instinctively using the old courtesies.
“Elder,” the man repeated with a shake of his head, and a laugh.“Well, I am that.I am Uppor,” he turned back toward Vren.
“Uppor?”Vren asked.“Who tricked the clouds into giving rain?”
“Which put out the raging grassfires that started when I stole an ember from the sun?”Uppor looked wistful.“They still tell those tales, around the fires?”
“Yes,” Vren said eagerly.“They are—”
“Wait,” Uppor held up his hand, then pointed off.“If you still doubted your welcome, see what comes.”
Vern looked.
Horses, a herd, a huge herd, more horses than Vren had ever seen, thundering over the crest of a nearby rise like a wave of wind over tall wheat.Beauteous and strong, silvered by the starlight, they plunged toward the two men.Vren lost his breath at the sight of the animals, heads high and galloping, their long manes and tails streaming behind them.
