Page 23 of Sanctuary

“How I wish I had a tree to pull. At least, there would be an end. A destination.”

They fell silent. Roman crunched through the snow. In the distance an eerie wail soared to the sky and lingered, squeezing his throat.

“Don’t you start!” Roman snapped. “I’ll pull your feathers out!”

The wail cut off mid-note. The woods were once again quiet.

“I realize that we might not have started on the right foot,” Farhang said. “But may I keep you company for a while?”

He hadn’t quite managed to keep the desperate note from his tone.

“Company would be most welcome.”

Tension eased from Farhang’s shoulders.

“I have to warn you, you might not like what is waiting for us up ahead,” Roman said. “We are in Nav, inside the Slavic pagan world of the darker gods. This is the Winter Cathedral, where the Earth sleeps, not dead but suspended in a restorative rest. It is an ancient place, born from fears as old as life itself. This path is a trial. Look behind us.”

Farhang glanced over his shoulder.

“Those trees in the distance are the Twilight Forest, where the Wolves of Doubt and Uncertainty prowl. The open ground you see is the Grueling Field, where spirits of the punished plant and plow, but never reap or harvest. It is a place of thankless work, nourished by worries that have plagued humankind since farming began. A place where seedlings die from crippling frost and plants are felled by cruel winds. The pines around us are the Evening Forest, where the Birds of Regret and Missed Chances shriek and wail. Once we pass through it, we will enter the Glades of Remembrance. They will make you relive your most painful memories.”

It might have been the glow of the golden light, but the magav looked slightly paler.

“I will stay,” he said.

“Suit yourself.”

After a while the trees began to thin. Roman could almost glean the clearing ahead. Whether he liked it or not, he would see him. He had to brace himself.

“Wake up!”

The voice echoed through the woods. Finn’s voice.

“Wake up, wake up!”

Something had gone pear-shaped again.

“Farhang, I’ll be back. Wait for me here. Don’t try to enter the Glades without me.”

“I will stay right here by the tree,” the magav promised. “You have my word.”

5

Roman opened his eyes. Pale, early morning light filtered through the living room window and mixed with the glow from the fire. He’d been out all night.

Damn it all.

Roman sat up.

Farhang was still asleep, Kor lying on his chest. The korgorusha’s eyes were fixed on the window. The iron hound, Roro, and the rest of the nechist had parked themselves by the glass, staring out with glowing eyes. Something bad was happening.

Even the kid’s puppy sat with her nose glued to the window. Finn was nowhere to be found.

A male voice floated in from outside, too vague to distinguish the individual words, but he got the tone—condescending dickhead.

The shepherd puppy turned and looked at him over her shoulder. The dog’s outline shimmered. For a blink, a different shape curled within the space, woven of darkness. He saw black feathers, a dusting of crystalline white, a flash of blood-red... Golden eyes stared at him, a glimpse of the Wild, ancient, cold, and forever untamable by humankind. It reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in its polar grip.

He spun within a snow whirlwind under the flames of green and purple godfire painted across the dark sky. Conifer needles brushed his skin, the heady scent of pine resin intoxicating and thick. The crack of glaciers snapping, the sound of ice growing, the whisper of snow falling, and the howl of winter wind drowned him, deafening, impossibly loud. He heard a wolf song, felt the heated sweat slick his body under furs as he chased survival across an icy plain, saw his own breath, and smelled blood as the hot arterial spray hit the snow. Life through death, a cycle never ending, a wheel ever turning… Godfire, ice, labored breath, blood, sacrifice, rebirth, spinning faster and faster…

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