Page 117 of The Iron Flower

WHITE BIRDS

Several small, nimble deer shyly follow us as Diana, Marina, Ni Vin and I trail Valasca through the city. I look around in fascination, drinking in the sight of small gardens in full bloom in the dead of winter, lantern-lit homes and shuttered markets. Women are making food in tavern-like alcoves on stoves glowing with heat while others sit quietly talking, eating, playing music, laughing. I breathe in the balmy air, everything around me cast in a reddish glow by the rune-torches illuminating the streets.

There’s an insistent, provocative pounding of drums just up ahead, along with the sound of women chanting powerfully in unison to interspersed applause. The buildings around us open up to reveal an expansive outdoor theater surrounded by torches flaming in every color. Women dressed in multicolored scarf garb and hair decorated with glowing orbs, like Skyleia, are whirling on the stage, their flowing scarves painting the air with rippling rainbows of fabric. They hold long red scarves in their hands and move them so fast that the scarlet streaks become circles and spirals and waving lines.

I pause, mesmerized by the sheer artistry of it, swept up in the seductive, pounding rhythm, only half-aware of the women beginning to stare at me, so out of place in my Gardnerian blacks, with my Black Witch face. Something cold tickles my hand and draws my attention from the unfriendly murmuring at the edge of the theater’s crowd. I look down to find one of the deer nuzzling an inquisitive nose against my palm, its twisting black horns festooned with scarlet ribbons and flowers.

I pat the little deer’s coarse fur, charmed by its gentleness, its snuffling nose and long-lashed eyes. Valasca stops as well, smiling at the tiny animal with delight. She doubles back toward me as Diana, Marina and Ni Vin wait patiently up ahead. I remember Valasca’s affection for her horse and realize she’s enamored of animals in general.

Diana’s amber eyes light on the deer with obvious predatory interest, her nostrils flaring. I shoot her a quelling look—You cannot eat the deer!—and Diana huffs, giving both me and the tiny animal a look of supreme annoyance. Valasca leans down to pat the deer and murmurs to it affectionately, fishing in her tunic pocket for a small orange fruit that the deer eagerly gobbles up.

The theater’s drumbeat intensifies as a new group of dancers takes the stage, all of them dressed in scarves of crimson. Other dancers fill in behind them, hoisting huge puppets on beribboned wooden poles—one a twisting silver snake, one a horned deer and one a white bird. Two dancers hold additional poles attached to the bird’s wings so that the bird’s white wings can flap across the stage.

“I see these little deer everywhere,” I say to Valasca.

“Visay’ihnedeer,” she tells me, kneeling down to scratch the neck of the small animal and murmur endearments as it crunches the fruit. She flashes a grin. “Beloved by the Goddess. They’re one of her sacred animals, along with theVisay’itheresnake and theVisay’un.”

“Visay’un?”

Valasca angles her head toward the huge bird puppet that’s now flapping through the crowd to the immense delight of the little girls in the audience. “The Goddess’s messenger birds,” she says reverently. “Made of her light.”

A young, gray-hued Elfhollen girl darts out from the shadows of the small grove of trees beside us. She has Amaz tattoos but wears the traditional stone-colored tunic and pants of the Elfhollen people. The child gives me an anxious look and grabs the ribbon tether that’s loosely tied around the deer’s neck, leading the small animal quickly away. When the girl returns to her gaggle of friends in the trees, I can hear her fearfully whispering something—two words that I heard muttered in the Queenhall and by some of the women here in the streets.

Ghuul Raith.

Valasca and I rejoin the rest of our group and continue our trek, winding through the torchlit streets of Cyme.

I turn to Valasca as we walk, curious. “What doesGhuul Raithmean?”

Valasca eyes me sidelong. “Black Witch.”

I let out a long, resigned sigh, and Valasca shrugs, as if this really should not be a surprise.

We walk out of the city proper, the small residences now more spread out, with gardens and then small farms interspersed between them. The road angles gradually up, and we stroll by crops covered by geometric domed glass structures, lines of runes running along every edge and whirring industriously. The loamy aroma of soil is rich on the air.

We reach a moonlit grassy meadow bordered by the forest just beyond. There’s a chorus of bleating and the muffled sound of hooves thumping through the dark meadow as a small herd of goats hop toward Valasca. They come to a stop before a fence made of small scarlet runes that are suspended knee-high in the air, the runes whirring and giving off a faint glow.

Valasca spreads her arms out wide, a besotted look coming over her face as she looks over the goats and they bleat and hop for her attention. She blurts out what sounds like a string of endearments in her language that only whips up the goats’ affectionate show.

“We can pass through,” Valasca tells us happily, pointing to the low runes. “But my goats can’t.”

Valasca presses her palm to one of the runes, and a strand of red light rays out. She shoots me a quick grin, then steps right through the fence, passing through several runes as if they’re made of smoke. Valasca motions for us to follow, and we do, passing through the runes, as well. The goats fall in beside and behind Valasca as she croons to them.

I turn to look back over Cyme, a soft, scarlet glow hanging like a gentle fog over the city, the moon-washed Spine just beyond.

The Spine.

Lukas is probably somewhere right over that western ridge, I grimly consider. His Fourth Division Base getting ready to rain chaos down on the world.

Good luck trying that here, I think wryly.Their rune shields will blast your dragons and soldiers to bits.

We leave the goats behind as we pass through another line of rune-fence and enter the dense forest, following on Valasca’s heels. For a moment, I have a subtle sense of the forest’s gathering animosity, and quickly coax my fire lines into a blaze, flaring my power out at the trees. They shrink back and go silent, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

The dark woods soon open up to reveal a small clearing. In the center stands a circular dwelling with a geometric rune-edged roof. The lodging is raised up from the forest floor on a wooden platform, and the stone walls are enameled with intricate mosaics that depict the Goddess in a forest with a variety of animals. A single red lantern that holds a suspended, glowing rune hangs by the door.

This place is removed from everything, reminiscent of the isolated North Tower. A place to bring people you want to keep separated from everyone else.

I turn to find Valasca swirling a glowing rune-stylus in the air, and I flinch as a circle of large crimson runes bursts into life all around us, ringing the entire periphery of the clearing.

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