Page 66 of Kissed By the Gods
“I have a lot to learn.”
He snorts a little, like what I’ve said is an understatement. Well, there’s no time like the present.
“How do you talk to them, the faravars? How do you communicate with something like that?”
“You don’t. Not at first.”
“You communicate with Einarr. The Elder talks to Sigurd.” I protest. “You won’t convince me otherwise.”
He smiles. “I do, yes. And yes, the Elder talks to Sigurd.” He calls up to the men ahead of us. “Leif, what’s your beast’s name?”
Leif sighs, and the sound is defeated. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed.
“What do you mean?”
Leif mumbles something else that I don’t catch.
“Like everything that matters, your bond with your faravar grows strong over time, from the time you meet at Elandors Veil,” Ryot explains.
Thalric cuts a hard look at Ryot, and cuts in. “There’s no ‘catching up’ with that bond, no staying up all night to rush it. You have to nurture it, work at it. As your trust in each other grows stronger, so does your bond. Eventually, you’ll get flashes of your beast’s intentions, and they’ll know yours. Your understanding of each other will grow until you can sense eachother’s emotions. Someday—it could take years, like with Leif—you’ll learn your beast’s name.”
I let that settle. The thought of not bonding with my faravar is terrifying, but I don’t let it show. Leif has survived four years without even knowing his beast’s name. I wait another few seconds, catching my breath from the steep, downhill-trek, and then ask my next question.
“What’s Elandors Veil?”
All the men stop so abruptly I almost run into Ryot’s back.
Like one, they each turn on their heels to study me through the fog. I can’t read their faces, but the shock on the air is cold and sharp.
Faelon mutters, “You really are fresh.”
Someone whacks the back of Faelon’s head. “Dammit, Nyrica!” Faelon says. “What was that for?”
“Someone had to do it, and Caius isn’t here,” Nyrica replies, dryly.
Thalric ignores them and takes a step closer to me, his features emerging from the mist. “It’s the mountain where the gods tore existence in two and left us on this side of the Veil. They sealed themselves on the other.”
“The summit of Elandors Veil is where the Veil between the realms is the thinnest,” Ryot adds.
“It’s like you can feel the gods watching,” Leif adds.
“Feel them watching?” Faelon scowls. “Fuck that. I heard them. Those nonsensical voices were the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.”
“No Altor has ever reached the summit and come back without a faravar,” Ryot says. “And those who fail don’t come back at all.”
“Some—like Faelon—say the mountain speaks, that it tempts you or lies to you. It drives some of them mad, until they run or jump to the bottomless chasms below,” Nyrica adds.
Faelon shivers, wrapping his arms around himself like he’s unbearably cold.
“But for most of us, the difficult thing is the climb,” Thalric says. “The gods made it impossible on purpose. They don’t want mortals reaching their grubby hands into the divine.”
I shiver when I remember the price of my time in Sol’vaalen with Thayana. I don’t want to imagine how they’ve guarded the Veil that separates our realms.
“This is something I’ll need to do?” I ask.
Thalric’s mouth is tight. He looks at me, and for the first time, something close to pity is in his eyes. That scares me more than any glare.
“If you want a faravar. And there’s no being an Altor without one,” he says.
