Page 19 of The Cradle of Ice
When lightning flares and thunder booms,
I am here, never to part.
So, calm your breath and be still your heart.
When hail pounds and rains do flood,
I am here, to protect you ever.
So, be at peace and rest forever.
As she sang, she found her focus, anchored in the past but still present. She wrapped her bridle-song into each lilt of the lullaby and let it spread outward. She infused each tendril with the sense of security, with the reassurance of her dah’s timbre, the warmth of his palm over her heart.
She extended her reach across the hold, the threads glowing in her mind’s eye. She found Kalder and warmed those cords through his panting chest. She let them gently wrap around his panicked heart. Other strands reached past his wide, glassy eyes. She teased his memories, conjuring up times of calm and peace. She burnished and brightened those with her song.
—of milk warm on the tongue.
—of the pile of littermates safely ensconced in the curl of tail and belly.
—of a brother running alongside a trail, two hearts shared.
—later, a nest made of blankets atop a soft bed, shared by three, bathed in each other’s scents until all become one.
She felt the heat fade in Kalder’s blood, his heart slowing its thunder. His heaving chest became a steadier pant. She didn’t allow him to drift too far into a peaceful slumber. He still needed to be alert, to protect and brace himself, but hopefully now he had more control, perched on firmer legs, attuned more alertly.
She shifted her attention toward Bashaliia, but some of her song must have already reached him. He hunched low. His wingtips balanced on the planks for additional support. His eyes, like hot coals, glowed back at her. He mewled toward her, extending his own song and melding it with hers. Though they were still apart, it felt like a warm embrace.
She allowed herself to sink into it. Cocooned within the glowing strands of bridle-song, Nyx felt the outer world faded around her. It became just the two of them. And while she drew comfort from this, it was not wholly returned. In that intimacy, she discovered threads, less bright, infused with a sad longing, a pining that traced deep into Bashaliia’s heart. As with Jace earlier, she knew their meaning. Her winged brother had lived all his life within a communal collective. He was always part of a greater whole.
But no longer.
Months ago, the ship had traveled beyond the reach of his colony. Even the frighteningly cold intelligence that existed both within and without the colony could no longer commune with him.
He is alone out here.
It worried her, too. She had lost Bashaliia once before, when he was much smaller, but that vast intelligence had preserved her brother’s essence before death and passed it into his current form, returning him to her. That was no longer possible at this distance.
This worry frazzled her song, shredding that safe cocoon.
The world returned with all its thrashing and rolling, with its howls and booms. Only now, reminded of Bashaliia’s fragility, she felt her fear sharpen. The threat of the storm had new meaning for her.
I cannot lose him again.
Perhaps sensing her distress, Bashaliia’s soft mewling grew into a shrill shriek.
Even Jace jerked with alarm. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t—”
Then she heard it, carried on the wind, piercing the storm’s roar. It felt like daggers cast through the winds, slicing through the hull. It was bridle-song—only hardened into spears.
She gasped under the assault. She had never felt such strength—or at least not in months. For a moment, she thought it came from the great mind of Bashaliia’s colony, somehow breaching the distance to reach them.
But why?
As that force grew around them, raising the small hairs on Nyx’s arms, she recognized her mistake. The power grew into a massive wave ahead of them, filling the world. She cowered before its dark immensity. While the intelligence of Bashaliia’s colony had been cold and immovable, what Nyx felt here was something fiery and malignant, all hatred and enmity.
Bashaliia’s cry turned into a scream.
