Page 289 of The Cradle of Ice
A prophecy drawn on stone.
As he stared at those baleful eyes, a fear grew stronger inside him—along with a growing doubt.
Am I on the right side of this war?
99
NYX RODE BASHALIIA high across the Ameryl Sea. After the talk with the others back in the Crown, she had wanted a moment to herself. She leaned in the saddle that Daal had crafted for her. Her left shin was still in a brace, but after a month, with the winter’s solstice upon them, her leg barely pained her.
She closed her eyes and sang to Bashaliia as he wafted into and out of the glowing mists of the Crèche. Her melody was one of her own creation. Though wordless, she started with the music of the swamps: the scissor-song of crickets, the cronking of wartoads, the pluck-crunk of sprig-frogs, the waddle-splash of mudfish, the silage-belch of bullocks. She folded in the harmony of cracking reeds, the rustling sweep of a breeze through stick-pines, the pattering of a downpour on flat water, and last, the laughs of her brothers as they poled to go fishing.
As her song glowed of home, Bashaliia joined her, echoing her refrain in soft notes and wistful chords. It had been his home, too. She hung with him, sharing their past, warmed by each other. She let the weeks of terror fade and pushed aside what was to come.
She drifted in this moment—until a gust of wind and a stir of mists drew her up in the saddle.
Daal rose atop a raash’ke next to her. His hair swept his cheeks, his eyes bright. He pointed below and called to her. “Graylin! Wants us down! It’s almost time!”
She lifted higher in her saddle and waved her acknowledgment.
Daal led the way, drawing her back to the world, to her responsibilities. Bashaliia tracked behind him, trilling with the joy of flight. She felt the rumble of his pleasure between her thighs. Some of it carried into her.
They had all been waiting for this day.
Picking the winter solstice as a goal.
As they swept down, she stared past the crown of Bashaliia’s head. Like her, he was recovering. But instead of a leg brace, he wore a helm of leather. Under it, a slather of balms and ointments was helping him heal. She and Floraan had also withdrawn the last of those dreadful copper needles.
She repeated her promise to him.
Never again.
She wished the same peace for the Crèche.
Below her, Iskar continued to recover from the raids and assaults. Over the past month, there had been too many trips to the Dreamers with inked bodies wrapped in kelp. Still, some semblance of normalcy had returned. Newcomers from other villages throughout the Crèche had been slowly trickling in, filling the voids left behind, aiding in repairs to help establish themselves here. Others came to see the raash’ke, refusing to believe the miracle until they witnessed it with their own eyes.
For now, both the raash’ke and Pantheans remained skittish of each other. It would take time to reestablish that ancient bond, to learn to trust again.
As Nyx circled to land near Daal’s home, she spotted Henna running through a flock of young bats, no larger than crows. They scattered from her footfalls, keening in playful delight. Then she would turn and run the other way, chased by the same flock.
Nyx smiled at such innocent delight and suspected it was the youngest among them who would forge the strongest bond.
If given enough time …
Daal landed at the edge of Iskar. Nyx alighted in the sand, but she kept her distance. After all that had happened, Bashaliia remained edgy.
Henna spotted her brother and came running up, drawing a score of tiny bats in her wake. Most of the girl’s wounds had scabbed and healed over—but not all of them. According to her mother, Henna still had nightmares and insisted on sleeping in her parents’ bed.
As Henna rushed to her brother, her path drew too close. Nyx felt the fiery flash inside Bashaliia as he snapped at a passing bat, barely missing its wings, sending it fluttering away in a panic.
“Bashaliia, no…”
She ran her fingers through his ruff, down to his skin, and warmed a glow of reassurance in him, tamping down that flash of fire. It had been golden, but for a flicker, she thought she spotted a trickle of emerald. But she couldn’t be certain.
Daal glanced at her, worried.
“He’s fine,” she said. “He’s been through a lot.”
His shoulders relaxed, trusting her judgement. She wished she had as much confidence in her own assessment. They dismounted and headed to Daal’s home. She drew alongside him and slipped her hand into his.
