Page 37 of The Cradle of Ice
The Venin around him responded, singing in unison, in ancient Klashean, carrying with it a frisson that set Frell’s heart to thundering in terror. He covered his ears, but he could still hear them.
“Vyk dyre Rha se shan benya! Vyk dyre Rha se shan benya! Vyk…”
Zeng pulled one of Frell’s hands down and leaned closer. “You cannot deny Her. You know it in your heart. We all can see it. Listen and know it to be true!”
The chanting continued. “Vyk dyre Rha se shan benya! Vyk dyre…”
Zeng’s eyes shone feverishly as he translated. “She is the Shadow Queen reborn!”
The Venin continued to sing, adding new words, infusing the weight of history and certainty. It rang with prophecy.
Zeng stayed close, reciting along with the singers. “She who would be reborn one day, in flesh and form. Burning away all that She possessed, leaving only darkness and savagery behind. A dread being who will spread fiery ruin in Her wake, until all the Urth is consumed.”
Frell leaned away, wincing. The bridle-song grew to a gale in his face, driving the conviction of their portent into his bones, rooting it deep.
Zeng did not let up. “Tell us who She is, where She hides!”
Frell knew they meant Nyx, but even in the storm of their faith, he could not believe it. Still, he remained dulled by the alchymies, seduced by the bridling. He fought to stop his tongue, to strangle his breath, but he could not.
“She … She is…”
Zeng pressed him. “Tell us.”
“Nyx…” he gasped out, the words tumbling unbidden from his tongue. “Daughter of a slave … bound by blood … molded by the bridling of a she-bat. She is like … like no other.” He spoke what was in his heart but what he had never dared speak aloud. It was a terror he held deep. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “She is an empty well … waiting to be filled. A vessel destined for a power like no other.”
He knew this to be true. Back at the Shrouds of Dalalæða, Shiya had claimed Frell carried some trace of bridle-song. The ancient Sleeper believed it was that gift, calling from his blood, that drove him to study the moon in the first place. He had wanted to dismiss such a statement, but he could not. When Nyx sang, he had sensed the untapped power inside her, a near bottomless well.
If it should ever be filled …
He shook his head, afraid even now to face that terror. It was one of the reasons he had agreed to accompany Kanthe and Pratik to these lands. Down deep, Nyx terrified him. He lifted his head and stared across the altar at those glowing eyes. Flames danced at the edges of his vision.
Certainty firmed inside him.
She will become that dark god.
His shoulders shook. A sob escaped him, knowing another truth.
But she is our only hope.
Bowing to this conviction, Frell fell to his hands and shared what he knew was true. “Only she can stop moonfall.”
Zeng was not satisfied and leaned to his ear. “Where is She? Where is the Vyk dyre Rha?”
Frell did not fight answering this question, satisfied it would do them no good. “Beyond your reach. Far out into the Frozen Wastes.”
“Where?” Zeng pressed him, nose to nose with Frell. “Tell us where. We will know if you lie.”
Frell sagged, his head hanging, sweat draining from his face, mixed with tears. He didn’t need to fabricate a story. He told him the truth. “Even I don’t know.”
Zeng straightened, his face gone purple, his fingers white-knuckled on his staff. He pointed its length at Frell. “Then you are of no further use to us.” He turned to one of his brethren. “Kill him.”
The Dresh’ri stepped forward, freeing a dagger, which flashed brightly in the firelight. As he approached, Frell didn’t move from the floor, too defeated, too cowed.
So be it.
His executioner stepped before him. He grabbed Frell by the hair and yanked back his head, baring his neck. The blade lifted high.
Before it could fall, a length of steel burst from the man’s chest. His body stiffened in shock and surprise. The dagger fell and clattered to the floor. The Dresh’ri screamed as the blade was withdrawn and his body shoved aside.
