“The Long Night longer then, years not months,” he went on, eyes fixed on the knifepoint etching into the bone. “No tribes, just one people, made so by the Long Night. When gone, one people became three, brothers no more.”
He paused to blow powdered bone from the staff, revealing an irregular pattern of dots, each connected with a line. “What does it mean?” Cara asked, leaning forward. She was still alarmingly thin but had regained a great deal of strength during their time on the berg, though Vaelin doubted she could have endured long enough to shield them from the latest storm.
Wise Bear frowned, seeking the right words. “A story now told,” he said finally, his gaze roaming over the Gifted. “Story of journey and joining. When storm passes we make new story, of learning and fighting.”
• • •
Wise Bear led them on a south-easterly course three days later, the islands growing in size and number with every passing mile, some even featuring a few trees or bushes the farther south they went. However, there was little for the horses to feed on and, with the fodder now exhausted, soon only Scar was left, plodding in Vaelin’s wake with his head sagging ever lower.
When darkness fell Wise Bear would gather the Gifted, trying to impart some of his knowledge, though his agitation, their ignorance, and his still-rudimentary grasp of Realm Tongue, made it a frustrating task. “Speak!” he commanded Dahrena, raising her hand and placing the palm on his forehead.
“Speak what?” she asked in bemusement.
“Not with mouth,” he snapped, jabbing a finger to her temple. “Speak one word, here.”
Dahrena closed her eyes in concentration, pressing her hand harder against the old man’s forehead but he only grunted in consternation. “Call power,” he said. “Not all. Just small power.”
Dahrena sighed and tried again, stiffening a little, her face losing expression and taking on a familiar, pale cast.
“Tower!” Wise Bear said with a satisfied cackle, adding, “Stop now. Not use too much.”
Dahrena removed her hand from his forehead, flexing her fingers, a look of confused awe on her face. “I didn’t know . . . Can all Gifted do this?”
“All with power, yes. Gifts change, power not change. All one thing. Come.” He gathered the other Gifted and led them to his war-cats, all waiting placidly nearby. He pointed at the largest of the cats, like the others still fairly ragged of fur but noticeably better fed than when they had first been captured by his gift. “Speak,” he told Dahrena. “Give order.”
Dahrena approached the beast with obvious trepidation, for all the cat’s apparent calm she had seen the carnage meted out by Snowdance who usually appeared no more threatening than an overgrown kitten. She stopped a pace or two from the cat and tentatively reached out to touch her hand to its great head, closing her eyes to summon her gift once more. The cat blinked then lowered itself to the ice and rolled on its back, paws raised. Dahrena gave a delighted laugh and knelt to run her hands over the cat’s furry belly.
“All try.” Wise Bear jabbed his staff at the other Gifted and waved it at the cats. “Choose, give names. Yours now.”
Cara moved forward with obvious enthusiasm, as did Kiral, whilst Lorkan and Marken were much more cautious. “What if they bite?” Lorkan asked the shaman, taking a short step towards one of the two remaining cats.
“You die,” Wise Bear replied. “Don’t let them.”
Vaelin’s gaze abruptly shifted to Kiral as she rose from the side of the cat she had chosen, the smallest of the group with a mangled left ear. Her smile faded as she stood and stared towards the east with a sudden and fierce intensity.
“Danger?” Vaelin asked, going to her side.
“A new song.” She winced a little, shaking her head in confusion. “Very old, very strange.”
Wise Bear said something in his own language as he came to join them, his expression wary rather than fearful as he added, “Wolf People.”
• • •
He led them to another island at first light, the largest they had yet seen, with wide patches of bare rock and a small cluster of trees and bushes on its eastern flank. Vaelin set Scar to feed on what sparse leaves the bushes could offer, the warhorse snorting in appreciation as he began his first meal in days. “Should’ve named you ‘strength,’ shouldn’t I?” Vaelin asked, brushing the frost from his coat. “Sorry for all you’ve suffered, old fellow.”
Scar gave another snort and kept chewing.
He found Wise Bear waiting where the island’s shore met the ice. Nearby Iron Claw sat gnawing on a horse’s thigh-bone. “We go, others stay,” the shaman said. “Wolf People not hate like Cat People, but won’t like too many on their ice.”
“Where do we find them?”
Wise Bear’s laugh was soft as he turned and started walking, Iron Claw rising to lumber alongside with the bone still clamped between his jaws. “They find us.”
