Hero's Song

TWENTY-THREE

The Blizzard

There was only one bird, but it had spotted them. It circled several times, with each circle dipping lower and tighter. Collun reached for his dagger, while Brie silently lifted her bow to her shoulder and notched an arrow to the string. Then, unexpectedly, the scald-crow spun off, winging away at high speed in an easterly direction. Collun watched until it had disappeared. Without a word, Brie doused the fire with the leftover chicory. They hurriedly packed up and mounted Fiain. The Ellyl horse sensed their urgency at once and set off at a gallop.

"I wonder how long it will take the bird to reach Medb's dun," Collun said, his heart pounding.

He scanned the sky. Outlined as they were against the stark landscape, he and Brie were easy to spot from above. He shuddered, remembering the ice-dark feeling of the scald-crow feather that had brushed his forehead months ago.

Brie pointed to the clouds. "Look. Snow blossoms," she said.

Collun looked up. Indeed the clouds had changed, taking on the shape of gigantic white flowers with streaks of gray radiating from their centers.

"A storm is coming," Brie said.

"Will it hide us?" Collun asked with a flicker of hope.

"Perhaps," answered Brie, but she sounded worried.

The first of the white flakes began to fall by late afternoon. They brought out Mealladh's fur-lined cloaks and put them on. The snowflakes were thick, and they clung stubbornly to eyelashes and hair before melting.

Their cloaks were soon damp, though they kept the rest of their clothing mostly dry. Brie and Collun snuggled into the hoods gratefully. The snow was piling up.

They came upon a dense bank of red-berry juniper shrubs and decided to stop there for the night. They dug out a small shelter beside the bushes, and though it was difficult to kindle a fire, they finally managed to get a small blaze going. Except for the apple Mealladh had given Collun, they were close to the end of their provisions. Brie was able to find little game in the snow.

Holding the map up to the flickering light of the fire, Collun and Brie estimated they were well over halfway to the Isle of Thule. But Brie was worried about the snow. There was danger in traveling through a blizzard, especially in a hostile land with little hope of shelter and food. She showed Collun how to make coverings for their hands by cutting up an old jersey and securing it at the wrist with twine.

They slept huddled together under the prickly juniper branches. Collun occasionally heard Fiain snort and stamp his feet to keep warm.

When they woke to the dim light of the winter sun, the snow was still falling lightly. The countryside around them was swathed in white, an undulating series of curves, broken only by the knob of an occasional tree.

With fingers made clumsy by the cold, they rekindled the fire and melted snow to drink. They carefully portioned out the last of their food, saving the rest of the dried fruit for Fiain. Collun gave the horse a vigorous rubdown, dusting the snow from his mane.

Soon they were under way. The snow, which had been falling only lightly when they awoke, began coming down more heavily as the afternoon progressed. The wind blew harder from the north, swirling snow into their faces. Fiain walked slowly, his head bowed low. The whirling whiteness became so thick that Collun could barely see beyond Fiain's ears.

There was no way to tell in which direction they were going. Despite the Ellyl horse's keen sense of direction, Collun did not think it possible that he would be able to hold to their course. It took all the animal's energy simply to keep moving through the blizzard.

"Collun." He could just hear Brie's voice over the whistling sound of the wind.

"Yes?"

"Try not to fall asleep. There is danger in sleep when you are cold."

They lapsed into silence. Collun shut his eyes and listened to the whishing of the wind and to the muffled sound of Fiain's hooves plodding through the deep drifts of snow. The fur of his hood was rimmed with tiny icicles that pricked his face. The large flakes of the day before had turned into small, fierce pellets of ice that hammered relentlessly at their bodies.

Collun began to lose all sense of time. There was only the stinging snow, the sound of the wind, and the movement of the horse beneath them. On and on they went through the blizzard.

Collun suddenly felt something clasp him around the waist. He looked down and saw Brie's hands with their makeshift mittens. She was squeezing him tightly. Then he realized with horror that he had fallen asleep.

"Collun?" Brie's voice was insistent and worried. "Collun, can you hear me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I was sleeping."

"I thought so." Brie sounded tired herself, but she was patient. "Please try to stay awake. They say freezing is an easy way to die, because it steals over you like sleep. But I do not think it is our time for dying. Not yet." She paused. The sound of the wind filled their ears. "What will you do, Collun, when this is over? Will you return with Nessa to Inkberrow?"

"No." Brie didn't seem to hear him at first, so he said it again, louder. "No. I will not return to Inkberrow."

"Why not?"

"There is no home for me there." Collun thought of Goban's dark face with its perpetual frown. He shivered.

Brie sensed his mood and quickly said, "Where, then?"

"I do not know."

There was silence. Then Brie said, "There will be a garden, wherever it is."

Collun smiled slightly. "I hope so."

"Tell me what you will plant in the garden."

Collun paused, thinking.

"Well?" she prodded him gently.

"It would depend on how much land there was." Talking was difficult, but it was better than the constant sound of the wind.

"Say there is much land, as much as you could ever want."

"Then it would depend on the soil. If it is heavy or light, too much clay or sand, which would depend on where the land was..."

"Put the land where you like."

"Very well. I will have it by the sea because the moisture in the air is good for growing. First, I will sow heliotrope seeds because the flowers are brightly colored. They are also sweet smelling and will attract bees. I would like a hive near my garden. Next to the heliotrope I will plant red valerian because the two grow well side by side. Then a small patch of paggle. It smells as good as it looks and makes a delicious pudding with cream, eggs, and rosewater."

Brie let out a muffled groan. "Please, no talk of food. What about a bit of wild hyacinth or harebell? The juice from the stalk makes a glue I use to attach feathers to my arrows."

"Then there shall certainly be harebell," said Collun. "And some blue clownrie; though it's an ugly, squat thing with nettles on its leaves, it is good for healing wounds and fever. And next to that perhaps some peppergrass for seasoning..." Collun's voice became increasingly animated as he warmed to his theme.

Though many of Collun's words were lost in the wind, Brie kept her head close to his and managed to follow most of what he said. She occasionally interjected a question, and Collun was surprised by her knowledge of gardening. They argued back and forth about the placement of the compost heap.

And so the hours went by. Just after Collun had described the vegetables adjoining the flower and herb gardens, they realized the wind had died down. They were very hungry. Brie reached back and knocked off the snow on top of the leather packs. With numb hands she clumsily fumbled in the packs for Mealladh's apple. Finally, she found it and passed it to Collun.

He took a bite. At first the fruit's cold flesh hurt his teeth. But the apple was delicious, bursting with sweetness. He took several more bites, then passed it back to Brie. He heard the crunch as she bit into it.

Then she passed it back. Collun waited a few moments before his next bite, running his tongue over his chilled front teeth. He brought the apple up to his mouth and let out a cry of surprise.

"What is it?" asked Brie anxiously.

"The apple is whole again." And indeed no matter how much of it they ate, the fruit restored itself; the skin healed and the apple remained whole.

"I have heard of such things, but I never thought to eat any," said Brie, shaking her head in wonder. It made a light meal, but it filled their stomachs, and they both felt their strength renewed.

By the time they replaced the apple in the pack, the snow had stopped falling altogether. The going was still slow because of the large drifts, and they were both cold through. Their hands and feet might have been made of wood for all they could feel of them. But at least they could see what lay ahead.

Brie was the first to spy the river. The banks were high with snow, but they could see and hear the water rushing below. Collun took the map from his belt. Peering over his shoulder, Brie pointed at a river that cut Scath at a diagonal, flowing from south to north.

"The Omagh," said Brie. This was the river they were to follow to the top of Scath.

They could not tell where they were on the river. The blizzard could easily have pushed them off at an angle, either south or north, but at least they had found their course again. Even more welcome was the sight of a small dark hump, capped in white, which turned out to be a long-abandoned hut. Brie thought it must once have been inhabited by a ferryman who had provided passage across the wide, unfordable river, as there was the outline of a small boat propped up against the side of the hut. Holes gaped in the hut's roof, and snow lay in drifts inside, but there were dry patches. They entered while Fiain stayed outside, nosing about the banks of the river for food. There was a small pile of wood beside a stone-lined fireplace. Though it seemed to take a lifetime, they were finally able to kindle a fire.

At first the heat caused sharp pains to shoot through their fingers and toes, but as the warmth penetrated, it felt wonderful. They shared the apple again. As Collun took the fruit from Brie, he asked, "Do you think they have reached Temair by now?"

Brie nodded, her eyes on the fire.

"And do you believe Prince Gwynedd still lives?"

"I don't know," she answered. "He is young and strong."

Collun swallowed a bite of the apple. Then before he could stop himself he said, "It must have been difficult, saying good-bye to the prince."

Brie turned and looked at him. "He was in good hands," she said. "And I chose to journey with you."

They were both silent after that and fell asleep by the fire, their bodies huddled close together for warmth.

They woke up shivering. The fire had died to a few smoking embers, and while Brie rekindled it, Collun went outside to feed and rub down the Ellyl horse. Fiain ate of Mealladh's apple with obvious pleasure.

They left the shelter reluctantly. The wind was blowing, but not as hard as before. They mounted Fiain and began to follow the river northward. The sky stayed overcast, but no more snow fell. They made their way slowly across the frozen landscape.

Then sometime during the day they noticed the snow around them was glistening with beads of moisture. The air grew gradually warmer, though there was still no sign of the sun. At first the warmth puzzled them. It did not feel like sun heat; it reminded Collun more of the kind of heat generated by Goban's forge, with a faint metallic smell to it.

Then they realized what it was. The Wurme. Even at this distance its fire that burned without flame was powerful enough to melt snow. Patches of rocky land could be seen everywhere.

The river swelled as the snow melted. The terrain became increasingly craggy, and by the time they approached the northernmost coast of Scath it was almost all rock. Only the most tenacious vegetation grew between the shingles of stone, and the shrubs and trees that had managed to survive were misshapen and stunted.

As he breathed the acrid air, Collun felt a heavy dread settle on him. He tried to think about the garden he and Brie had planted during the blizzard, but all he could see were the contorted shapes of blackened trees and straggling bushes snaking over the cracked, stony land.

The metallic odor kept getting stronger. It began to take on a sickly, rotting quality. Collun was suddenly reminded of the smell of burning flesh the day Goban had dropped a red-hot ingot on his leg. Collun's stomach churned.

Soon the corrosive smell caught at the back of their throats, making them cough. The air grew so warm they shed both the fur-lined cloaks and the ones they had been wearing underneath.

Abruptly they came to the river's end.

Before them lay the Isle of Thule. Collun's heart started to pound. Nessa.

The island rose out of the water, a huge outcrop of jagged rock, as desolate and barren of any living thing as the land on which they stood. Covering nearly half the island was a glistening mound of dirty white. Part of the white mass shifted slightly, and Collun realized with a thrill of horror that it was the Firewurme.