The Eighth Warden Book 3Chapter 16
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The blizzard arrived just before dawn, with enough force that it almost extinguished the bonfire despite the windbreak.
Fergus trudged over to Sarette. “Come help me!” he shouted over the howling of the wind. “If we move the firewood and build another wall closer to the fire, it’ll keep it from going out!”
“I’ll do it!” she yelled back. “You should be in your shelter!”
“The work will keep me warm!”
Other than Sarette, Fergus was the last person still out and about. A few of the other refugees had stayed up all night or drawn the early morning shift to watch over the camp, but she’d convinced them to take shelter before the storm hit. It turned out she was lucky Fergus was still awake—there was no way she could have moved the woodpile on her own. They worked for five minutes before he went to the nearest snow cave and woke up two of his men, a pair of broad-shouldered young brothers.
The four of them toiled back and forth, passing each other as they carried armfuls of wood from the old pile to the new, then returned. All three men were huge, and carried twice as much per trip as Sarette, but she kept at it, and finally they’d moved the entire stack. The fire had stabilized with the extra protection, and they took the opportunity to feed it and build it up again.
“We’ll have to hope the wind dies down before we use up too much of the wood!” Sarette yelled to the men.
“It usually does after the first few hours!” Fergus called back. “You did good!” She couldn’t see his face—his hood and wraps were covering up everything but his eyes in an attempt to ward off frostbite—but she thought she detected a note of admiration in his voice.
“Thank you!” she said. She wanted to praise him in return, but he was older than her, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. “You should get to your shelters now!”
“What about you?”
“Someone’s got to watch the fire! Go!”
She’d explained the plan to him earlier, and Gregor had agreed once he’d returned from hunting, but Fergus still hesitated. At least he’d stopped calling her m’lady.
“Are you sure?” he said. “It’s worse than I thought it would be!”
“I’m stormborn! I’ll be fine!” That was overstating things, but the people of Jol’s Brook seemed to hold the stormborn in high regard, and she’d used that to keep them from panicking during the long day of preparations.
He nodded. “I’ll go! Come get me if you need anything!”
“I will!” she assured him, while privately planning to do nothing of the sort. He’d been up for a full day and night working at heavy labor. If she needed anything, she’d wake Corec or Boktar, who should have managed to get at least a few hours of sleep by now.
Once he was gone, Sarette did a full circuit around the camp. At times, to keep moving forward, she had to bend so far into the wind that she’d have fallen over if it hadn’t been pushing back at her so hard. She stopped to check the snow caves along the way. Each of the shelters had something partially blocking the entrance—personal belongings or a plug of snow—to cut down on cold drafts, but she made sure that the new snowfall wasn’t blocking off the rest of the opening. Air still needed to get through so the people inside wouldn’t suffocate.
By the time she reached the shelters farthest from the center of the camp, she could no longer see the glow of the fire through the swirling snow. They’d been intending for the fire to provide a beacon to guide anyone who went outside during the blizzard. Without it, people could get easily lost and disoriented. If they went the wrong direction, they might die before anyone realized they were missing.
Sarette considered her options, then went to find the supplies they’d unloaded from the sleds, so she could set up guide ropes throughout the camp. Between what they’d brought with them and what the woodcutters had kept in their equipment shack, there was plenty of rope, but she’d need to find something to fasten it to. She started with an obvious choice, tying one end of a rope to a tree that stood sheltering two snow caves, and the other end to the log windbreak Fergus and his men had constructed. Anyone near that part of the camp would be able to follow the rope until they were close enough to see the fire.
Finished with the first guide rope, she returned to the bonfire to add more wood, then started a large pot of tea, setting it up at the outer edge. The bonfire made cooking awkward, but it wasn’t feasible to keep the smaller fires burning during the storm. They planned to limit cooking, and stick to trail rations as much as possible, but there would still be a need for hot drink and hot food to help keep people going in the cold.
A voice came from right behind her. “Do you need help?”
Sarette whirled around, her heart pounding. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching over the wind. “Shavala! What are you doing out here?” The elven woman was too slender to be out in the weather, and she wasn’t wearing enough layers. She’d decided against buying a heavier coat in Snow Crown, and she hadn’t covered her head or her face.
“I’ll be all right for a little while,” Shavala assured her, leaning in to make sure she could be heard. “Like you. My teacher can ignore the cold entirely.”
Sarette hesitated, then nodded. It wasn’t her place to judge the other woman’s abilities. “Did you need something? There’ll be tea soon.”
“I couldn’t sleep with all this,” Shavala said, pointing up at the sky. “I’ve never felt so... much of a storm before. Is it always like this?”
“No, but it happens. This is why most of our people live in Snow Crown—it’s sheltered from the worst of it.”
A blast of wind came from the direction opposite the two windbreaks, causing the bonfire to sputter and blow almost sideways.
The elven woman shivered. “I guess it is colder than I expected.”
“You should get closer to the fire to warm up. I need to figure out a way to keep it burning if the wind’s going to change directions.”
Shavala closed her eyes, then opened them again. “The wind is too strong; I can’t stop it.”
“No one could,” Sarette said in disbelief. “Not for the length of a blizzard.”
The other woman shrugged. “I thought I’d give it a try. But if I can’t change the wind, maybe I can do something else.” She squatted down near the bonfire and held her hands out, looking as if she was warming them. Parts of the fire that had been blown out by the wind suddenly sprang back to life. The flames were still being blown in one direction after another, but they no longer sputtered.
Shavala stood up. “That should hold it for a while. I may have to do it again later.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked it to keep burning, and it agreed. It wants more wood, though.”
Sarette blinked, not sure how to respond. “You asked it?”
“Well, it’s not like talking to a person, or even an animal. It doesn’t actually think for itself, but I called out to it, and it responded. I’ve always liked fire; it’s so much easier than wind. But it’s hungry.”
“Back in Jol’s Brook, when you burned those men...” Sarette wasn’t sure what her question was—she hadn’t seen the spell itself, only seen the aftermath.
“I called fire out of nothing. It’s harder to do it that way, but it still came. It’s easier like this, when it’s already here.”
The more Sarette learned about druidic magic, the less similar it seemed to stormrunner magic. “I suppose I’ll feed the fire then,” she said.
“I’ll help you, but then I think I should go back inside. You were right about the cold.”
They added more wood, then Shavala returned to her shelter and Sarette set up three more of the guide ropes. She tied the third to a tree beyond the edge of the camp. From where she stood, she could see only the nearest of the mounds indicating a snow cave. With just a few more steps, even that was gone, and she was alone in the storm. Unraveling the scarf from around her face, she looked up at the sky and took a deep breath of the icy air. She spread her arms out wide to feel the full strength of the winds, closing her eyes and spinning around like a child at play. Despite the cold and the lack of sleep, the storm was somehow invigorating.
When she opened her eyes, Gregor was standing before her. Like Shavala, he hadn’t bothered to cover his face.
“First time on blizzard watch?” he shouted over the noise, grinning at her.
“My first time doing it for real,” she called back to him. “Is it your shift already?”
“Not yet. I just thought I’d check on things.”
He was checking up on her, and on her ability to manage the situation, but somehow it was easier to take coming from the experienced scout than from her own squad.
“No one’s come out yet for food,” she said, “but I’ve got a pot of tea going. It’s time to do another round of the camp to make sure the air holes aren’t getting blocked, and the shelters that are farthest away can’t see the fire, so I’ve been setting up guide ropes. I’ve got two left, but I can’t figure out what to tie them to.”
“You check the air holes. I’ve got some metal poles that might be sturdy enough to hold the ropes, if I pound them into the ground.”
As they worked, two of the village women came out to the fire, had mugs of tea, then started putting together a pot of stew. Until Sarette’s shift ended, it would be her responsibility to make sure the humans either stayed near the fire or limited the amount of time they spent outside. The blizzard would last for two days, but so far, things were going as well as could be expected. If they were lucky, and everyone was careful, they might all make it through the storm alive.
“You aren’t from Tyrsall originally? Where were you before that?”
“Four Roads,” Treya said.
She and Ellerie were talking quietly in their snow cave, wrapped in coats and blankets, while Sarette slept next to them on the mattress of pine boughs they’d constructed. After over a day in the cramped shelter, with only occasional brief trips out and nothing else to do but talk and sleep, the experience had become surreal. There was little to judge the passing of time except for Sarette and Gregor trading shifts every four hours. Well, that, and the fact that the swirling mass of snow outside was slightly brighter during the day than at night. Sarette had been right about the snow caves, though—somehow they trapped heat inside and made the blizzard almost bearable, despite the deep, biting cold outside.
“In the free lands? Why did you leave?”
“Mother Yewen thought I would have more opportunities in Tyrsall. There was a teacher for the Order of Mystics there, and more opportunities for concubines.”
Ellerie shuddered. “I don’t understand why your people allow concubines. Letting men buy women? It’s disgusting.”
Treya shrugged uncomfortably. She’d had similar thoughts, but she felt compelled to defend the Three Orders. “That’s not really how it works. Or, at least, we try to make sure it doesn’t turn into that. It’s supposed to be more of a partnership. Besides, it’s up to the girls to choose it for themselves; they aren’t forced into it.”
“Why would they choose it?”
“The idea of concubines is engrained in the culture. No, that’s not what I mean. It’s... romanticized within the culture.” Treya had given the idea a great deal of thought, but she’d never tried to put it into words before. “There’s a mystique about being the other woman, about a wealthy man seeking you out.”
Ellerie harrumphed. “If you like that sort of thing.”
Treya laughed. The elven woman got along with men just fine, if her relationship with Boktar was any indication, but she’d made her romantic preferences clear.
“You also have to remember that rich orphans don’t end up in orphanages. We’re all from poor families, so there’s the allure of living in a noble household, or even a successful shopkeeper’s home. And there’s some gratitude involved, too. The Orders took me in and raised me after my parents died. They taught me a lot.” She smiled at the memory. “The first thing they taught me was how to read. I hated it so much back then, but I eventually learned.”
“Where do boy orphans go?”
“Apprenticeships with tradesmen, mostly, even if they’re too young to do much work yet. Some are adopted.”
“The girls aren’t adopted?”
“Not as often, but it happens. Sometimes even after the Orders take them in. Babies mostly, and the younger girls. How is it handled in Terevas?”
“Terevas doesn’t have many orphans. My people live for a long time, and they’re careful.” Ellerie frowned. “Sometimes they’re careful. Anyway, there’s always some family willing to adopt.”
Ellerie rarely spoke about her homeland, so Treya tried to remember what she’d been taught about the place. “Is Revana di’Valla still queen?”
“Her Exalted Majesty,” Ellerie said absently, then her eyes shot to Treya’s. “She’s very formal. And unpleasant.”
“You’ve met the queen?”
“I guess you could say we’ve met, but I’d rather not talk about her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it true what Bobo said about the palace being made of glass?”
“What else did he say?” Ellerie asked, tensing.
“Not much. It was just an offhand comment he made a long time ago.”
The other woman nodded, seeming to relax. “There are glass palaces—more than one—but they’re not all that interesting, to be honest. It’s a pretty place on the surface, but...” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t recommend visiting.”
“I don’t imagine I ever will, though I guess it depends where we end up settling down.”
“Settle down? Oh, you mean with Corec and the others?”
“Yes. I’m still getting used to the idea. I’d always intended to keep traveling, like one of my teachers does, but then the healing magic came out of nowhere. I can help more people if they know where to find me.”
There was a scraping sound from the entrance of their shelter as someone moved the pile of snow they’d been using to block the worst of the wind. A moment later, Gregor crawled through the tunnel.
He looked up at Treya. “You’re a healer, yes?”
“I am,” she said, wanting to spring to her feet, but there was no room with Gregor kneeling in the entrance area.
“We’ve got a little girl with the freezing sickness. We’re warming her by the fire, but I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”
Treya didn’t know much about freezing sickness. Yet another problem with never having received any training in healing. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do, but I’ll try.”
Tamera
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