21

Undritch Mountains

IT WAS MIDMORNING AS Winter and the Rangers traversed the foothills of the Undritch Mountains. She was with the Third and Fourth Ranger companies—the same two companies that had been serving as the vanguard for the greater Druid host—all of whom had stood with her in the battle outside Cineste.

Rorie—the chief of the Black Hills clan—and a few dozen of her riders accompanied them, too. Rorie had pledged herself to Winter, and had promised to take her—and all of the Druids—over the Undritch Mountains and on to Adimora. Winter rode with Rorie, Urstadt, and Selldor.

“I never thought I’d see mountains taller than the Sorensans,” Urstadt said quietly.

Winter followed Urstadt’s gaze upward.

“On clear summer days in Pranna,” she said, “my father would show me the King’s Crown.”

Urstadt looked at Winter quizzically.

“One of the Undritch Mountains,” Winter said. “He told me it was the tallest peak in the Sfaera. Seeing its snowy outline on a clear summer day all the way from Pranna made that claim difficult to dispute.” And seeing the mountains stretched before her now, each one seemingly taller than the last, only increased her awe.

“Which one is the King’s Crown?” Urstadt asked. “They are all so tall, I can hardly tell them apart.”

“Not the King’s Crown,” Rorie said. “That’s the human name for the peak. To tiellans here, it’s Eritravistaya. The King of Now and All.” She pointed at a distant group of peaks that stood even taller than the others. “There,” she said. “Lucky it’s a clear day; usually he’s draped in cloud cover.”

“If these are the tallest mountains in the Sfaera,” Selldor said, “how are we supposed to cross them?”

“Ain’t gonna cross,” Rorie said. “We’re gonna go through.”

Winter and Urstadt exchanged a glance. The idea of “going through” was news to her, but if it meant they didn’t have to traverse a mountain pass, she was all for it. She and Ghian had already discussed the possibility of leaving some of the Druids in a camp on this side of the mountains if the trail became too difficult. She wanted to avoid that option at all costs.

Winter turned to Rorie. “You’ve seen who travels with us. Women, children, older folk. Could they go through as well?”

“Aye, Commander,” Rorie said. “They’ll make it through just fine. We’ll go through close by; won’t even go near Eritravistaya. The northernmost mountains ain’t as tall as the rest, and the weather’s more agreeable here than it is by the tallest peaks. If we move now, the majority of your group can make it through to the other side before nightfall.”

Slowly, Winter reached an acumenic tendron into Rorie’s mind. She’d done this before, but wanted to try again just to be sure. Winter welcomed Rorie’s devotion, but she had her suspicions. But as Winter explored the woman’s mind, she found no hint of deceit. Rorie intended to lead them safely through the mountains.

“Very well,” Winter said. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Winter and her Rangers followed Rorie through the Black Hills—the foothills were Rorie’s home, from whence her clan claimed its name—and eventually down towards the mouth of a small cave.

“This is it?” Winter asked, eyeing the grotto entrance. Hardly more than a crack in the mountainside, it reached up about twice Winter’s standing height, and was roughly three rods wide at its base.

“It’ll be something of a bottleneck for your people,” Rorie said, “but once we’re through the entrance, the cave opens up. There’s plenty of room in the Underway, Commander.”

“The Underway? No tiellan name?”

“Not all things are about us, Commander.” Rorie winked. “Most, but not all.”

Winter dismounted. It would be easier to lead her horse through the entrance than ride. “Do many people know of the Underway?”

“Only the tiellan clans, Commander, and a few human nomads.” Rorie glanced at Urstadt.

“But surely other humans have discovered it,” Winter said.

Rorie shrugged. “Of course they have. But they pay it no mind. Humans, so far, have no interest in the plains east of the Undritch Mountains. They are too busy with their stone cities in the west.”

Winter handed her horse’s reins to Selldor, and walked slowly toward the cave. “We’ll need torches,” she said. “Lots of them.”

“You won’t have to worry about torches,” Rorie said.

Winter looked back to see Rorie with a crooked smile on her face.

“See for yourself, Commander.”

“Winter, I do not think you should go in alone,” Urstadt said.

Winter turned back around to face the cave entrance. “It’s all right, Urstadt,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

She walked through the rift, her eyes widening as they adjusted to the sudden darkness. When she had her bearings, Winter found herself in a small, craggy corridor. Bright yellow daylight lit the cave from behind her, but Winter was surprised to see that was not the only source of light in the cave. Ahead of her the chamber angled to the left, and bright blue light emanated from wherever the passage led.

Hesitantly, Winter walked towards the blue light. She followed the tilt of the chamber, moving around a corner, and then stopped in shock.

A tunnel extended before her, straight as an arrow shaft and carved almost perfectly in the shape of a semi-circle, with the floor forming the flat side and the walls and ceiling arching high above.

The thing was massive. Fifty people could easily fit comfortably, side by side, across the width of the tunnel, and the ceiling arched many times Winter’s own height. She doubted she would even be able to make out the ceiling, if it weren’t for the most striking aspect of the tunnel, and the source of the blue light: hundreds, maybe thousands, of carved, glowing blue runes. The tunnel reminded Winter of some kind of reverse rihnemin; instead of a great stone structure, this was a hole carved out of stone; but the runes seemed the same.

Winter heard footsteps and voices, and turned to see Urstadt and Rorie entering the huge tunnel behind her. Urstadt stopped short, staring at the glowing blue runes all around them, while Rorie simply smiled her crooked smile.

“This… this is incredible,” Winter whispered. The tunnel extended into the depths of the mountain, farther than she could see. “When… How…” She was utterly lost for words.

“It’s said the Druids of ancient times carved it,” Rorie said. “No one knows exactly how long it’s been around. The blue lights, though, are recent. You used to have to carry torches through this tunnel, as you said, but less than a year ago the runes began to emit their own blue light. It’s remained like this ever since.”

Less than a year ago. Winter wondered what could have triggered it. The events in Roden—Azael’s presence and the reappearance of the Nine Daemons—stood at the top of her list.

“It is beautiful,” Urstadt said, her voice reverent.

Winter, eyes wide, could still only take it in. She felt a pang of sadness that her father, Lian, Knot—and even Galce, though he at least was still alive—were not here to see it with her. Such beauty deserved to be shared.

At least she could share it with the rest of her people.

“Get the other tiellans moving through here,” Winter said, coughing to clear her throat. “We still have a fair journey ahead of us.”

Rorie’s smile grew wider. “Aye, Commander. I’ll send word, and we’ll get moving through the Underway immediately.”

Winter nodded, already looking back at the glowing blue runes.

She was entering a different world, indeed.

* * *

Rorie was right; the tiellans made it through the mystical tunnel in good time, and just over a week later were approaching Adimora.

“We are close.” Rorie of the Black Hills clan looked out at the twilight-immersed plains.

“How close?” Winter asked. She saw nothing before her but more grassland. The plains on this side of the Undritch Mountains were the same as the ones to the west, as far as Winter could tell.

“You are a few dozen steps away, at most.”

Winter spurred her horse forward. It was a strong mare, mottled gray and black, that reminded her very much of another mare that had briefly been hers, Nynessa. She looked back at Rorie, but her face was indiscernible in the darkness beneath her araif.

“Just over that rise.”

Winter pushed her mare forward, cautiously. She had thought about naming the animal, but decided against it. Nynessa had died quickly, defending Winter against an ambush on the lonely road between Brynne and Navone. She did not want to get attached again.

As she crested the small hill, she saw three things. The first was a rihnemin, larger than any Winter had ever seen, jutting upwards from the ground. Rihnemin were large standing stones, usually only slightly taller than a person. This one was the size of a cathedral. Even from this distance, Winter could discern runes carved into the stone, just like the ones she had seen in the Underway. These, however, did not glow. Rihnemin dated back to the Age of Marvels, and stood as monuments to the tiellan culture and power from that time.

The second thing that caught Winter’s eye was the city of Adimora—and city was, indeed, a poor term for it. In almost a perfect circle surrounding the rihnemin, the grass was clear, but outside of a certain distance ramshackle houses and other buildings surrounded the stone. A few dozen, certainly no more than one hundred. No walls or towers or defensive structures whatsoever. Winter had to admit, the city—the town, really— disappointed her.

What did not disappoint was the third thing Winter saw: a dark crack in the land that separated Winter from Adimora, splitting the grass and the plain and plunging into darkness.

“What is that?”

“The Ravine of Adimora,” Rorie responded. A few other tiellans had crested the hill behind them, and Winter heard gasps of surprise. The ravine was truly a shocking sight—like a crack of black lightning that split the very Sfaera in two.

“And this,” Winter said, indicating the disorganized town below her, “is Adimora?”

Rorie laughed. “Yes and no. I will show you the rest of the city once you and your people have settled in.”

Winter looked back at the houses sprawling away from the rihnemin. “How do we cross the ravine?”

“The ravine does not extend forever. We will show your people the best way to cross.” Rorie signaled back at a few of her followers, who rode off to do as asked.

“You want us to camp around the houses already there?”

“Undoubtedly some of your force will have to do so,” Rorie said, “but many of you should be able to find shelter in those homes.”

Winter blinked. “You mean what we see here isn’t even full? How can you call this a city? I’d eat a dragon eel if there were more than two hundred people down there.”

“Above ground, there’re far fewer than that, usually,” Rorie said.

“And… below ground?”

Rorie smiled. “Many more.”

“So you’re telling me the city of Adimora is…” Winter dismounted, and walked closer to the ravine. The closer she moved, the blacker the inside of the thing looked.

She turned back to face Rorie. “You’re telling me it’s down there.”

“Of course. Get your people settled, Commander. I’ll head below and get the lay of things. Once that’s taken care of, I’ll come for you. Any luck, you’ll challenge the Cracked Spear this very night.”

Winter stopped. “The what?”

“The Cracked Spear. That’s why you’re here, ain’t it?”

Winter knew nothing about a cracked spear. “I seek the aid of the tiellan clans. That’s why I’m here.”

“Right,” Rorie said, nodding. “So you’ll be challengin’ the Cracked Spear, then.”

Clearly this all made sense to Rorie.

Winter had come all this way; she would not balk now. If she could bring the tiellan clans to their cause, they would be one step closer to uniting all tiellans.

She was not whole. She did not belong. But if she could make that happen for someone else—for all tiellans—she would do it.

“Very well,” Winter said. “Send for me when you are ready.”

* * *

Later that day, the rest of the Druid caravan arrived at Adimora. Winter accompanied Darrin, Eranda, and their children to secure them one of the huts that encircled the rihnemin. The structures here were certainly no worse than the humble tiellan huts of Pranna, and when they found a suitable residence— Darrin and Eranda would have been content with the first hut they came across, but Winter insisted they find one closer to the rihnemin—it was actually larger than any home the family had ever had. This one had two separate bedrooms, as well as a living space, and even some rudimentary furniture.

“Thanks to you, Winter,” Eranda said. Darrin had taken the children to the other room, putting them to bed early after a long day of traveling. Winter could hear him singing a soft lullaby through the thin walls. “I can’t believe all you’ve done for us. Your return is truly a gift.”

Winter looked at Eranda, unsure what she meant. “I’ve hardly done anything for you, Eranda. I… I’ve done what I can, but—”

“Apologies, I did not mean for me, or my family specifically. I meant for the Druids, and for us as tiellans.”

“I only do what Ghian and the other Druids ask me to do.”

“Might be you doing the asking, one day.”

The evening was warm and still light, and the sun shone through an open window as it set, bathing the room in rustic light. “What do you mean?” Winter asked.

“The Druids didn’t really accomplish much ’til you arrived, Winter. They helped the tiellans, yes, but at a snail’s pace.”

“You didn’t seem this grateful after I killed the humans at the Druid meeting,” Winter said. She could still remember the fear with which Eranda and Gord had looked at her after that.

Eranda closed her eyes. “Wasn’t right of me to judge you like that,” she said. “I was scared of what’d happened, but… but you saved my life, Winter. I have you and you alone to thank for that, and I’m grateful to you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it to you before.”

Winter felt frozen as she faced Eranda in the dark room. “You’re welcome,” she muttered, unsure of what else to say.

Eranda nodded, and continued. “The exodus, this journey we’ve made, was more than I expected, I ain’t afraid to admit it. But I believe it’s been a good thing. Many of us want change for our people. You came, and suddenly things did change.”

Winter laughed quietly. She did not want to wake the children in the other room, but she was also glad the conversation had moved on from her saving Eranda’s life. “You put too much faith in me. I do not dictate the will of the people, Eranda.”

“But you could.”

“You cannot be serious,” Winter said. Most tiellans still had no idea who she was, where she came from. How she could have any influence whatsoever over them was incomprehensible.

And yet, she had faltira. She had telesis, and acumency. She had Urstadt, and she had Galce, even if he was still in Cineste.

And, really, she had nothing to lose.

“Tiellans used to have monarchs, you know,” Eranda said.

Of course she knew. Tiellan kings and queens had ruled the Sfaera for ages. Only after the Age of Marvels did they decline in power.

“We could have monarchs again.”

“Goddess, you sound like Lian.”

Eranda sucked in a breath at the name. “You bring him up so rarely.”

“I never know what to say about him.”

Darrin sang in the room next to them, and outside the hut the low buzz of hundreds of tiellans finding their own accommodation, or setting up tents, blended with the sounds of the approaching night.

“How do I sound like Lian?” Eranda asked, after a time.

Winter thought about saying goodbye and leaving before the conversation progressed any further. She did not want to talk about this now. She did not want to talk about this ever. And yet, she could not stop herself.

“He spoke of the Age of Marvels while we traveled together. He said the tiellans could become what we once were. It just… you sounded like him just now, that’s all.”

“He was the first of us to hitch himself to the Druids,” Eranda said. “After all this time, I’m glad he did.”

“You knew he was involved with the Druids? For how long?” When Lian told Winter of his involvement with the faction in Cineste—what seemed like ages ago—it was the first Winter had heard of it.

“At least a year before you left,” Eranda said. “More’n a year, in fact; it was before Knot arrived.”

Before Knot arrived. A time before time.

“He’d be proud to see what you’ve become,” Eranda said. “He’d be proud to see you leadin’ your people.”

Just like that, the crushing shame of everything Winter had done came crashing down on her. Winter had only discovered her telenic tendra when she had found Knot, about to be executed, in Navone’s Circle Square. She’d flailed about with her newfound power like an infant, slaughtering dozens of people—innocent and guilty alike. She had faced Daemons and Outsiders in Izet, only to then join Roden’s new emperor, Daval, doing his bidding simply because he had offered her faltira.

Eranda did not know what Winter was capable of.

Lian had known. And Lian had not lived long enough to see her do anything good with her power.

Would Winter?

She shook her head, breathing in quickly through her nose. Her eyes were beginning to sting, but she would not cry. Not now. Not ever again.

“He’d want you to become the queen,” Eranda said.

Winter laughed again, this time more to stop herself from weeping than from anything else. She cleared her throat, getting a hold of herself. Enough talk of Lian. There was a reason she hated talking about him, about Knot, about her father.

She did not need any more shame than she already had.

“I could not be a queen,” Winter scoffed. She, the daughter of Bahc the fisherman from Pranna, a queen. More than ridiculous. And yet, the question was not whether Winter thought she could be a queen. As silly as the idea seemed, it was certainly possible. She had faltira, after all, and she could do just about anything with that.

The question in her mind was whether or not she should. Less of a question, really, than a powerful feeling that she shouldn’t.

“The tiellans would follow you. I would follow you.”

“I may have saved your life in Cineste,” Winter said, “but it bothered you. Gord, too.”

“I am sure there is an explanation—”

“Not a good one.”

“We all make mistakes, Winter. That don’t change who we are.”

“I know,” Winter said. “But some of us are not more than our mistakes.”