They moved along, through, over the ice in laborious stops and starts. Cedar spelled Ash as leader, testing the footing. The glacier curved around, following the valley, and they found themselves climbing higher, toward a broader river of ice which flowed straight toward Fire Mountain.
There was a ledge between the two streams of ice. Cedar went up first, using spikes and pole to make a path the other two could follow. Ember followed, breathing hard, wishing she’d done more walking, at least, in the lead-up to the wedding. She had concentrated all winter on sewing and packing, and had let her daily walks slide away. Now this was harder than it should be.
Cedar put a hand down to pull her up over the edge. Below, Ash waited until she was safe before he started the climb. She moved back from the edge, staring at the mountain, glad of the breather. She couldn’t look down at him; there was a raw edge in her heart where she was aware of her love for him as one is aware of a wound. Heart’s desire, she thought. Now I really know what I’ll never have.
He pulled himself up with Cedar’s help. Even not looking at him, Ember was aware of him glancing at her. It was as though his gaze was a touch, lighting her like tinder.
As Ash set foot on the higher level, the ice creaked. They hardly dared breathe, standing motionless. Nothing.
“Move away from the edge,” Cedar said.
Ash took a step toward the mountain. Ember followed him.
The ice groaned.
“That’s wrong,” Cedar said, worried. He unwound his scarf from his face and examined the ground. “This ice is as deep as a house. It shouldn’t be—”
“Get away from the edge,” Ash said to her urgently, taking hold of her arm and pulling her.
They moved fast, leaving their spikes still in the ice, and felt a shudder underneath their feet. A shriek buffeted them, the ice bucked and they fell full length. Behind them, the whole edge where they had climbed had fallen away, dragged downward into a crevasse that had not existed a moment before.
Cedar was waxy pale, eyes clouded by Sight.
“They know we are here,” he said. “Run! Run to the center!”
Ember scrambled up and ran, heading straight for the mountain, straight for the middle of the ice, aware of Cedar on her left and Ash on her right.
In front of them, the light snow which lay across the ice rose like a dust devil, spinning in cones that grew, spread, became shapes.
Wraiths.
Ember jolted to a stop, aware that the ice was groaning again below her, the wraiths—ice wraiths? She had never even heard of ice wraiths, but they were unmistakable—the long claws like wind wraiths, a body made of flying ice and snow, of splinters and daggers of ice, with eyes that burned blue, teeth sharp as arrowheads, cold, cold, drifting toward them slower than she expected, but still too fast, their long clawed hands stretched out in anticipation.
Slivers of ice flicked from the claws, hitting like needles, piercing, cutting. Each needle brought not only pain, but cold, spearing deep inside. Blood sprang out along Ember’s cheek; pain blossomed as the blood froze on her skin. Ash swore and tried to move in front of her, to protect her. The onslaught increased but she couldn’t bear to turn her back, to let them come up behind her unseen. She wrapped her arms around her head but the ice spears cut through her jacket.
Cedar gulped down a curse and began to breathe hard, trying to make a noise, trying to—to whistle?
“There’s a spell,” he shouted, through the sound of ice. “To control wind wraiths. It might work.”
He tried to whistle again. Five notes. But Cedar, gods help them all, had the worst of whistles and almost never hit a true note. Still, she recognized it. Of course, he was right.
“You don’t have to whistle,” she gasped. Mam had taught her this, at least, even if she’d kept silent about Fire. The spell for protection. Words, what words should she use? She fought for breath and sang. “Safe, safe, warm and safe.” The five notes had to be equal in length and power, but the words could be changed to meet the need.
The wraiths were slowing, although the arrows of ice kept coming. Ash and Cedar picked up the song, their deeper voices twining through hers. “Safe, safe, warm and safe,” they sang, memories of family celebrations where they had all sung rounds and ballads sliding through her mind, giving her strength and a sense of deep belonging.
The ice wraiths hovered, claws extended but no more needles flying toward them. The fragments of ice which swirled around them caught the sun so that they were enshrined in rainbows, beautiful, every color dancing across their white faces and arms. They flung back their heads and howled.
Terrible, terrible—beings so ethereal should have voices high and piercing, but this sound was deep, thunder, rocks ground beneath ice, echoes resounding in the deepest cave.
Cedar stopped singing, but she and Ash kept on desperately.
“He sees us,” Cedar said again. The wraiths’ howling was doing something—the ice beneath them shuddered again and again. Ash was looking around, still singing—he grabbed Ember’s shoulder and spun her, pointing to where, bright in the sunlight, cracks were snaking toward them from the edge of the ice sheet. Lightning bolts of emptiness into which they would fall and die.
“I’ll hold them,” Cedar said. “You go.”
Ember kept singing, but she shook her head, and Ash took Cedar by the arms and did the same.
“Elgir taught me something,” Cedar said. “I’ll survive.”
The cracks were breaking wider, each movement bringing a whip of sound against their ears. Ash put both hands on Cedar’s shoulders and nodded, once. Cedar nodded back and began to sing again, his voice stronger than before.
Still singing, Ash and Ember backed away, watching both the wraiths and Cedar. The wraiths were undecided: whom should they follow? They turned between the two, back and forth, until Cedar cried out something in a language Ember had never heard. Then they whipped back to him, like snakes following prey.
He sang, but this time he sang, “Watch, watch, watch and hunt.”
Ember’s breath caught in her throat. That was too dangerous, too dangerous! The cracks were heading for Cedar, straight for him, straight to him, and the wraiths also, drawn by power as thirst to water.
They advanced, slowly, hands coming up, claws reaching out. He still sang, but softer, and Ash pulled Ember away, as fast as she could go, both of them looking over their shoulders as the cracks and the wraiths converged toward him.
He looked up and grinned at them, across a distance which seemed much wider than it should have; how long had he been singing? How long ago had they left him there?
The largest of the ice chasms had almost reached him. He spread his arms, and shouted, “Hunt!” on the last note of the song, and ice flew up around him in a flurry of white and dazzling rainbows.
As it fell, a gray wolf jumped forward, leaping over the chasm as if it were a narrow stream. Tongue lolling, it sat on the other side and mocked the ice wraiths, who shrieked in high desperate voices and leaped after it.
Cedar ran, the wraiths following, moving out of sight toward the edge of the ice, jumping chasms and abysses, it seemed, for sheer fun.
“Gods help him,” Ash said, his voice trembling. “We must run also.”
There was no more time to test the ice, to move slowly and carefully from firm footing to firm footing. Now they raced, guessing where the best surface was, their eyes attuned to the shading of the ground so that they anticipated the dips and chasms in time.
Behind them, the ice wraiths’ shrieks still sounded from time to time; still desperate; still unsatisfied; and that was all the comfort they had.