The town was small, quiet within the unending night, but Scal could see faint light outlining doors and windows. Fires, candles, lanterns—light, to fight back the darkness. It was the first town they had seen since leaving the Forest Voro, and it made Vatri look pleased. Not so pleased as when they found wandering preachers. Not so pleased as when she prayed over their bodies. But pleased, still, and her steps were brisk as she led Scal into the town.
He had known Vatri long enough now to know that it was not in her to be shy. She spent too much of her life being stared at to flinch before the threat of attention, and she had the surety that Metherra’s hand rested firmly on her shoulder, guidance and protection both. Both things made her bold. Too bold, sometimes, for Scal’s comfort.
Her voice rang loud through the small, quiet town. “Divine Mother, Almighty Father, shapers of the earth and keepers of the flame, we ask you hear our hearts.” The start of an old prayer, and simple. He could hear the sound, like twoscore breaths being drawn and held. A wavering sort of hope. “Gentle Metherra, we offer you our fears and beg you soothe them.” Shutters creaked. Doors cracked. Eyes, peering carefully out, to prove what ears alone could not believe. “Stalwart Patharro, we give our hearts unto your keeping, and beg you keep the darkness at bay.” Vatri spread her arms wide, scarred face glowing in the dull light as doors opened wider. As faces poked from houses, as feet crossed thresholds to step careful upon the ground. “Holy Parents, we give you all that we are, and ask only for your shelter, now and for always.” The crowd formed tentatively. Held-breath hope and careful feet ready to turn. “We are the tenders of the flame, and we keep it burning in your honor.” Vatri made a motion to Scal. Obedient, loyal, his fingers wrapped around the hilt and pulled his sword free. Twoscore breaths released sudden in surprise, in an explosive moment of renewed faith. Fire reflected in the eyes that stared at the sword he held over his head. “Mother preserve us,” Vatri finished, triumph ringing in her words, “and Father shield our souls.”
There were cheers and prayers and sobs. Hands grabbing at Vatri, grabbing at Scal, and he stood unmoving in the surge of them. Stood before the fire in their eyes, the hope spilling from their mouths. He was not like Vatri. He did not like crowds, did not know, often, how to deal with people. He knew, less, how to deal with people who looked upon him, flaming sword in hand, as though he were a god come once more to earth. But Vatri held on to his raised arm, held it so he would not lower it and so all the townsfolk would stare at the sword, and she told them, “See, loyal followers, the tool of the Parents. See their answer to the darkness. See Nightbreaker!” They cheered, and Scal stared above their heads. He could pretend he was not at their center, if he did not see their eyes and the fires shining within them. Thought only of Vatri’s hand on his arm, like a tether. Wondered when she had decided the name of his sword.
The town’s joy continued, but they were wise folk. Practical. They, too, had seen all the wandering preachers, seen the new purpose in their wandering steps. Preachers were drawn to the hint of a flame, and the town glowed from all the open doors. Scal and Vatri were half pushed toward a long, low building, the town flowing behind them.
The building was part meeting hall, part chapel. Its windows were all covered, to hide the light from the everflame hanging in an iron basket at the center of the room. Vatri sat herself below it, and Scal at her side. He could not keep his eyes from the everflame. He had been a boy once, and he had lived with a priest, and he had helped to tend the everflame. It felt, often, like the only time in all his lives that he had been happy. Scal wrapped his fingers around the flamedisk that hung from his neck. The snowbear claw strung next to it dug into the meat of his palm, tip sharp enough to draw blood.
Vatri wove for them the story of the Twins’ rise, talking over their cries of distress. She told them all of it. And when she told them of Scal, cutting down preachers and their mercenaries with his mighty sword, they stared at him once more like he was more than a man. He felt their eyes on him. He stared at the everflame, held his two pendants as they sank their shapes into his skin.
“You can’t give up hope,” Vatri told them. “All is not lost, for we have a gift given by the Parents themselves . . .”
Scal stood. Sudden enough it startled the townsfolk, startled even Vatri. The seated crowd parted for him, fear and awe mixed on their faces that he could not entirely avoid seeing. He was careful not to step on any of them, and so he had to look. But none of them, not even Vatri, called to him as he walked out into the night.
The town was quiet, and dark. Only the faint outlines of doors and windows, and if he stood the right way, they all fell from his sight. When Scal drew a slow breath, it coated his tongue with the taste of spring. Mud, and heat, and rain. No faint winter left.
Scal released his pendants. Let his hand fall to his side, where it brushed against the sword. Nightbreaker. Just a sword, a normal sword, stolen from a mercenary of the Twins. There was no power in it. Nothing special, nothing deserving of a name. He could drop the sword here, now. It was only a sword.
No, the power was in him. In his hands, and in his will. He was the ice, and he was the flames. He could leave the sword behind, and it would not matter. There were always other swords. It would not change anything.
This is the will of the Parents, Vatri had said.
Scal had stared at the everflame, and he had heard nothing but Vatri’s voice, seen nothing but fire-shining eyes. Had stared at the everflame and thought of the red-robed priest who had tended the everflame of his childhood, a man who laughed often but smiled rarely, sadness hanging from his shoulder like a shadow. And Scal could not remember his voice.
You asked me to shape you, Vatri had said.
The sword was nothing. Scal was the true weapon—Vatri had made it so. He stood staring up at the dark sky, the thousand stars. He remembered the boy he had been: the boy who had lived in the cold, who had been raised by a priest who was so close to a father. Almost. The boy who had wanted nothing more than to tend the everflame, and to one day go on a grand adventure with his friend. Scal did not know if any piece of that boy still clung to him. Could that boy have survived all the other, bloody lives that had followed his peaceful one?
The creak of a door. Soft steps. A murmur, from a nervous-swallowing throat.
Scal had known he would be followed. From the moment he stood at the middle of their chapel and stepped through and around them, he had known he would not be left alone. Vatri would not be the one to follow him; she had larger concerns—Where are the Twins? He did not know if she would send someone after him, or only not stop it from happening. It was the same thing, in the end. Soft breathing, behind his back, and a waiting silence.
And, finally, a small voice. “Are you gonna bring the sun back?”
He had not expected it to be a child. Had not planned to speak with whoever had chosen to follow him, but this voice made him turn. The child was nothing like the boy he had been—she was a girl, and small for her age, and her hair was so dark that her face seemed framed by the night sky. And yet. The fearless set of her shoulders. The words flat, like a challenge. Eyes that wanted to hope but did not know what hope looked like. She looked nothing like the boy he had been, but there was more to any person than looks.
Scal looked down at the girl, and he looked away, to where his hand still brushed the hilt of his sword. Nightbreaker. There was a time, not so long ago, when he had made a wordless vow to himself alone that he would not ever carry a sword again. He had broken that vow, and not even thought of the breaking. Even when it danced with flames, even when it was sheathed in ice, the sword fit in his palm like it was a piece of him. Like his arm was not complete without it.
It was just a sword. He could leave it, and it would not matter. He could find another, always. Nightbreaker. Vatri had not named the sword. Her fingers had tightened around his arm, eyes fire-bright. Nightbreaker. She had shaped him, and a thing was not truly shaped until it had been given a name.
The girl stared up at him, cautious and curious and fearless. Asked again, “Are you gonna bring the sun back?”
Scal raised his palms. Clean, with no shadow of all the blood that had stained them. Scarred, but there was no trace on them of the ash-marks Vatri had pressed into his flesh, no sign of the gods’ touch. Only his own skin. Only himself.
Vatri had said, The gods ask so much of us . . .
Scal closed his fingers over his palms. Felt the bite of his nails, deeper where the snowbear claw had pierced his palm. He dropped his hands and felt the left one rest against the hilt of his sword. He looked up to meet the girl’s fearless eyes, and he said, “I am going to try.”
She nodded once. Satisfied. And when she turned from him to walk back into the meeting hall, he followed after her, a single step behind.
Scal spent the night in prayer. He knelt beneath the everflame with his hands pressed to his forehead, and his prayers were made more of thoughts than of words. He did not know what to ask the Parents, or how to ask it. But an old red-robed priest had taught him prayer, and if Scal could not remember the priest’s voice, at least the words of countless prayers had sunk into him. Carved into his mind by long nights and crackling flames. Flowing beneath his skin.
Vatri snored softly at his side, and the only other sound was the crackle of the everflame above his head.
He had sat in the same place as she had told the town that the Long Night would end. That Scal would fight the Fallen and their risen gods, and restore balance to the world. That this was indeed a long night, but the sun rose at the end of each night. The night would need to grow darker first, but it would end, as all things do. The townsfolk had cheered her every word. Cheered her declaration of war, and looked at Scal like a hero stepped from legend.
He had sat quiet.
She stared at him for a time, after she woke. Her eyes still soft with sleep, and the everflame smoothing the deep-lined scars across her face. She only said, though, “We should find more towns like this. Hearing from me, seeing you, raised their spirits. We give them hope against the Long Night.” Scal nodded, said nothing.
The town leader walked with them to the line drawn by the last row of houses, thanked them for coming, wished them all the luck of the Parents. There was a knowing smile that would not stay off his face. They learned why, no more than a handful of minutes from the town.
Footsteps, and close enough that Scal drew his sword, fire dancing out. It shone on six faces, familiar enough in his sword’s flickering fire. Townsfolk, from the town they had just left. Younger, mostly, those who had reached adulthood but were barely past its edge, their eyes eager for adventure. The weapons they held were mostly tools and makeshift things, eager for blood.
The oldest of their number took another step forward. A woman of middling years, who carried an unstrung bow taller than she was. “We’d like to come with you,” she said. Said it to Scal, her face open and earnest, but her gaze slid to Vatri. “If you’ll have us.”
And Vatri’s answering grin was the only answer they needed.