The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (12 page)

Bara took her fingers away. “It is the best I can give you. Though it may not be enough.” She looked to the sinking sun and then back at Raef. “You have done me a kindness, Raef. I will not forget it. Even if it was foolish.” A hint of a smile made her even more beautiful, but no less deadly. “Keep to the path and you may yet see your home again.”

“I will.” They parted with a nod, Raef to the north and the peril that awaited him there, and Bara to the east and the rising moon.

TWELVE

F
or two nights
and two days Raef traversed the endless, barren landscape, traveling in as straight a line as possible, resting when he found the cover to do so safely. Of life he saw little. At dawn, a scavenging, bear-like creature kept its head buried in a mutilated carcass when Raef crept by. On the second night, a beast with tawny, moonlit fur stalked a ridge just above Raef’s intended path. Raef skirted around and kept out of sight, resuming his northern trail only when he was certain the creature had not picked up his sent.

Bara’s parting gift sustained him, keeping the thirst at bay, but on hunger it had no effect. Raef ignored his protesting stomach and the fatigue as best he could, pushing north, one step followed by another.

There was no mistaking the labyrinth as the sun set on the second day. Stretching east and west as far as Raef could see, it towered over him, sheer rock cliffs spiking to the sky, jagged and threatening, as hostile a place as Raef could imagine. Three gates Raef could see, but only one was wreathed in smoke and Raef approached it as the vent in the earth spewed forth another cloud of ash and hot air. The gate was taller than a giant but was no more than a crude hole in the rock as though the missing stone had been ripped and torn from its home. Just beyond the threshold, Raef could see a single stone the color of old, dried blood. It stood tall and straight and he knew he had found the way Bara had described.

With a single step, Raef crossed through the gate. The air was putrid and stank of dying flesh. The whisper of wind that wafted across Raef’s cheek seemed somehow full of malice. Raef touched the hammer that hung around his neck and asked Thor for strength and endurance. Without looking back at the bleak, grey land of Jötunheim, he plunged onward.

Beyond the first blood stone, perhaps fifteen paces, was another, and a third stood in the distance, sentinels to whatever might befall those who walked the path. After the third, the way turned out of sight and Raef slid down a steep descent, nearly colliding with the fourth stone as he fought to catch himself on the loose rock. Finding his balance, Raef saw that two paths diverged, one twisting and narrow, the other straight but dark, hooded by a shelf of rock that hung over it. Barely visible, the next blood stone lingered in the darkness of the straight path. Raef scanned the rock shelf above, saw nothing to suggest danger, and continued on.

The moment he crossed into the shadow of the overhang, strong, icy fingers scrabbled to grip Raef’s throat. Tearing at the invisible hand, Raef pushed forward but the cold fingers tightened and Raef had to struggle to take in air. Dropping to his knees, Raef fought on, the ice spreading up his neck to his face until Raef could see frost forming on his eyelashes. His vision grew dark with each choking breath, but there, there in the rock, was a sword, just out of reach in a path that had been hidden to Raef. If he could only take four steps, he could grasp it and fight off the frozen menace. And yet the blood stone, it lay ahead and Bara had promised death if he strayed from the path.

Raef fell to his hands, the last air fading from his lungs as he fought the urge to crawl to the sword. Gaze fixed on the blood stone, Raef edged forward, the cold seeping into his mind and through every vein, chilling his blood. A lifetime seemed to pass as Raef struggled on hands and knees but somehow the blood stone came in reach and Raef brushed his fingertips against its rough surface as he collapsed.

The pressure on his throat and the cold vanished in that instant. Raef gasped air into his burning lungs, seeing nothing but flashing stars though his eyes were wide open. He lay still; the will to do anything but breathe had fled. How long he remained facedown on the rock he could not say, but his fingers did not leave the blood stone. When he felt himself again, he got to his knees and looked back. The hidden passage in the rocky wall and the sword were gone and Raef knew he had been right not to succumb.

One at a time, Raef lifted his fingers from the stone, expecting to feel the icy grip again upon losing contact but nothing happened and he got to his feet. A gradual, curving slope rose up in front of him and Raef walked on, passing two more blood stones until the path ended, cut off by a cliff. High above, a blood stone jutted out of the cliff face, beckoning, and Raef began to climb.

At first, the handholds were many and easy to reach. Raef pulled himself up to a ledge no wider than his feet, then shuffled to his right, his gaze fixed on a curving crack in the rock that he could scuttle up. Beneath him, the ledge dropped away and Raef stretched out until he felt the crack beneath his fingers. Taking a deep breath, Raef pushed off the ledge and scrambled up with his feet until his other hand could find refuge in the crack. His fingers burned with the effort of holding his weight, and Raef wasted no time in traversing the crack. When at last he obtained more solid footing, Raef took a moment to breathe, but he could not afford to linger and waste his strength.

The holes and rock teeth grew scarcer the higher he went, but Raef persisted, knowing he had no other choice. As he neared the blood stone, arms shaking with the effort, his foot slipped and he dropped, caught only by his left arm. Raef’s shout of desperation echoed around him as he dangled against the cliff. Gritting his teeth, Raef began to pull himself up, reaching with his other hand to find something, anything, to grab onto. His right hand gripped stone just as his left arm gave way and again Raef swung against the cliff. But the slight shift in position was enough for above him now was a clear path to the top.

The final part of the climb was agony. Raef’s fingers were raw and numb, his arms loose and exhausted, only his feet remained strong and Raef relied on them to propel him to the top. When at last he crawled over the edge, Raef stretched out on the flat rock and felt his heart pound against the stone. After a long moment, Raef rolled over on his back and opened his eyes.

The sight made him forget to draw breath. Above him hung a luscious, green canopy. Air ruffled the leaves, sending two falling to the earth, and sunlight peeked through, warm on Raef’s face. The ground was soft and mossy, damp with fresh rain, and Raef breathed in the scent he knew so well. It was Vannheim. He was home. Rising to his feet, he turned back to the cliff, only to find it was no longer there. This was a problem, he knew, the treachery of the labyrinth at work. But the voice that told him this was small and annoying and Raef pushed it away, letting birdsong take its place.

Turning again, Raef saw a small wooden hut thatched with earth and long grass, the kind a woodcutter might use deep in the forest, and he knew at once where he was. Raef closed his eyes and took another deep breath and when he opened them again, she was there, just as he remembered. The small voice returned, telling him she could not be there, telling him this was not real, but it seemed to him now like a whisper of water flowing in the distance and Raef let it wash away.

The girl was lithe and dark of hair. A band of flowers woven together rested on her head and her feet, pale and bare, caressed the damp grass.

“Svanja.”

The girl smiled, her face bright and full of youth and yet her eyes were a woman’s. “You are late.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“Perhaps. Come closer and we will see.” Raef did as she asked and reached out to touch her cheek. Svanja cast her eyes downward. “Is that the only place you wish to touch me? You were so bold last time.”

“My father will be looking for me.” The words were wrong. His father was dead. And yet if he was there at the hut with Svanja, then he was a boy again and Einarr Skallagrim lived.

“Let him look.” Svanja took Raef’s hand in her smaller one and began to walk backward to the hut, her eyes not leaving his. When they reached the door, she stopped and leaned forward, rising up on her tiptoes, to kiss him. Raef closed his eyes and let himself fall into the memory of that kiss, light and sweet, raw and inexperienced despite her words. She sank back down to her heels. “We should stay here forever.”

The wreath of flowers had slipped to one side and Raef removed it from her silky hair, turning it between his fingers. She was right. They should stay there. Svanja tugged on his hand and Raef wanted to go with her but something kept his feet planted.

“I must go.” He heard himself say it and then wished he had not, for Svanja’s face fell, her disappointment plain. Raef extricated his fingers from hers and took half a step back. He looked at the flowers but they fell from his hand. He took another step back. “I must go,” he repeated.

“Will you not stay with me?” Svanja’s eyes were wide and blue and sad. “Please?”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath Raef’s feet and he took another unsteady step backward though every fiber of his being screamed at him to do the opposite. Raef looked over his shoulder and memory slammed back into him as the labyrinth revealed itself. There, just past those trees. A blood stone. He looked back at Svanja but she was gone. The hut remained and the green trees of Vannheim still beckoned. Raef fought the urge to take refuge in the forest, fought the urge to give in and turned his back on the hut, striding quickly toward the blood stone lest he lose his resolve.

He was five paces from the stone when the scream split the air. Whirling around, Raef saw the hut was in flames. Svanja’s screams continued, piercing and full of terror. She called his name and Raef sprinted forward three steps before pulling up.

“You are not real. I am not here. This is not happening.” Still she screamed and the hut was bursting now with impenetrable flames. Raef’s breath caught. “Forgive me.” He turned his back on the blaze and walked to the blood stone. Raef reached out and let his hand hover over it, its blood-red color holding new meaning, and closed his eyes. He dropped his hand to the stone.

Silence. Raef opened his eyes and he was back in the labyrinth. The cliff lay behind him; the dark, rocky landscape stretched out in front of him and another blood stone was in sight. Raef made his way to it and the one beyond, his feet continuing while his heart lingered. It was memory and madness and the work of the labyrinth he knew, but it had splintered him, leaving him feeling lost and forsaken in a way he had not felt even in his darkest hours in Hrodvelgr’s prison.

How long he wandered from blood stone to blood stone, Raef could not have said, but at length he found he did not have the will to go on. There was nowhere to shelter, nowhere that might be safe, so Raef curled up against the next blood stone and fell into an exhausted, wretched sleep.

Of dreams Raef had no memory when he woke, but his mind felt so scarred, so beaten down, that he was certain dark thoughts had assailed him in sleep. He trudged onward, the sallow sun crossing overhead, sending shadows spinning across his path. Twice he thought it twilight only to find the sun overhead and then off the eastern horizon as though it were but the break of day. Raef cursed the labyrinth, cursed his journey, and followed the blood stones. He grew weak with hunger as time seemed to drag by and then race forward. The moon rose once, twice, maybe three times, Raef could no longer be sure, and cold stars burned above him, callous watchmen indifferent to his plight.

A red sun rose, waking Raef from fitful sleep on a precipice above a deep, narrow canyon. He had dreamed of the deaths of his friends, not once, not twice, but endless in their agony, and for a moment he could do nothing but lie still, wondering if he might will his heart to cease beating. But then he was on his feet, swaying over the empty air that spread out in front of him. Raef imagined what it would be like to fall, to let go. But the next blood stone lay below, calling to him, and Raef reminded himself that he already knew what it felt like to fly, then began a slow, tricky descent into the depths of the canyon. At times the trail wound downwards, a progression of steep switchbacks, at times Raef had to lower himself down sheer walls to reach the next stone, but at last he reached the bottom, a dark, dusty place hidden from the faded sun. The air seemed sparse, thin, and Raef struggled to fill his lungs. A stone was in sight and Raef approached, only to see it was not saturated with the same blood-red color as the other stones had been. It was tall and straight, but it was grey and plain.

Turning, Raef backtracked but the canyon had changed. The rough walls he had scrambled down had turned smooth, polished even. He had lost the path.

A part of Raef wished to sink to the canyon floor, to let the labyrinth take him to oblivion, but a greater part of him would not give in to the labyrinth’s demands. The path was gone and he would not find it again. Bara had said as much. But he refused to believe all was lost. He would not curl up and wait to die. He would wander until he met death head on or found another way out.

In his heart, Raef knew death would find him soon. He was weak in body and mind. But he had made a vow before the gods and he would honor that vow until his last breath.

The canyon twisted onward, meandering in darkness, at times so narrow Raef had to turn sideways to pass between the walls. He looked for a way out, but the walls remained smooth and impassable until the canyon gave way to emptiness. The walls dropped away, leaving only a flat expanse of rock in front of Raef. Winds swept across the stone, unhindered, battling themselves for supremacy, and buffeting Raef from all sides, immobilizing him. Raef ducked his head and tried to continue, but half a step proved too much and he dropped to his knees. The winds roared on, ripping across Raef’s skin, and he brought his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to shield himself.

Raef pressed his face against the cool stone, seeking peace where none could be found, his body battered down by the relentless wind until he was stretched flat but still vulnerable to all. So this was to be his death, then, mired in an unceasing windstorm, stripped of dignity. Raef fought to cling to himself, forcing his mind to chase after memories of joy, of life. But he could hold on to nothing, not the battle-lust, not his father’s laugh, not the sunlit trees of Vannheim, it all flitted away even as he reached for it. Siv’s face flashed before him, a bolt of lightning gone too soon, and Raef found he could not conjure Eira’s image, or Vakre’s. They were shadows, untouched even by starlight.