Frostbite (Modern Knights Book 1) (13 page)

I didn’t want to know what sort of repayment Tia thought of as nasty.

12

O
nce Tia and I came to an understanding on magical etiquette (most notably with instructions that she was not to offer me unasked-for gifts in the middle of rituals on my land), she yawned and said she was getting sleepy. I suspected she was disappointed about me getting the drop on her and just wanted a little privacy to sulk. I nodded and told her that was fine, I could handle the ritual from here. She left, but I was pretty sure she was still paying attention to what I was doing. I wondered just how much awareness a lake spirit had regarding the area around her lake. Did she see the whole thing at once or was it a matter of where she was focused at a given moment?

I eventually ignored the question and returned to my original task. With candles lit, lines drawn, and incense burning, all that was left was to arrange the seven flawlessly white hairs Duchess had given me after the Veruca Wakefield bet. I laid one along each grooved line of the paired triangles. The seventh I wrapped around a chocolate square and placed it dead center of the circle. Using the chocolate hurt, but it was one little square and I knew where the store was if I ran out. I was tempted to add a drop of my own blood, but I resisted. I needed the ritual to work, and I wasn’t an experienced enough summoner to know how the blood magic would interact with it. A line from a nightmare flickered across my mind in Sarai’s dream voice:
Blood of a virgin, better be careful.

While genuflecting, I pulled in my energy slower than usual—I had been too quick on the draw with the gremlin, not cautious and controlled enough. On top of that, I was working with a lot more energy tonight. I had topped off my tank at the mall, true, but there’s a big difference between a hotel room and a lakeside sanctuary. The background energy at the hotel was low and stale, something to be suppressed or ignored while casting. Here, natural currents of wild energy flowed from plant to plant, a steady trickle descending down to the water’s edge. As I gathered in my own aura, my new sanctuary eagerly rushed in to fill the void. It was cool, exciting, and forbidden, like skinny-dipping on a summer night.

As I tried to center it all into the focused sphere, I realized there was more available to me here than I could ever possibly hold. I breathed out, then tried to pull in a little bit more energy with the next inhale. Repeating it over ten breaths, I amassed a solid softball-sized chunk of will and power inside of me. I let the rest of the sanctuary’s aura wash over me, wrapping it around myself like a cloak, while I held the spell steady. When I was certain I could control what I had gathered, I let the ball hover around my solar plexus, the center of my strength. It had to be an improvement over the voice-centered gremlin calling spell.

After the buildup, the magic itself was fast and simple. “Flesh calls to flesh, spirit to spirit. Unseelie ancestor, answer my summons.” Releasing the energy stored in my chest required little more than flexing.

I felt the energy fly, but the results were not spectacular. The hairs and the chocolate dissolved slowly, as if corroded by an invisible acid. I waited, still on one knee, but nothing else happened. My host of candles flickered, burned lower, but none gutted out. No explosions, no flying shrapnel, nothing. Disappointment at the return to my usual low standards of magic began to set in.

It wasn’t until I actually looked at one of the candles that I realized my initial assessment was seriously flawed. The flame was as tall as it had been, but the color and brightness were draining away. Where it should have been blue and orange, it was now a greasy purple and gray. I reached out with my left hand and found the heat was fading as well, making the flame barely warmer than the surrounding air, though the wax still melted freely. I forced my will into the candles through my internal sanctuary and the wicks burst back to a vibrant orange. In response, the breeze carried a soft hiss to my ear; its touch was cold and sharp.

I closed my eyes and shifted my attention to the mental representation of the sanctuary again, focusing on the direction the sound had come from. On the very edge of my land, where rock and slope came together at the inland point of the wedge, there was a shape that was more shadow than substance. As the candlelight died down to a dim mockery of its true self again, the form relaxed and became fuller, more humanoid. I shivered partially from the dropping temperature, partially from the sense of power emanating out from the visitor.

“Thank you for coming,” I intoned.

My guest was gaunt, its black, billowing robes shifting so freely in the wind that I entertained the possibility that nothing physical, corporeal, lay underneath. The cowl on top tilted slightly when I spoke, as if considering me. A pale gray hand slipped from the cavernous folds and slowly brushed back the hood. White hair the color of bleached bone slipped free, framing a face as beautiful as it was terrible. The outline held the ideal lines of the feminine form, only slimmer, unnaturally narrow. Her lips were plump and full, but black as slick tar. The rest of her face was gray like her hand, save where the hollow of her eyes receded. So deep were the shadows around them, I was not entirely certain she had eyes at all.

“You can see me.” At least, I thought that was what she said. Her voice was a low whisper, cracked as if from severe disuse.

I spoke softly in answer. She looked so fragile, I feared a loud noise might break her. “I can. You are Duchess’ blood?”

“You used my granddaughter to call me? You are either very powerful or very reckless, wizard. The Eye of Winter is not lightly paged.” I had to calm my heartbeat. I could barely hear her over the sound of my blood pumping, but she seemed to sense this, speaking only between beats.

“I am...” She held up a skeletally thin hand to silence me.

“The Eye of Winter sees who you are, Colin Fisher. And what you want. Trade is trade. What do you offer for the knowledge you seek?”

I was dreading this part. The least slip of my tongue could bind me to a hundred years of slave labor or worse. “If you know what I desire, you know what a fair price is. Tell me the cost and I will tell you whether I am willing to pay it.”

“Life.” Only that word and nothing more.

“Whose life? What life?”

“Not yours and not by your hand. One life is the price.”

“To learn about wendigoes and spirit wars I must become a murderer?”

“No.” I heard amusement in her whispered reply. “A life is what it will cost to know of Sarai.”

“Sarai?” My answer was louder than I intended and she flinched at the sound.

“You asked the fair price for what you desired. The Eye of Winter has told you.”

A life? For Sarai, no, for knowledge of Sarai? The longer I lingered with that temptation the more trouble I would be in. “What of the wendigo?”

“Fear not, wizard-knight, my offer will stand when you are ready. One life for what you desire to know.” A smile curved over her lips. “For the wendigo, I will only ask another piece of chocolate.”

I quickly dug one out of the bag. She floated toward me and knelt down across from me. When she licked the chocolate square from my fingers, our brows were nearly touching, but I still couldn’t see her eyes. It seemed as if her sockets receded back into darkness forever. I wondered if she had any eyes at all or, if not, what horrors dwelled in those holes instead. “Why so cheap?”

“It is good chocolate,” she confessed. “And you must know that my prices are fair. There could be much business between us, Colin Fisher. Long has it been since so intriguing a mortal has willingly called me up.” She paused. “Ask.”

“What is the wendigo?”

“A spirit of hunger. In the time before time, faceless men taught the winter wolf to eat both flesh and soul. It has never known a full belly since.”

“Faceless men?” Where had I heard that phrase before? A different voice had spoken of them and the phrase echoed around inside me as if I knew the answer.

“They are not relevant to now. You are not ready for that knowledge, Colin Fisher.”

Her breath nearly gagged me when she spoke my name. It was full of warm spice overlaying cold decay. When I had recovered, I said, “And the spirit wars forced the wendigo to slumber. How?”

“Once, all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve were one race, one people. But after they were broken, their strength was not what it once had been.”

“The tower of Babel?”

“It is one story: Babel, Atlantis, Avalon, Pangaea. Many tales, one truth. The survivors who fled to this land found many enemies waiting for them. Arrogant spirits thought man’s dominion had ended. Mad spirits driven insane by the faceless set upon them. Without the strength of unity, the humans were easy prey for the monsters around them. Millennia after the falling time, the remnants of your people were still in fear of these beasts.

“The stories most commonly speak of twins who ventured beyond the edge of the world to bring back salvation. When they returned, they brought the spirit war. The tribes swore allegiance to the twins until all the people of this land were one people. Spirits of summer and spirits of crafting were appeased with offerings and promises and lent their strength to the twins’ army.”

“Offerings?” I asked.

“Do not play ignorant, knight-wizard. You know what the sun gods demanded for their aid. Winter is not the only thing that hungers for mortal life. Do not confuse our quarrel with the Seelie as a matter of good versus evil.” Visions of people lying on stone altars atop block pyramids, waiting for the dagger to fall, danced through my mind.

“I will remember, Eye of Winter. Please continue.”

“Their full strength rode to the Shadowlands, determined to purge the world of monsters like the wendigo. One-fifth came back from that dark place, carrying the peace of the twins. The dark spirits would slumber and men would not walk in the Lands of Shadow. This peace has held for all of written history.”

“How did the curse wake it?”

“No,” she whispered firmly.

“No?”

“The curse did not wake it. It only strengthened it, reminded the wendigo of the path from the Shadowlands to this realm. It was already awake.”

“Why? Why is it waking?”

“Some can be reached in their dreams. If people turn to cannibalism, the wendigo dreams it. From there, it might hunt in its sleep, but it will return to its hibernation.”

“Cannibalism,” I said.

“Not this one. Someone is walking the Shadowlands. Their footsteps echo in the night. The peace of the twins is broken and soon all the sleeping spirits will rise.”

“Armageddon.” Verses of Revelation came unbidden out of my memory.

“Apocalypse,” she corrected. “Armageddon is a battle to end all battles. This will be a one-sided slaughter.”

“So the person who wrote the curse is traveling through the Shadowlands waking things up?”

“No,” she whispered.

“No?”

“The person who cursed Valente is not strong enough to walk the Shadowlands. The two events are not directly related.”

“Not directly. But there is a link?”

“There are many links, Colin Fisher. For example, you tie both events together by your interest.”

I needed the right question, but I couldn’t come up with it. The Eye of Winter was trying to avoid saying something and I suspected she had centuries of experience at not saying things she didn’t want to say. I would need to offer a greater payment or be satisfied with what she was willing to give. “Tell me what you want to tell me.”

“There is much that I want to tell you, Colin Fisher. Perhaps I will have the chance if you focus on the immediate. Kill the wendigo and break the curse. Overreach too soon, too fast, and you will die.”

I nodded. She made sense. The wendigo was enough without worrying about faceless men or a shadow-walker. “How do I kill it?”

“The peace is broken, but the twins’ allies are still bane to their enemies.”

“Summer and steel,” I said.

“Use what belongs to them and you can hurt it.” She paused. “Or let winter flow through your veins and you can control it, turn it back against your foes.” Her fingers reached up and slowly dragged along my cheek. “I could show you how, wizard-knight.”

The air grew colder almost instantly. My skin rose in goose bumps in response to the heady mix of chill, thrill, and terror. “I cannot pay the price for such a gift, Eye of Winter.”

Her smile was filled with pity and premonition. “The day is coming when you will wish that you had. But the choice that is made cannot be unmade.” She leaned forward and the stench of her breath grew thick around me. “But you have not answered me as to the girl. When you are ready to know of Sarai, you need only speak my name and I will come.”

What she whispered in my ear next, her lips almost pressed to my frozen lobe, was so terrible, so crushingly sad, so unspeakable, I forgot each word as soon as the sound passed. Only the emotion remained, the horrific certainty that what remained of my life was so disturbing, so violated, that when death finally found me, I would be grateful.

Days passed as we knelt there in the cold and stink. “What did you say?”

The Eye of Winter leaned back and smiled. “I told you your true love’s story.”

13

T
he fairy was gone, but her taint remained, like a frozen fetid blanket over my sanctuary. I tried to help the natural currents of energy wash away her lingering presence, but I was too distracted to be of much help. The Eye of Winter was high fae. She couldn’t outright lie. If she said that she had whispered the story of my true love to me, then she had. She might have mixed in other things as well, but then she might not have. I didn’t think she had. She had told me about my love life, past, present, and future, and it had two effects on me. First, the defense mechanisms in my brain were valiantly trying to wipe every memory of every syllable from my synapses. The second reaction was to tear me between killing myself or making those responsible for such tragedy suffer horrific torments.