The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) Page 4

  “The truth, Midgardian. Long ages have passed since one of your kind came to Alfheim. We wish to know how you have done so.”

  “I have given you the truth. I do not know. I was attacked. When I awoke, I was in sight of your shore and my ship made landfall.”

  “Then the Allfather did not send you?” There was a hint of relief in the First’s voice.

  It was a question Raef had asked himself more than once. “I do not know.”

  “You spoke his name before. Do all Midgardians speak of him with such familiarity?”

  Raef was surprised by this line of questioning. “I thought you knew my people well.”

  The First’s eyes narrowed and Raef could see his pulse quicken in his throat. “Do not speak of that which you know nothing.”

  Now Raef let the anger flare. “Now you accuse me of being ignorant of my own people. Or is it Odin One-Eye you speak of? Why do you fear him so?”

  “Enough.” The bellicose female Guardian stepped between them. “I have had enough of your insults. Speak again in that manner and they will be your final words.”

  “I only give in kind what is given to me.”

  She lunged at him, her hands reaching for his throat. Raef stepped to the side, took hold of her forearm, and pulled. Off balance, the Guardian lurched sideways toward him. Raef snaked an arm around her neck and pulled her close, keeping her between him and the others, who were just beginning to react to the violence. The Guardian gasped for air, but Raef gave her little. The others demanded her release but seemed uncertain of what action to take. At last, two of the male Guardians advanced on him and Raef pushed her to the ground to meet their attack.

  Though one was powerfully built, neither was a trained warrior. Their swings were clumsy and ill-timed. Raef evaded them with little effort and circled to keep them off his right shoulder. The taller one tried to move behind Raef and was rewarded with a kick to his knee. He buckled to the ground. The other, his eyes on his fallen companion, dropped his guard, and Raef soon had him on his knees.

  Raef, his breath coming faster now, stood to face the rest. “I am not your enemy, but I will defend myself. I have done nothing to deserve this.” The commotion had drawn onlookers and then Raef saw the now-familiar shadows of four dragon-kin descend on the clearing. Riders jumped from their backs, all armed with long blades, and the creatures swooped low over Raef’s head.

  Raef, his eyes on their sharp swords, did not resist the riders, knowing his life would end if he did. Using the hilts of their swords rather than the blades, the warriors descended on him. The first blow struck his temple. Raef grit his teeth and did not cry out. The third found his broken ribs and the pain darkened Raef’s vision. The fifth, aimed at the back of his knee, brought him to the ground. When at last the beating stopped, Raef’s world was reduced to his own heartbeat and the blood he could taste on his lips.

  He was dragged, that much he knew, but only a short distance. Words were spoken but Raef could not focus enough to understand them. Raef felt a knife put to his cheek and a fresh trickle of blood to the corner of his mouth told him it had made a mark, but so complete was his pain, he did not feel it. More words, angry ones this time, and then he was pulled in a different direction, his arm wrenched so hard it nearly released from the socket.

  The ground slid underneath Raef, moss and mushrooms, dirt and tiny white flowers, then he was hoisted up and slung over a shoulder. Their pace quickened, each bouncing step jolting his throbbing ribs. More than once he felt himself slip into the dream world, but each time he pulled himself back from the brink, determined to stay conscious, though why he did not know.

  The sun, descending to the horizon, cast long shadows ahead of whoever carried Raef, fleet footed giants they seemed, their strides smooth and swift. On and on they went, tireless and surefooted, until the sun began to drip below the horizon. Only then, in the first moments of twilight, did they halt. Raef was deposited on the ground, his hand left to trail in flowing water. In the gathering dark, Raef heard voices, soft whispers, some urgent, others calm, and then a cool, wet cloth was pressed to his forehead and another began to clean the cut on his cheek and the blood from his nose. Raef, unable to open his eyes completely, could only see that the figures leaning over him were hooded, their features swallowed as much by Raef’s exhausted mind as by darkness. Fingers prodded the swollen lump at his temple and a pair of hands roaming over his chest discovered the true source of pain and elicited Raef’s first reaction.

  Raef thrust the hands away and squirmed on the ground, trying to shield his ribs from further examination. Strong hands gripped his wrists and, though he struggled, soon pressed him against the ground. The hands probed no more but the cloth was returned to his forehead, this time smelling of flowers that bloomed under a summer’s moon. Sweet and rich, the odor seeped into him, stilling his mind, filling him with drowsiness. He knew that scent and it seemed important that he remember its name, but it slipped away from him, lost to the clutches of scented sleep.

  FIVE

  The trees were singing again. Raef opened his eyes to see green leaves and golden light above him. He lay on the ground, surrounded by purple flowers, but he had been moved in his sleep. His hand no longer rested in the gentle stream though the sound of water was still close. Instead, he was nestled between two protruding roots of a towering tree and his stained clothes had been exchanged for fresh linen, a loose shirt with a deep, pointed neckline and pants dyed to a dark green and tucked into his battered boots. His silver arm rings still curled around his forearms, the wolf heads gleaming softly in the light. Raef’s pain was dulled, but every part of him ached. Still, he pushed himself up onto one arm, anxious to see his surroundings.

  He was not alone. A female figure sat on a tree stump across the small clearing. The purple flowers were thick on the ground between them. If she noticed Raef’s movement, she did not show it, keeping her eyes on the blade she was sharpening. Only when Raef spoke did she look up.

  “Is that the weapon I am to be executed with?” Raef did not try to hide the bitterness in his voice. To his surprise, the stranger laughed. The sound was bright and strong and true.

  “It is not your blood I wish to spill with this sword. It is intended for other purposes.” She sheathed the blade and rose from the stump. Her skin was darker than Aerath’s, rich and warm.

  “What fate can I expect, then?”

  “Only the Norns know the answer to that.” The stranger walked toward Raef and he saw faded blue in her eyes. “Though perhaps I have played some part in it.” Her gaze scanned over Raef’s battered body. “I have tried to save your life.”

  Raef frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The stranger squatted down to Raef’s level. Her eyes were hard but when she smiled again, her eyes smiled, too. “I will answer your questions. But first we must look to your recovery.” Turning her head, she whistled and two smaller figures, young alfar, Raef realized, emerged from beyond the clearing carrying wooden bowls filled with food. These they set before Raef and then filled an empty one with water from the stream. Raef glanced at his host and then started with the warm, flat bread, tearing off large chunks and washing them down with gulps of water. The small eggs soon followed, along with the plums and berries, and at last Raef cleaned the whole fish from its bones.

  When he had drained the last of the water from the bowl, the stranger filled it again, then sat down cross-legged close to Raef. She placed the bowl between them.

  “I am called Finnoul.”

  Raef had not expected to be given a name so readily.

  “I have heard you are called Raef.”

  Raef nodded.

  “My people have done you grievous injury, Raef, but I do not ask you to forgive them. I wish now that we had come for you sooner.”

  “What do you mean, come for me?”

  “We watched Aerath bring you to the hall of the Guardians but did not intervene.”

  “And why would you intervene? Wh
at am I to you?”

  Finnoul took a deep breath. “I and those who follow me seek to undermine the Guardians, to remove the yoke they have chained us with.”

  “A rebellion.”

  Finnoul nodded. “The Guardians have ruled Alfheim since light first shone on this soil. They were wise, once, strong, too, but benevolent and just. Leaders we could be proud of. But that changed, long before my lifetime. They are as you have seen them. Petty, arrogant, suspicious, fearful, and quick to anger. My people, ancestors of those you see today, swallowed this change as you would water, without any realization of what they did, until our traditions twisted into a sullied version of what we once knew and we became a shadow of ourselves.” Finnoul paused and took a drink from the bowl. “A few families held onto the truth, the memories, and passed down dreams of the past to their children. Thus was my rebellion born.”

  “No word of discord in Alfheim has spread to us.”

  “Nor would it. In a history as long as ours, we are but a tiny moment, a speck of dust on the wind. We are a child. But we are growing. For now, though, the Guardians do not fear us. They hardly acknowledge our existence. But they do not know our true numbers, they do not understand our conviction.” Finnoul looked at Raef for a long moment. “But enough of that. It is time we took greater care of your wounds. Can you stand?”

  “Yes.” With Finnoul’s arm keeping him steady, Raef got to his feet and took a deep breath.

  “We have a skilled healer. Come.”

  Though the beating had taken its toll, Raef felt better with each step. They passed out of the clearing, crushing purple blossoms beneath their feet, and Finnoul led him along the small stream, taking care to steer him clear of slick rocks and fallen branches. In time, the forest fell away and the land opened into a wide meadow in full bloom. Flowers of every hue spread out in front of Raef. Deep, rich reds, translucent yellows on slender green stalks, pinks with wide petals streaked with white, tiny blues that pointed at the ground rather than turn their faces to the sun. And the scents. Sweet like honey, a hint of spice, and underneath it all, dark, good earth. Beyond the field of flowers, the forest marched on and the land began to rise, shaping into hills and, in the distance, mountains.

  A single tree, tall and ancient, rose up in the meadow, its branches sprawling out from a wide, sturdy trunk, and it was there that Finnoul led him. Vines creeping up the bark concealed much of the trunk and Raef began to ask if the healer was meeting them there when Finnoul reached out and pushed the vines aside, revealing a narrow opening in the wood. Finnoul slipped into the crevice in the trunk and pulled Raef in after her. So thick was the tree that they could both fit with ease, and, as Raef’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that the ground and roots gave way to a spiral staircase that had been carved out of the interior, descending deep into the ground. Faint, flickering light reached up from the darkness below.

  Raef peered over the edge. “You live underground?”

  “This is our haven, should the Guardians come looking. But you will see that it is more than a hole in the ground.”

  Finnoul spoke true. The staircase dropped them onto a stone ledge. Beyond and below, a great cavern opened up, so large, Raef could not fathom how far it spread. Though torchlight illuminated some, the dark recesses were shrouded from sight. The ceiling was covered with sharp protrusions of stone that hung down, some fat and thick, others narrow and impossibly long. They reflected the firelight, a glittering roof to this underground world. Finnoul followed Raef’s gaze.

  “Our own starry night.” Finnoul pointed far to the left. Between the pillars of stone that stretched from the ground to the ceiling, Raef could make out a small lake. “Fresh water. And room enough to house any who wish to join us.” They descended again, much farther this time, on a narrow staircase hewn from the cave’s wall. Raef moved slowly, careful not to antagonize his ribs. When he did reach the bottom, the enormity of the cavern was even more astonishing. It was largely empty. A few figures moved between light and shadow but in greater numbers were the crates, barrels, and sacks in neat stacks and piles.

  “Supplies. Gathered over time and with much sacrifice.” Finnoul turned and called out. “Ylloria. Our guest is here.”

  Another female approached Raef. She did not once look in his eyes, but instead assessed every part of him that was swollen, bruised, and bloody. “I could have done much more last night.” Only then did she meet his gaze. “You should not have resisted.”

  “You should not have prodded so hard.”

  Finnoul laughed but Ylloria did not seem amused. She turned and retreated the way she had come. Raef looked to Finnoul, who, still grinning, motioned for him to follow. “Only once have I seen Ylloria smile. But she does good work.”

  Ylloria settled Raef on a blanket on the cavern floor. He stretched out and soon her cool hands went to work. There was no tenderness, only skill, as she placed a warm compress on the bump on his temple, rubbed the juice of a crushed plant on the slice on his cheek, and smoothed a waxy substance on the biggest, blackest bruises on his torso. She left the broken rib bones for last.

  “These are not new,” Ylloria said. She kept her touch light but seemed to glean all the information she needed from just that.

  “No. A battle.”

  “How long ago?”

  “It is hard to say.” Raef thought for a moment. “I have known the sun to rise twenty-two times since the battle ended. But of my travel here, I have no memory. It must have taken time.”

  Ylloria accepted this without comment. “The healing process has been interrupted. It will take longer now. But I can give you something to help the strengthen the bones.” Ylloria began to prepare something in a small pot over her fire. Of the many ingredients, Raef recognized only two but Ylloria was intent on her work and he did not ask of the rest. The healer did not speak again until steam rose from the contents. “I will give you some now, but it will be stronger by nightfall. Return to me then.” She dipped a cup into the liquid and handed it to Raef. It smelled of a forest after a summer rain. Raef blew on it to dull the heat and then emptied the cup in two swallows. It was both sweet and bitter, but not unpleasant. Raef thanked her and then he and Finnoul made their way out of the cavern and back to the world above.

  “Does she stay down there always?” Raef blinked in the sunlight after emerging out of the tree. The flowers around him waved in the gentle breeze.

  “Ylloria? No, though she enjoys the peace and quiet of the earth. She says it is a good place for healing and spends more time below than the rest of us. I would rather the cavern remain our last refuge than our home. We belong in the light.”

  “Where do you live, then?”

  Finnoul smiled. “I will show you.” She whistled and a dragon-kin swooped out of the sky a moment later. This one was the largest Raef had seen yet and its skin was a deep orange.

  “You have dragon-kin as well?”

  Finnoul’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course.”

  “I thought the Guardians might keep them from you.”

  “It would not be wise for them to try. The bond between dragon-kin and rider is strong and not easily broken.” Finnoul climbed on to the beast’s back and helped Raef up. “Have you flown before?”

  “Once, with Aerath.”

  “Good. But this will not be the same.”

  The power of the dragon-kin’s wings as they lifted from the ground was astonishing and Raef’s heart had beaten only twice before they were above the tree. Rather than rise higher, they skimmed just above the highest branches, picking up speed with every pulsing beat of the wings. And then the meadow was gone and the forest rushed by beneath them, followed by hills, green at first, then stony and unlike any Raef had ever seen. The rocky surfaces were striped with layers of color as varied as the flowers in the meadow. In Vannheim, streaks of dull reds and browns and even a bit of green were common enough, minerals built into the rock, but here it was as though countless rainbows had come to re
st after a spring storm and Raef stared in wonder.

  But then the painted hills were gone, replaced by dark, grim granite peaks that pushed upward to dizzying heights and it was into this realm of stone that the dragon-kin flew, sweeping over slabs of black rock, twisting around jutting, scraping spirals that threatened to knock them from the sky, diving and darting, never straying far from the slopes of the mountains. Death, it seemed to Raef, was but a hair’s breadth away, a tiny mistake would send him tumbling to the unforgiving stone. But it was a thrill beyond anything Raef had ever experienced and he was grinning when the dragon-kin finally slowed its pace.

  They had climbed high, though the summits were still far above, and the dragon-kin landed on a wide ledge that curved out over a deep ravine filled with roaring water. Finnoul leaped to the ground and spread her arms wide. Her joy at such a place was clear. “My home.” A hall clung to the mountainside, much of it carved from rock and larger than Raef could have imagined for something perched so high. Though hewn from rough stone, it was all curves and delicate arches, and the beaming sunlight made it beautiful. “This place is old and was nearly forgotten to us. I have made it mine.”

  Raef turned to look out on the land below. A gentle breeze caressed the ledge and the air was quiet, undisturbed by voices or the chatter of birds. So exposed, it would be a violent place in a storm. Beating winds, lashing rains, bolts of lightning. And the thunder would roll across the stone and make it tremble. But Raef suspected that Finnoul would cherish her home even in such weather. It was a home unlike any other.

  “Do others live so high?”

  “A few. Most of my people keep to the trees below.”

  “Do the Guardians know where to find you and yours?”

  “They do not see the need to look. Not yet.”

  “What of Aerath?” It was a question Raef had wanted to ask for some time.