The Hallowed Hunt

thousand-first that matters most to me?'

'I do not know.'

'And that is the sum of Temple wisdom?'

'It is the sum of my wisdom, and all the truth I know.'

Was Temple wisdom like a father’s safety, then, an illusion? And it always had been? Would you rather Lewko told you comforting lies? Ingrey could not walk back through that veil of time and experience to a child’s sight again, and wasn’t sure he would if he could. Ijada stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder, lending the comfort of her presence, if not the comfort of some more desirable answer. He let himself absorb the warmth of her body against his for a moment, then touched her hand for release and stepped forward.

From a pouch on his belt he fumbled out a fine new penknife, purchased in Easthome for this moment. The thin blade reflected the face of the moon in a brief blink. Ijada gritted her teeth along with Ingrey as he took it in his left hand and pressed the edge into his right index finger. He squeezed his fist and raised his hand to the top of the fog-shape.

The drops fell through onto the trampled snow in a spatter of small black circles.

Ingrey’s breath drew in, and he clutched the knife harder. Lewko barely caught his arm as he made to stab his hand more deeply.

'No, Ingrey,' Lewko whispered. 'If a drop will not bless it, neither will a bucketful.'

Ingrey exhaled slowly as Lewko let go again, and tucked the knife back in the pouch. Whatever of his hallow kingship lingered in his blood, it seemed it had no power over this. I had to try.

He took a long, slow, last look, wondering what to say. Fare well seemed a mockery, be at peace little better. He moistened his lips in the frosty, luminous air.

'Whatever you thought you were about, the thing you began here is finished, and done well. Your sacrifice was not in vain.' He thought of adding I forgive you, then thought better of it. Fatuous, foolish, hardly to the point now. After a moment he merely said, 'I love you, Father.' And, after another, 'Come.'

The dark wolf-smoke spun out from the pale fog and through his fingers, and away.

More slowly, the frost-fog dissipated as well, with a last faint blue sparkle.

'The god did not take him up,' Ingrey whispered.

'He would if He could have,' Lewko murmured back. 'The Father of Winter, too, weeps at this loss.'

Ingrey was not weeping, yet, although little trembles ran through his body. He could feel the second sight fading from his eyes, the gift returned. Ijada came to him again and tied a strip of clean linen around his finger. They wound their arms around each other.

'Well... ' Learned Lewko signed them both. 'It is finished.' His voice grew more gentle. 'Will you not come in out of the cold, my lord and lady?'

'Soon,' sighed Ingrey. 'Moonset over the Birchbeck is worth a shiver or two.'

'If you say so.' Lewko smiled and, with a nod of farewell, clutched his coat about himself and made his way down the steps, careful now on the ice.

Ingrey stepped behind Ijada and rested his chin on her shoulder, the both of them staring out over the valley.

'I know this was not what you’d hoped, with Lord Ingalef,' said Ijada after a time. 'I’m sorry.'

'No, it wasn’t. But it was better than nothing, and vastly better than never knowing. At least all is concluded, here. I can go and not look back.'

'This was your childhood home.'

'It was. But I am not a child anymore.' He hugged her a little fiercely, squeezing a breath of a laugh from her belly. 'My home has a new name, and she is called Ijada. There will I abide.'

Her warm laugh now was voiced, enough to make moon-mist before her lips.

'Besides,' he said, 'I expect Badgerbridge is warmer in the winter than Birchgrove, am I not right?'

'In the valleys, yes. There is snow enough on the upper slopes, should you miss it.'

'Very good.'

After a dozen slowing breaths, he added, 'He did not seem to be in any great pain or torment. So. I have seen my fate. I will not fear it.'

Ijada said thoughtfully, 'Mine and Fara’s, too, if you do not outlive us to cleanse our souls in turn.'

'I scarcely know which order dismays me more.' He turned her to face him, and stared in worry into her eyes, wide and dark with a faint amber rim in the blue shadows. 'I must pray I may go last, mourning and unmourned. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.'

'Ingrey.' She placed her chilled hands on either side of his face, and brought it directly before her intent gaze. 'A year ago, could you even have imagined, let alone predicted, standing here being what you now are?'

'No.'

'Neither could I have imagined me. So perhaps we should not be so sure of our future fate, either. What we don’t know of it is vastly larger than what we do, and will surely not stop surprising us.'

His thoughts sped back to that night in Oxmeade, where the black fit had come upon him and he had so nearly cut his own throat. He still was not sure if that had been Horseriver’s doing, or all his own. I would have missed all this. 'I met four thousand unexpected souls who would agree with you, banner-carrier.'

'Then let their vote rule your mind in this, as well.'

'Ah.' The bleak midnight mood was losing its hold upon him, in favor of her wool-wrapped warmth.

She added, 'It is premature to call yourself the last shaman, too, I think. You yourself could make more great beasts and spirit mages.'

'I would not send any other into this state unless I knew they could find a way out again.'

'Indeed. And do you think the Temple must always oppose the old forest magics? If they came in some fresh version, reformed to our new days?'

'That would take much thought. Five gods know we’ve seen the troubles the old ways can cause.'

'Yet the Temple manages its sorcerers, and not perfectly. Look at poor Cumril, for one. But they manage well enough to go on with. And we both know divines who are capable of much thought, now.'

'Huh.' His eyes narrowed in a hint of hope.

'You are very arrogant, wolf-lord.' Her hands gave his head a tiny, reproving shake.

'Ah? What now, sweet cat?'

'How can you say that multitudes yet unborn shall not mourn you greatly? It is not yours to dictate their hearts.'

'Do you prophesy, lady?' he inquired lightly, but even as he spoke a shiver ran through his belly, as though he had heard a weirding voice.

She shrugged. 'Let us agree to endure our fates, and find out.'

Her lips were warm, like rising sunlight chasing an icy moon. She rubbed her face against his, sighing contentedly. But then added, 'Your nose is cold, wolfling. You are not so hairy that I take this as a sign of health in you. If we are ever to be ancestors and not just descendants, perhaps we should return to that feather bed your cousin promised us.'

He snickered and released her. 'Aye, to bed then, for the sake of our posterity!'

'And I can thaw my feet on your back,' she added practically.

Ingrey yipped in mock-dismay, and was graced with her fairest laugh yet. The sound lifted his heart like a promise of dawn, in this longest night of the year.

Arm in arm, they descended the snowy steps.