Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) (3 page)

“That is not very pure.”

The bellowing laughter from the orc shakes the amphitheater and sends a spray of spittle across the other god’s face. “Of course it’s pure! It is mortal foolishness to think purity is exclusively good. If that were the case then one couldn’t be considered pure evil like your old master has been called since the ancient times. Rage, love, sadness, and all of the emotions in our hearts can fall within Zaria’s venue. You see, Hell Lord, she merely prefers goodness and nobility because that is her true nature. Yet she can indulge in the darker side of her purpose at any moment and not be punished. Her realm is so vast that I feel I’m not doing it justice with my words. Let me try to make this explanation more simplistic and basic for you. All one needs is to hold something in their heart and never let it get mixed with distractions. Pure rage, pure love, and pure misery are only some of the scars that she bears beneath her skin. That is her truth and it’s one that mortals don’t give her any credit for.”

“I find it amazing that you older gods know all these things and only tell me when it suits your ego,” Gabriel points out, bristling at the superior tone of the other deity. He scowls at the orc’s toothy yawn and hopes a large boulder will fall on the brute’s head. “I would like to know the reason you indulge in making me look foolish.”

“It’s quite simple,” Ymir explains with a solid pat on his companion’s shoulder. The orc scratches his fiery hair as he walks toward the nearest exit. “You’re supposed to be the smartest, most powerful, and strongest of us all. At least that’s what you claim every day. So shouldn’t you be figuring these things out for yourself? Perhaps your mind has been cluttered and distracted ever since you ascended. This prophecy blinds you to uncovering other truths that are staring you in the face. I guess it’s a good thing that your champions are claiming so many victories. If they win, you will finally be free to open your eyes and find a new path. Though that’s just this angry orc’s humble opinion.”

The Destiny God tries to think of something to say, but Ymir lumbers out of the amphitheater long before he can speak again. Taking a seat in the front row, Gabriel changes his clothes to those of a farmer and transforms his longsword into a rusty pitchfork. Memories from his mortal life flit through his mind, the images too fuzzy and quick for him to remember with any certainty. A low hum causes a distant cloud to transform into a flock of doves that fly around the world and return to rest around the pensive god. A question tickles his thoughts and he realizes that it is the same one he keeps hearing his precious champions ask as they follow the path that he has laid out for them.

“What do I do when this is over?”

1

Thick rain batters the four adventurers as they trudge through the northern wilderness. The thick forests of the south have been left behind and the open hills give them no protection from the raw elements. Even though it is late summer, a cutting arctic wind whips in from the frozen regions to the east, the mixture briefly turning raindrops into hail. There are plenty of bushes with edible berries that the small party eat to extend their dwindling food reserves. Due to the raging weather, none of the champions believe that hunting is a safe option and they are still five days away from the city of Stonehelm. It is bad enough that they already lost their tents and bedrolls to a flash flood, the unexpected storm striking while they slept near a river. That disaster combined with an array of cuts and scratches earned from crossing wide patches of thorny brambles, the adventurers have been silently miserable for most of the afternoon.

Random glimmers of magic surround the champions, but Nyx’s recovering aura is unable to maintain the shield for longer than a minute. Every time the spell fails, the black-haired channeler curses in a different language and stomps her foot. Thanks to her minor outbursts, her pants are caked in mud that has gradually sloughed into her ruined boots. Acting as a scout, Luke stays several yards ahead of his friends and repeatedly shakes water from his matted, blonde hair like a drenched dog. He trusts Timoran to tell him if they are heading in the wrong direction, so he focuses on sensing predators and other dangers. The group has been redirected many times to avoid a lurking beast that would be too much of a hassle to fight. From the sound of the mutters and grumbles, Luke can only assume that he is being thanked for his efforts.

It is late evening when the champions find a hill with a cave that is high enough to avoid floods and has not been claimed by a temperamental predator. To be safe, Timoran roars into the entrance and watches as harmless creatures race out of the hole. Stripping out of their wet clothes, none of the exhausted champions care about being naked in front of the others. Luke arches his eyebrow when he notices the scar on Nyx’s stomach, but a glare from the half-elven channeler makes him hold his tongue. The women put on plain gowns while the men wear loose pants and shirts, the thin garments showing signs that they will not last much longer. Not a word is uttered as they gather around a warm fire and eat a simple meal of trail rations, their clothes laid out to dry by the flickering flames. A decanter of Ifrit mead is passed around to help remove the chill from their bones, Dariana politely settling for a cup of tea made from the last of her supplies. Within an hour, Nyx has gone to the back of the cave where she is snoring like a bear and Luke has fallen into a deep meditative trance.

The sounds of rain dancing on the stones and distant wolf howls bring a tear to Timoran’s deep blue eyes. Childhood memories flow into the barbarian’s mind, each one bringing a wave of warmth to his anxious heart. An approaching form of white catches his attention and breaks his concentration, his strained nerves perceiving the beast as a threat. By the time the albino raccoon wanders into the cave, Timoran is brandishing his tiger-striped great axe and feeling rather foolish. He leans down to sniff at the damp creature, but the sudden movement sends it scampering back into the storm. Running his hands through his red hair, the tired champion wonders again if it is wise to return to his tribe.

“You keep asking yourself that question,” Dariana says, the silver-haired woman taking a seat next to her friend. Her toned limbs are exposed in the white gown, but she shows no sign of being cold. “This journey was inevitable since the Snow Tiger Tribe is tied to your temple. It would seem Gabriel had you planned out rather thoroughly unlike some of our friends. If it helps, this puts you in the same category as myself and Nyx, which isn’t bad company. So relax and let events unfold as they are meant to.”

“That is fairly easy for you to say since you will not have to suffer the consequences of past mistakes,” Timoran claims before he can stop himself. Remembering the telepath’s history and lineage, the barbarian reaches out to pat her hand. “I apologize for my words. In truth, you may understand me better than the others. I am glad that you are by my side, Dariana. The same goes for Luke and Nyx because I do not know if I have the strength to face my tribe alone. I wish the others were able to travel with us. Delvin’s mind, Fizzle’s magic, and Sari’s charms would be very helpful in overcoming the trials that we will face.”

Dariana gives the barbarian a punch on the arm like she has seen him do to their friends, but his confused expression makes her blush. “I’m sorry about that. I thought it was how your people comfort each other. There’s nothing we can do about our situation. You have three powerful allies to defend you. Nyx’s magic will recover soon and you know Luke will fight to the death for all of us. I would do the same. You’re my friend, Sir Wrath, and I have too few of those to let any of them go.”

“I appreciate the concern that all of you have for me,” the barbarian states, a wide smirk appearing on his dour face. Against the ache in his chilled muscles, he looks back at Luke, who has slumped against the wall. “It is fortunate that he could join us considering the recent fight he had with his family. It was nice of Queen Ionia to let him use her scrying room for personal use, but I did not expect his father to be so . . . sensitive about his situation. Perhaps we should not have been entirely honest with them. It reminds me of my youth and how my parents wanted what was best for me. Thankfully, we agreed that I was born to be a warrior and only disagreed on minor things. I miss my parents, but take pride in them dying to protect the tribe. So the small disagreements seem even more ridiculous in retrospect.”

“I never had a childhood with my parents, so I don’t know what you mean by minor things.”

“Things such as what I would wear or eating the last of my father’s favorite food.”

“Are those typical problems?”

“It was for my family.”

“Are you scared to go back because you dishonored your parents?”

Timoran sucks in a breath as if Dariana has punched him in the stomach, his muscles visibly quivering. He slowly gets to his feet and retrieves the bottle of Ifrit mead, his head nearly touching the uneven ceiling. With one long pull, he drains the decanter and raises his arm to smash the container on the ground. He stops when he hears Nyx mumble in her sleep, the half-elf starting to roll toward the blazing fire. Timoran moves to catch the slender woman and carries her back to her original spot in the back. A shudder and several whimpers rock the channeler’s body, revealing that she is starting to have a nightmare. Unwilling to leave his friend alone, the barbarian brings Nyx to the front of the cave where he sits with her curled in his lap like a sick child. Whatever dream was plaguing the channeler has disappeared and she chuckles at the feel of Timoran’s comforting hand on her head.

“I do feel like I dishonored my parents, my tribe, and myself with my actions. Yet there was nothing I could do given the circumstances,” he explains, facing the curious telepath. Timoran’s eyes sparkle in the firelight, tears of anguish trickling out of their corners. “I cannot tell you what happened including why I must remain silent. Everything will be revealed when we arrive in Stonehelm, but I do not feel it is right to speak about my past right now. It is not that I do not trust all of you, but I am merely confused and scared of the future. This is a rather new sensation for me and it revolves around a worry that all of you will walk away when you discover what type of man I really am.”

“You’re a foolish and honorable man, Sir Wrath,” Dariana replies while putting two of her fingers to his forehead. She playfully taps on his mind with her powers, but never pushes far enough to read his thoughts. “I’ve been in there even though I don’t remember what I saw. All I know is that the Timoran we have known all this time is the real one. If anything, you are a better man than we realize. To me, you epitomize the loyalty, honor, and wisdom that every champion should aspire too. Never think that you’re anything less than that. Otherwise, I’ll have Nyx give you a talking to and then we’ll hand you over to Sari.”

“Big dummy,” Nyx mutters in her sleep. She raises her fist to gently bop Timoran on the chin. “Stop being a big dummy and share the food. I’m hungry too. Don’t make me turn you into a . . . thing.”

“I think she is slightly awake,” Timoran whispers as he prepares to place Nyx on the ground next to him. The half-elf grips his wrist and a spell locks her in place, the magic causing his mouth to go dry from fear. “Again, thank all of you for being by my side. I promise to clear my thoughts of doubt and stay true to myself. It appears that this journey is taking a toll on my nerves and mind. Perhaps things will not be as bad as I believe.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dariana replies with a grin. A curious look comes over her face and she rubs her temples with her thumbs. “Why do people say that phrase? That sounds like something one would say to point out a ghost. Maybe they mean spirits as in alcohol, which means I just suggested you get drunk. Could it be a reference to the aura or soul? There are far too many words that share the same meaning in this world. Not to mention those that have multiple meanings. It’s so hard learning these newer phrases. Many of them aren’t even new, but I never heard them until now.”

The barbarian gives the woman a small punch to her arm, the force enough to knock her off-balance. “You have a better handle on things than you believe. Just do what comes natural and we will help you along. From the look of the storm, we might be here for a while, so we will have plenty of time to work on the nuances of modern language.”

“You know we can’t stay here forever.”

“I know, but I hope to wait out the worst of the storm.”

“At least it’s only rain.”

Timoran sniffs at the air and groans in dismay. “Give it a few seconds. What you are about to see is one of the scariest natural threats that this area holds.”

The rain slows down to a trickle and the only sound is the growing howl of a gale that billows over the eastern mountains. A flood of sweltering warmth enters the cave as the arctic wind drives the summer heat toward the west. Across the region, animals hurry to find cover or gather in large groups to survive the incoming storm. Dariana can hear the creatures’ panic, but there is a sense of acceptance that this is natural and expected. She is surprised that nearly every mind is filled with a plan to survive, the animals having lived in constant awareness of what is about to occur. Before she can ask Timoran to explain the strange atmosphere, a snowflake falls in front of the cave. It drifts through the opening and evaporates in the heat before more land on the freezing ground outside. Within a minute, the rainstorm has been replaced by a blizzard that bathes the landscape in white. Drifts swiftly pile up to bury the hardy plants that have evolved to retracted their leaves and berries at the slightest touch of ice. If she did not already know that it is summer, Dariana would swear they are in winter.

“This is amazingly beautiful and scary,” she whispers. The telepath reaches out to run her hand through the two feet of snow that sits outside the cave. “It’s a good thing we found this place. I don’t know how we would have survived out there without Nyx’s magic. Will this last long?”

“It is hard to say, but we will probably have to dig our way out,” Timoran replies while adjusting Nyx in his lap. He flicks a stone into the snow, the projectile disappearing into the white barrier. “This will use up the rain in the clouds, so we will not have to worry about storms for the rest of our journey. A day trapped in this cave while we wait for the summer heat to melt the snow is a small price to pay for safety.”

A small giggle is the only warning Timoran gets before Nyx lashes out with a burst of fire that cuts through the snow. The roaring flame is loud enough to snap Luke out of his trance, the forest tracker leaping to his feet with his sabers drawn. He joins his friends and scratches his head while trying to figure out where the blizzard came from. All of them watch as the channeler’s powerful spell arches into the distance and disappears over the silhouetted mountains. Scared that the young woman will go off again, Timoran gently places Nyx on the ground and moves to the other side of the cave. Dariana and Luke do the same as their slumbering friend appears to kick at someone and releases a bolt of lightning that sparks against the ceiling.

“Dammit, Cunningham. I’m ticklish there,” the raven-haired half-elf mutters before delivering a large smack to her imaginary companion. “Don’t make me set you on fire or zap you.”

“I did not feel like sleeping anyway,” Timoran says as he clutches his enchanted great axe and prepares to deflect any incoming spells.

*****

Nyx wipes the sweat from her brow as she maintains a heat aura to melt the piles of snow in front of her. With her magic back at full strength, she is happy to lead the way and carve a path for her friends. Even with a good night’s rest, it is exhausting work and she moves slowly to avoid harming any hidden plants and animals. Many times, the violet-eyed channeler comes close to setting a buried bush on fire or injuring a cowering rodent. A random surge of energy nearly causes Nyx to send a blistering shockwave ahead, but she swiftly turns the unexpected boost into a blast of lightning that spirals into the sky. She is a little concerned about the power spikes, but assumes that it has been so long since she has had unrestrained access to her aura that she is simply overanxious.

When Luke calls for a stop to check the muddy ground, Nyx breathes a sigh of relief and lets her spell gently fade away. The midday heat of summer beats down on her, causing the channeler to wonder how the snow has not disappeared completely. Moving to the nearest drift, she can see that it is steadily melting and worries that they will face another flood. Touching the nearest mound, a tremble of energy runs around her fingers and gives her a feeling of being at one with the natural world. Nyx is so entranced by the strange sensation and the smell of the mixing weather that she never hears her friends calling. She barely registers the hands on her back as Luke impatiently shoves her into the snow drift, the young woman falling completely under the chest high drift.