Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Ervod went pale. “Colonel!”

“They do make exceptions, and in the case of our current mission I don’t think they’ll mind. In fact, I don’t care if they do. If this wind takes us up the river and saves us having to march the whole way, I’m all for it.”

“You mean, we might end up in the middle of a battle on a river?”

Konowa shrugged. “It would seem anything is possible these days.”

Major Alstonfar appeared in the hatchway. “Ah, here you are, Colonel. Captain. The men and Miss Synjyn have assembled.”

Konowa went to pat Ervod on the back then thought better of it. The man was jumpy enough. “If our course changes again, let me know. Otherwise, assume we’re going upriver and plan accordingly.” He plucked the map from the captain’s hands and followed Pimmer back out and across the deck.

He started to head into the passageway to his cabin when he heard something. It was so distant, so quiet, that he wasn’t sure it was there at all. He was about to brush it off when he heard it again.

“Colonel?” Pimmer said.

“Do you hear that?”

“What? All I can hear is the wind and the ship,” he said.

Konowa shook his head. “No, something else.” He strained to hear it again and this time picked up something. It was coming from the direction of his father. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked toward his father, who he realized had been facing in the direction they were now headed before the ship changed course. As he got closer, he heard the sound again. It was. . droning, or maybe chanting. He walked up to his father and looked closely at his face. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving. Konowa leaned in. The chanting wasn’t coming from his father, but his lips were moving in perfect time with it. Either Jurwan heard it, too, or he was somehow controlling it.

Konowa looked up where the main mast used to be. He’d assumed everything that had happened on the dock until now had been his mother’s doing. Tyul, crazy bloody elf that he was, had climbed the shimmering tree and was sitting in one of its top branches, rocking back and forth. How he got there let alone stayed there defied more than Konowa was prepared to consider. Tyul’s bond with his Silver Wolf Oak must be playing a part. Konowa shook his head and looked back at his father and found himself staring into his open eyes.

“I know she is dead, and I will grieve in time,” Jurwan said.

Konowa jumped backward, almost falling on the deck. “Damn it, Father! You could scare an elf out of his skin like that! How long have you been back?”

Jurwan sighed and rolled his shoulders as if just waking up. “I was never away, I just wasn’t here.”

Konowa groaned. “I forgot how fun it is to talk with you.” He started to reach out to hug the elf, then remembered and stopped. “I missed you.”

Jurwan reached forward and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight. Konowa was too surprised to react at first, but when he did he hugged him back. No frost fire sparked between them. When Jurwan let go there were tears in his eyes. “I am sorry about your mother. She was always strong-willed. You two are so much alike.”

It was the first time Konowa had ever heard his father say that. Before today he would have laughed to hear the comparison, but now, it touched him so deeply he thought he might start crying himself. He coughed and pointed at his father. “There was no frost fire.”

“I carried the black acorn with me for some time, time enough for quite a bit of Her poison to rub off on me,” he said.

“Are you okay?” Konowa asked.

Jurwan brought a hand up to his cheek as if to stroke some whiskers, but then brushed some hair from his eyes. “As water is in rain or mud.”

“I’ll take that as close enough,” Konowa said. He motioned to the sea around them. “Is this you? Are you the one driving us?”

For an answer, Jurwan walked toward the area where the main mast used to be. Konowa followed.

“It’s the deep forest that calls us home. I am merely helping to guide us by the safest path. The Wolf Oaks are powerful, but they have little concept of travel. They would pull us straight across the land to Her mountain, so I am gently steering us to a more advantageous route.”

“The river,” Konowa said.

“Yes. I thought it the wiser course. It will take a little longer, but we will arrive in one piece.”

“I didn’t know they could do that,” Konowa said, realizing just how much of his own culture he was ignorant of.

“There’s much they can do, but little they’ve done, until now. They sense the danger.”

“About bloody time,” Konowa said. “Any chance they’ve got some other tricks up their sleeves, er, trunks, we might use?” he asked half-jokingly.

Jurwan sat down on the deck and faced the wind. He closed his eyes and placed his hands in his lap. “I will ask.”

Konowa stared openmouthed at his father for a moment then decided he’d leave him to it. “Tell them. . thanks,” he said.

“They say you’re welcome,” Jurwan said. Konowa looked closely and saw the tiniest smirk on his father’s face. He shook his head and left his father to commune with nature as he walked back toward his cabin. A flapping noise caught his attention and he turned in time to duck as Wobbly launched himself into the wind just over Konowa’s head. The pelican strained to get airborne, its huge wings flapping madly as it careened off some rigging and took a dangerous turn over the railing and down toward the water. Konowa ran over to the side and peered down, almost throwing up in the process. The sight of the rushing water made his knees buckle. He looked up and saw Wobbly slowly gaining height and heading due north before he started to tack east and kept turning until he flew right back over the Black Spike heading south. Konowa watched him until he disappeared from sight, said a silent wish for good luck for the bird, and walked to his cabin. He found the assembled group dispiritingly small, but he trusted every one of them with his life and that made up for a lot.

As he looked at each person in the room, he realized they were more than fellow soldiers and travelers. This really was his family. It was an odd thought, and far too sentimental for what they were about to face and what he would ask of them, but it was the truth.

He opened up the map and gave a corner each to Corporal Feylan and Corporal Vulhber to hold. The big man smiled and Konowa nodded back. He let out a breath and took off his shako, tossing it to Color Sergeant Aguom who deftly caught it and tucked it under his arm. Konowa turned to the map and pointed to the Greater Kantanna River.

“This time tomorrow, we’ll be at the foot of Her mountain. So, here’s what I’m thinking. .”

Konowa slept little as the Black Spike churned its way through the Xephril Straits. He doubted he’d ever become used to the unnatural speed and the constant protest of wood and sail from the ship, but that wasn’t what made his sleep fitful. Nor was it the sound of soldiers and sailors hammering, sawing, and shouting as they worked to transform the Black Spike for what would most likely be a one-way trip up the river. It was, as it so often was, a bloody dream.

The scene remained unchanged. There was the birthing meadow, the Shadow Monarch’s Silver Wolf Oak, and a figure that he thought was Her, but now knew was himself. And as before, he held an ax in his hands. A voice told him repeatedly to do it, to swing the ax. He tried to make sense of what it really meant. The figure kneeling by the Wolf Oak turned, and this time it was the Shadow Monarch.

“Now I understand,” he said, hefting the ax in preparation to kill Her. He paused. She looked old and frail. A frightened little elf. Damn it! The ax started to fall to his side, but then the voice started up again, louder, more insistent. He shook his head. It was a trick. She might be old, but she wasn’t as she appeared before him. She was the Shadow Monarch, and Her power was untold. This was a test. If he couldn’t swing the ax in his dream, how the hell could he do it when the time came? He gritted his teeth and swung with all his might, taking the Shadow Monarch’s head clean off.