The freezing wind whipped stinging pellets of ice into Talar’s face and blew his hood off his head. He dragged it back, holding it in place low over his eyes. The storm had come out of nowhere. Even with a lifetime of knowing the changing mountain weather, it had still caught him off guard.
Goddess sent, his father would say.
Talar had to agree.
Moments ago, a crimson sky heralded the end of a beautiful day and the promise that within a candle mark, he’d reach a well-known small, sheltered campsite. Then a white wall had blasted through the pass, surrounding him within moments.
He urged his mare forward, peering at the blinding curtain. It would be too easy to miss the clearing, and if he did, his chance of survival was slim.
His Goddess had to be toying with him. There was no other explanation–well, perhaps bad luck, but his Goddess had a hand in luck, too. He was tired of games, tired of his tattoos burning one minute and cold the next. He had followed Kaelyn, returned to Mythnar, and willingly agreed to go to Angwyn for her. She was special. Even if the Goddess hadn’t spoken so strongly he’d have known that. But this storm. It was too much. She demanded too much. He screamed his frustration, but the wind tore the breath from his lungs, devouring his voice.
The ground shook and a rumble cut through the howling wind. Snow and rock crashed around him. His mare reared and he scrambled to stay in the saddle. She bucked and jerked against his control. A sudden blast of wind and ice struck him in the chest, throwing him to the ground. His head slammed against hard-packed snow and dirt. Bright specks danced across his vision. His mare skittered away and the blowing storm engulfed her.
He struggled to his feet, uncertain if dizziness made the world spin or just the storm. The mare couldn’t have gotten far, but any tracks she had left were devoured by the blowing snow.
All his supplies were with her. He called out, staggering forward. But it was useless. Even if the horse had been trained to answer commands, there was no way he could yell above the wind. He would just have to hope the poor thing survived and he could find her again once the storm had passed. What he needed now was shelter.
He bent into the wind, searching the pass’s granite walls for shelter–anything, even a crevasse. Something to get him out of the wind and ice long enough to wait out the storm.
He pulled his hood back up, holding it in place with both hands. His face and ears stung. Even his hands, in his leather riding gloves, hurt.
There. A few feet ahead.
The snow swirled in dizzying patterns around him.
A hint of black. It wasn’t the campsite, but it certainly looked bigger than a crevasse.
The wind bit all exposed flesh: face, neck, and up his sleeves and breeches. He ground his teeth against the icy burn and forced one foot in front of the other. Just a little farther.
Snow drifted against the pass wall, circling into the narrow opening in the granite. Talar squeezed through, pausing just beyond the reach of the wind. He slapped his hands together and stamped his feet to get warmth flowing back to his fingers and toes. Once feeling returned, he slid his gloves off, pulled out his flint and steel from his satchel, and lit a small wood shaving from his tinderbox. It caught with a flash, and he peered around in the momentary light for something more significant to burn. Bits of branches and leaves lay scattered around the floor.
The flame licked his fingers and he dropped the tinder. In the dark, he found a branch the length of his forearm and lit it. Before it burned out, he cleared the floor and built a small fire.
The cave wasn’t very big, just deep enough to keep him and his fire away from the wind. More small-animal nesting material was scattered around, enough that if he kept his fire small, he’d have fuel for a couple of days–which he prayed he wouldn’t need–but not enough for him to think a creature had recently called the cave home. Small blessings for that, he supposed.
He sighed, knowing he should gather the rest of the fuel into a convenient pile, but not wanting to bother. What was the point? He was stuck in the cave for as long as the storm lasted, without food and without water. For all he knew, Kaelyn was still in Mythnar and he’d been sent on a fool’s errand.
Sharp pain raced around his wrists. He staggered back, using the wall to keep upright. Goddess, his wrists hadn’t burned like this before. Not even when the Duchess of Dynar had kissed him back in Mythnar. He sucked in air, but it did little to alleviate the pain.
Another jolt of fire raced around his wrists and up his arms. It ignited the Tree of Life scrawling up the left side of his body, filling him with an inferno.
His knees buckled and he slid to the ground, gasping. The agony in his chest constricted his breath. Tears welled in his eyes. He hated to think this was it, his Goddess was finally calling him to the Great Hearth, but he couldn’t help it. How ironic that she’d demand his life just when he’d discovered a purpose again. But it had been Her who had shown him that purpose.
Fire race over him, drawing a scream. He didn’t care. No one was around, he didn’t have to be brave or stoic. He hadn’t been either of those since Delwyn had died. Who was he kidding? He’d never been that. That was why his father always frowned at him, always disapproved. That was why he’d pushed so hard that night, keeping him in the meditation tent even though the Goddess had given Talar the vision of Delwyn’s death.
His sight swarmed with black specks and he sucked air, determined not to pass out. Bright dots took their spot, dancing this way and that with sudden flashes to match the surging inferno in his tattoos.
Goddess, he didn’t want to beg, but there was nothing else he could do. Yes, he’d forsworn her. Yes, he’d started listening to her again. And yes, he was certain she’d been ignoring him, teasing him, taunting him. If this was how she showed her attention, he didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t think he ever had.
The lights brightened, flocking together. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the light was there, too, behind his lids, burning into his head and his soul. It was too much, too hot. He crawled toward the cave mouth. The wind and snow would cool him, chill the fire. But he couldn’t find the entrance. It had just been there. A few paces to his right. He could still hear the howling, but a stillness surrounded him, as if air inside the cave held its breath. Then a blinding light engulfed him.
He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t work. They were weak, unable to hold his weight. Blood rushed in his ears and his heart thumped with slow, painful beats. The light intensified, devouring what remained of the cave. Out of the brilliance, a figure appeared.
Long hair billowed around her, caught in a wind he couldn’t feel. She wore a robe of ever-changing light: white then gold then emerald and on and on through the rainbow and back again. It blurred her features, making it impossible to clearly see her face. But he knew she was breathtaking. She was the Goddess. The Mother of All. The beginning and the end, love and violence, life and death, and everything in between. She was every woman and every man and every thing.
He strained to touch her, his fingers brushing her robes, making them undulate like water. Shamans waited a life-time for this moment, to see Her, to be graced by Her presence, and few ever did. Who was he to deserve the honor? He didn’t even want Her attention.
He staggered to his feet, his legs shaky and uncertain.
The light dimmed just enough for him to see Her smile. Her robes swirled in color and form.
“You are chosen.” A thousand voices and a thousand bells rippled through his soul. Whispers and screams, chimes and peals.
“I don’t deserve to be chosen.”
She glided closer but Her robes still made it difficult to clearly see Her face.
“Everyone has a part to play.”
Parts? Plays? A sudden rage churned in his gut. What minor role had his wife been given? She was more than just a part of the chorus to him, she’d been his everything. The Goddess had written her out of the script before she’d had a chance to really live.
Bile rose at the back of his throat. He was just a puppet to Her. They all were. Toys to have their stings pulled. To live or die at Her whim.
“Oh, Talar.” She reached a hand to his cheek and caressed it. Heat blossomed at Her touch, banking the inferno in his tattoos and filling him with peace. “Everyone has a part.”
She eased back and Her features blurred.
He blinked, and Kaelyn stood before him, her eyes filled with pain.
“Talar, I’m. . . .”
Her image swirled back to the Goddess’s, Her gaze just as troubled.
Everyone has a part.
Kaelyn trembled. “I can’t.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“You must.” The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and she raised her hand, pointing a rapier made of brilliant white light at his heart.
Something in his head growled, something he was holding back, fighting against. Its inky malice sliced through his insides, drawing a new agony.
“I can’t.” Her jaw trembled.
“Please,” he said.
She gulped air.
Red stained his vision as she lunged, driving the blade into his heart. Wailing filled him. Screaming, sobbing, over and over again.
Fire raced anew through his tattoos, engulfing him and he crumpled to the ground, curling around his agony.
