Song of the Beast by Carol Berg

Author:Carol Berg
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2010-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

“Are you going to sit up and drink this or am I going to have to pour it over your head?”

Steam tickled my nose. Meadowsweet and wintergreen. Pungent and soothing. The best remedy in the world for general aches and pains, of which I had an abundance. The blazing bonfire that seared my face so pleasantly was quickly bringing my frozen parts back to uncomfortable life. I would really rather sleep. Lara had interrupted me just as I drifted off, cutting me loose from the tree, dragging me across the ground, and throwing my cloak on top of me while she built up the fire.

I was lying on my side an arm’s reach from the flames, shivering under my cloak, the tin cup just in front of my nose. I didn’t look up, afraid I might provoke Lara into leaving again while still in possession of that steaming container of salvation. But as usual I couldn’t resist a word.

“I thought you weren’t going to cook for me.” My teeth were thawed enough to chatter unmercifully, blunting the careful precision of my wit.

“I decided I would rather cook than dress you. Found your precious herbs in your pocket. If you drink it, then maybe you can take care of yourself.”

Slowly I eased myself to sitting and held out both shaking hands to let her slip the cup between them.

She held back for a moment. “It’s very hot.”

“It doesn’t matter. The sense ... the feeling ... doesn’t work right.”

I clenched my palms about the cup and got it carefully to my mouth, letting the hot liquid begin to quiet my violent shivering and settle into the bruised places.

“I never thought you would uproot the whole tree. The branch was rotten. One good jerk should have broken it.” She sat herself away from the fire where I couldn’t see her face, wrapping her arms about her knees. My skin shrank around my aching bones when I saw the dead wolf just beyond her, an arrow protruding from its side.

“I wanted a big fire.”

She laughed then, a quiet laugh that flowed softly about us like the lowest arpeggio on a fine harp. “Have you no blood in your veins? I don’t understand you at all.”

“I do murder in my dreams,” I said.

She shook her head. “You weep in your dreams. You scream without making a sound.” She stood up, threw a branch onto the bonfire, and wandered away for a bit. When she came back, she tossed my bloodstained shirt and gloves onto the ground in front of me. “We need to move.”

“You think they’ll come back?”

“Desmond will bring the legion. I had to kill Rueddi.”

“Vanir’s fires. Lara ...” There was nothing to be said, of course. No comfort possible for one whose hopes were shattered so irrevocably. Not from me, certainly. And she’d want no thanks from me either. “Do we need to warn the Elhim?”

“When we get to the kai’s lair, I’ll light a watchfire on the peak. Narim will see it and understand.

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