Life’s trials can often blind us and become unbearable. It may even seem at times that there is no hope for us.

But that is the lie. There is always hope.

It just might not come in the form you imagined.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Wendell sighed, but Evan shook his head.

“Til-Thorin is through that,” he said firmly, pointing to the swirling blizzard.

The horses were already exhausted, being pushed day and night. The farmer, Lucas, slipped off his black mare and walked over to stand by Wendell.

“I owe you both so much, for bringing us with you,” he started, “but I have no desire to take my children into such as that.”

“You don’t owe us a thing,” Evan corrected him. “You had your own horse and you fed us. We are the ones who are grateful, Lucas.”

“Where will you go?” asked Miriam.

The farmer looked back at his little girls sitting astride the horse. “I have a brother in Sangil. It’s about time he met his nieces.”

“Then the gods be with you, friend,” Evan shook Lucas’s hand.

Lucas got back onto his horse, behind his daughters, and quickly sunk his heels into its flanks. The mare bolted down the path and out of view.

Wendell kept shaking his head. This was all crazy. Pressure was swelling in his chest and he could feel the danger, the evil, growing around him. He couldn’t shake the feelings from his dreams—the short naps he’d taken along the way were filled with anxiety and fear. It made the shadows seem more real around him. Waiting. Yearning. Wanting.

It terrified him.

“No matter what happens, we have to get to Til-Thorin,” he insisted. “I know you think I’m crazy, Evan. You’ve made it clear that you think your misfortune is my fault,” he stepped almost too close to the blacksmith and whispered, “but you’re wrong. The King of Andilain is in that Keep. My friends are in that Keep. Our only hope of safety from this evil, is in that Keep.”

Wendell stepped back and stood upright, “So with or without you, I’m getting to that Keep.”

“As am I,” added Miriam.

Evan growled in frustration. The two had been at odds since Lucas and his daughters had joined them. Evan would argue about the dangers—how following the mountains to the west was wise. Miriam would counter with village prophecy and assertive directions as the head of the family. Wendell had stayed as far from the discussions as possible, though the blacksmith glared at him at every turn.

She took her son’s hand in hers, cupping his palm while rubbing his fingers. “I know this is much to accept, my son, but I believe Wendell. There is something inside me that whispers, encouraging me to go with him. I believe we will be prospered by doing so.”

Evan pulled his hand away, “How can you say something like that, mother? We’ve lost everything!”

Miriam stepped up into his face, placing both hands on his chest and gripping his tunic firmly. She wrapped her knuckles in the leather and tugged. “Have we? Truly?! What have we lost that matters?” she pleaded, “We have our lives—we have each other! Everything else can be replaced.”

“Everything?” he scoffed, his tone bitter. “I lost the one I loved most in this world.”

Miriam grit her teeth, trying to choke back the tears. Her grip intensified. Nostrils flaring. She stared up at her son, her face flush and she sobbed, “And I lost MINE.”

Her head fell against his chest as she wept.

Slowly, Evan’s arms wrapped around his mother and he held her close as she cried.

Behind them, Livi slipped down from the stallion. She crept up behind her mother and looked up at Evan, waiting until he noticed her.

When he finally looked down, she smiled.

Miriam wiped the tears from her eyes upon the dirty rags enveloping her hands. “Moving on has been the hardest thing in my life,” she choked, “but that is exactly what your father would want me to do.” She reached up and touched Evan’s cheek, “As would Jess.”

Wendell stood in silence, holding the rope to the horses. Hiram used both his hands to push himself upright.

“Can we decide where were going?” he asked, “because I got shot by an arrow, and now my butt hurts.”

Evan laughed.

****

For the first part of the morning, the trails were clear. This made the writing was smooth and fast. But the closer they came to the edge of the blizzard, the less confident Wendell felt.

There was nothing natural about it. The snow and wind whipped about wildly, out of control. It wasn’t just wind or ice. It had a wild life of its own. Lightning cracked across the sky and deafening thunder followed in its wake, making the ground shudder. The frost whipped around them in circular patterns, screaming and biting at them until they were forced to dismount and guide the horses by foot.

Evan placed his mother and siblings upon the stallion.

“We need to use the blankets, mother,” he shouted, “they are more important than your herbs!”

“No, you mustn’t!” she objected, but Evan ignored her and pulled the packages from the horse.

Wendell knelt down beside the blacksmith and shouted, “I may have a solution.” He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his money purse. Keeping a firm grip on the bag, he pulled the string and then held out his hand. “Give me the herbs.”

Evan looked at him as if he had gone mad. Wendell motioned again and the blacksmith finally handed over the stained cloth, containing his mother’s rare concoction.

Wendell took it and bunched it as tight as he could, then pushed it into the purse. “More,” he said, “Give me all of it!”

Piece by piece, Evan handed Wendell the vials, pieces of plant and items wrapped in cloth—and one by one, they disappeared into the tiny container. The blacksmith’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“How did you do that!?”

Wendell was too concerned about Miriam and the children to care much about Evan’s opinion of him at this point. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, but matter-of-factly. He stood up and walked back to the mare.

Evan took the blankets and wrap them tightly around Livi, who straddled in front of her mother. Hiram held onto his mother around her waist. Miriam was left nestled between them as her oldest led the stallion forward.

****

Try as he might, Evan’s anger and determination were little match for the fury of the storm. As he waded through the snow, which had grown to mid calf, he kept his arms tightly folded around his chest. The lead rope hung loosely over his shoulder as he guided the stallion forward. Wendell followed close behind in the stallions tracks, tugging on the mares rope.

Wendell had no idea how much time had passed since they first entered the storm. Everything around them was white. Even the trees, still full of brilliant color hours ago, were now hidden under sheets of ice.

“WE CAN’T KEEP GOING!” shouted Evan, but there was no one to hear him. He looked back at the stallion, which was covered in a heavy layer of frost, carried what looked to be three white cocoons. He stumbled back to the side of the horse and try desperately to brush the snow from his siblings.

Wendell trudged up behind him.

“WE’RE GOING TO DIE OUT HERE!” the blacksmith yelled, holding his arm up as a shield from the wind. He swayed in place, and finally had to reach out to steady himself against the horse.

Wendell kept his head down to keep the ice from his eyes.

He felt helpless as he watched the frozen blacksmith sway in exhaustion. Blue skin, purple lips, ready to fall. What can I do? We have no idea were going…and no way to tell where we are. As cold as it was, the wind and the snow had no effect upon Wendell. His mägoweave was protecting him from the elements.

Mägoweave.

“TAKE OFF YOUR TUNIC!” Wendell yelled into the wind.

Evan stood there, struggling to keep his legs locked.

Wendell wasn’t sure he had even heard him. He reached out and grabbed the frozen blacksmiths tunic and pulled him closer, shaking the fist full of leather. “TAKE THIS OFF!” he shouted again.

“ARE…YOU…INSANE!?” Evan cried back. He started to turn away.

Wendell pulled him back and leaned in close, “My shirt is magic. It’s made to keep you warm—put it on!”

Evan’s face wasn’t just blue, it looked painful. Ice hanging from his hair, nose and eyelashes. He shook his head, “Give it to one of them!”

“No,” Wendell insisted, “you need to lead us, Evan—I need you alive…or we all die!”

There “was glimmer of understanding in his face, but then he frowned. “WHAT ABOUT YOU?”

Wendell could only guess. He had no clue how the magic cloth worked, or whether it would work at all. But he did know that Ithari would do all she could to sustain him. It’s worth a try, he convinced himself. “I’ll be fine,” he shouted back, “—just trade me!”

The blacksmith didn’t hesitate. Peeling his tunic from his skin, he exchanged the wet, frozen leather for the smiley face T-shirt. He huddled close to the stallion turning his head in towards its fur, shaking violently.

Wendell was grateful. He had completely forgotten to hide Ithari from prying eyes. The heavy snowflakes plinked against the surface of the gem as Wendell struggled to pull the tunic over his torso. The sleet slid down his arms and into his armpits. He shivered violently as if doused in ice water from head to toe. Wow, he thought, that’s a lot colder than I thought it would be!

The blacksmith however, pulled the black T-Shirt over his chest and almost immediately stood erect. He turned around and looked at Wendell, his face filled with wonder.

“I’M WARM!” he shouted. The grin on his face was unmistakable. “WELL, WARMER ANYWAY!”

“Well I’m not!” Wendell shrieked back, “So get moving!”

Help Me.

Wendell’s legs buckled beneath him.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

It was the child’s voice. The voice all around him. The voice from his dream.

“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” he yelled at Evan.

The blacksmith squinted, then turned his ear into the wind. After a few seconds, he shouted, “HEAR WHAT?”

Wendell felt his heartbeat up in his throat. A pulse spreading over his shoulders and down his spine. He looked around him, blinking away the ice on his lashes. Where are you? he thought to himself, focusing inward.

Help Me.

I will, he thought, I’ll help you. Tell me where you are. Show me how to get to you! He looked up into the sky and shouted, “SHOW ME!”

“SHOW YOU WHAT?” Evan shouted back.

Keeping hold of the mares lead rope, Wendell pushed past the blacksmith and plunged into the storm.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Evan cried after him, but Wendell didn’t stop. After a moment he pulled the stallion forward, afraid of losing sight of the mare.

Wendell kept his head high, pulling the horse along and listening to his heart more than his ears. The wind wailed and howled relentlessly, but after a time Wendell could no longer hear its how or feel it bite. All he noticed was the soft, soothing sound of a child’s weeping.

He led the horses along a benchmark of trees and down into what looked to be a glowing ravine. I’m coming! Hold on! Wendell could see a bright, pulsing light—yellow and orange, dancing together. As he got closer the snow dissipated, though the wind remained.

The whole sky was on fire.

And then he heard it. Through the wind and through the gentle feelings in his mind and heart.

Drums.

Evan push through the snow, up beside Wendell, staring into the flames. His expression fell as he looked about, then glanced back the way they had traveled.

“Wendell,” he said soberly.

“Yeah?” The heat felt so good on his cold face and chest, he failed to notice the archways, doorways, the scattered wagons…all burning.

“This is Woodside,” he said aloud. Evan pointed at a stone arch. “That is,” he started, but caught himself, “was…the main gate to town.”

Wendell looked at him curiously, “Woodside is close to Til-Thorin?”

Again the drums sounded.

Evan pulled the stallion closer to the flames and quickly brushed the snow from his family. “It means were minutes from the Keep…but by the look of Woodside…”

Wendell gulped, “Closer than we want to be.”

The drums reverberated through the sleet, like a taunting pulse from a deep well. It made Wendell’s hands tremble.

He found himself looking down at the T-shirt, now worn by Evan. It was strange, looking at the smiley face, with no animation. No life to the eyes or mouth, no hearts bubbling up around the head. It just sat there, lifeless, draped over the blacksmith’s chest.

Wendell felt naked.

Miriam and Livi shuttered as the blanket was pulled from them. Evan helped them both slide from the stallion. To get closer to the flames.

“Get yourself warm—we need to leave as quickly as possible.” He shook up the blanket and handed it to his mother, “Hold this to the fire, I’ll get Hiram.” His brothers face was so blue, Evan feared the worst. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around the tiny frame and pulled Hiram from the horse.

“Help him, Wendell,” Miriam pleaded, “please.” Her tone was stressed, desperate.

“But…,” Wendell started—Evan cut him off.

“My mother said you had some kind of healing effect on Hiram,” he blurted out, kicking as much of the snow out of his path and revealing the grass and dirt below. “I don’t care what you do, or how you do it—just help my brother.” For the first time since they had met, there was no hint of anger, no tone of accusation in the blacksmith’s expression.

He looked afraid.

Draping his arm around his little brother, Evan rubbed Hiram’s shoulders vigorously. “Please,” he added softly.

Dropping the horses lead rope, Wendell knelt down next to Hiram. He wasn’t sure what to do, but Miriam looked hopeful. So he put an arm around the boy, propping him up to face the warmth of the fire. “You with me, Hiram?”

Slowly, the boy rolled his head up, his purple lips spreading wide.

Wendell grinned back, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The call of the drums was soon met by another, and another.

Livi tugged on her mother’s tunic, pointing skyward.

“Boys?” Miriam whispered tensly, “I think the storm is stopping.”

Wendell breathed a sigh of relief, “Finally! Maybe we’ll be able to figure out where we are.”

Evan looked nervously at Wendell as the drums abruptly ceased.

Oh crap.

Wendell scooped up Hiram as fast as he could. He dashed toward the mare.

The horse screamed. Its neck yanked back, legs twitching as it fell, collapsing dead at his feet.

A greasy black arrow pierced its rib cage.

The stallion reared and whined loudly, almost drowning out the chinking sound of metal bouncing across the fresh powder.

It drew their attention to the trees.

Two giants carried longbows, one re-notching an arrow. The third dragged his sword through the snow, leaving a narrow trail behind him. The Vallen fanned out, bowman on either side. Black eyes watched warily as the swordsman drew closer to the dead horse.

“Looks like we’s got meat for camp,” it grinned. But the expression didn’t last long. Its eyes narrowed to slits, off-colored lips pulling back into a sneer as it studied the females. “But we’s got tastier delights to keeps a secret,” it breathed hungrily. Saliva dripped over its teeth and into the snow. Lifting the longsword firmly in one hand, it walked towards Miriam.

With a loud neigh, King reared up, clawing at the swordsman.

This gave Evan an opportunity to sprint to his war hammer as it slid off the stallion’s back.

The Vallen flinched and stumbled back as black hooves slashed at his face and chest. With a mighty swing, the sword arched high and fell. Blood sprayed across the powder, the gaping neck wound melting red patches at their feet. King collapsed and twitched, unable to make a sound.

The bowmen laughed—which sounded more like the gurgles of drowning men.

Evan leapt over the stallion’s body, hammer clutched tightly in both hands. The sudden burst of movement surprised the sword-wielding giant, but not enough. Before the blacksmith could swing, a heavy hand jammed his elbow as the sword hilt struck him across the jaw. The hammer flew from Evan’s grip, his body following close behind.

The blacksmith slid to a halt in the ice…just feet from a burning building.

One of the archers sniffed the air, eyes fixed squarely on Wendell.

What do I do? What do I do? Hiram was nearly limp in his arms, though the boys color had already started to return. He knew he had to do something.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP.

His heart raced, his mind a close second. The closest weapon was Evan’s hammer, but it was too far away. Both horses dead. Evan’s not moving. Hiram wounded. He had no clue what he should do. HELP ME! he pleaded silently. Ithari, I don’t know what to do!?

Wendell suddenly felt like a lost, eighteen year old nerd…in way over his head.

His heartbeat resounded in his ears. It drowned out the crackling of the fire. It drowned out the laughter of the sickening green and puss-yellow skinned Vallen. It even muffled Miriam’s screams as the swordsman lifted Livi up by her hair.

Miriam clawed at the soldiers arms, but a back-handed slap knocked her to the ground.

Wendell slowly lowered Hiram to the ground. I have to do something!

“You!” snapped a bowman, striding forward. “What you’s got there, eh?” he gurgled, then grabbed Hiram by the neck. The boy gasped, legs dangling and kicking as he was lifted to be inspected.

“Leave him—,” Wendell started to protest, but he was immediately kicked in the ribs. The heavy boot hit him like a tank. He flew back across the snow, sliding out of control until he collided with a small rock wall, head first.

The bowman turned Hiram around and sniffed at the bandages. “This one’s spoiled, he is,” it grumbled, dropping the boy into the snow.

“Then we eats it last,” barked the swordsman, sniffing Livi closely. The little girl had her mouth open as if to scream, but nothing came out. She kicked and clawed at the Vallen’s face, without effect. The giant licked his lips and made mocking snaps at the child’s feet as she squirmed. “We’s got plenty of meats to have before we reports back!” It cast a longing glance at Miriam and shuttered, clicking his teeth together. “Plenty.”

The bowman howled and dropped his weapon.

“Let…her…go,” Hiram panted, pushing the giant’s dagger deeper into the Vallen’s side. Sweat rolled from his brow in exertion, teeth bared in anger.

Wendell shook the stars from his vision. Ungh. He coughed, sucking in air as he tried desperately to push himself up to his knees.

The bowman turned and encompassed the boys neck and collarbones with yellow-green fingers and squeezed. Hiram squirmed, his tiny hands clawing at the giant’s fingers. With a tug, the creature pulled his own rusted knife free from his side. Black ooze dripped into the snow.

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Get up Wendell, he commanded himself. His eyes fixed on Hiram, hanging there, defenseless. No, not another. Please, oh please, don’t let a kid die! His heart pounded faster, wanting to jump from his chest. Move! Move! “Move!” he yelled aloud, throwing his body forward into a full sprint.

“Maybe we eats you first!” hissed the bowman.

…and thrust the moist blade into Hiram’s stomach.

A high-pitched shriek pierced the air.

It was a long, single-note cry, ripping at ears and spine.

Livi.

Her gaze was fixed on Hiram as his body collapsed to the ground, the long knife wedged in his bowels.

Wendell dove over Hiram and tackled the bowman across the knees. The giants legs locked, the momentum carrying them both back into the bloody snow surrounding the stallion. They rolled once, Wendell getting off a single, yet ineffective punch before the Vallen straddled him.

“RRAAARGHHH!!” boomed Evan, lunging at the swordsman from behind. With his reclaimed hammer, the blacksmith drove the thick spike of the weapon through the Vallen’s boot. The giant roared and and reeled in pain, casting Livi aside. She landed hard on her backside, but only ceased her shrieking to take another breath.

The blacksmith followed the giants momentum as it fell backwards. He planted a second mighty blow of the spike into the forearm of its sword hand. Metal sunk through flesh and exploded bone.

“YARGH!” it gurgled. The longsword clattered to the ground.

Evan pressed his advantage.

The hammer fell unmercifully upon the giants head, chest and defending arm. Tears mingled with sweat and rage as the blacksmith pierced his enemy with a dozen wounds.

Wendell, however, gasped for breath—fingers gripping his throat, clamping down like a vice.

“I…kill you,” the bowman growled, forcing Wendell’s head to the side, exposing his neck. It leaned forward, mouth open wide.

“AHHHHH!” Wendell screamed, trying desperately to wiggle free or hit the approaching teeth with his fists.

The war hammer vibrated like a tuning fork as it rebounded off the bowman’s skull. Wendell gasped and sucked in air as the large hands fell away from his neck. The giant’s body twitched, then collapsed to the ground next to him.

Miriam lunged after Livi, but the child sprinted, ignoring the blood and gore, and collapsed at Hiram’s side. Her screams faded to frantic sobs. Her shoulders shaking as she sucked air in chunks, only to shudder and sob again. Tiny fingers tried desperately to push down on the blood, pumping up around the edge of the blade protruding from his stomach. The warm red liquid soaked her hands. Pushed up, between her fingers.

“Hiram!” Evan cried, running to his brother.

The falling snow swirled in the air and the blacksmith fell to the ground, just feet from Wendell. “AHHRRRR!” he wailed, gripping his leg, an arrow protruding from his thigh. The thick black shaft stuck out either side of his trousers, the barbed tip covered in a crimson red.

They had forgotten the second bowman.

During the confusion, the Vallen soldier had failed to find a clear shot without wounding his own. Now that his comrades were dead, there was no such hesitation. The bowman fell back to the tree line and quickly nocked another arrow.

“More meat…,” it raised the bow, “for…,” it took aim at the blacksmith’s chest, “m—”

A brief, short whistle streaked over Wendell’s head. Dead fingers released the shot harmlessly into the air. The bowman’s body arched backwards and fell into the snow, an arrow through his face.

Four silhouettes pushed through the smoke of Woodside. Sparks and ash tumbled over the ice as three men and a girl shuffled into the open. The tallest was wrapped in grey furs, carrying an immense longbow. He was bald, ears pierced with more than a dozen rings and a wide red stripe across his eyes and cheekbones. Wendell couldn’t tell if it was a tattoo or some kind of paint, but it made the man’s blue eyes glow.

A girl stood close to the archer, only reaching his mid thigh in height. Her braided black hair was so long, it looped several times around her neck, like a scarf. She wore dark brown trousers and tunic, with knives strapped to her forearms and tucked into her boots. She looked down compassionately at Hiram and immediately moved to his side.

“Let me help,” she whispered to Miriam. Pulling on a strap around her torso, it revealed a pouch. Kneeling beside Livi, small hands lifted even smaller hands from the wound. The stranger pulled a ball of cloth from the pouch and put it between her teeth. With a flick of her wrist and a grunt from Hiram, the Vallen’s knife slid from the wound.

The largest of the men pushed through the snow towards Wendell and Evan. His chest was nearly bare, revealing a round, hairy belly, though he wore fur skin trousers, boots and vambraces. His thick, brown cloak dragged through the snow and blood behind him. When he reached the blacksmith, he set down an enormous two-handed hammer beside him.

A round, jovial face, covered in a full red-speckled beard, studied Evans leg and promptly frowned. “That looks like it hurts.” Without waiting for a reply, the big man grabbed the arrow tip between his fingers, snapped it off and yanked the shaft through the wound.

It all happened so fast, Evan didn’t have time to cry out. His face went pale, eyes rolled back into his head. He fell over into the snow, unconscious.

The big man gave Wendell a concerned look, “A lot.”

“W-who are you?” Wendell stammered.

“One moment,” he replied and lifted up the chain mail shirt of the Vallen at Wendell feet. Yanking free a large section of the smelly tunic, he flipped it over and over, between his fingers, folding it into a thick strip roughly two inches wide.

“Vasta,” he said to Wendell, then wrapped the cloth around Evan’s wound.

“Heal him,” whimpered Miriam.

It was a moment before Wendell realized she was staring directly at him. She softly rocked back and forth, Hiram’s head in her lap, ignoring everyone else.

“Heal him,” she repeated.

Wendell looked around at the strangers, then back at the woman who had cared for his own wounds. “I…” but he didn’t know what to say.

“We need to move,” said the last stranger, a short, stout man, with a giant trident-type spear. He scanned the forest. “Now.”

“Heal him!” Miriam pleaded once more, her voice straining with urgency. “You have the power to save my child!”

“I…don’t,” Wendell replied weakly.

“You are the Gnolaum!” she cried aloud. Her face contorted in pain and anguish, fingers raking at Hiram’s tunic. “You are the greatest of all mägo!”

The strangers looked between one another. Vasta turned Evan onto his back and cast a wary glance at his female companion. “Kiljua—what’s she talking about?”

The girl placed a free hand on Hiram’s forearm, but it was immediately slapped away. “You have not the skill to save my son—do not pretend!” Miriam cried. She nodded in Wendell’s direction, “Only he has the skill!”

Like a jungle cat, she slid out from behind her son and lunged across the snow and gore. Wendell was completely caught off guard and knocked onto his back. There was fire reflected in her eyes.

“HEAL HIM!” she screamed…and tore open the leather tunic at his chest.

The Ithari sparkled brightly.

Wendell had forgotten to hide the Ithari when he changed with the blacksmith.

Miriam rose to her feet, straddling his chest.

She looked at the gem longingly. Painfully. Then crying, “Heal him,” she pleaded.

With all my heart, I wish I could. Wendell looked into eyes withering between desperation and hope. Her brows quivered, pulling at the lines in her face.

“Please,” she begged,…then just above a whisper, “he’s just a child.”

It was the moment he’d dreaded. The moment Wendell had feared. He was not the real hero and there was nothing he could do to avoid the truth of that fact.

“I…can’t,” he choked out.

“He’s gone,” sighed Kiljua, her hand on Hiram’s neck. She stood upright and backed away from the body. “I’m sorry.”

Miriam stepped away from Wendell and walked silently to her daughter. She dropped to her knees, enveloping Livi in her arms. She held her close and tucked her own head into Livi’s neck.

…and wept.

Wendell sat upright, just as Evan gained consciousness.

“What…hap…” he started to say, but his attention was drawn by the sobbing. He lazily looked over at his mother and sister huddled together. He gripped a fist full of blackened snow, as his gaze fell upon his little brother.

“No,” he breathed. His lips quivered as he whispered, “Please…no.” Tears rolled silently down his blood stained cheeks. He looked to Wendell, eyes dropping to the gem nestled in the middle of the young hero’s flesh.

Wendell pulled the torn leather awkwardly across his chest to cover Ithari.

“Let’s go,” said the spear man firmly. “Get them up. Bear, help the boy.” The snow crunched beneath his fur boots as he walked towards the tree line, using the trident as a walking staff.

“Got him,” replied Vasta. Grabbing his stone hammer he rose to his feet and held out a hand to Evan.

“Will you take my son’s body?” murmured Miriam. She still cradled Livi against her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she stared into the flames of the village.

“I’m sorry,” replied Kiljua, “it would put us all at risk.”

Miriam nodded. She quickly wiped the water from her face with the dirty bandages around her hands and helped Livi to her feet. Holding her daughter tightly against her, she said, “Then cast his body into the flames.”

“Mother!” cried Evan.

Her face was cold. Unfeeling. “That is not my son. That is a shell. But I will not have these,” and she cast a brief glance at the giant bodies lying prone, “things, consume his flesh!”

Kiljua looked to the man with the trident. “Keiha?”

His broad shoulders slumped at the sight of Miriam. A mothers last wish was no small matter. He nodded.

The archer stabbed his bow into a clean patch of ice. Kneeling besides Hiram’s body, he tenderly slid his hands under the boys shoulders and legs. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to the cold forehead, “Sleep in peace, Child of the Highlands.” He stood and faced Miriam, head bowed. “Who is it that gave life to this boy?”

Pain wracked her face, but she choked out, “I am.”

“Then as you gave him life, so you have power to seal him up,” he answered, then lowered the body, so Miriam could reach Hiram’s head and face.

Kissing the tips of her first two fingers on her right hand, she stroked her son’s eyelids and then wiped a sign across his brow. “May thy spirit rest in peace as thy body returns to dust. I seal you up until judgement, when all shall be made whole and justice shall find its foes.” She stepped back, fighting the urge to cry out.

The archer walked to the edge of the flames and tossed Hiram’s body into the closest building still ablaze. He immediately turned and with two strides, snatched up his bow. He urged both Miriam and Livi to follow.

“Little mother,” he bowed graciously.

Evan leaned heavily on Vasta’s arm, eyes firmly fixed on the location where the archer had tossed Hiram’s body. He choked back the sobs that threatened to rip from his chest.

“Forgive me, little one,” he huge man whispered, “but we must travel fast.” Before the blacksmith could reply, the burly man scooped him up over a shoulder and sprinted after Keiha.

Only Wendell and the young girl, Kiljua, remained.

Try as he might, he could not completely cover the Ithari with the meager shreds of his tunic hanging from his chest. She stared at him openly. No blinking. No shame. It was not a harsh expression. There was no malice, fear or judgement in her face. She simply…stared.

“Yes,” she said finally, readjusting the small pack hanging from her shoulder. She tucked it back under her cloak.

Wendell looked at her, puzzled. “Yes,…what?”

“We will keep your secret.”

There was no emotion or tell-tale signs to read. But strangely, Wendell didn’t feel uncomfortable in front of her. He wasn’t scared at all.

Bending down, he snatched up Evan’s war hammer, left beside the body of the swordsman.

“Silmä inakmään,” he whispered…and Ithari faded from view.

****

It took a few minutes of sprinting before Wendell and Kiljua caught up with the party. They moved at a quick pace, pushing through the snow, which was almost knee high. Livi was clinging to the archer’s neck, standing in the strap of his quiver as he ran. Miriam was hard-pressed to keep up, staggering fourth in line, to take advantage of a somewhat leveled path. Evan, on the other hand, was biting his cheek in pain as the behemoth who carried him bounced along, jarring the blacksmith down to his teeth.

Through the trees they sprinted, weaving in and out of the frosted pines and oaks, up over ridges, until they came to Til-Thorin’s fields. Once a thriving countryside for farmers, the fields were now the camping grounds of the enemy.

Wendell gasped at the organized fires blazing in the night air—a sea of tents erected at the foot of his destination. Til-Thorin Keep, a mighty castle, wedged between two jagged mountains. Small fires lit the tops of the curtain walls.

“That’s Til-Thorin?” Wendell asked.

“It is,” replied Kiljua behind him.

There was no way they’d be able to get past the invading army. No way to get into the castle alive. The road was overrun with what looked like thousands of soldiers. Wendell’s heart sank. I’m too late, he thought…and he wondered if Chuck was behind those huge walls of stone.

They trudged on, pushing their way through the trees.

They stopped just outside of a small, dense grove of trees set against the side of the mountain.

Miriam collapsed onto her knees, gasping hungrily for air.

Evan was set down onto a nearby tree trunk. Vasta, who seemed to be breathing without difficulty, leaned his hammer up against the fallen wood, and knelt down to adjust the blacksmith’s bandage.

“Where are we going?” Wendell asked between breaths, “There’s no way we can make it into the Keep…”

“Is that so?” came a voice from the darkness of the grove.

Wendell startled, as did Evan and Miriam—but their new companions remained focused on their duties.

A patch of snow fell onto Wendell’s head. He shuddered as a portion slid down the back of his tunic.

Another rustle above…and a figure slid down the trunk of a nearby tree. He wore lighter cloth and leather than the others, which helped him to blend into the light surroundings. Five more emerged from the grove—figures shifting into focus. They stepped into the moonlight. Four men and a woman. Her hair wound around her neck, identical to Kiljua’s.

Help me.

Wendell jumped up from the rock, startled. He spun around on his heels, looking around him wildly and stumbled over his own feet. With a grunt, he landed on his backside in the snow. The voice! The child’s voice. It was so clear. So close. Where are you? he thought.

His abrupt reactions caught everyone’s attention, including a stifled chuckle from Kiljua.

“Is that him?” asked a shorter man, squinting behind one good eye. His other eye was hidden behind a rough-cut patch of leather, shoulders and torso were wrapped in black furs. He scratched his peppered beard with one of the axes he gripped tightly.

Keiha nodded, “Yeah, Animal, that’s him.”

Animal snorted, “Right on time. How about that.”

Wendell frowned at both of them, On time? On time for what?!

The woman at Animal’s side walked briskly to Evan. She knelt down next to Vasta, who seemed to be struggling with the bandage. “Need help?”

The big man grunted, his fat fingers fumbling with the blood soaked knot, “I’m a blacksmith, not a nurse, Diyana. I don’t need help—I need someone to take over.”

She laughed gently and shoved him aside, “Oh quit your whining.” Looking up to Evan, Diyana gave him a reassuring smile, “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

“He can be treated behind the walls,” growled Animal, “let’s get them inside.”

“How are we going to do that?” Wendell interjected, “Did you miss the problem? The front gates are crawling with the Vallen army!”

Bushy, black eyebrows rolled forward like waves upon Animals forehead. Wendell couldn’t decide if he looked more like a bear or a wolf. “Then I guess it would be smart to use a side door,” he sneered.

Lifting Evan once more in his huge arms, Vasta backed away from Diyana.

Slipped her fingers behind the log Evan had been sitting upon, she fiddled with something that made an unusual sound.

Wendell heard a pop, then metal scraping against stone.

A cloud of dust burst from under the rim of the tree trunk. Diyana lifted the top slat of wood and held it open.

She held a finger to her lips and listened.

Taking a small rock, she dropped it down the hole and listened again. After several minutes, she glanced back at the group and patted the trunk.

“Everyone in, single file.”

Vasta leaned over the opening and lowered Evan down the hole. “It’s not a drop, lad—just watch the incline. I’m right behind you.”

The big man grabbed his hammer and climbed in, followed by the three men next to Animal. Two muscular men with hands and arms wrapped in cloth and a third—an older man with a long ponytail and a cane. They hopped down without hesitation.

Nyoli hefted Livi onto his shoulder.

“Come with me, little one.” He smiled at her and winked, tapping his long finger under her chin. “We’ll find you blankets and food, eh?” Still sniffing and breathing erratically, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face from the cold wind.

Wendell stepped forward to climb down, but Animal put a hand to his chest. “You stay with me,” he said roughly. It wasn’t a request. “Hold it open for Diyana,” he ordered.

Wendell obeyed, letting the older woman slip down into the tunnel.

Miriam walked slowly towards the trunk, eyes fixed on the opening. There was no life in her movement or expression. Her arms hung limply at her sides, hair moist and matted to her face and neck.

I should say something, Wendell worried. There was nothing I could do—that I knew how to do. His stomach turned as she slowly lifted a leg into the tunnel. She has to understand that I didn’t know how to…

“Miriam,” he whispered, gripping the lid so tight, his knuckles went white. She stopped her motion. He swayed lightly, like a marionette, hanging from strings. Her sunken eyes looked up at him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help Hiram,” he began to say, but the words got caught in his throat and he choked on them. “I just…I didn’t…” He reached out and gently put a hand on her forearm.

Without blinking, she spit in his face.