Chapter 18

The next day, Rael was a busy man. Silmaria sat back and watched him with a sort of amused fascination. After a long night of rest, Rael was renewed and overflowing with energy and robust health. They'd discussed with disappointment how much of the bear meat was going to go to waste as its spoiling became eminent, but Rael gave a good effort at consuming as much of it as possible that morning. Silmaria was shocked and very nearly appalled, and couldn't quite keep herself from laughing at the Nobleman as he ate more and more. He was a big, hearty man, true, and she'd always known him to have a healthy appetite, but this was something else.

"How are you not even sicker than you were before? I mean gods, you've got to be close to your own body weight in bear meat right now. And none of it's terribly fresh. And you weight quite a lot anyway," Silmaria said with a laugh.

Rael chuckled softly around the mouthful of bear he was already working on, swallowed it, and gave her a wry smile. "This is pretty normal for me after a Mending. My body uses a huge amount of energy and resources. I have a lot to replenish. I could eat for days."

"Good to know. I guess if this kind of thing ever happens again I'll have to find another bear to feed you," Silmaria said with a playful smirk. "Maybe a fresher one."

"It's passable," Rael smirked. Then made a face. "For the moment."

Finally eating his fill, Rael then spent time stretching, working the last of the ache from his long limbs until he moved free and limber once again. Silmaria watched him with admiring eyes for a time, then rose and joined him. It felt good to stretch and work out some of the stiffness from her joints and muscles. She'd not realized how much the cold had made her body tight and stiff and achy.

By the time they were done, Silmaria felt truly better. Her body was back to the usual easy grace she hadn't even realized was being sapped away by the cold and cramped conditions of the cave. Rael and Silmaria sat around the small, crackling fire, and Rael studied their remaining supplies with a grim look on his face.

"We only have another day or two of firewood left. I don't think I would chance the meat past tomorrow, and we have no other food. Water won't be a problem. But we can't stay here any longer. Even as much as the cave is holding onto the heat from the fires, it won't take long for the cold to settle back in here after the fire runs out. After that, the rest of our stay is going to be cold, wet, and hungry. And probably very short."

"What do we do?" Silmaria asked.

Rael looked out the gaping cave entrance, past the long crystalline teeth hanging from the gaping cave maw, shining and pointy and transparently dangerous. The storms raged outside, the wind howling like a mournful beast searching for prey to devour. Snow and ice flittered and flurried, an undulating wave. A billowing shroud of white washed emptiness happily swallowing the world.

A muscle jumped in his firmly set jaw, and his silver eyes went hard with conviction. "We'll have to brave the storm."

Silmaria held silent as she stared at him, studying the contours and angles of his handsome, strong face, the solidness of his jaw and determination of his brow.

"Going out there may be the end of us," she said slowly in a tone that was not a question.

Rael met her eyes. "Yes," he said simply, for there was no hiding that truth, and no way to soften the blow of it. "But at least that way, there's a chance. Better to struggle on and take our chance in the blizzard than to face a slow, starving, frozen death in here."

The Gnari girl took a deep breath, then stood. She went to him, and sat in his lap with her head curled to his chest. "I don't want to die. Not after I've finally found something and someone who makes me truly alive."

Rael wrapped his arms around her, and he was a warm, solid, comforting shelter around her, his strength rushing into her through his touch and the steady beating of his heart against her cheek.

"Then we just won't die," he said.

Silmaria smiled a grim smile tinged with foolish hope. "Simple as that, huh?"

He reached up and ran thick, roughened fingers through the blackness of her curls. "Yes. If you think about it, when we put all other details and factors aside, living is the simplest thing anyone does."

"You'll have to teach me how to see the world in such simple shades of black and white someday," she mused as her eyes grew heavy. Silmaria hardly understood how they could talk about something so frighteningly real and immediate as their own mortality, and yet she felt utterly relaxed and calm and at peace. She should be terrified. On some level, in some part of herself, Silmaria was positive she was.

But Rael was here, and his arms were around her, and he was alive and well and strong. She didn't know if she could feel any less calm and centered and right if the bear had come surging back to life just then.

"Oh, the world is full of more shades of gray and blackest black and purest white than I have words for," Rael chuckled softly into her ear in that deep, rumbling tone his voice took when he spoke quietly, for her ears only.

"But in the end, in matters of battle and survival, so much of the grays and shades between can be filtered down to two very simple absolutes. The blackest black, and the whitest white. Die, or live. Death, or life.

"I choose life," he explained somberly. "For both of us."

"A good choice, my Master," Silmaria nodded slowly. She turned her gaze, quiet and serene and trusting, up to Rael's intense, focused silver eyes. "I trust you, my love. And if you choose life by going into the roaring mouth of a wintery old god, then that's what you choose, and I can do naught but follow."

Rael stared down into her eyes, and his thumb softly traced the vibrant black of the stripe on her cheek. "I swore that I would let no harm come to you. I'll honor that vow. I swear it. Even the old gods will not make me break it."

Silmaria shivered softly. Some people would say he spoke blasphemy. Any other time, given what he proposed, she could say he spoke insanity.

Just then, staring into his eyes, she saw only the truth of his words

Rael had spoken of facing the storms of the old god of the pass with fierce conviction and deep belief. And each word had been honest and sincere; he truly believed that braving the wrathful blizzard and proceeding through IceMarch Pass was their only hope, and that staying in the cave held nothing but slow death for them. He also believed, with everything he was and would be and had ever been, that he would keep Silmaria safe and whole through it all. He must.

Even filled with belief and conviction, however, he was not a fool. He knew the near suicidal dangers the storm presented and how narrow their chances were. One mistake would be their undoing, and there was so very many mistakes that could be made. Rael believed in himself, and he was brave, but his fear was nonetheless very real.

But he didn't let it show. He didn't have the time or luxury of giving into his fear as they crawled and slogged along the pass, facing the full fury of the storm that swallowed them up like the ferocious force of nature it was. Resolute, Rael pressed on, battered and buffeted by the driving gale as he waded through snow piled up to his thighs.

Silmaria clung to him, gripping his cloak and shuffling along in his wake, her jaw set grimly. The winds pulled and tugged at her, and the slippery path was treacherous even under her sure footed stride. The Gnari girl was terrified. Her teeth chattered and as the terrible moments passed. Chilled numbness spread through her limbs by the moment. The winds, ice and snow threatened to send her tumbling off the Cliffside, promising a swift and sudden end. Alternatively, the wickedly relentless cold would make an end of her just as surely, if much more gradually.

Despite her terror and the hopelessness of the situation, Silmaria pressed on, driven by Rael's stubborn defiance of the storm. The Nobleman bore the brunt of the storm's wrath and the hard work of forward progress, and not once did he slow or hesitate or complain. He stoically trudged on, determinedly meeting the storm's rage with an uncompromising will.

Silmaria would not slow him, and she would not be left behind. If her Lord pressed into the storm, she would follow until the last spark of her life was snuffed out.

Savagely, the old god's storm did its utmost to accomplish just that.

Rael reached a hand back to grasp hers and clutched her wrist in his unforgiving grip. He didn't look back, did not acknowledge her in any other way. He clung to her, pulling her along after him, and bent his complete will and all his focus into meeting the storm and pushing forward.

The storm pushed back mightily. It howled, it blustered, it bore down on them with implacable fury. Snow filled the air so densely the airy powder had become a heavy, oppressive mass, screening the world behind an impassable sheet of white.

Rael would not yield.

The winds blew hard enough to make each and every step a tortuous effort. It was as if they were trying to press back a solid stone wall. It pushed and pulled, spun around them so forcefully that Silmaria could barely keep her feet under her even sheltered behind Rael's broad body. It buffeted them, pounding with the force of striking hammers, until every muscle and tendon and sinew strained against the wind just to take the next solitary step.

But Rael would not yield.

The storm blew clusters of freezing ice. The small, jagged shards smashed into them, pricking, piercing little needles of purest cold that lance right through the heavy cover of their bundles of clothes. Like a hail of arrows the ice came, riding the fierce winds, formed so hard and thick that they had to shield their eyes with their hands lest they be damaged. Silmaria almost feared she'd actually been punctured by the little icy lances, and she'd come out the storm to find she was bleeding out from ice piercing her flesh.

Yet still, even facing elements any man would be crushed by, Rael would. Not. Yield.

Faced with a man who was as stubbornly unbending as the iron his will was made of, the old god's storm, at last, yielded.

The fury of the storm spent, it faded into nothing, leaving naught but the softly promising threat of snowflakes, drifting on a sleepy breeze, merrily haunting their exhausted steps.

Two days after their desperate departure from the shelter of the cave, Rael and Silmaria emerged from IceMarch Pass. The land that greeted them was hilly and untamed, with high golden grass and many groves of trees with hard gray bark and thick low hanging branches. There were small wild things that scurried about furtively unseen in the tall grasses and steered far clear of them.

The change in climate and temperature was startling. Oh, it was still cold this high in the hills and close to the mountains, certainly, but compared to the mountain pass, or indeed near anywhere in the North, these southern lands were distinctly warm. Before their first day on the south side of the Teeth was through, Silmaria had shed the heavy piling of clothing she'd grown accustomed to until she was down to a single layer and her cloak.

Escaping the death trap of the pass was invigorating and refreshing. The air seemed clearer, the world less oppressive, and the shift from bleakly snow covered overcast to the clear blue skies of the south was stunningly beautiful. Silmaria could have spent days simply enjoying the change, and appreciating the beauty of the south that she'd never known.

Except in those first few days, she had no time to truly enjoy the changes. For all his strength and indomitable will, forcing their way through the oppressive storm had spent Rael immensely. He'd stubbornly pressed on after the storms relented, unwilling to be caught in a resurgence, and made it through the pass and into the hills on the other side of the mountains before collapsing, drained of all energy.

Rael fell ill for several days, passing in and out of consciousness. He was so weak he could hardly lift his head. And he developed an intense, racking cough that left him shaking at times with fatigue. Almost, Silmaria thought he was going into another Mending as his fatigue was so intense he was hardly able to stir enough to acknowledge her. Despite her own exhaustion Silmaria mustered the strength to care for her lover Lord.

Blessedly, after three days of misery, Rael seemed to rally. He remained too ill to travel yet, but he was awake and aware, at least, and able to move about some and help with a few things here and there, though Silmaria insisted he rest as often as possible.

While they rested and recovered in the hills, Silmaria took up hunting once more. She found that perching up in one of the hardy trees afforded her better hunting opportunities than stalking in the high grasses. She took down a number of small prairie animals, as well as a rangy and long legged goat that she found contentedly munching away at a cluster of grass. The Gnari also foraged about and collected a good many nuts, berries, fruits and small roots that she took back to Rael, who helped her identify those unfamiliar to her.

It was a slow, quiet time. After the madness and terror and heartache of their trek through the mountains, slow and quiet was a welcome change.

They savored the peace, knowing it would be as fleeting as it was precious.

"We are here," Rael indicated a circle he made in the dirt with the tip of a small stick. He drew out a range of peaks and points to represent the mountain range at their backs.

"Just a short ways east and south from IceMarch Pass. The Pass empties out in the northwest corner of the Johake Grasslands. The FrostFall Mountains on the West border of the Dale meet with The Teeth just north of us. The Teeth divide the southern reaches of DarkFyre Dale from the northmost territory of the Johake Grasslands. IceMarch Pass circles west and then south through where the FrostFall and the Teeth mountain ranges meet."

"Right," Silmaria nodded, studying the scratches and markings he made. "I'm pretty familiar with that. It's south of the Teeth that things get fuzzy."

"Mmhmm," Rael nodded. He continued to scratch out lines and territories in the dirt.

"This area of the Grassland's is called the Boar's Back. The Grassland's spread out south of us, and to the southwest and east. To the southwest is the Ghostwood, a sprawling and dense forest where the Johake believe the spirits of their dead who do not receive proper burial rites go to wander, lost.

"West of the Ghostwood is the vast Jade Sea. SouthWest from the Ghostwood, along the coast, is StillWater Bay."

"I've never heard much of StillWater," Silmaria said.

"They're a major power in the west," Rael explained. "One of, if not the largest port cities on the Jade Sea coast. It's a republic ruled by a council of elite, wealthy trading families. Many goods pass through StillWater on their way to and from the Jade Sea. None of it goes through without passing through the Trader's hands in one way or another.

"Here, to the east and southeast of the Grasslands, is The Reach. Mountain country, but not like the mountains of the North. They are hot and arid and rocky, full of canyons and valleys and peaks and solitary crags. It's not a wasteland, but The Reach a harsh, treacherous place and very difficult to travel through. The Reach is mostly the SkyRacer's domain, and the Kingdom of Ser is their seat of power."

"I've seen so few SkyRacer's," Silmaria commented. "They're beautiful. Rare. But they seem ... hostile."

"Rightly so, more than like," Rael nodded. "Their people were almost wiped out a thousand years ago."

"I didn't know," Silmaria replied, her brows raising. "What happened?"

"It's not surprising that you've not heard of it. It's more part of southern history. The Dale wasn't really involved. As far as what happened, that depends on who you ask," he replied. "The histories I've read are incredibly vague and indecisive about it. Many who follow the legends say the SkyRacer's once ruled much of the land south of The Teeth. Their society was advanced beyond Mankind and the other Demi-races, and the winged folk held dominion over the skies. With those advantages, they subjugated the other races, until the races rose up as one to strike the SkyRacer's down. Fallen from power, the other races feared the SkyRacer's so much they hunted them all through the lands and nearly wiped them out.

"Of course," the Noble went on, "The SkyRacer's claim otherwise. They say they saw the primitive, barbaric ways of the GroundBorn, as they called the other races, and held themselves separate and isolated. They lived apart, and in peace. Until a group of SkyRacer's sympathetic to the GroundBorn made contact with intention of forming peaceful alliances. The other races used the fools to find the SkyRacer's and strike at them through surprise and treachery, and eventually butchered them to near extinction."

Silmaria was gutting a GrassHare. Rael had taught her to make a simple snare just yesterday, and Silmaria had been proudly satisfied when she found the Hare snagged in it when she checked on it that evening. She began to skin the GrassHare, moving the sharp blade of her hunting knife along the animal's pelt carefully while Rael followed her blade with watchful eyes. "So which side do you think is telling the truth?"

Rael shrugged. "Neither. Both. Tyranny and bloodshed are rarely a one sided affair."

The Nobleman went on, scratching more figures into the dirt as Silmaria watched. "Here to the south is the Ashlands, a great desert wasteland of hidden riches. Its wealthiest city is RedStone, jewel of the Leftin Empire."

Rael drew a huge circle on the southern portion of his dirty stick-scratched map. "This is roughly the extent of the Leftin Empire's influence. In terms of riches, territory, and military power, the Leftin Empire is the most prominent force in the lands."

Silmaria studied the rough map for a moment, then pointed to the untouched middle. "Ondaria must be somewhere here, then?"

"Indeed. Very good," Rael said with a small smile. "Here at the middle of the continent is The Weeping Land, a collection of swamps and bogs fed by Vierra's Road, the many great rivers running westward to the Jade Sea. The Weeping Land is home to the alliance of city-state's that form the Ondarian Federation, which is also called Ondaria as a whole. None of the city-state's are especially powerful on their own, but together, the small armies they command are formidable. And more importantly, they are at home in the swamplands surrounding them, which have swallowed invading armies innumerable. Every attempt to conquer Ondaria has met with disaster. Even the Leftin Empire has been held at bay by the swamps of The Weeping Land."