"Lady-" "I will take it." Everyone turned to look at who had spoken.

Erun. He still bore the scars of his… ordeal. Amira felt stupid calling such torture an "ordeal." Monstrous, she had named it to Gyaidun. Blasphemous. Even those words seemed to fall short. Yet already the young man showed signs of recovery. Whatever being had come to him-no, Amira corrected herself-through him, much of that strength remained. Yes, his cheeks were still sunken like a corpse-far beyond the natural thinness he'd inherited from his mother's people-his bones showed under his skin, and much of his color had not yet returned, but there was a light in his eyes. Not burning, precisely. But smoldering. A glow of promise, perhaps, like the bright sky before sunrise. Looking at him now, standing next to his father, Amira thought it would be a wonder indeed to see what would happen when the sun fully rose in him. Erun stepped forward and pulled one of the larger sheaves out from the bottom of the pyre. Half of it was already well ablaze. He stood, his back straight, and looked to his father. "My grandfather will take fire from me," he said, and Amira heard a deeper meaning in his words. She watched him walk away, strength and confidence in his gait, and in that moment an image struck Amira-Arantar, wise and powerful, walking the steppes. She turned to Gyaidun and saw a dark look on his face. "What is it?" she asked. "What is what?" "You look as if you just saw your own death."

Gyaidun looked her in the eye. "No. It…" "What?" He returned his gaze to his son, walking without fear to the omah nin. "Things happen quicker than I thought they would." "Things?" It hit Amira then that in the past day-the joy at being reunited with Jalan, the grief at finding the belkagen, funeral preparations, not to mention being tired beyond all rational thought-she had forgotten to ask Gyaidun exactly how he had turned up on the shore of the Great Ice Sea knowing what had to be done. Standing over the pyre of her friend, she remembered Gyaidun's argument with the belkagen, asking why he could not seek Hro'nyewachu if she knew something about Erun. "You did it, didn't you?" she said. Even Lendri and Jalan turned to look at Gyaidun.

Durja, resting on Gyaidun's shoulder, squawked as his master looked down on all of them. His gaze raked over each of them, his jaw grinding, then he stared into the fire. "You went to Hro'nyewachu" said Amira. "Didn't you?" Still he said nothing. "Rathla?" said Lendri, awe in his voice. "Is this true?" Durja squawked again and flapped his wings but did not leave his master's shoulder. "I had no choice," said Gyaidun. "You sought the Mother's Heart and lived?" said Lendri. "How…?" "You are not Vil Adanrath," said Amira. "The belkagen said-" "I am athkaraye," said Gyaidun. "Human, yes, but the blood of the Vil Adanrath lives in me through Lendri." He raised his right hand, opened it, and the gash showed plainly across his palm.

"And through Hlessa, and through Erun." "But the belkagen said you couldn't, said you hadn't studied the arcane or the ways of the gods, said-" "The belkagen was one of the wisest I have ever known," said Gyaidun. "And I sometimes ill-treated him, to my shame. But he did not know everything." "What do you mean?" said Lendri. "Hro'nyewachu," said Gyaidun, "she… she is a being of… need." "So said the belkagen. Yes." "A mother's need," said Amira. "That's what he said.

What the belkagen told me. 'Hro'nyewachu has a mother's heart.' He said I had a mother's need, and that our hearts would beat the same song." Gyaidun looked back at his son, who had reached the omah nin and was presenting him with the fire. The Vil Adanrath chieftain stood tall and proud, almost rigid, but he took the fire. "So how did you survive?" Lendri asked Gyaidun. "I introduced her to a father's need."

"At the shore," said Amira, "after you came back, you were covered in blood. Much of it your own." Gyaidun shrugged. His wounds had been tended, but he still bore many new cuts and scrapes. "It was not an easy… conversation. I…" "What?" Gyaidun stared into the fire a long while before answering. "I was blinded by grief, despair, anger.

Kehrareth we would say. I… I think I went there hoping she would kill me. At least grant me a warrior's death. I went with no sacrifice." Lendri gasped. Amira remembered what the belkagen had told her-"Hro'nyewachu is… akai'ye. There is no good word in your tongue. Ancient. Primal. Tame blood will not sate her. She needs the blood of the wild." "The blood of the wild," said Amira. "She took your blood instead. As sacrifice." Gyaidun flinched and looked back to his son, who now stood beside the omah nin, the pyre in front of them burning. "No," said Gyaidun. "Not me." Amira followed his gaze. Erun stood beside his grandfather. The young man was considerably shorter, and emaciated as he was, still his countenance radiated power. He stood beside the omah nin an equal. What was it, Gyaidun had said, what had prompted this entire conversation? "Things happen quicker than I thought they would." "Erun," said Amira. "She wants Erun.

Doesn't she?" Gyaidun said nothing, but the look on his face was all the answer that she needed. "I wouldn't worry," said Amira. "I saw Erun on the island. I think he might give even Hro'nyewachu pause."

Lendri looked to his rathla and said, "What did she say, Brother?" " 'I will require your blood,' " said Gyaidun. "Her words. I… I thought she meant me, and I did not care. But now…" He looked back to his son. The omah nin had lit his pyre, and Erun was carrying the flame to the next one. "Rathla," said Lendri, "do not dread. I do not think Hro'nyewachu would help you find your son only to take him again. 'I will require your blood.' Erun? Perhaps. But consider this.

A belkagen-perhaps one of the greatest to have ever served our people-has left the world. His presence will be missed, and Hro'nyewachu… I do not think she will tolerate such an absence for long. Besides, look at him." They did. All of them, even Mingan and Durja. "Who does he remind you of?" said Lendri. "His gait. His confidence. 'My grandfather will take fire from me.' Such boldness."

Arantar, Amira wanted to say. He reminds me of Arantar. But she held her tongue. "You think Erun might be a… belkagen?" said Gyaidun.

Lendri considered this a moment, then said, "I think you should heed the lady's advice. Do not fear for Erun." "Gyaidun?" said Amira. He looked to her. "The night you left the encampment, you made it all the way to Akhrasut Neth, and from there all the way to here. So far so fast, that's… impossible. Even for you." Gyaidun held up his right fist. A ring of some dark red metal-copper perhaps-was on his little finger. Runes, in the same style as those she'd seen on the belkagen and the omahet, were carved along its surface. "Before I left," he said, "the belkagen gave me this. It performs the same magic that you used on the steppe, able to send me great distances in the blink of an eye." "Will you keep it?" asked Lendri. "I have walked all my life," said Gyaidun. "I see no reason to stop now. Still, I might have need of it again."

With the sun gone, all warmth left the air. Cold seemed to radiate from the endless miles of snow, and the northern breeze had the bite of ice. The pyres smoldered, giving off a little heat, but their flames were gone, so that the only light was the thick sliver of moon and the hundreds of stars surrounding it. But with so much snow still on the ground, the land around them reflected the light of moon and stars, so that Amira could see surprisingly well. Still, the Vil Adanrath kept vigil over their dead, and Amira and her companions sat huddled in their cloaks and blankets next to the great pile of ashes.

Durja huddled inside Gyaidun's cloak, and Mingan crouched at Lendri's feet. Erun and Jalan slept in their blankets between the men and Amira. No one had spoken in some time. "We wait here till morning?" asked Amira. "Yes," said Lendri. "At sunrise, we help the wind to scatter the ashes. You may sleep if you wish. I will keep the vigil."