White Road

thin-lipped smile. “Let them hear.”
    Rane sat next to him, twirling the owl feather between his fingers. “I wonder why they haven’t cracked?”
    “What hasn’t cracked?” asked Rieser.
    “Their horns. Belan the Ya’shel is my aunt. She told me that when a witch man has done whatever his destiny is with that horn—the thing that black handprint marks—then it cracks. Naba’s hasn’t, even though he met Turmay. Listen. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
    Rieser looked with more than his usual casual interest at the oo’lus. “There are a lot of rings touched by those marks. It’s probably more than one thing they have to accomplish.”
    “Oh. That’s probably right. I’ll ask her when we get back.”
    “Why not ask Turmay?” asked Nowen.
    The witch man paused in his playing. “Rieser is correct. Destiny is made up of many threads.” And with that, he went back to his strange song.
    Alec looked up from feeding Sebrahn. “What in Bilairy’s name is
that?”
    “I have no idea,” Seregil replied, pausing as he spread their bedroll on the bare stone of the summit. The faint sound in the distance was like nothing he’d ever heard.
    They’d reached the top of the pass at sundown and had to make a fireless camp when a chill mist closed in around them. The rising moon turned it to silver and gave enough light to see a few yards to either side.
    The damp was worse than the cold, chilling them through their woolen clothing and leaving any exposed skin clammy. Seregil’s teeth were chattering, and he’d been about to coax Alec under the blankets to share what warmth they couldwhen the weird sound wafted up to them on the night breeze. Discomfort forgotten, he listened to the rise and fall of it, baffled.
    “No animal makes that sound,” said Micum. “Could it be a dragon?”
    “They don’t sound like that.” Seregil glanced back at Sebrahn, who was squatting next to Alec, apparently un-fazed by the sound. “And he’d have gotten excited like he did that day in Aurënen.”
    “At least it sounds far away.”
    Micum listened for a moment. “It’s hard to judge sound in the mountains.”
    “I wish to hell we could see something!” Seregil muttered.
    The strange sounds continued, rising and falling on the breeze coming up from the pass.
    “It doesn’t sound like it’s moving,” said Alec.
    “That’s probably a good thing, if the sound of it carries this far,” said Micum. “You two get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
    “Thanks.” Seregil unbuckled his sword, but kept it close to hand and his boots on as he curled up under the damp woolen blankets. A little warmer now, he stared up at the sky. Or would have had it been visible. There was nothing to see but more mist and the faint blur of the moon.
    And the moon-white streaks in Sebrahn’s dark hair.
    Turmay lowered his oo’lu for a moment. He and Naba had exchanged the knowing song and formed an alliance that did not include the Hâzadriëlfaie. Naba was concerned to find him in the company of the tayan’gil. Turmay had needed to play an entire telling song to put the images of the good the tayan’gil could do in the other man’s mind; the Mother tolerated this sort. If she had not, the Retha’noi and Hâzad could not have coexisted this long. The small tayan’gil, though? That was another matter, and Naba already understood that.
    He played on, weaving a prayer into the song.
Thank you, Great Mother, for showing me the way so far, and bringing
me to these distant Retha’noi. I think I see your design now. Let me play out the next threads to your will
.
    The first sounds of a new and powerful song were already taking form in his mind, a song the Mother meant for him to share.

CHAPTER 22
Turnabout
    S EREGIL woke cold and confused. He’d been dreaming of snow, and wasn’t sure if he was really awake or not; he could still feel snowflakes melting on his face. He sat up and shook the snow from his hair and the blankets. He was most certainly awake and it most certainly was snowing. Alec sat beside him, wrapped in a blanket with Sebrahn. Micum sat on a stone just beyond.
    Micum looked at him, bemused. “Looks like winter isn’t done with us just yet.” He had his hood up; it was capped with white. “You kept muttering in your sleep. Bad night?”
    Seregil just shrugged. He didn’t remember any details.
    It was a windless day and the snow was falling silent and heavy, making it hard to see for more than a few