She pulled back the edge of the shroud for one last look at her mother’s face. It might have been gruesome except that the body had stayed frozen and perfectly preserved beneath the lean-to behind the house for the duration of the blizzard. The woman could have been sleeping, with her eyes shut and her hair arranged in a yellow fan around her head. In her hands, she clasped the hook-nosed knife that had drawn the blood of her killer, and beside her, Sibba had placed the golden arm ring that her father had given to Darcey on the day of their wedding. Her mother never wore it. In Casuin, where she had grown up, it was a symbol of slavery. Here, it was a symbol of honor and dedication. Sibba didn’t know which one was right, but she wasn’t taking any chances. If her mother was going to Elanos, the Realm of Warriors, she would not go empty-handed. They would know her status and honor her as she wished.
She had considered adding Gabel's sword, but it was too valuable. The steel blade was finely made, and the grip was crafted to look like the body of a crow while the guard was its widespread black wings. Two small rubies inlaid in the handle were meant to be the bird's eyes. Sibba felt constantly like the crow was watching her, following her movements as she bid farewell to her mother. But as uncomfortable as it made her, it might bring her a trade that could get her out of the Fields, and so she had not sent it to Elanos as well.
Sibba had searched for Gabel's bow—the one he had used to kill her mother—but had found no trace of it. She was certain he hadn't been carrying it when she met him, so the only possibility was that he had lost it in the woods. But when she thought about how careful he had been with the sword, she couldn't reconcile him losing his other weapon. Had he discarded it on purpose? She would never know. Instead, Sibba had placed the two halves of her brother's broken bow on Darcey's other side, before wrapping her in the ruined sail, her makeshift burial shroud.
Looking down at her mother surrounded by such meager possessions, an apology had been on Sibba’s lips, but she pressed them together to keep it inside. That would not be a way to honor her mother or her death. If the Fieldings were right—and a secret part of her hoped they were—this wasn’t goodbye. They would meet again in Elanos and feast with the warriors for all eternity if Sibba met an honorable end.
Returning the dirt to the hole with the broken shovel was harder than she expected. It wasn’t the physical work involved, but the pain she felt every time a clump of dirt collided with her mother’s body. But Sibba kept going, not stopping to wipe the sweat from her forehead or the tears from her eyes. When the sun fell and the moon rose—Fusilis and Narchos in their eternal chase across the sky—she stood over what looked like nothing more than a mound of dirt. She thought she should say something, but words had never been her strong point and so she simply bowed her head and sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening, hoping that it would be enough.
That night, Sibba felt truly alone for the first time ever, surrounded only by trees and animals and an unrelenting ocean. She slept restlessly and rose with the dawn. The tide was low and the beach beyond her door was wide, shining yellow in the sunrise. She saddled Gerd, her gentle mare, bribing her with a handful of oats and apples from her own breakfast. When she was done, there was a small bag of supplies tied to the saddle, including the broken shovel and a spade that Darcey had used for gardening.
Sibba mounted and held a gloved hand up, letting out two shrill, short whistles. Aeris appeared in a harried beating of wings, landing on Sibba's outstretched hand, talons wrapping around her palm.
The bird gently touched her curved beak to Sibba's chin.
“I know,” Sibba said quietly. “Me too.”
Then she squeezed Gerd with her heels and the horse lumbered west into the forest.
? ? ?
Sibba had always liked the way the island felt after it snowed. All of its secrets were laid bare; nothing was hidden behind leaves or in darkness. These trees had been her constant companions for five years. She had been safe beneath their canopy until Gabel had ripped that away from her. Now she felt uneasy, and even though the white snow cover and the leafless trees meant she could see for miles in every direction, the feeling that she was being watched only grew stronger. Even Aeris was on high alert, perched on Sibba's shoulder, her head twitching toward every sound.
The remains of the old village were on the northern side of the island, and Sibba wanted to make it there and back by nightfall. Now that her mother was gone, she had no reason to stay on Ey any longer than she had to. The sooner she got what she needed, the sooner she could leave.
They followed one of her hunting paths around the base of the hills and came out on the northwestern beach near the old settlement. It had been razed by invaders long ago, its residents killed or taken into slavery before the practice of human trading had been abolished. Some said it was cursed by Coris. Together, she and her husband Valdos ruled Malos, the Realm of Shadows, where those who died a dishonorable death spent eternity. She had been human once and had been taken from her home here on Ey. This old, abandoned village was allegedly the place where Fieldings had killed Coris’s mother, and so all who walked here would be doomed to an afterlife in shadow instead of light. Even the women that Darcey traded with would never travel to Ey, insisting on meeting her only on the mainland.
Darcey had never been afraid, though of course she had not been raised to believe in these gods. In Casuin, Enos was the only god. They believed that glory lay in conquering other people and spreading Enos’s influence as far and as wide as possible. A leader’s success was his people’s success, and so Darcey had drilled unity and obedience into her children.
All this while their father preached individual strength and glory. To a Fielding, Enos was their war chief, and he and his sons, Valdos and Lumos, valued bravery and independence above all else. The rest of their gods were innumerable, ranging from Interis who wove the loom of fate, to the spirits of the fields that helped protect a farmer’s land. While Darcey spoke of Enos with reverence, Fieldings spoke of their gods as if they were just other people—flawed and beautiful and terrifying. Sibba didn’t know which was correct, or even which she preferred, but she hoped not to meet any of them during this trip to the old village.
When the sun was almost at its peak, the ruins came into view—low, weathered stones forming rectangular outlines where walls had once been. A garden now overgrown and wild. A clay pit that her mother had said was for cooking, its sides cracked.
Sibba and Darcey had only come here once, when they had first arrived, and even then the place had made Sibba's skin crawl, whether or not the story was true. Aeris seemed to feel the same. As they approached the ruins now, she plucked at Sibba's hair. When Sibba didn't turn around, the bird leaped from her shoulder and took a watchful perch in a nearby tree, the branches rustling as they dropped the last of their ice to the ground, narrowly missing Sibba and Gerd.