It smelled of smoke.
Even with her eyes shut, Sae felt dizzy. She kept them closed and waited for the vertigo to pass.
Her left thigh throbbed. The spot where the dart had punctured her skin beat in time to her pulse. Although she’d yanked out the dart as soon as it hit, the whole area was now stiff.
She recalled most of what happened last night. The poison on the blow dart had paralyzed her, but she never lost consciousness. While immobilized, she’d been aware of them treating her like a limp rag and listened to them talk as they prepared to kill her.
Sae had loosed that arrow knowing she would die. It was strange to find herself alive.
Dawn approached. The air was brutally cold, yet Sae’s body felt warm. A wall of snow packed up behind her blocked out the wind, and in front of her, a small fire burned. It was mostly ashes now, but it still emitted a faint warmth.
The breath of the sleeping man who held her in his arms caressed the back of her neck. She opened her eyes gently.
A crescent moon hung in the dawn sky. Everything in that frozen forest was dyed a single shade of blue—the snow, the trees, the sky behind them. And within that blue darkness, something gleamed. A pair of eyes. A large pyuika, antlers held high, sat in the snow looking this way. Its figure was barely distinguishable against the snow, but its eyes glowed with a strong light. It gazed at her unblinking.
A voice sounded quietly in her ear. “He doesn’t sleep much.”
Sae nodded slightly.
She’d barely spoken to him before, yet she felt safe and secure lying here in his arms.
This compact world formed of snow and trees, the pyuika, her, and Van. If only it would freeze like this, beneath that sliver of moon.
Sae had watched this man for such a long time. His intuition was as sharp as a wild creature’s, so she’d been forced to keep her distance, but she was used to watching her targets from far away. Even when hidden deep behind the trees, she saw his movements and expressions clearly and heard his voice.
The first time she saw him, he’d reminded her of a wolf—a lone wolf separated from its pack.
But lone wolves were usually a pitiful sight, whereas this man betrayed no misery. He had a quiet strength, like a wolf that had run far ahead of the pack into the wilderness. He seemed aloof, yet his expression softened when he was with the young reindeer herders. At those times, he exuded a quiet brightness, similar to a forest on a sunny winter’s day. Perhaps Van himself was ignorant of how the young man he led through the woods and fields looked totally at ease.
And then there was his little daughter. That mischievous girl who always ran to him and jumped into his arms. When he held her, she looked secure as a contended baby, and Van’s face, too, seemed peaceful and relaxed.
He was a quiet man who didn’t show his emotions. But at times, when he was on his own, something about him changed. The first time Sae had noticed, she felt her chest grow cold. Longing seemed to emanate from his back—as though he yearned to vanish into the darkness. Watching him stride deeper and deeper into the forest, Sae had feared that he wouldn’t return to the camp that evening.
She sensed a danger in him. It wouldn’t surprise her if, one day, he stepped over a line that must never be crossed and lost himself forever.
A faint rustling disturbed the bushes, and the pyuika’s ears straightened up. Van gently removed his arms from Sae and drew away. Instantly, the frigid air stung her back, and she shivered.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice. She nodded. He peered into her face, perhaps trying to make it out in the dim light. “I’m going to check the traps. If you’re feeling well enough, please get a fire going.”
Sae looked troubled, and Van smiled faintly. “No horses will catch up with Olaha in this season.”
She relaxed. He was right. Sae had heard the stories, but until she witnessed it for herself, she never believed how swiftly a pyuika could run. The word pyuika meant “flying deer,” but the animals differed greatly from their deer cousins. Sturdy yet amazingly nimble, they bounded so swiftly across the ground that they appeared to soar. That’s why a rider’s skill was far more crucial with pyuika than horses.
Van was an astounding rider. He’d guided Olaha unerringly through the jet-black forest, making split-second decisions that kept Olaha from tripping on tree roots, scraping on branches, or floundering in the snow.
Last night, they’d raced up one cliff and down another and leaped over two streams. Even the finest fire horse had no hope of catching a pyuika in winter, especially through the mountains at night. The Ahfal Oma would have difficulty following any tracks left in the snow until daybreak. The men from the Gansa clan must have spent the night pursuing the Mukonians, so even if they pursued Van on their pyuika, they were still considerably distant.
Olaha brushed his nose against Van’s thigh when he passed. As if in answer, Van touched his antlers and then vanished into the brush.
Sae rose with a sigh and set to work laying a fire. Her left thigh ached, and she had difficulty moving, but she had managed to get wood burning by the time Van returned with two rabbit carcasses, neatly skinned and gutted, dangling from his hand. She handed him some nearby sticks, and he whittled the tips into points to make skewers.
Once the meat roasting over the fire was nicely browned, Sae pulled a small leather pouch from her belt, took out some salt wrapped in oiled paper, and sprinkled it over them. Then she handed a skewer to Van.
As she did so, Olaha stood and trotted over to her.
“Look out,” Van said. “He’s after the salt.”
Olaha swung his head down to her lap and nuzzled her hand. Smiling, Sae let him lick a pinch of salt while folding the paper shut with the fingers of her other hand and slipping it back into her pouch.
A single pinch must not have been enough, because the pyuika butted his nose against her chest.
“Hey there! Stop that!” Van said.
Olaha snorted and wandered away. In the mountains, salt was more precious than gold. Sae had given the pyuika quite a large pinch, but considering that he’d saved her life, she didn’t mind. She bit into the roasted meat. Rabbits were lean, but the hot flesh seasoned with salt tasted heavenly.
The two chewed away greedily for a while, licking the fat from their fingers. Sae felt the heat and strength returning to her body already, even with just one rabbit in her stomach. She turned to Van, who was busy wiping the grease from his knife in the snow, and bowed her head deeply.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she said.
Van looked up and nodded in acknowledgment.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
He slipped the knife into its sheath but, instead of answering her question, replied, “Why did you shoot the Dog King?”
Sae thought for a moment, but after all that had happened, she didn’t see any point in hiding the truth. “To save Aquafa.”
Van frowned. “I thought he had the king’s approval.”
Sae blinked. “Did he tell you that?”
“…He showed me a dream. A dream about using the Kinma dogs to spread disease and take Aquafa back from Zol and Mukonia.”
Sae nodded. “Did he tell you that the disease kills outsiders but not those born in this land?”
“Yes.”
Sae sighed. “He was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Yes. That disease—black wolf fever—it can harm Aquafaese. Some have already died of it.” Sae explained how the King of Aquafa had approved the scheme at first because he believed that Aquafaese were immune. If things went well, it would prove that this opportunity was a gift from the gods. However, the black wolf fever carried by the Kinma dogs differed from the illness of several centuries ago.
“Did you hear about the falcon hunt?”
“The one where Utalu died after being bitten?”
“Yes. Izam, the king’s own kin, was also stricken and nearly perished. He survived, but he was left partially paralyzed. That was a great shock for us. We began investigating and discovered that some other Aquafaese had died from similar symptoms.