She paused beside Otholo. “You will sing him a song, the likes of which have never been heard before.”
Otholo, smiled sadly. “I’ll create a ballad that will reach him in Valhalla.”
Elora and Bray followed, he offered to carry the hammer for Ejan but she refused. The Fist was her burden now, until she placed it Jaygen’s hands.
After that they left her alone, letting her grieve as the group, now one short, trudged down a narrow path that wound around the mountain, steadily leading them lower.
By nightfall they had descended beyond the cold reach of the snow and had once again the cover of trees. Diagus halted the group by a mountain stream, where they rested until daybreak. Elora didn’t think that any of them slept that night, although their bodies must have been drained, she knew hers was. She lay in Bray’s arms, folded snuggly in his embrace, feeling immense guilt as she watched Ejan lay against a tree, her head down and arms wrapped about the hammer. Not moving until Diagus passed water around and harassed them into motion.
The sun had barely risen when Nat halted the group near a rocky outcrop surrounded by trees. His eyes were fixed on Elora when he spoke.
“This is as far as I go. Aslania is less than two hours away and if I’m recognised then my sister may realise who Elora really is.”
Elora’s heart sank. She was about to protest when he placed a finger against her lips.
“The mission will fail if she finds out who you are, Elora. Remember what I told you back on the Molly?”
“But you can explain things to her, Nat. Tell her that my voice will strengthen the bonds that hold Solarius.”
“No, I can’t. This plan will only work if she believes you’re Otholo’s sister. It’s the only way she would allow you to perform the Eversong in the church. Even if she did believe us, she wouldn’t allow it until she had proof. And how do we acquire that?”
“He’s right,” offered Otholo. “They’re a headstrong race, Minuans. Stuck in their ways and traditions. Eversong has been sung for thousands of years - never stopping, never faltering. They wouldn’t allow you to do it. Not without council over council and meeting over meeting, by which time your father will have broken his bonds and be released on both worlds. They’d regret not acting then, but regrets are not worth frog snot.”
Elora hugged her uncle tight, wrapping her arms around his frail old frame. “What will you do?”
Nat held her at arm’s length, smiling warmly. “This is my land, my home. I’ll be quite comfortable waiting here until afterwards. It’ll only be for a few days, maybe sooner, then when you can come back for me we’ll break the news to your mother, Athena. Besides, I’ll have Ejan for company.”
“You will?” asked Ejan. “And why am I not seeing this mission through to its bitter end?”
“Because a Viking entering the city would be hard to explain. Otholo and his sister, chaperoned by the Shadojak and his Shaigun would be a strange enough story to swallow, but add a Viking to the tale and you may find entering Aslania a longer process than you want.” Nat shrugged, “I maybe wrong, you might be able to waltz in easily enough, but can you afford to take that risk?”
Ejan made a shrug of her own. “I’ll stay. But I dare say my company will be a quiet one.”
“Understandable,” said Nat, unable to hide the pity in his smile.
“Two hours,” announced Diagus. “We could be there by this afternoon.”
Elora tried to sound reassuring, but fell some way short when she told her uncle she would see him again in a couple of days. She didn’t know what to say to Ejan. What could she say, no words would bring Ragna back? Instead she wrapped her arms about the Norsewoman’s waist and hugged her. It wasn’t much, she knew, yet Ejan hugged her back and kissed her softly on the forehead.
The others said their farewells and they set off once again, the group now reduced to four and seeming, to Elora, somewhat more morose for it.
“You’re probably best to remain silent,” said Otholo after about an hour of hiking. “That tinker’s tongue charm allows you to understand what’s being spoken but doesn’t allow you to speak it. If you talk it will be in your own language and will only confuse them.”
“But what should I do? I can’t just remain silent,” asked Elora, beginning to feel anxious at what was to come.
“Remaining silent is the best thing you can do. If they ask, I will tell them that you are saving your voice for the song. It is known that girls who are about to perform the Eversong for the first time hold their energies in, saving their voices by withholding from even speaking for days, sometimes weeks, prior to singing. When we get there let me do the talking.”
Elora was sure she could refrain from speaking, that was easy enough. “But what if they don’t believe that I’m your sister. Wouldn’t somebody know what she looks like?”
“I doubt it. She left Aslania with me, when she was a toddler. And like any other Minuan she had blonde hair and blue eyes. Like you have. By the way, now might be a good time to put your contact lenses in.”
“Where’s your sister now?” asked Elora as she fumbled in her pocket for the contacts.
Otholo shrugged. “Last I heard, and that was a fair few years ago, she had settled down in Southern Paquees. Singing for the theatre and for the Duke and Duchess of that country’s capital. She may still be there or may have moved on.”
Shortly after her conversation with Otholo the track they had been following opened out into a wide valley, becoming a path that led to stone steps that crept alongside a fast-flowing stream. The steps became a cobbled path as they ascended the valley where it levelled off onto a grassy plateau. A heard of goats grazed about the flat ground, shaggy grey coats wafting in a breeze that had picked up. A young man dressed in woollen britches and tunic eyed them warily as they walked by, long blonde hair billowing out behind him, matching the goats he shepherded. Otholo waved out to him as they passed, but the shepherd kept his hand firmly gripped upon his crook, a hostile look dressing his features.
“Are all Minuans as friendly?” asked Bray, sarcastically.
Otholo chuckled. “They don’t take kindly to strangers, but once they’ve warmed to you they’re as friendly as any race.”
They passed more goats and more shepherds as the path led them in a gentle sweep around the mountain. Elora’s legs ached from the hard work they had performed in the last few days and so as the path began to take an upwards turn, her muscles burned with fatigue. As they passed a large stone outcrop they came upon a huge arch, carved out of the sheer rock face. The path leading them to the solid structure, rising up steps to its base where soldiers dressed in silver armour stood to attention; tall spears with blades shaped like leaves, sparkled in the sunlight as they marched towards them.
“Well met,” said Otholo, rising an arm in greeting whilst offering them a bow. “I am Otholo the bard. Come home to rejoice in Aslania and to bring my sister Otheena to sing the Eversong.”
The guards surveyed them as warily as the shepherds. “Who are these men?” asked the taller, gruffly.
Diagus stepped forwards. “I’m the Shadojak. This is my Shaigun.” He indicated to Bray with a nod. “We’ve come a long way to ensure that Otheena reaches Aslania. It is imperative that she sings in the church of Minu.”
The guard scowled, regarding Elora for a moment as he signalled for another guard to come forward. “Bring me a representative of the church, I don’t like the look of these men.” The guard nodded and hurried away. In a short while he returned with a middle-aged woman dressed in a white and gold gown that flowed to the ground. She was more handsome than pretty, with high cheek bones and a narrow face, the first signs of grey appearing in her blonde hair. She examined them, cool blue eyes looking into each of theirs before settling on Otholo, her brow lifting in recognition.
“Otholo, you’ve returned,” she exclaimed, her stern face becoming bright, decorated with a warm smile.
“I have, Songstress. And you remember my sister, Otheena?” He put an arm about Elora’s shoulder, gesturing for her to step forward.
Elora did so, feeling the weight of the woman’s stare once again. Did her mother look like this, could she even be her mother? She was the right age. Maybe not, she didn’t feel that she was, surely she would recognise her if she saw her. But Elora couldn’t put the thought out of her mind, was she to judge every middle-aged woman in Aslania as such?
“Why so quiet child, surely the sister of Otholo would not be shy?”
