“Can I say something?” Frost asked Suri politely.
She looked at him curiously. The tattoos around her eyes shifted with her furrowed brow. “You just did.”
“Can I say something else?”
Suri sighed and looked to her wolf. “If he’s going to keep this up, we could be here for a very long time, isn’t that right, Minna?”
“I was just thinking that if you can kill a giant, then maybe we don’t need her.” He nodded his head toward Arion.
“Why would you want that?” Suri said.
“We have one in the city of Neith, which keeps us from our homeland; your chieftain wants to trade Belgriclungreian weapons in exchange for getting rid of it.”
“I just told you. The first time was an accident,” Suri said.
“Another accident would be fine.” Frost smiled.
“Nobody has to kill anyone,” Arion said, and then switched back to Fhrey. “Why must everyone turn to such drastic actions as death and war! There are dozens of ways to deal with a giant, and none of them would require its death.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t feel that way if you met him,” Frost said.
“That’s because you’re not an Artist. We’re trained to think creatively.”
“Suri,” Persephone said. “We really need help with this. It’s very important.”
“I’ll do what I can, but caterpillars really aren’t much help.”
“Huh?” Persephone was as confused as the others.
Arion waved a hand dismissively. “It’s her way of saying she’s not qualified, but she could be. How about this. Suri and I will go to Neith and deal with the giant…deal with, not kill. Rapnagar’s demise was a mistake. One which we both need to atone for. I shouldn’t have asked her to attempt such a complicated weave with her current abilities. If properly trained, she’ll not only be able to rid Neith of the giant, but she’ll also prove to the fane that she truly is an Artist. Persephone will have her weapons, so the Rhunes won’t be defenseless. And as much as it saddens me, I understand a fight with my people is inevitable now. Respect must be earned. And if you can win a battle or two, the fane will be far more inclined to seek out a peaceful solution. That’s when Suri can be the solution everyone will welcome.”
She paused, then looked directly at Suri. “But…you must agree to let me teach you. No more resistance. No more fighting. Your mastery of the Art goes beyond your desire to stay as you are. You must spread your wings, for the sake of both Rhunes and the Fhrey.”
“And I’m coming, too.” Persephone said. “To negotiate for the weapons. If no agreement can be reached, then no one is doing anything. Understood?”
“Agreed,” Frost said. “But I think when you see the giant, you’ll realize death is the best way to deal with it.”
“Let me worry about that,” Arion told him. “As I said, Miralyith are trained to be creative. He’s likely as unhappy about being locked up in your mountain as you are having him there. I could shrink him to the size of a mouse, put him in a bag, and return him to his homeland.”
“Uh-huh, but—”
“Quit while you’re ahead. She’s coming, and that’s the important thing,” Persephone said.
Frost nodded.
Suri looked down at Minna, and the wolf looked back. “Will you still love me if I become a butterfly, Minna?”
The wolf brought up her head and licked Suri’s hand.
“It’s settled then,” Persephone said.
“What’s settled?” Brin asked. “What’s going on? How am I supposed to act as Keeper if you talk in a language I don’t understand?”
“Maybe you should learn Fhrey,” Persephone told the girl. “Come, I’ll fill you in while I pack.”
“Pack? You’re going?”
—
The rain had disrupted life under the wool.
Even after it stopped, the ground remained soft. The beaten grass became a muddy mess, then a serious problem as poles refused to stay rooted. Moving anything heavy turned into a monumental chore. Old paths were abandoned for firmer footing, and elevation became the new standard for prosperity. A large, shallow pool had formed in the low basin midway along the wall. The Great Puddle, as it came to be known, displaced several squatters and divided the camp into East and West Puddle. Being on the incline, West Puddle was more desirable, and it was there that Habet built private quarters for Persephone. Apparently, it pained him to see his chieftain sitting on the ground with everyone else. He’d persuaded Farmer Wedon and Bruce Baker to help erect a two-chambered enclosure where they placed the First Chair, the only thing Habet had been able to salvage from the ruined lodge.
Persephone never used it.
She remained in East Puddle among the stacked baskets, bundled tools, and the people fearing more rain. There wasn’t any thought in her selection, no political statement being made. Persephone had settled in East Puddle because that was where Brin, Moya, Padera, and Roan were. She had no intention of leaving them. At least not until that night.
“You’re going where?” Moya shouted at Persephone while the chieftain packed.
“Across the strait to Belgreig,” Persephone said while stuffing a blanket into a sack. “If Arion and Suri take care of a giant for the Dherg, then I’ll get weapons for the war.” She turned to Padera. “Do you think it will be cold? Should I bring my breckon mor?” She’d never been to Belgreig. For all she knew, it might be snowing there.
“Better to have than regret,” Padera said, sitting in her pillows of wool and sewing together what looked to be a sack.
“Who else is going?” Moya asked.
“No one. Oh, well, except for the dwarfs, of course.”
“Just you three and the shrimps?” Moya asked in a tone that suggested Persephone was insane. “What about Raithe?” she said to Malcolm, who was in the process of filling a waterskin from the large barrel.
“Hasn’t said anything to me,” Malcolm replied. “Does he know? This is the first I’ve heard.” He turned to Persephone. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” she said quickly.
Everyone stared.
“But he’s your Shield. He has to go,” Moya said.
“Not my Shield anymore.”
“What? When did that happen?” Moya had planted her hands on her hips in an excellent imitation of Persephone’s mother. The likeness would have been perfect except Moya wore a short sword slung low on one hip. She’d gotten it as a gift from Tekchin. “How did—”
“He can’t be my Shield and sit as a chieftain, so I released him before the council met. And I forbid each of you from saying anything. He might insist on coming or try to chase after me. I need him to stay here and become keenig. To do that, he has to attend the meetings so the other chieftains can convince him.”
“Don’t you need to be there? You called for the clan assembly. You can’t run off in the middle of it.”
“Any decisions will be made by Tegan, Harkon, Lipit, and Krugen—the chieftains who still have clans. Raithe’s people are all but extinct, and yet he has more say than me. He’s the God Killer; I’m only the widow of a chieftain. My words have about as much impact as raindrops. But if I can bring back weapons—good ones—maybe Raithe will change his mind about being the keenig. If he does, I think the others will pledge their allegiance.”