He jerked to a stop, staring. I hurried after him as much as the snow would allow, feeling as best I could for the telltale creak of ice beneath my boots. But all I could discern was the gritty squeak of packed snow.
When I caught up with Droko, I followed his gaze and saw nothing but snow swirling on the far bank of the river. “What is it? What did you see?”
But Droko wasn’t simply staring, I realized. He was rigid. And though the wind picked up even more, howling through the trees like a wounded animal, as the snow pelted his face, he didn’t so much as blink. I saw his pupils, in the bright light, were pinpricks. And then the gold flecks in his irises began to move.
The tiny motes swirled like the blowing snow.
I’d witnessed this just once before, in a room of amber, deep in the caverns, when the shaman proved beyond a doubt he was more than just the enemy chieftain’s son.
That time, I was not nearly as close.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I knew I should cast down my gaze in respect. But I couldn’t tear it away from those haunting, swirling eyes. Instead, I dropped to one knee…and found that it wasn’t solid ground we were standing on, but ice.
Under the heavy blanket of snow, I heard nothing. But through my kneecap, Ifeltit creak.
“Shaman, turn back,” I said. “It’s not safe.”
Droko ignores me plenty, but that’s not what was happening here. More like he hadn’t heard me at all.
He opened his mouth to speak, and a curl of frost drifted from his lips, swirling between his tusks—just like the motes in his eyes—when it should have been carried off by the gale. And his voice raised gooseflesh on my arms that even the biting wind couldn’t match. “A hidden threat creeps among us. Should we fail to take heed, what festers beneath the surface will spell our doom.”
A true vision.
I was not the only one to bear witness, either. Everyone on the bank remained utterly silent—cowed, no doubt, by the presence of real magic. Now they would see how ridiculous their fears about Eli truly were—
“He means the witch!” one of the men cried. And the points of a dozen spears whirled around to aim for Eli’s heart.
“Stand down,” I bellowed. “That’s an order!”
My voice boomed, powerful and strong, undampened by the storm. These were all seasoned men. They were better trained than anyone in the clan, as adept as even the chieftain’s personal guard. And at the sound of my command, they all lowered their spears.
Though it would only take one man to second-guess me.
The ice beneath my feet flexed. It groaned loud enough for the sound to break through the heavy burden of snow. Eli had looked so small among the men. Unarmed and vulnerable. But I possessed only one eye—and I had to train it on the shaman.
Droko stood like a statue, eyes swirling, as the ice threatened to buckle beneath his feet. I could tackle him and drag him back to safety, but we were both big. If his weight made the ice creak, adding mine to it would only make things worse. “Droko,” I snapped, hoping to break the trance by using his name—
And then, across the river, the snowy trees parted, and a magnificent buck stepped into the clearing. It was easily six hands high, with broad, velvety antlers that spread wide like the branches of a great tree. Its pelt was thick and covered in snow, blending with woods around it, but its dark eyes were like two coals in the overbright storm. The men, who’d begun muttering among themselves, either to screw up the courage to disobey me,or to mutter counter-curses to Eli’s supposed witchcraft, all fell silent.
And the ice groaned again.
A spear buzzed past me, close enough to ruffle the fur on my cloak. But it wasn’t aimed at me.
It buried itself in the snow on the other bank, not even halfway to the stag.
“It’s too far,” someone whispered—probably the man who’d missed.
“Then get closer.”
“You can hear the ice. It won’t hold us.”
“No, but it might hold the human.”
Who obviously carried no weapon. But despite that fact, one of the guards sent Eli staggering toward the bank with a well-placed thump of his spear butt. I gestured for them to back up. “No one does anything until the shaman is on solid ground,” I snarled—and thankfully, when I turned back to Droko, his eyes looked normal again, mostly, and his rigid posture had broken.
He blinked up at the falling snow. “What’s going on?”
“Shaman,” I said desperately, “get off the ice.”
