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But the ancient queens have not done yet. Arrow Bright, Golden Sow, and Toothless have not forgotten the bonds that link them to their people. As the last echoes of the vast spell tremble in the earth, they grasp the fading threads and on those threads, as with a voice, they whisper.
When Weiwara and Agda carry Adica’s body on a litter into the silence of the ancient tomb, the queens whisper into her ears. Weiwara arranges the corpse as Agda holds the torch. She lovingly braids Adica’s beautiful hair a final time. She fixes the golden antlers to her brow and straightens her clothing, places her lax hands on her abdomen. The lapis lazuli ring that Alain gave her winks softly under torchlight. She stows next to Adica the things Alain brought with him but left behind. In this way a part of him will still attend Adica in death. Last, she places at her feet a bark bucket of beer brewed with honey, wheat, and cranberries.
“Let me share this last drink with you, beloved friend.” She dips a hand in the mead and drinks that handful down. As the sharp beer tickles her throat, it seems to her that the ancient queens stir in their silent tombs.
“Do not abandon us, Daughter. Do not abandon the ones who made you strong and gave you life. Do not leave your beloved friend to sleep alone. That was all she asked, that she not be left to die alone.”
Weeping—will she always be weeping?—Weiwara says the prayers over the dead as Agda sings the correct responses. Afterward, with some relief, she and Agda retreat into the light. At the threshold of the queens’ grave, they purify themselves with lavender rubbed over their skin before they return to the gathered villagers, those who remain.
“What shall we do, Mother Weiwara?” they ask her. “Where shall we go?”
Kel comes running. She sent him back to the village, and with great excitement he announces that eight of the ten pits where they store grain against winter hardship have survived the conflagration.
“This is our home,” says Weiwara, “nor would I gladly leave the ancient queens, and my beloved friend, who gave us life. Let us stay here and build again.”
Arrow Bright, seeing that all transpires as she wished, withdraws her hands from the world. “Come, Sister,” she says to Adica’s spirit, which is still confused and mourning. “Here is the path leading to the Other Side, where the meadow flowers always bloom. Walk with me.”
Their memories fade.
In time, as the dead sleep and the living pass their lives on to their children and grandchildren down the generations, they, too, are forgotten.
Ivar hit the ground so hard that his knees cracked. His arms gave out, and his face and chest slammed into the dirt.
He lay stunned in darkness while the incomprehensible dream he’d been having faded away into confusion. Dirt had gotten into his mouth, coating his lips. Grit stung on his tongue. His ear hurt, the lobe bent back, but he couldn’t move his head to relieve the pressure.
As he lay there, trying to remember how to move, he heard a man speaking, but he didn’t recognize the voice.
“I was walking down a road, and I was weeping, for I knew it was the road that leads to the other world, and do you know, Uncle, more even than my dear mother I really did miss my Fridesuenda for you know we’re to be married at midwinter. But I saw a man. He came walking along the road with a black hound on either side. He was dressed exactly like a Lion but with a terrible stain of blood on his tabard. He reached out to me, and then I knew he couldn’t have been any Lion, for he wore a veil of light over his face and a crown of stars. I swear to you he looked exactly like that new Lion, the one what was once a lord, who’s in Thiadbold’s company.”
Gerulf chuckled. “I recall that one well enough, Dedi.” It took Ivar a moment to identify the liquid tone in the old Lion’s voice: he was crying as he spoke. “He shamed you into returning that tunic to the lad who lost it dicing with you.”
“Nay, Uncle, he never shamed me. He just told me the story of Folquin’s aunt and how she wove it special for her nephew when he went away to the Lions. Then he and his comrades offered to work off the winnings by doing my chores for me. It seemed mean-hearted to say ‘nay’ to them.”
“Ach, lad,” said Gerulf on a shuddering breath. “Lay you still, now. I promised your mother I’d bring you home safely, and so I will. I’ve got to get light here and see what happened to the others.”
Ivar grunted and got his arms to work, pushed up to his hands and knees just as he heard other voices whispering in alarm, many voices breaking into speech at once. “Quiet, I pray you,” he said hoarsely. “Speak, one at a time, so that we know we’re all here.”
“I’m here,” said Gerulf, “and so is my nephew Dedi—”
“I can speak for myself, Uncle.”
“Is that you, Ivar?” asked Sigfrid. “I can’t hear very well. My ears are ringing. I had the strangest vision. I saw an angel—”
“It’s the nail he took from Tallia,” said Hathumod, still weeping. “How did it come to be here?”
“Hush, Hathumod,” said Ermanrich. “Best to be quiet so that we don’t wake anything else. I had a nightmare! I was being chased by monsters, with human bodies but animal faces….” He trailed off as, abruptly, everyone waited for the seventh voice.
In the silence, Ivar heard water dripping. “Baldwin?” he whispered. Again, in a louder voice: “Baldwin?” His heart pounded furiously with fear. Ghosts always wanted blood and living breath on which to feed, and Baldwin was the one who had disturbed the skeleton.
“Ivar!” The voice echoed eerily down unknown corridors, but even the distortion could not muffle that tone of triumph. “Come see this!”
Ivar swore under his breath.
Ermanrich gave a hiccuping laugh, blended out of relief and fear. “When we’ve eyes as pretty as yours, maybe we can see in the dark, too. Where are you?”
As out of nowhere they saw a gleam of pale golden light. Baldwin’s head appeared, the soft light painting his features to an uncanny perfection. He smiled as his shoulders emerged, then his torso. It took a moment for Ivar, still on hands and knees and with his head twisted to one side, to realize that Baldwin was walking up stairs.
“You must come see!” Baldwin exclaimed as his cupped hands came into view. A ring adorned with a blue stone winked on one forefinger. He carried a bauble, all filigreed with cunning lacework and studded with pearls. The gold itself shone with a soft light, illuminating the walls of the chamber.
