Rising

   Chapter Seven



   Ahma finally awoke just as Master Methaniel carefully lifted her from
Lanion's back.  Her dream was still fresh in her mind.  It was an odd,
confusing dream, and she felt a conflicting range of emotions from it.

   It was full dark with a large moon hanging in the sky.  She did not
recognize her surroundings, and they were far different from the hilly land
they'd been in when she'd dosed off.  Had she slept all day?

   She looked up at Methaniel as her feet settled on the ground.  His eyes
were bloodshot and he looked very haggard.  She forced a smile to her lips.
"Are you okay?  Can I help?"

   He handed her a few items, mostly the blanket and his water skin as he
shouldered his pack.

   "Follow me."

   Methaniel, with Lanion plodding behind him, led her to a small rocky
outcropt along the path they stood on.  Ahma glanced around, taking in the
sight of her surroundings.  They had already made their way into the
Northern Pass, Ahma guessed by the looks of things.  They were on a path
that wound its way along behind and before them, a rough, narrow trail that
looked as if it saw very little use.  This part of the Pass had dipped into
a short valley, with rocky cliffs rising up on either side.  The cliffs to
the left rose up into the sky as far as she could see, its top concealed in
the dark while the one on their right rose just past Methaniel's height and
then ended in jagged, uneven stone.  Ahma couldn't see what was beyond its
lip.  Several small, scraggly bushes dotted the trail and two trees clung
to the rock face a few yards ahead.

   On the right cliff face was a rough overhanging, jutting away from the
rock wall just far enough to provide a measure of shelter.  Methaniel had
to crouch to fit under it, and Ahma crept beneath it to sit with him.

   They began to eat a small meal, almost finishing the last of the cheese,
and eating one strip of dried beef each.  They sipped sparingly at the
water skins.  The night seemed less cold than it was before she'd drifted
off.

   "How long did I sleep?" She asked as she rubbed her slender hands
together, trying to get them warm.

   "A day and half that again," Methaniel replied softly.

   Ahma's eyes widened.  "Have you been awake all that time?"

   Methaniel's drooping lids answered for her.  He sipped more water from
his skin.  He sagged back and placed his back against the rocky wall.

   "I must rest," he murmured, barely conscious at all.  "Please feed
Lanion and be sure he rests some.  He has not stopped his march since we
left..."

   The Master's shining silver eyes gazed at her a moment longer before
closing as he slipped firmly into oblivion.

   Ahma watched him for a moment longer, studying his face.  Normally stern
and hard, his features softened in sleep to show calm, gentle features. 
Several long strands of gleaming copper had fallen across his exhausted
face, having escaped the leather thong he used to hold his hair back.  She
brushed the hair away, then covered him with several blankets before
tucking the water skin in the blankets with him.  She rose, dusting her
hands off as she walked to Lanion's side.  The great horse stood just
outside the overhang, his head bent to the ground as he munched at a thick
patch of grass he'd found under the snow.  Ahma grabbed another of the
blankets and threw it onto his back.  Lanion turned his head to her,
watching her with his wide liquid eyes while she stroked his neck and did
her best to smooth out his mane.  She patted his muzzle affectionately.

   He leaned forward and nudged the water skin she carried.  Ahma smiled
widely and uncapped the skin, then poured some into the horse's mouth.  He
snorted and nuzzled her hand in thanks.  She felt bad for him, having to
eat on such a slim diet.  But then, all three of them would be getting a
bit thinner on this trip, she knew.

   After eating awhile longer, Lanion shut his great eyes and promptly went
to sleep standing beside the overhang.  Ahma returned under the rocky ledge
and huddled next to Methaniel, pulling the last of their blankets around
herself.  He was warm, and his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of
sleep.

   She lay still and quiet, shivering with the cold and thinking on the
events of the past week.  She was lucky Master had pulled her from the
house.  She had froze up so suddenly as the news of her brothers and sight
of the flames trapping her in the past.  She had been little more than a
burden so far, she thought glumly.  She had to maintain her composure and
be useful, she told herself, or Methaniel may decide to leave her behind.

   Her mind turned to her brothers.  How she missed them already!  She only
hoped they were on their way to heaven to meet Father, and hopefully Mother
as well, and be happy with them again.

   Her heart ached thinking about them, all of them, so violently ripped
from this life.  It was probably best Fahl and Kahr had died together. 
That way, they wouldn't be lonely.  She counted the days in her head. 
Three more, and their journey to heaven would be complete, and her family
would be reunited in the afterlife.  She hoped Methaniel wouldn't mind her
observing their entrance into Father Sky's domain.  His Father had never
stopped her from observing or performing the rituals and beliefs of her
people and thus far neither had he, but she could never be sure, could she?

   Ahma felt a well of sorrow building inside.  She strove to force it
down, to ignore the hurt and despair she felt, but it was impossible.  She
had lost so much, so many.  Despite Methaniel's comforting presence beside
her, Ahma felt very, very alone.

   Tears rose in her eyes and spilled silently down her smooth cheeks.

   ***



   From that point on, the days passed in a long, uneventful blur. 
Methaniel had allowed her to observe her brothers passing to heaven, and
had shared in her silent observation of love to her brothers.

   The weather grew worse and worse, and the Master pushed them hard
through it, keeping Lanion on a constant northward course.  Ahma was more
conscious and collected during those days, but even still the whole exodus
seemed no more than a strange dream.  The pair talked relatively little;
there wasn't much to say, and all their focus was bent on continuing on as
quickly as possible.  Though the Master was ever tense and hard, his eyes
anxiously scanning their surroundings every other moment for any sign of
ambush or pursuit, whenever he did speak his words were gentle and kind.

   It was a harsh, difficult journey.  Ahma soon realized just why so many
avoided this pass.  The path was treacherous and the danger only grew worse
the higher into the mountains they went.  Frequently they found themselves
on a path leading along the side of the cliffs, with a deadly drop of
hundreds of feet to their right and the steady rock wall to their left. 
Lanion, though amazingly sure-footed and steady, was nearly too wide for
the trail, and they often had to dismount to let the horse pick his way
along at his own pace and without their encumbering weight.  It slowed
them, which visibly upset Methaniel, but he refused to leave his beloved
horse behind.  The weather more often than not went from bad to worse, and
a freezing wind and overwhelming swirl of snow and ice compromised both
visibility and footing, two things they desperately needed in those tense
days.

   Several times they'd barely avoided being buried in an avalanche, only
escaping with quick thinking and fast feet.  Twice they came upon massive
gaps in the trail where the ground had crumbled and eroded away.  Ahma's
wings had healed adequately to carry her across.  If not for Lanion's
jumping ability, Methaniel would have been stuck.

   Food was scarce.  Methaniel managed to bring down a good number of
mountain hare and other small game, as well as two mountain goats.  He
skinned them with his hunting knife and salted the meat for future meals.
They had already consumed nearly all the travel rations they'd bought.  It
was nearly impossible to keep a fire going when they settled for the day.
The wind and snow snuffed it out easily.  Methaniel finally resorted to
propping the small pelts up on several sticks he'd found in a ring around
the fire to shelter it from the driving wind.  It only moderately helped.
The freezing temperatures, blistering winds, and harsh weather sapped their
strength by the day, slowing their progress and threatening to make them
make deadly mistakes.

   For two weeks they traveled deeper into the mountains, following the
rough and often almost nonexistent trail at a gradually slowing pace. 
Soon, they were barely making any progress at all, the harsh conditions and
treacherous path making their way agonizingly slow.  Finally, the path
turned east, which both pleased and alarmed Methaniel at once.  They had
reached the only real marker of their progress that he could think of.  Yet
they were now only about a third of the way through their journey out of
Durinum lands, and the travels from here on would only get worse.

   A week and a half after they'd turned east, their progress came to a
dead halt.

   "We can't go any further," Methaniel yelled hoarsely over the screaming
wind that assaulted them.  "This weather only gets worse!  This blizzard
will worsen soon, and it'll only sweep us from the side of the mountain if
we try to push through it!"

   "What can we do, then?" Ahma shouted back at him.

   "The cave we took shelter in this afternoon," Methaniel replied.  "I'd
hoped we could continue on, but until the weather turns for the better
we'll have to use it to wait this storm out!"

   The cave was as they left it, dry and nearly featureless, with several
stalactites reaching their stony fingers down from the ceiling.  The mouth
of the cave was high enough for Lanion to stand comfortably under, while
further back it lowered till Methaniel had to bend slightly to fit.  The
cave was spacious enough for all of them to fit inside, with just enough
room to move around.

   By the time they reached the cave's shelter, enormous chunks of ice were
pelting the cliff face outside.  The intermittent, booming thud could still
be heard inside as both of them dropped their packs to the ground.

   "How long do you think this storm will last?" Ahma asked.

   "I don't know," Methaniel shrugged.  "I hope it abates at least a bit in
the next several days.  I do not know how long our supplies will last if I
cannot hunt for more soon."

   Upon a quick survey of the cave, Methaniel noted a small hole in the
roof that extended into a shaft leading out to the open air beyond.  This
was something of a curse and a blessing all at once, as it allowed gusts of
chilling wind to blow their way into the cave, adding to the draft from the
cave mouth, and made a large pile of snow directly below it.  It was a
boon, however, in that it allowed smoke to more effectively leave the cave,
which meant he could build a fire in the middle of the cave, far enough so
that any snow falling at the cave mouth or from the shaft in the roof
wouldn't hamper the burning wood.

   Soon a small flame was crackling.  They sat around it, and Lanion stood
as far into the cave as he could without grazing the sloping roof. 
Methaniel handed out food, giving their last apple to the horse and sharing
a shank of hare with Ahma.

   The day passed slowly.  As the violent storm raged on outside their
little shelter, the temperature plummeted even lower than before.  The cold
numbed them, making them feel sluggish and lethargic as their limbs lost
feeling.

   "M-master," Ahma whispered through violently chattering teeth.  She was
bundled up in her cloak and two blankets, her wings folded around her and
her arms and legs pulled as close to her body as she could.  She was as
close to the fire as she could safely get, and still she felt as if she was
on the verge of freezing to death.  Her people were not well suited to the
cold.

   "I'm s-so c-cold," she said miserably.

   Methaniel himself was not unaffected by the cold, though he fared better
than his companion.  He couldn't feel his toes, and his ears felt as if
they were being lanced repeatedly by fiery needles.  He looked to her and
nodded slowly.  "The best thing we can do is get closer, Ahma.  Body heat
is all that can keep us from hypothermia now."

   He scooted closer and pulled her into his arms.  She did not resist.  He
rearranged the blankets, sharing his with her and visa versa so that both
of them were wrapped tightly in them.  Ahma shivered violently as his
warmth washed over her.  He was definitely right; already the agonizing
cold was more bearable, though it still filled her with misery.  Methaniel
reached for another hunk of wood and placed it on the fire, building it
higher and hotter.

   Ahma sighed as warmth finally penetrated the cold that seemed to fill
every pore of her.

   It would be a long, uncomfortable wait.





   ***





   A new challenge faced them during their days in the cave, beyond that of
simply surviving the overwhelming, numbing cold or their steadily dwindling
rations; boredom.  One could only sleep for so long before even that became
impossible.  Sitting there in the dark cave doing nothing was even worse,
as the inactivity and isolation drove their attention constantly back to
the miserable conditions they were living in.  After spending several hours
in personal thought, both began to dread the silent, still times they'd
fallen into.  It was an agonizing wait, and the conditions were a constant
tax on their bodies and a drain on what little energy they had.  They
couldn't get up to do much and couldn't even separate for long.  The first
time they'd tried, Ahma had begun to turn a faint blue from the oppressive
cold around them.

   Eventually, attempting to alleviate some of the tedium of the day,
Methaniel said, "I've heard tales of a great Wingling Kingdom.  If the
legends are true, once it was the greatest civilization in our world.  But
they say it has fallen into ruin.  It was supposed to be some place where
it's warm almost year round.  I often wonder if it truly exists."

   "It's a real place," Ahma nodded.  "Or at least it was.  My parents came
from that Kingdom.  I don't think it's a ruin now, but I don't know.  My
parents never said anything about it falling.  They lived in the capitol
city of the Wingling land.  Everything there is always green, and it snows
very little, even on peaks of the few mountains they have."

   "Perhaps that is why the cold affects you so," Methaniel suggested.

   "My family was the same way," she said slowly.

   "Yes," Methaniel nodded, staring at the far wall across the dimly lit
cave.  "Your brothers never liked the cold."

   A silence stretched between them as they both remembered Fahl and Kahr
in their own way.

   "I wish we were there now," Ahma smiled softly.  "I'd prefer the warmth
over this horrible cold."

   "As would I," Methaniel smiled.

   "Why did you say the Wingling Kingdom is a legend?" Ahma asked.

   Methaniel's brow furrowed and he glanced down at her, nestled in his
arms so that she wouldn't freeze to death.  "It's regarded as a legend in
Durinum culture...we don't have much contact with Wingling, so we know very
little about them.  There is quite a bit of speculation about your people.
Wingling are very rare these days, as I'm sure you well know.  My father
searched with all the resources he had for three months before he finally
found Hannah to help raise you.  Even then, he paid double the normal wage
for a servant."

   Ahma was silent for a brief moment.  She shivered slightly, and he
pulled her closer, rubbing her arm to try to warm her.  She shut her eyes
and lowered her head, several long strands that had escaped her braid
falling about her face.

   "Do you think rain and snow are the same, Master?"

   Methaniel stared at her curiously, thrown off guard by the sudden,
strange shift in conversation.  "What do you mean?"

   Ahma's eyes opened and focused on the small fire in front of them. 
"Hannah probably died in the fire, hiding with the women and children or
helping to get them out.  When...when a Wingling dies in smoke, we believe
their eyes are clouded and blind.  And if they are blind, they can't find
their way to heaven.  We believe that this is one of the reasons Father Sky
makes it rain...so the smoke and soot may be washed from the deads' eyes,
and his blind children can see again and find their way to him.  It is his
blessing to us..."

   She faulted for a moment and bit her lower lip.  "But it won't rain for
months.  So I'm scared Hannah won't be able to find her way, and she'll get
lost.  If she loses her way, she may never find it again...she may never
ascend to heaven."

   Methaniel thought for a moment, then said softly, "Snow melts on your
face, yes?"

   "Well...yes," Ahma nodded.

   Methaniel smiled softly and patted her shoulder.  "Then she should be
fine.  We've had plenty of snow, and in the end, snow is the same as rain.
I think she will find her way."

   "I hope so," Ahma said, returning his smile.  "Thank you, Master."

   "You're welcome," Methaniel replied.  "Your brothers told me a bit about
your religion and customs.  I find them fascinating."

   "My mother used to tell me stories every day as I helped her with
chores. She told old stories that Wingling have used for generations as
teaching tools for their children.  She also taught me almost everything
about our ways and how our religion ties to our lives.  I got the
impression our religious ways are very important to the Kingdom."

   Methaniel made no reply.  The fire crackled and shifted, sending shadows
crawling and swaying across the walls.  The smell of burning pinewood and
fresh snow permeated the cave.  Lanion sat against the far wall, his great
eyes closed and head dipped slightly.  The wind whistled violently outside
the cave, a constant reminder of the foul weather that surrounded them just
outside their shelter, threatening to keep them pinned in till their death.

   Ahma glanced up at him, and her heart suddenly beat harder at the pain
that swam thick in his shimmering silver eyes.  Hardly even conscious of
her actions, she raised a slender, pale hand to his handsome face and
lightly touched his cheek.

   "What is it?" she breathed.  She had never seen such emotion, such pain
and vulnerability in him in all the time she'd known him.  Somehow, she
thought it made him look more handsome than ever before.

   "Tell me..." Methaniel began, then trailed off for a moment.  He
clenched his jaw, then tried again, "Tell me about your mother." He turned
his bright eyes to her and smiled.  She knew it was for her benefit alone;
it did nothing to diminish the pain in his eyes.  Her hand trembled
slightly for a moment before she made it still again.

   "Well...she was very tall, or at least she seemed tall to me...she had
blonde hair.  It was cut much shorter than mine.  I always found it strange
that she insisted I keep mine long while hers was short.  I'm sure that had
some kind of meaning, but she never explained it to me if it did.  She used
to dye my brothers and my wings green when I was very young.  She used
grass as dye.  It wasn't until...until the last few years on our farm that
we could afford any other kind."

   Ahma's eyes turned to the fire and her hand dropped unnoticed to her
lap. The flames reflected in her deep brown eyes as she watched them dance,
her thoughts now firmly on pleasant memories of her mother.  She smiled
softly, and her face looked as if it were in a trance.  "Her favorite thing
to do was to tell us stories about the homeland and school us on the old
faith.  It was very important to her, I think, that we knew where we came
from.  She lived for us...she adored my father, and she was very proud of
my brothers.  And she cared for me and nurtured me every day, even when she
was ill."

   Her words trailed to a halt and she swallowed.  Bad memories tried to
mix with the good ones, but she firmly forced them out.  She glanced up at
Methaniel nervously, realizing that she'd touched his cheek.  It was not
something a servant did.

   The Master hadn't seemed to notice her liberty.  His thoughts were far
away, and his eyes showed this quite obviously.

   "I never knew my mother," he murmured, his own eyes now locked in the
fire, caught by its mesmerizing sway.  What was it about fires that so
brought the mind and all its memories to life?

   "She died giving birth to me.  I never saw her face...never heard her
voice.  My father said she had the voice of an angel.  He said she was a
very happy woman, that she was a woman with energy and life.

   "She had quite the temper," Methaniel said with the barest of smiles. 
"Father said she was a fiery woman.  She was quick to anger, but quick to
forgive as well, and she tried to restrain her quick temper and sharp
tongue.  When her anger passed, she would laugh and smile, as if nothing in
the world could ever be wrong, and she had never been upset to begin with.
She loved jewels...loved shining things and unique things.  Not as most
women do, or so my father told me.  She loved them not for the status they
represented or the power that came with such finery, but she honestly loved
them for their beauty.  She was fascinated by their brilliance and coloring
and drawn by their sparkle.

   "And she coveted him just as strongly," Methaniel continued.  "She
coveted him as if he were a treasure all his own.  Father says she coveted
me as well....that she told him...she told him the greatest joy of her life
would be being a mother to his child..."

   Ahma watched as silent tears spilled down his face, shining in the
firelight.  His face remained set in neutral calmness, concealing the
roiling emotions she knew forced those tears to the surface.

   "In the afterlife," Ahma said softly, "All are reunited.  This is true
for almost all religions of the races.  I know your father has gone to a
good place because he was a good man.  And I'm sure your mother was a good
woman.  She must have been a very nice person.  I know one day you'll be
with both of them again."

   She tried to reach an arm around him.  It spanned just past half his
back.

   He pulled her to him tightly, his arms surrounding her.  No sob or
sniffle escaped him, and from what she could tell, no more tears slid down
his face.  Ahma shivered at the closeness to him.  All around her in the
shelter of his arms, muscles bunched and rippled against her chilled body.
Her cheek pressed to the corded muscle of his wide chest and his big,
powerful hands rested upon the small of her slender back.  His warmth and
heat washed heavily over her.  She could feel the steady, comforting beat
of his heart against her cheek.  His heartbeat was strong, good.

   Ahma pulled her wings back slightly.  She was unsure of what to do, but
he was warm.  Even his hands were warm.  She could smell him quite well
pressed close to him like this, a warm, slightly sweaty smell.  It was
actually somewhat nice, she found.

   "Master?" she asked softly.

   Methaniel pulled back a bit, and when his eyes met hers, some of the
sadness in the silver orbs had been pushed back down.  Still, his hands
lingered on her back, just below where her wings stemmed from her shoulder
blades.  His eyes bore into hers, intense and strange.  Her hand had fallen
upon the broad plain of his chest, and the muscle flexed under her
fingertips.

   "Are you hungry yet?  It's almost time to feed Lanion," she said in a
thick voice.  She cleared her throat quickly.

   "Yes," Methaniel nodded slowly.  "Would you like to feed him today?"

   Ahma smiled, feeling genuinely delighted at the prospect.  "Certainly."

   She hand fed Lanion the last remaining oats and two old, slightly
molding carrots Methaniel'd bought at Ertil.  That day seemed so long ago,
somehow, as if years had passed since they'd begun their trek into the
mountains.  After today, Lanion would likely have to scavenge for much of
his food, trying his luck out on the trails at times when the storm died
down enough for the horse to survive out in the open.  They'd gathered bits
of bark and twigs as they were able, but it would only go so far.

   Methaniel checked the weather, quickly pushing his head outside the cave
to assess conditions and then jumping back from the lash of icy cold wind
and snow violently whipping around outside.  More than a moment in a storm
such as that would surely strip the flesh from ones bones.  He took stock
of their supplies and rationed out their remaining food accordingly.  Ahma
mindlessly rubbed the horse's chin and neck.  Lanion gave a soft whicker
and rubbed up against her.

   Ahma smiled at the horse, "I'm glad you like me."

   She found herself wondering if Lanion was the only one.

   Her mind wandered somewhat.  She couldn't help but wonder how Methaniel
thought of her...something about his actions and attitude toward her made
her wonder...but no, he would never have such feelings...would he?

   A shiver ran through her and she realized she missed his warmth.  At the
very least, he'd saved her life.  For those first days after the attack on
the manner, and the news of her brothers' demise, she'd been in such a
state of shock she almost hadn't cared if she lived or died.  She'd even
briefly entertained the notion that death would be better than life without
her family and friends.

   Master had kept her together and pushed her through that, whether he
knew it or not.  He had protected her and kept her safe, and given her time
to heal and come to grips with her life as they'd traveled on these last
weeks.  He'd also guided her and watched out for her on the treacherous
journey, and she wasn't altogether sure she would have made it this far if
not for him.  In fact, she was sure she wouldn't have.  He had done much
for her.

   And why?  Perhaps her cared for her.  Or maybe it was simply that he
felt responsible for her somehow, maybe because of his connection to her
brothers.  In either case, she was content being with him in the moment.

   Things could, after all, be far worse.

   Lanion nudged her again and gratefully accepted a hunk of bark to chew
on before lowering his head and shutting his shinning equine eyes.  She
patted his neck and smiled at him, then rose and brushed off her knees. 
"Sleep well," she told him.

   She returned to Methaniel's side and sat beside him.  He handed her a
strip of dried meat and nodded toward his horse.  "You handle him well.  He
doesn't usually let anyone feed him but me."

   "He seems a bit restless," Ahma observed.

   Methaniel nodded, his copper locks falling before his face.  His hair
had grown even more unruly from their days in the wilderness, and a fairly
thick growth of beard roughened his face.  He chewed at a bit of their
dried provisions, but kept mostly to the last bit of hare meat they had
left.  It was old now and stringy, tough to eat and largely tasteless, but
he was intent on making it stretch before it went bad to spare as much of
their provisions as possible.

   "He misses activity," the Nobleman explained.  "Not exactly used to
being cooped up and stuck.  He might be able to step out of here when the
storm is a little more subdued, but those are only a few moments, and it
doesn't exactly compare to running through plain lands.  Part of him
probably misses the battlefield, too.  He was quite at home there, more so
than any warhorse I'd ever seen.  Or perhaps not.  In any case, he's
probably feeling just as cramped and stifled as we are."

   Ahma nodded and finished her bread, taking a small draw from her
waterskin.

   "Lanion will be fine," Master Methaniel continued after they finished
their meal and scooted closer to one another for warmth.  "No doubt he will
be grouchy and irritable for some time, and likely to try to bite me in a
fit of ill temper."

   Ahma tried to suppress a giggle at the annoyed way Methaniel's face
twisted.  "He bites you?"

   "Tries to, at least," he replied.  "But not really.  It's always a half
hearted attempt, and the one time he even managed to catch me he barely
nipped.  He has a pretty mild temperament, especially for one so vicious on
the field.  He is a well disciplined horse.  He just has a healthy dose of
personality as well."

   Ahma chuckled and smiled up at him.  "Personality is right."

   "He'll be over it soon enough," Methaniel insisted with a smile of his
own.  "If my instincts serve me, this storm should be over in another week
at the most.  It'll be just in time for me to go out and collect extra food
and water, and I'll take him with me to stretch out his legs."

   The days passed slowly, and the young woman couldn't tell if she was
thoroughly and utterly miserable or more happy and at peace than she had
been in recent memory.  It was a complicated and strange time.

   Physically she wasn't faring too well.  Her joints felt swollen and achy
from the near freezing conditions in the cave.  She shuddered and shook
constantly, the chill penetrating into the marrow of her bones even through
the cover of her clothes, cloak, blankets, and her own wings.  Sometimes
she lost feeling in her fingers and toes, in the tip of her nose and her
ears, and the chill sapped any energy she had.  It even seemed to muddle
her head, making her thoughts sluggish and fuzzy.

   Yet she remained well covered and unexposed to even the meager flow of
wind pushing into the small cave, and no frostbite found her.  And at the
same time, she was grateful that they had even this small shelter, for she
knew if they had been caught out in the open with the full wrath of winter
pounding down on them this far into the northern mountains, no amount of
preparation and warmth would have been able to save them.  In addition, the
Master was always near, his body radiating forth a warmth that at times
struck her as impossible.  He seemed far too warm and comforting to come
from one man, no matter his size, and especially one sitting in such
freezing cold.  He warmed her blood and infused her with a light feeling
that often made her head swim.

   She had to contain the giddy spread of emotions he pulled to the
surface.

   She was confused and conflicted in her heart and mind.  She still
grieved for the loss of her brothers, and the knowledge of their absence
from the rest of her life left a hollow ache in her chest.  Her thoughts
returned to them often, and her memories were bitter sweet.  The loss of
what had been her home and family for so long stung her keenly as well, and
she prayed for all the poor souls lost in the disaster of the manor, even
the Steward, that they could find peace and rest in the afterlife.

   The emptiness and sadness, however, was not so very piercing as it had
been.  Time had taken some of its bite away.  She came to terms with all of
it, and the desperateness of their situation helped to remind her that
their own safety was of primary concern.

   Also, she admitted somewhat unsteadily to herself, more and more the
Master was a cause for her calmness.  His powerful, steady, comforting
presence was ever close and assuring.  His beautiful eyes and kind smile,
the strength of his body and gentleness of his heart shown to her more and
more through the days spent so close to him, went a way toward filling the
emptiness of her heart.  Ahma tried to deny it, to pretend that she wasn't
filled with warmth and assurance every time he was near and that deep
silver gaze was trained upon her, but it was becoming more true and
apparent to her with every passing day.

   She wasn't sure what to think of this.  It was unsettling and thrilling
all at once.  She knew nothing could ever become of her feelings, that they
were from different worlds.  But sometimes, she wondered...he showed her
such kindness, and he often went out of his way to see to her comfort.  He
was warm and gentle to her, though it was shrouded under a façade of cool
practicality.

   Ahma spent more and more time wondering.

   And so, in the blink of an eternity, the storm had mellowed enough for
Methaniel to venture out with Lanion into the snowed over passes of the
mountain, seeking out any of the bolder wildlife that had come out of
hiding to find whatever food of their own they could locate.  Though Lanion
had ventured out to scavenge for food once or twice, he seemed in high
spirits to be able to walk without the storm tearing at him and sapping his
considerable strength.  He practically broke into a gallop as soon as he
was out of the cave, very nearly sending his Master tumbling from his back
in the process.  Ahma giggled loudly as the pair rode down the path and out
of view.

   The girl lingered outside the cave for an hour or two, simply sitting
with the thick blankets and furs about her and gazing out at the mountains
stretched out before her.  Snow had fallen thickly all about, blanketing
the world in a heavy layer of snow and frosty whiteness that would likely
reach at least to her knees in most places.  The world seemed empty and
dead, and the sun gleamed down weakly through an overcast sky to shine upon
the reflective snow.  Still, despite the disquieting stillness, there was a
peace and tranquility to it.  One look at the sky told anyone with a keen
and schooled eye that that stillness would not last long.  Another
buffeting storm was gathering for the coming days, and this one appeared
even more ugly and angry than the last.

   With the cessation of the storm, the temperature had risen.  Still
painfully cold, compared to the chill during the storm it seemed quite
pleasant and much more bearable.  While Methaniel and his mount were away,
Ahma took the time to briefly prepare their supplies and organize the cave
before stripping out of her dress.  She hadn't properly bathed since the
night of the incident, and while she still couldn't do a complete and
proper job, she quickly decided to clean anyway.  Shivering in the cold,
she took the opportunity the rise in temperature provided and doused
herself with some of the water from the single skin that Methaniel had left
behind for her.  For lack of another option, she scrubbed at her skin with
her bare hands, rubbing the water around her body roughly.  She knew it
would do little in the way of actually cleansing her, but at the very least
she could rub and scrub some of the stale sweat and surface grub away.  She
scrubbed her pale, porcelain skin until it was raw and red, then pulled the
dress back on and piled each one of the furs and blankets around herself
before her body temperature could drop dangerously low.

   After she had warmed slightly she finally undid the ragged remains of
the braid her hair had been in and took up the small bone comb she had made
from some of the smaller thin, curved bones from Methaniel's kills and
bound together with some of the denser and sturdier hairs from the various
pelts and manes of the beasts he had felled.  She ran the shoddy makeshift
comb and her fingers through her long, rich hair, working out most of the
catches, tangles, and knots that had formed in the weeks since she had last
brushed it.  When she had finished her hair, still slightly oily, fell
straight and free again, looking worlds better even without a proper
washing.

   Methaniel returned later that night to find her seated beside a small,
steady warm fire at the cave mouth, the smoke billowing out into the sky.
Her body was wrapped in the warm layers of blankets and furs and her eyes
turned up to the sparkling stars of the freshly revealed heavens.  Her mind
was on her parents and her brothers, and her prayers went out to them, for
she knew somehow in her heart that they were now together.

   She caught the Master's eyes lingering upon her as he stood before her,
an enormous hunting cat draped across his shoulders.  Its weight was
something that would have surely brought a normal man to his knees. 
Several conies were strapped to his belt with short lengths of rope, and
his right hand held a young buck by the neck.  Ahma blushed softly in the
firelight, her cheeks turning a delicate pink the color of a rose petal. 
She wondered distantly what he must be thinking, looking down at her, her
face and hair cleaner and more tended than they had been in the past weeks.
She realized dimly that he had never seen her with her full, thick mane
down and loose before now.

   "Those will help us nicely through the storm.  The cat must have been a
difficult kill." She wasn't even fully aware of what she was saying, trying
more to distract herself than to make any real conversation.

   The Master put his kills on the ground, turning slightly and petting
Lanion as the horse nudged him indignantly.  He moved and allowed the horse
to shuffle into the cave and settle down out of the wind.

   "How long before the next storm, Master Methaniel?" She asked.  He
glanced at her and smiled as he seated himself beside her.

   "Two days by my reckoning.  It'll be...a very big one.  Anyway. 
Provided there isn't another on the way directly after it's passing, we'll
move on from here and continue on our eastward course."

   Ahma nodded, leaning slightly against him, no longer considering it an
action of over-familiar ness, but merely necessary for both warmth and
comfort.

   "And by the way, Ahma," he said suddenly causing her to glance up at
him. His eyes shone into hers with all their silver brilliance, and his
gentle smile was upon his face once more.

   "Call me Merie.  Your brothers did.  As did my father."

   Ahma's brow rose in confusion.  "Merie?  I do not understand..."

   Methaniel smirked softly and shut his eyes.  "Father named me after his
brother who died in a border skirmish a few months before I was born.  He
said he was honor-bound to do so, as my Uncle had no children of his own to
carry on his name.  On learning of my Uncle's demise, Father made up his
mind and announced my name.  But my Mother wanted to name me something
else. She'd had her heart set on Merie, for what reason I don't know.  In
the end, she relented and allowed my Father to honor his brother as he
wished.  But even until my birth, she referred to me as Merie.

   "When my Mother passed, my Father was deeply grieved.  He called me
Merie for as long as I can remember.  It was his way of remembering my
Mother, I think.  I bear both names proudly, though only those close to me
call me by my Mother-given name."

   Ahma felt a choke of emotions welling inside, a mixture of sadness and
joy.  She knew this name bore both happiness and pain with its use.  And it
touched her that he would trust her with such a personal part of him.

   "Yes...Master Merie," was all she could think to say.





   ***





   The next two days were busily spent preparing for the next storm.  It
seemed Methaniel's estimate of it was accurate by the way clouds gathered
in the horizon.  By the second day, the land was more thickly snowed over
than even before.

   Ahma hastily salted and dried the rations as quickly as possible while
Methaniel trudged through the snow outside, trying to find any last moment
hunting, as well as searching for branches or twigs or any other kind of
serviceable wood before the storm settled fully around them.  Lanion
furrowed through snow piles outside, looking for twigs and bark and dead
grass.  At one point he dragged three entire bushes into the cave, its
roots dangling behind.  Ahma had never heard of a horse stockpiling food,
but then, Lanion wasn't your average horse.

   The night before the storm fell upon them they were up late, organizing
their supplies and preparing for the long days of waiting ahead.  The sun
had barely risen before it was hidden from view by the sudden screaming
storm crashing down on their small shelter.  They retreated deeper into
their little cave, and settled in for the night.

   Methaniel woke first.  He gently loosened his arm from around Ahma,
bundled her deeper in the blankets, and rose.  Though he still couldn't
stand fully upright, it felt good to stretch and move about a bit.  The
cold was overpowering, but for the moment he didn't take notice of its
sting.  He glanced at the cave mouth.  The wind was howling violently
outside and a steady thunk of falling hail pelted the mountains.  Snow had
already matted and piled at the cave mouth and plugged it entirely, sealing
them in and cutting off all view of the outside world.  This storm did
indeed seem more violent, by the sound of things, and the snowfall was
obviously much heavier.  Methaniel shook his head slowly and his brow
creased with worry.

   Things did not look good.  The storm had seemed massive when he'd
spotted it heading across the sky toward them, and he didn't think it would
end for a very, very long time.  And even when it was over, he dreaded
having to dig their way out of the snow that would accumulate outside the
cave.  Even after that it would impede their further progress along the
trail.  Their food supply, though he'd just gone hunting, would dwindle
rapidly.  He did not see it lasting out the storm, nor the difficult days
thereafter when hunting was likely to be slim.

   He turned back toward the small fire to find Ahma still sleeping.  She
had curled into a ball and hugged one of the blankets to her chest.  He sat
down and watched her sleep for a time.  He knew he should tell her about
the direness of the situation, but somehow he couldn't.  She'd already been
strained badly enough by the harsh traveling through the deadly pass. 
Though they'd managed well enough thus far, there'd already been several
close calls.  He couldn't bring himself to crush the little hope she had
remaining.

   He shook his negative thoughts off and his eyes returned to focus upon
her sleeping face.

   She was beautiful, he thought.  She lay on her side, her slender form
curled tightly.  The blanket had fallen away from one wing and he watched
the intricate feathers layered down their length, fine and delicate.  They
were smudged ever so slightly with dirt, something he knew she badly
disliked but could do nothing about.  Her face, too, was smudged from their
long days away from civilization, though she had apparently cleaned it a
few days ago while he'd been away from the cave.  Even with the smudging of
dirt, however, he snow white face was perfection.

   Methaniel realized he was staring as her eyes fluttered open, and
quickly looked away.  She stretched, then smiled up at him as he sat down
beside her.  "Good morning, Master Merie," she greeted.

   "Good morning, Ahma," Methaniel smiled.  "You look like you've had a
nice rest."

   "Yes," Ahma nodded as she sat up more fully.  "Better than I've had in a
while, at least."

   They ate some dried meat together for breakfast.  Methaniel grabbed
their water skins and rose, walking to the snow packing into the cave mouth
and stuffed some into both the skins.  It was the best they could do for
now.

   "What shall we do today, hmm?" Methaniel said with a touch of dry humor.

   "I could clean the cave," Ahma giggled softly.

   Methaniel smirked and sat down again beside her.

   Ahma's smiled faded to be replaced with a more serious look.  "I think
we've gotten the last bit of activity we're going to get for now."

   "So it would seem.  My blade is going to rust if this goes on much
longer," Methaniel grumbled.

   "Master Merie?"

   The nobleman turned his gaze to her.  "Yes?"

   Ahma glanced away for a moment before turning worried eyes up to meet
his.  "What did happen exactly?  Who attacked you...attacked us?"

   Methaniel let out a soft sigh and looked away.  For a long moment he
didn't reply, simply staring across the cave instead, as if studying the
rocky patterns on the cave wall.

   "I do not know," he said at last.  "There are many questions I have, a
lot of things I don't understand about that night.  Someone wanted me dead,
and wanted me dead badly enough to burn my entire house down and slaughter
my servants to ensure I died.  I don't know who is responsible, or who
would even want me dead...Perhaps it was someone in league with, or even
from, the Naemer nations.  Perhaps they thought to gain some kind of
military advantage if I were dead.  But...I do not think so.

   "In either case, whoever it was had to have had some kind of influence
or hold over the City Guard.  None were to be seen at all that night, and
they should have been about.  Likely they were manipulated into staying out
of the picture, somehow."

   "How is that possible?" Ahma asked, her eyes wide as she watched his
face.  "Aren't the guardsmen more reliable than that?"

   "Who knows what kind of spy or manipulator has gotten to them" Methaniel
shrugged.  "I can only think that this enemy I have made is very
powerful...three times they have tried to assassinate me.  First, at the
battle field, by firing an arrow at me.  Everyone assumed it was simply an
arrow shot by the Naemer, but I do not believe so...the Naemer have proud,
skilled archers, and they use very unique and specific arrows.  None of
them would have touched the one fired at me.  And then assassins attempt to
kill me in front of my own home, hoping to catch me off guard and relaxed.
And then...that night."

   Methaniel shook his head as one of his hands closed into a fist of
frustration.  "They attacked boldly indeed, burning my house down.  And on
top of that, I cannot help but think that perhaps this group that so seeks
my death was responsible for the slaughter of my unit...how they would do
this, I do not know...but it fits, I think."

   Ahma swallowed heavily and began to tremble.  Methaniel put an arm
around her and she sank gratefully against him.  "Why?  Why you?  Why my
brothers...?"

   Methaniel squeezed her shoulder, trying to comfort her.  "I do not know,
Ahma, but I can promise you this.  I will find out.  I will know why these
things happened, and who these men are.  And I will bring vengeance upon
them.  I will avenge those we have lost.  The innocents.  Your brothers."

   Ahma still didn't really understand what had happened, but she took
comfort from his assurance.  She knew he was a just and honorable man.  He
would find a way to make things right, she was certain.

   "What are you going to do with me?" she asked after sitting with him for
awhile longer.

   Methaniel watched her.  She was unusually curious today, he thought.

   "I want you to be safe.  If I am able to find you someplace to continue
your life unthreatened and without the kind of risks we're facing right
now, then I will help you settle and establish yourself.  Then I will
continue on to do what I must to bring those who seek us to justice."

   "And if you can't find a place like that...somewhere I can live
peacefully?" Ahma ventured.

   Methaniel smiled comfortingly and gave her shoulder another squeeze. 
"Then I'll keep you with me and protect you.  I'll watch out for you and be
sure you aren't harmed."

   As he gazed down at her, she knew he spoke true.

   His eyes traced the shape of her flawless, beautiful face, the smooth
skin and her big, chocolate eyes, her stunning, gorgeous smile.  Her face
was innocent.  And suddenly Methaniel realized that his need to protect her
and keep her close stemmed from more than a sense of guilt or
responsibility toward her.

   He returned her smile and tried to shake the sudden thoughts and
feelings he hadn't expected to experience.

   "Servant work is all I really know to do," she said worriedly.  "I
suppose a noble somewhere could use my help..."

   The thought of serving a new family made Ahma uneasy.  She had no idea
how servants were treated in other lands.  And they could sell her before
Methaniel returned to find her.

   If he returned to find her.

   And if he didn't return, or she was sold, he would return to his normal
life without her.  The idea scared her, almost as much as the idea of him
riding into danger without her did.

   Methaniel noticed the far away expression on Ahma's face.  "Are you
okay?"

   "Yes, I'm fine," she replied.  "I'm sure I'll find work...somewhere.  I
can read and write, so that should make me useful."

   His eyebrows raised in surprise.  "You can read?"

   "Yes," Ahma smiled softly.  "Your Father taught me to."

   "How very unusual," Methaniel mused.

   "He told me there should be at least one servant in his household that
could read, so that they could keep the library organized.  He used to have
an old Half-Elven man who could read too, but he died when I was 13."

   Methaniel arched a brow.  "He must have been very old.  Half-Elves
inherit many years from their Elven parent."

   "He died of a wasting disease," Ahma explained.

   "Ah," Methaniel nodded, then frowned slightly.  "I knew nothing of this
practice of my Fathers, of his teaching servants to read and write.  I
suppose he intended to tell me, but I was never away from training or the
front long enough for us to discuss household business beyond the basics."

   "I can't read as well as some nobles," Ahma confessed.  "He taught me,
but some words and symbols are still strange to me."

   "Between you and I," Methaniel smirked, "Many noble-bred don't even know
their letters.  Many think reading is below them and is more of a task or
chore than a privilege."

   "Foolish," Ahma giggled.  "I've always been very proud of my ability to
read."

   "As you should be," Methaniel nodded.

   "Well.  That was my job, I suppose; the Master was very serious about
his books and his library, and he wanted them to be well cared for.  I took
care of them and organized them for him.  It was a slow job, and organizing
took very little time as no one but your Father used the library."

   Ahma kicked herself inside.  She knew this conversation was dull and
empty, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.  There was little
she felt she was truly knowledgeable about; servant work and Wingling
practices and ceremonies, mostly.  And somehow, more and more she felt as
if she were tongue tied and couldn't find the proper words when she spoke
with him.

   Methaniel saved her the trouble and changed the subject.  "I could teach
you to do more than just servant work, you know."

   Ahma looked up at him to find a playful gleam in his eyes.

   "I don't know what will lie before us.  But there is a very good chance
we will be involved in violence before I'm able to get you to proper
safety. We will come out of the mountains into Rojinla lands.  They are a
loosely aligned bunch of towns and cities overseen by a council of
representatives by each settlement.  The council does a poor job of
enforcing any kind of real law between the villages.  Each village follows
their own ways.  It isn't the best way of keeping order.  Generally,
they're largely lawless and dangerous places.  Durinum has been attempting
to entice the people into the war, but they've had no luck so far.  They
have something of a presence there, but it's flimsy at best.  It won't be
very safe for us.  This is why I would like you to be prepared, in case
things turn for the worse."

   Ahma blinked at him.  "You mean..."

   Methaniel nodded, a smile spreading across his face.  "If you would
like, I can teach you how to handle yourself as a warrior does."

   "But I'm a woman," Ahma pointed out needlessly.

   Methaniel chuckled lightly.  "Anyone who says women cannot rage war has
never seen one do so.  I have.  A warrior is not determined by sex, but by
skill and discipline."

   Ahma hesitated a moment.  "Won't weapons skills make me less desirable
as a servant?"

   "We won't mention that," Methaniel grinned.





   End Ch.  7

   Chapter 8 coming soon.  All comments questions or critiques should be
sent to Crouching_Buddha2000@yahoo.com
   


  
Rising Ch. 7