Peace

CHAPTER 1



The white dress was tight around her waist and the hem swept the wooden floor clumsily with every step, gathering brown dust that looked a lot like mud against the starched white of the linen. She hated the way the bodice clung to her stomach and the way the rest of the dress ballooned into a miniature tent at the bottom. She hated that she had to smile so often and keep her gaze to the floor.



"It is the way Niva, it was the way with your mother as it was the way with me." Her aunt Louise had said as she fastened the long white ribbons on her bare  back. The seamstress had thought a bare back would go well with a long trail. Niva hated the seamstress.



"I dont remember complaining dear aunt, I am perfectly happy to perform my duty, you have to stop telling me what I already know." she had said, an effortless smile appearing and disappearing almost all at once.



"You look radiant my dear," said Louise the crinkles at the corners of her eyes tightening as she looked up at her tall niece with a smile, "and you lie so well."



Niva had stood alone infront her mirror after her aunt had left. The white material around her neck seemed to weigh her down and she had to lift her chin to straighten her back. The dark curls on her head seemed pale, as if from age, but she imagined it was only from the light in the cabin.

She had been told many times that she was beautiful, often enough for her to believe it. However what she saw in the mirror was a tired, small child. Too fragile and too young to please a lord.

"You will be fine Niva, just smile and bow. If he will not love you for your looks, he will love you for your courtesy. You left the girl on the shores of Monti, Niva is a grown woman, a proper lady and knows her place."  She practised her smile and her curtsy.

"Pleasure to meet you my Lord," she said to her mirror. Even with Niva's mask, the smile looked unnatural and the words felt strange on her tongue.



"and you lie so well." her aunt had said, yes she had learned. But she could not expect to buy into her own con. No liar should believe their own lies, but then again maybe the best liars do.



The voyage had not been easy on her and the final days had been the hardest. With everyone coming in and out of her cabin to congratulate her on 'such a good match'. Behind all those kind words and sweet smiles, Niva felt like a child receiving condolences upon the death of a parent, she could hear the words but they had no effect, they were wind. However, she had sat on her cushioned round chair with its oak sides, and smiled and nodded.



"Indeed, I could not be happier." She had repeated those words atleast half a hundred times, but repetition wouldn't make them true.



The people had stopped filing in on the evening of the day before the wedding, her wedding to the stallion of the cold deserts, ironically named Stallion Warms of the Dreaded Warms of Lyringa. Niva had been cold before but nothing had prepared her for the icy air that covered her as soon as their ship put to shore. It was as if she was cold from the inside, as if her blood had turned to ice. She wanted to cry then,

How could  they expect her to live in a place like this?

She longed to be brave, she truly did but the cold froze off her mask and she began to weep into her pillow.



She must have cried herself to sleep because when she woke up the cabin was semi dark with one candle close to her bed. She sat up and fumbled in the gloom for her slippers, the candle moved towards her, she could have screamed if not for the pair of stormy grey eyes that followed the flickering light.



"You scared me half to death you fool," she said, a slipper hitting his chest.

"A Queen of the cold deserts should not scare so easily." He replied, in an overly deep voice, sounding almost like a boy imitating a man.

" Hand me my slipper, he is not a King he is a Lord you slow wit."

"It makes no difference he rules doesn't he?" The slipper slammed against the side of her head.

"Ouch! You fool, you will have me bruised at my own wedding." Said Niva, rubbing her temple, an annoyed look on her face.

"Let me look.." said Proce, bringing the yellow flame of the candle close to her head.



His eyes swept across her face and for a moment he did not say a word.



"You have been crying" he said eventually, his voice unusually soft and almost concerned.

"No, I just slept for too long," she was a good liar but she knew she could not fool him.

"Listen, you dont have to do this." He said, his hands cupping hers in the dark, "you can talk to your father, he will understand he loves you. If he doesnt then you will go, we will go, we will run to the Southern shore and take a boat to my father in Utopia. We will eat summer grapes in the sun and you can learn how to swim. You will know real warm weather Niv, not this freezing hell."



Niva wanted for the life of her to do just that, to run away from this blizzard with her childhood companion,  the only person that really knew her. She felt the love and care in his words, the brotherly love that her brother had never shown her.



"I love you Proce, you are more to me than my brother ever was. But I can not," she stood up, his hands froze where hers had been. "For the life of me, I can not leave my father to die because of my stupid girlish fantasies. You know me well Proce, more than I know myself. You know that I am not that kind of girl, I can not be that selfish, I don't know how to be."



Niva thought she would start sobbing,  but she never let anyone see her tears not even Proce. She turned her back and waited for him to say something, anything but the look on his face had been of utter defeat. He had tried, which was more than she could ask of him after all that he had done for her.



The candlewax landed lightly on his skin. It woke him up, he wasnt sleeping, he was staring at her back. Her dark hair once long at waist length had been cropped to her shoulders in the Lyringa way. The dark beautiful tunic she wore would soon be exchanged for some thick wool and she would be buried under a mountain of furs before the death of the moon, most probably with a child in her. The defeat he had felt turned to rage in an instant, he was angry at himself for having told her to runaway with him.

What was he thinking? This was the daughter of a Lord and what was he if not the son of a man who had made a name for himself by stealing and dealing.



"I will be returning to Utopia at dawn, this is goodbye then." He finally said, his voice barely hiding the rage that was truly only shame.



Niva turned around, she had wanted to tell him to stay that she needed him. For twelve years she had never really been apart from him. She realised, however, how selfish she was being. All her life she had been surrounded by her family and poor Proce had not seen his father in twelve years. She remembered that time all those years ago when her father had received a messenger travelling with a smallboy and a letter. The boy had been frightened, his grey eyes as wide as saucers but he had walked with his head high when her father had called him.



"Whats your name boy?" Her father had asked him.

"Proce, my lord. Proce of Utopia." His voice had been firm but even then standing next to her father's chair, Niva had read him like an open book, the boy was terrified.



"Proce, this is my daughter, Niva. She will be your friend and you shall stay by her side until such a time when you can go back home. Do you understand? "



"Yes my lord." He had replied.



No longer that little boy, Proce of Utopia was a man now, he has seen eighteen moons die, one moon more than Niva. His black hair had grown wilder and many a young woman in Monti would testify to the softness of his features and sweetness of his words. The only thing that had not changed were his eyes, the grey storm forever brewing in the horizon.



"Go well, my friend. My everything." She said as she wrapped her arms around him, "dont you ever forget me," she pulled away and realised that she was crying, she let the tears fall.



"I couldnt, " he said and stood up and walked out of her cabin, candle in hand.



Niva had sat alone in the dark, feeling emptier than she had ever dared. Her world was tumbling down. It was as if a storm had rummaged through her life and  taken everything except her, just so she could remain behind and reflect on what she had lost.

She felt no hunger inspite of not having eaten in a while, she climbed on the bed and buried herself beneath the piles of furs and linen. Of course sleep would not come but she had to rest, tomorrow was a big day.

*****

Niva was shivering. The water rose to her thighs and the white dress clung even tighter to her body. She shuffled her feet on the smooth surface of dolcian stone and grunted as sharp pain shot up her legs. The cave was dark and the cold seemed to close in from all directions,  enveloping her like a frozen grip. It was not the cold, however, that made her shiver. The shadows all around her, hooded and tall, rocked back and forth in unison. Chanting slowly in low voices and a strange tongue.



The cave had seemed from outside, to be nothing more than a hole in the ground. Niva's father had helped her climb in but had not followed himself. With eyes full of guilt and sadness, Niva had watched him turn away without a word. Then out of the gloom the first hooded figure had appeared, she had heard that the Lyringa were the tallest of the cold desert people but her imagination had fallen very short of accuracy. This man was a giant in her eyes.

In his hand he held an Aecilli, Niva had only read about the precious dolcian stone,  never before had she seen one. The aecilli, according to the Salvier (book of stones) was a tall glass lamp filled with water and into which a piece of polished dolcian was placed. The precious stone, glowed green in the dark like a cold flame. Outside of water, it was just a beautiful, smooth gem that could hang around a maiden's throat. In water, however, it was fire.



So it was that the dark shadow had glided through the gloom, the bright green light from the aecilli steady and bright. Niva followed the figure for what could have been hours, her eyes fixed on the hypnotic green rays that danced against the glass. Then she heard it, the slow chants of a dozen voices in unison, animating the darkness like a newly ignited flame, she shivered.



Amidst the darkness and the chants, a bright green light shot up to the roof of the cave, enchanting and terrifying, it took her breathe away. And when she stood within it, feet bare and unseen eyes crawling all over her, she felt as though she were naked. She felt as if the light illuminated all her flaws, all her doubts and all the false courage she wore shattered at her feet like old veneer.



"Proce!" she could have yelled, but her lips seemed frozen shut. Her friend was far away, on his way home.

He strode through the darkness with a hand on his belt, every step as self assured as the last. The storms in his eyes brewing and knowing all her secrets.



"That dress brings out the black in your eyes Niv," he said, her mind remembering his deep voice as if it were an old song from a favourite tale.

Niva smiled, she knew he was not real but she still smiled as if he could see it.



"You are a white tigress from the mountains of Monti, you do not fear them, you do not fear anything." he said, now standing a few feet from her. She reached out to touch his face but it turned to mist in her grasp. All that remained were his words.



"I am a white tigress from the mountains of Monti, I do not fear anything." she whispered. 



Then there was silence, the shadows stood motionless and quiet. Niva could hear her heart beat in her eyes. The tallest of the shadows slid towards her, as swift as a dagger in the night. Niva stared intently at the figure, powerful of structure, yet he moved with easy grace. The hood of his black cloak was dark and hollow where she imagined his face was.

This could not be a man, Niva thought, this was a dark spirit from Pamphire the Ruthless himself.



The figure stood where her vision of Proce had vanished. Long, strong and elegant hands emerged from the cloak, with enticing almost feminine grace, he let his hood fall to his shoulders. For the third time that night, Niva shivered. She felt certain then that this was not merely one of Pampire's spirits, this was Pampire himself. The dreaded god of the Red hell with skin of dark bronze and hair jet black and wild. Then there were those eyes, shining like two large sapphires on the darkness that was his face. This could not be a man.



"Do not be afraid.." he said, in a voice that dried her throat like a drink of strong spirits and made her feel dizzy.



"I am Stallion, son of Carvion Warms of the Warms of Lyringa..." his voice sounded like distant music, as if she were listening through a closed door.



"Will you speak, my Lady.." the distant softness of his voice startled her. This was an unnatural creature of the darkness, he looked liked one, yet he spoke with such care and patience.



"Forgive me, my Lord." she said, finally finding her voice. "I am Niva Stormsong, only daughter of Ruben Stormsong of the mountains of Monti. Pleasure to meet you my lord." she would have curtsied as she had practised but her dress was wet and her arms weary.



"The pleasure is mine," said Stallion "you are beautiful my Queen, beautiful and strong. Not many can withstand the icy grip of our Dolcia, she plays with your mind as well as your body and yet you stand within her as if she were bath water." At that he smiled, a full white smile which sparkled like his sapphire eyes.



Queen? She wondered, why would he call her Queen he was not a king. From the time of the death of the first moon, the people of the cold deserts had never had a king, they had Lords for each tribe, from the coldest peak of the Astilla to the most powerful of them all, the Lyringa.



"She has been most kind to me, my Lord" she lied, "however, bath water she is not."



Stallion was pleased by this.



"Take my hand, white tigress of the mountains of Monti,  let us make you a true Lyringa wife." he said, holding out his hand to her.



She felt blood rush to her cheeks, embarrassed that he had heard her foolish whispers in the dark. His hand was warm inspite of the cold that was all around them, slowly she stepped out of Dolcia, legs shaking and unsteady.

Stallion led her through the shadows and before they took a turn into the dark, she turned her head and for a moment didn't know what she was searching for. Proce was gone, nothing but emptiness were he had stood. And inspite of his gentle voice and his warm hands, Niva felt cold and empty next to Stallion.