At the bottom she found the men looking over the sledge. It was crude but solidly made. It would do well enough, and wood was piling up onto it. With the load agreed, a couple of blankets were lashed over the chunks of wood to keep them from falling off if the sledge overturned. Aisling sat on the rear of the wagon as she ate and drank. Keelan sat beside her. Once their impromptu meal was concluded both stood. With no more than a hug for Harran from Aisling and a smile to their men from both, they marched forward, their snowshoes digging into the slope of drifted snow.
It was hard work, but within minutes they stood panting atop the drift. They bent to haul, and inch by inch the sledge came upward. Once it was there Keelan looked out along the snow-filled valley. He took up one sledge rope, laid it across his shoulder, and began to walk. Silently Aisling took up the other rope and fell in beside him. They moved with care. The minor snow flurries were thickening as they marched. Aisling cast a look upward. Harran and the men had better dig hard. There was a blizzard on the way.
Harran was anxiously aware of that. He spelled his men in twos, allowing each pair in turn to rest and warm his hands at the small brazier. Hot trennen was always simmering, and Harran, carrying his whetstone, kept the shovel edges sharp. Even snow or the granules of ice would blunt good steel in time. He watched the sky and his men alternately, praying for all of them and in particular the two who forged ahead of the rest.
Aisling was keeping up with her brother. On top of the heavy drift the going was almost easy. The wind had flattened the top, scouring away loose snow. She could see her footing plainly, and her lighter weight made the walking easier. Keelan was stronger but he sank deeper and had to use more energy to walk. The sledge glided along behind them.
Keelan glanced over toward the valley wall. The drift height was dropping slowly. Through the Elmsgarth valley the wind often blew almost in a direct line from garth to entrance. It was this which had piled the snow up high, but at this end the drift was quite a lot lower. They reached the end of the main drift and looked downward. Climbing down would not be difficult; the snow looked to have slipped right to the ground. But Aisling measured with her eyes.
“The snow down there must be still deep. Look at that tree. I remember the way the branches grow. From that it looks as if the snow is at least waist-deep along the track to the garth.”
Keelan didn’t recall the tree but he wondered. “Are you sure that’s all? That isn’t very deep even for us. There must be some other problem, or Jonro would have been out chopping wood. Even if the bandits took his ax he could still gather broken boughs.” He thought back. “Harran said there’s dry wood along the stream. Why wouldn’t Jonro have broken those up? He could have made a temporary ax of some kind.”
“Let’s go down. We take it carefully, use probe sticks to check ahead. You’re right. There must be something else.”
They moved down the drift until they and the sledge halted at the bottom. Aisling moved to the trees and stripped a long branch from one. With that probing ahead she stepped out slowly, Keelan behind her hauling the sledge. In this way they progressed until halfway down the valley, well past the trees that should have been firewood for the garth if they were desperate. Then Aisling stopped, her face puzzled as she probed. She squatted, shoveling snow away.
“What is it?”
Aisling leaped back, her eyes wide with horror. Her hands flew as she chanted, the words gabbling out as fast as she could mouth them. She finished with a word of command that made the snow shimmer silver momentarily. Then she stared at Keelan, answering the anxious question in his face.
“Rasti!” she said.
“What? They’re from Estcarp and the border there. I thought they never came so far south.”
Aisling was back checking the burrow mouth. “They have them in Escore too,” she said. “Huge ones, far larger than the ones from Estcarp. These are the Estcarp ones, but there must be forty of them. It takes three or even four to equal Shosho’s size but they’re crazy in winter. Sometimes they form a pack and then they fear nothing. They must be recent; Jarria said nothing.”
“So what do we do. It certainly explains why Jonro isn’t out cutting wood. I suppose these things have burrows all down the valley from here?”
Aisling looked down. “Probably not, but Jonro would bring a pony down to haul back the wood. After that he’d not risk it again.” She pointed. “See that white branch sticking up out of the snow over there? I think that’s a bone for a horse or pony. Dying peacefully of the cold’s a lot better than being eaten alive. But Jonro must be dead or injured; otherwise he’d be out cutting wood regardless.” She toed the burrow edge.
“I can deal with them, Kee. But I made a mistake just now. I panicked when I found that burrow. I used too much power making sure they didn’t move against us and I could feel them beginning to stir. I can put them into a deeper sleep. The smaller the animal the more often it needs to eat. In a coma they’ll burn up all their fat and die in a few days. I can spell that to happen, but then I’ll collapse. Leave me here and get the wood to the garth. Get a fire built up, then come back for me. It’s the only way.” She made her look stern and held her gaze on his until he nodded.
Aisling dug out the protective herbs she always carried. Some of Hilarion’s teaching could be used as well. Around her throat was the pendant. Rasti were of the Dark, the pendant of the Light.
Keelan stood watching her prepare. So he was to leave her in the snow, was he? Leave her to freeze and die if her warming and protective spells failed? No, that he’d not do. As a trained witch she was in charge while she was conscious and where the problem could be solved best by her gift. She could give him orders, but once she fell over, it was up to him what he obeyed. He hid a rueful smile. She’d be furious, but better she was alive and angry than dead while he explained to his grandparents how he’d let it happen. He waited for his time to come.
XVI
Aisling set her feet firmly. Before her was gathered a sheet of bark with the herbs crumbled in a tiny heap. Dry twigs lay in a circle around the herbs. In a separate pile lay nine leaves. Three from each of the two main types of trees that grew in Elms-garth. The last three contained one each of the other bushes. The shrubs that clumped toward the garth-house. Her hand went up to close about her pendant and she freed it. With the chain shortened the pendant lay against the pulse as it beat in her throat. She could feel the power rising with each thump. Keelan stood behind her his sword drawn.
He stood firm even when silver mist rose to enclose his sister. From within it Aisling was chanting again, very softly. Fire came to her call, blooming a soft gold wavering back to silver and then to gold again. With a final word she sent it to the herbs, adding the dry twigs as the herbs burned. Sweet smoke rose. The fire blossomed, but beneath it, a barrier to the snow, the bark remained whole. The fire flared, a candle reaching upward in a warm gold pillar of light.
Aisling bowed her head in salute as she took up the first three leaves. “Elm, guardian and namesake, come now to my call. You for whom the home was named. Who sheltered my grandmother in time of death. Who stand tall about the garth protecting it from the winds that blow. Come elm, share your strength again that those who have cherished you might live.”
She felt the spirit of the elms stir. “Come elm, how often have you shared your sap with those here. It has salved their wounds. Brews from your bark they have drunk and been healed. They know you, as you know them. Always have they given you honor. Come elm!”