Ice Shards - By Yasmine Galenorn Page 0,35

so craved back on him. I reached deep, sought for all of the threads within myself that knew how to use the ishonar. I gathered them up into one mass and ripped it out of myself, toward him: a rolling, wheeling spiral of energy that flamed so brightly it illuminated the chamber.

For one moment it seemed to strengthen him and then I caught his thoughts as it touched the outer edges of his being.

Pirkitta—what are you doing to me? No—how could you do this? How could you do this to me?

And then he began to scream, and his scream echoed in the chamber, rising to a howl as his anguish grew. The wheel of ishonar rolled on, encompassing him, surrounding him, and he became the center of the wheel, spokes of fire radiating out from his core, meeting to eat away at his soul and devour and break him into shards.

I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch, not wanting to see what I was wreaking on Vikkommin’s soul, and yet I could not help but lower my hands as the shriek rose to a crescendo.

Vikkommin was in the air now, caught in the currents of wind that buffeted the chamber. He was being pulled apart, scattered to the four corners, ripped asunder. The wheel of ishonar moved on, rolling through him, and then it fell over the edge of the footpath, taking what remained of my love with it, down to the depths of Hel, where he would be washed clean and returned to the universe as new matter. Oblivion’s son.

I sat in the darkness, breathing heavily. Memories flooded my thoughts, memories of that night. Yes, I had killed him at the directive of my Lady. I’d set in motion all of these events at her bequest. And she had left me to wander, to take punishment, because if I remembered what had happened, the temple would have killed me.

But what now? What of the ishonar? What of my ability to control it?

Look inside, my Ar’jant d’tel. Look inside yourself. Don’t be afraid.

And there in the darkness, I went deep into my soul, let myself sink to the depths of my core. When I came to where the power of the ishonar had dwelt, I realized that I’d ripped out my knowledge of how to use it when I killed Vikkommin’s shadow. I’d used the knowledge this one time, to end his life—for it was the only hope I had of destroying him.

My ability to use the ishonar had died with him.

I slowly picked myself up, dusted off my cloak, and gathered my wand and everything I needed. I took one last look at the depths of the cavern, and using my walking staff, I made my way back toward the entrance.

As I emerged from the cavern, Howl leapt off of the craggy ledge. He stared at me. “Oh my Lady, what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your face. Look at your face.”

I pulled out a small mirror from my pack and gazed into the glass. Along the sides of my forehead were intricate spirals and loops, beautiful designs in deep indigo, like water flowing down my cheeks in rivers and streams. I reached up and touched them. They did not hurt, but they were permanent—that much seemed clear.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to think.”

And then, Howl turned to wolf form, offered his back, and I crawled on and we began loping across the Skirts of Hel, back to the cave, back to my life.

EIGHT

CAMILLE, SMOKY, AND ROZURIAL WERE WAITING for me when I returned. I gave them a silent nod and they withdrew. Kitää motioned to one of her women, and within fifteen minutes a hot bath was waiting for me.

Camille and Kitää attended me, helping me remove my clothing. As they peeled off my tunic, Camille gasped.

“What?” I asked.

“The scars—they are different.”

I struggled to see, so Kitää brought a small mirror in for me and held it while I glanced over my shoulder, into the mirror. The scars, the lash marks from the ishonar, had shifted and changed. They now covered my back in an intricate set of coiling waterfalls—beautiful and strange and matching the tattoos on the sides of my forehead.

“You have been marked by your goddess,” Camille whispered. “I recognize the energy—it’s the same when the Moon Mother claimed me and branded me with her symbols.”

“But what could she be thinking?”

“We visit the temple tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll have your