her staring at me, as if I were the most exotic thing she had ever encountered. The others’ reactions to me fell somewhere between Jabi’s violent dislike and Ciba’s fascination: I was dangerous and invasive and marvelous, something to be watched with fear or wonder.
Aki opened the package of goat cheese I had brought from the mews and refilled our cups with wine. Another bowl went around, this one with roasted nuts, the shell charred black, the taste—when I put one in my mouth—buttery sweet. Eventually, Ciba returned to us, bringing a bowl of roasted beets from the fire. The food was simple, but it was a feast to me, a kind of homecoming celebration.
When the fire had burned down, a woman sang, her voice lifting into the still night air. Aki fell back onto the animal skin. Ciba lay by his side and gestured for me to join them, and so I lay next to her, listening to the music.
“That,” Aki said, gesturing so I looked to the ceiling of the grotto, “is our past.”
Above, the rock surface was covered with drawings. I saw the valley that led down to Nevenero. An avalanche falling over a group of people. A man with a spear, and a pack of ibex, their horns curling. Enormous figures standing on the top of mountain peaks. Then, at the far side of the ceiling, there was a representation of the arcade of caves, the stone huts, the pool of mineral water.
“There,” Aki said, pointing to the figures standing on the peaks of the mountains. “We came from this place at the top of the world. Before us, there were no people, only giants made of ice. They were very powerful because they never felt cold. They had ice palaces and ice tools. But they were not happy. They were masters of all they saw, but they were alone. And so they created us from ice. We were tall and pale, like them. But we were not strong or immortal. We felt the winds and the snow. We needed fire and the fur of animals. The giants hated our fires. The heat melted their ice palace, and so they banished us from the top of the world. Since then, we have been here, far from the Ice Giants.” Aki pointed to the very far end of the cave, to a castle in black coal, clouds hanging over it. “Now we are closer to you.”
My gaze fell upon a figure with long white hair and a black dress. Vita. Their protector. The wise woman who brought medicine from another world. Their kryschia.
We sat there together, the three of us side by side, as the woman sang. The fire had died to embers by then, and a freezing wind blew down from the mountaintop. When the fire was gone, and the song faded to silence, the three of us stood and left the grotto together.
Aki and Ciba’s hut was dark when we arrived. We slipped inside and soon Aki had a fire going in the fireplace. It burned weakly, throwing dull light over the bearskins strewn over the stone floor. As the flames grew, I saw that the hut was furnished with a wood-framed bed, a wooden table and chairs, a shelf made of knotted birch logs, some wooden boxes, and a stack of blankets. The walls were bare, and there were no embellishments, but it seemed sturdy and, as the fire warmed the air, and the smell of burning cedar filled the hut, more comfortable than the large, drafty rooms of the castle.
I warmed myself by the fire. Seeing that I was cold, Ciba brought me a wool blanket, and wrapped it over my shoulders. I had eaten well and drank too much wine. Soon, I lay down on the bearskin and fell asleep.
I jolted awake at the sound of voices. Ciba and Aki sat together at the table talking. I tried to sit, and a rush of pain flooded through me. Everything hurt. The pills had worn off, leaving me sore and aching. The sensation began at the base of my skull and spread, warm and fluid as blood, leaving me dizzy. My vision blurred, and so I focused on the table, on Aki and Ciba.
How distant Bert Monte seemed to me then. How far from her I had traveled. It had happened in small steps, each one tiny in itself but—when I looked back at myself from the vantage of how far I had