Free The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) by T L Greylock Page A

stars, expanding, receding, dancing. The night sky was alive.
    “A gift from Freyr, who is most dear to us of all the gods.”
    “It is beautiful.”
    They watched the lights in silence until they faded and all was darkness once more.
    “Come,” Finnoul said. “The others wait for us.”
    The alfar who remained on the island sat in silence around the last burning fire. They were thirteen in number and the joy of the feast was gone from their faces. Finnoul went around the circle, touching each on the forehead and calling them by name. When she at last took a seat, she placed Raef by her side and though the pale eyes around them were wary, not a word of protest was heard.
    Finnoul looked to one alf and spoke. “What news, Maelys?”
    “The day has been set.” Maelys, seated across from Raef, answered in a low voice. “Four nights will pass. Then the Guardians will make the journey to the barren land.”
    “Who goes with them?”
    “The wardens will accompany them. Even now the Guardians seek the sacrifices that will please the gods most.”
    “Thank you for this information, Maelys. You have done well.” Finnoul looked around the circle. “They will be vulnerable on the journey. It is our best chance to strike.”
    “Lorcan will expect an attack.” This came from the oldest alf in the circle. Her white-blind eyes stared hard at Finnoul.
    Finnoul nodded. “He will. We will have to be precise and quick. Annun, are you well?” The alf Raef had helped retrieve from Lorcan’s grasp nodded. “You must discover the route they intend to take. There are many ways into the barren land. We cannot spread ourselves thin to cover them all. We must be able to concentrate our strength.”
    Annun smiled. “It will be done.”
    “Our time is at hand.” Finnoul was solemn but Raef could see the eagerness that wanted to leap from her. “We have waited long for this. We need only endure for four more days.” A shell, larger than all the rest, was passed, starting with Finnoul and moving left. Each took a sip until it came to Raef, empty but for a drop to wet his lips. The liquid burned as it trickled down his throat and seemed to set fire to his chest. He gave the shell to Finnoul who threw it onto the ring of stones that contained the fire. It shattered with a crack, like thunder in a storm, a promise made to the gods.
    Little more was said. The alfar went their separate ways, some on the backs of dragon-kin called out of the skies, others across the silent waters until at last only Finnoul and Raef lingered.
    “You mean to ambush the Guardians?”
    “There is a day that is sacred to us. It comes perhaps once in the lifetime of a man such as you.”
    “Perhaps?”
    “The date is never set. The sky must be read and the earth heard. I have heard that once this day did not come for nearly three hundred years. But it is upon us now. In time, it has been twisted from its original purpose. What was a celebration of life has become a demonstration of power. The Guardians now choose sacrifices to be sent to the gods.” Anger simmered in Finnoul’s face, and alongside it, grief.
    “Your own people?”
    Finnoul nodded rather than give voice to her assent. “Worse, most go willingly, believing the vile lies the Guardians tell them, believing they go to save us.”
    “Do you mean to kill them?”
    Finnoul did not answer right away. When she did, her voice was quiet and ragged, as though she had to tear the words from within her. “I do not know.”
    “And my part in all this?”
    Finnoul was quiet again, this time for so long Raef began to wonder if she would speak. “I will not keep you against your will, Raef,” she finally said. “Tomorrow, I will show you the way.”
    “I gave you my word. Willingly.”
    Finnoul brought a hand up to Raef’s shoulder but did not touch him. “Your heart sings to you of home. I should have helped you there long before this. Instead I have burdened you with my own grieving heart, my