Free In the Shadow of the Gods by Rachel Dunne

in the still air. Gloved hands scraping against rough coats as they chafed arms. Four fires, and the wardens huddled as close as they could without burning their boot tips. Scal had told them they should not build fires, though they had not listened to him. For them, fire was life in the cold. It could be death, too. They knew it. They would chance that, for the warmth.
    Scal was thirteen, nearly a man, and he sat alone. A distance from the fires, the warmth a faint caress against his skin. He did not need the heat. Parro Kerrus said it was the Father’s fire that kept him warm. The wardens said he was a demon in man’s skin. Brennon would always scoff and say, “You’re North-born. Of course you can handle the cold.”
    Scal wished Brennon were here now. Brennon had a way of making the mood light, and it was lonely on these patrols. Lerowas friendly during the day, when chance put Scal and the light-footed scout together. Once they made camp and the others were around, he never as much as looked at Scal. Joined the others in their disdain. Athasar spoke to Scal most, after Lero. Talking was the only way to give orders. To the wardens, all of them, it was easiest to simply act as though he did not exist. Scal had learned long ago to not bring attention to himself. Had learned to live with solitude. The wardens had stopped actively hating him, though it had taken months. They had not wanted to bring a Northman on their patrols. The group of scouts was meant to find Northmen, keep them from getting too near to Aardanel. Kill Northmen, if they could.
    Chief Warden Eddin’s trust had made Scal glow with pride. With the joy of being useful, of helping and learning. It had lasted only a few moments, until Athasar had begun shouting. He had heard them arguing long into the night, though he had hidden in the chapel. Prayed to the Parents, again and again. Until the words had grown blurred in his head. Until he did not even know what he prayed for. Even after living side by side with Scal for six years, the wardens still expected him to turn wild. Eddin and Parro Kerrus were all that kept them from throwing Scal to the snows. Here he was anyway, in the snows. Sitting in the deeps of the Northern Wastes. Kerrus would have laughed and said the Father had a healthy sense of humor.
    Brennon had joined him in the chapel as the sun began to poke at the windows. Prayed for a time, from the other side of the everflame. “You’ll do fine,” he had finally said. Eyes willing it to be the truth. “I’m sure you’ll learn plenty, so that’s good. It’s only another year until I reach my majority.” He hadflashed a smile then. It was harder to stop Brennon smiling than it was to stop Fat Betho cursing. “Then we can face the snows together and get out of this place, hey? There’s gotta be somewhere your piss doesn’t freeze on the way out.”
    Brennon had been right; there was much to learn from the wardens. They did not teach Scal much of it, not willingly. He watched, though. Watched and learned, so that when Brennon was old enough to be given the choice to leave Aardanel, Scal could keep them alive through the cold journey south. So they might find a better place, a better life. A free life.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Monarro said, voice rising high with sudden fear. He had the sharpest ears in the patrol. The camp fell silent in a hurried hush.
    Scal strained his own ears. Only the wind swirling through the trees. The fires biting at the cold air.
    Thump.
    The wardens, almost as one, drew in a sharp breath and held it. Hands inched toward swords, bows, knives. The wind slowed. As if it, too, strained to hear what sounds the night held.
    Thump .
    They scrambled to their feet in a rattle of weapons and chain mail, hissing for quiet. Scal rose slowly, quietly. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. That had been one of Athasar’s terms. That Scal be allowed no