Free The Anvil of Ice by Michael Scott Rohan Page B

her ears, neat and narrow; her skin was creamy, browner than Louhi's, rich cream against ice. With that, and those eyes, it seemed to him a face he might have glimpsed for an instant in the forest undergrowth below; she had almost an animal aspect—a hunted animal, perhaps already ensnared. For though her face was very young, suffering had graven it deep, and an unseen yoke seemed to weigh down her shoulders. The wildness in those eyes was desperation.
    Alv could not speak at first, for something welled up in him, a deep wash of feelings too fiercely foreign to the image of himself he had tried to forge. He grabbed one of the rough settles against the wall and thrust it toward her almost angrily, feeling utterly ludicrous. But she slid down onto it wearily, and a smile glimmered on her lips. Overwhelmed, he slumped down beside her.
    "I thank you, sir. It seems so long since I sat in peace by such a fire…" Her voice was startling, deeper and softer than Louhi's. She looked at him almost amusedly. "To whom do I owe my thanks?"
    "I—I… I'm an apprentice here—candidate for journeyman, though! They call me Alv…"He shrugged.
    "But you don't like that name much?"
    Her clear sight stunned him. "I hate it! But I haven't found a better one yet—not one I could bear without, well, feeling foolish. Like flopping around in someone else's clothes, reach-me-down rags…"
    She nodded. Her smile was grave still, but more definitely there. "You could have no pride in that. But be patient, you'll find your name, I know you will, and earn it ! There's something about you, I sense it—and so did Louhi, I heard her. You're somebody special, one alone, out of the ordinary…"
    "So are you! So are you!"
    She closed her eyes a moment, and her smile tautened. "Yes. To my grief." Her head bowed, and the firelight trembled on her cheek. The white cloak fell apart; beneath it she wore a plain smock like any village girl's, but in dark soft material. Her long fine hands looked very white against it as they twisted in her lap.
    The water roared, the wheel turned, the great hammers pounded, the fire came rushing through him. He seized her hands and held them tight against him. "Lady—I'll help you! Just… tell me how, and I'll help you!"
    She stared at him, wildly again, but did not shrink away. Her grip tightened within his own, and with strength that startled him she caught his hands to her breast. "You can't! No smith welded my chains, and even if you were the greatest among men you could not unmake them! Never!" Then she subsided, and laughed a little, but there was no mockery in it. "But one day, perhaps, I can. I had ceased to believe that—or to see any gain in doing so. But knowing somebody wants to try—that itself heartens me so much, so very much…"
    "Anything! I'd risk anything!"
    Her face set, and light awoke in her eyes, light glimmering on a pool in some immense forest, far greater than any he knew. "No. I forbid you, for not only you would suffer. And you may have some great destiny ahead of you. I would not deny that to the world. In less than an hour Louhi takes me from here—let her!"
    "And never see you again? Never know what—what…" Tears at least he could still dam, that much control he kept, but he knew his lip quivered like a child's. Twenty years old, candidate journeyman, he had briefly felt himself grown to a man. Now he felt empty, helpless.
    "I promise you this!" she said, slowly, intensely. "That from now on I'll never despair, I'll watch and wait for any sane chance I have to free myself. And then I'll seek you out, wherever you are, and you'll know! Believe me, and be content!"
    Flames flickered up in the hearth, a coal cracked and settled. The idea came to him in a rush. He could still face himself in his glass on the morrow. He could still risk something on a venture. He felt the fire's warmth in his smile. "I'll believe you, Kara—if you'll be held to your promise! If you'll accept a token!"
    And he