

The Ice Queen

By R. Boardman Wright

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Richard Boardman Wright

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Girl and the Prophets

Chapter 2: The Walk of the Fairies

Chapter 3: Wolfsbane

Chapter 4: Prophecies of the Light

Chapter 5: A Hidden Past

Chapter 6: Visions and Symbols

Chapter 7: Goodbye to the Haven

Chapter 8: The Road to the Door

Chapter 9: Nymphs, Wolves, Fairies, and Golems

Chapter 10: The Door Under the Mountain

Chapter 11: The Council

Chapter 12: Many Meetings

Chapter 13: The White City

Chapter 14: The Castle of the Sun

Chapter 15: The Healing of Headred

Chapter 16: Eliudnir Unleashed

Chapter 17: The First Blood

Chapter 18: The White Gate Closes

Chapter 19: The Gathering Dark

Chapter 20: The Last Battle

Chapter 21: The Road South

Epilogue: The Golden Age

Every land, every people, every world, remember a tale, told or sung from the depths of time.

I walk among the silver palaces, amidst the golden glades beneath the mortal world, within the realm of my kindred, and I remember the legends and myths I saw in so many ages of the world.

_E elphame_ miðgarðir esari natham.

I watch Miðgarðir from Elphame below.

Long ago, in times of myths and magic and legends, a shadow grew, a darkness so terrible, so evil, it covered the earth in eternal winter. None could stand against it, none but the light. When hope became lost a woman bore a child who would save her people.

_My tale begins in the forests of the_ Miðgarðir _, before the memory of the race of men who now walk the earth. In the lands of winter, in an earthen home in the deepest parts of the wilderness, a little girl lived with the wise woman whom she called her grandmother. Long ago, her grandmother told her, the wolves took her parents' lives._

But how do I begin to tell this tale of truth? Ah yes, it comes to me now, a beginning worthy of this history I now lay down for you.

You see, once there was a legend...

*****

Six years of winter passed by for Beoreth in the small earthen home where she lived, six years of fear she would be discovered, and all would be lost. The hovel lay at the edges of the kingdom of Sul, one land of Miðgarðir, in the ancient tongue meaning middle-world, encompassing all between the gods in heaven and the fires of Muspellheim, the land of souls below. Deep within Fensalir's haven, Beoreth lived far from Ull, the White City, where once dwelled the Witch Queen of Sul. Beoreth knew Ull well, and once called the city home. Fensalir, the safe haven in the wilderness of the kingdom of Sul, resonated as a glimmer of hope in the bitter winter. The path of light began in the havens. The long road wound through the lands of magic. At its end, in the distant northern mountains where the top of Mount Kern ascended to the skies, the White City rose.

Beoreth's heart ached to think of Ull, of all she left behind. No word came since the fateful night six years before, a night Beren, Witch Queen of Sul, gave Beoreth a task to save their world, and raise her daughter far from the Demon Lord plaguing these lands.

Caer, the girl she called her granddaughter, played with simple wooden toys on the earth floor by the fire. Beoreth stood at the wooden table nearby, crushing herbs to help the rheumatism plagued her limbs, her apron swaying over her ample middle.

Beoreth took the steeping water from the fire and began to brew the tea. Flaming auburn hair drawn into a simple braid flowed down Caer's back. When the sun or the firelight struck it, one could almost see the fire flickering within the small child's soul.

Caer wore a blue gown of simple homespun, woven by Beoreth, the woman she called her grandmother, who raised her in her parents' stead. How little Caer knew. How much she could not know, not now, not yet.

Not until the time came when she would rise and fight the darkness.

Beoreth looked out the small window at the Black Mountains in the west, and the clouds boiling and raging beyond them, over Eliudnir, the towers of the Demon Lord. Her aging eyes scanned the Myrkviðr Forest to the west of Sul as she searched those places every night for six years; every night she feared the shadow would come for the child.

Caer's hands stopped playing with the toy; she stood, bored and listless, half walking and half swaying to the table where Beoreth mixed her draught. There she laid her elbows on the table, staring at her caretaker as though she would bore a hole in her.

"Grandmother," Caer drawled, her tone long-suffering, in a way only a little girl could, a tone which melted even the hardest of hearts, "tell me a story."

Beoreth sighed, and knowing she would not say no, continued to mix as she spoke.

"The gods made races to rule the world. They made men first, the mortal children of the gods. Legend tells they came from the dust of the earth, and awoke upon it in the ancient days.

"The fairies--" Beoreth smiled as the child's face lit with the name of the fair folk who dwelled beneath the mounds no more than a day away. "Fairies of the fair hair, beautiful face, and pleasing form, dwell in immortality in the silver palaces in golden glades beyond the realm of mortal men. Their brethren are the prophets who foretell the future, for the prophets are mortal and wise, born also of gods and men. Born of both men and gods, the fairies chose immortality removed from Miðgarðir above in Elphame, lands beneath the earth the gods gave men, while their brethren the prophets chose a mortal life."

Beoreth watched the bowl, crushing the herbs into dust, "The nymphs, whose life comes from the spirits of the trees and waters where they dwell, are long-lived, and little by little suffer the ravages of time afflicting all other creatures. The centaurs, who gaze at the stars and foretell their meanings, live in their cave cities of the far north, and on rare occasion interfere with the affairs of the other races."

While Beoreth continued her tale, Caer's tiny hands and feet latched onto the wood and with unexpected strength hefted her weight onto its top. When she finished her elbows fell onto the table again, and propped her head between her hands to listen more. At long last, Caer seated herself on a stool, under Beoreth's watchful gaze.

"But the gods yet needed to finish their creation. The myths tell among all the races not one did they find fit to rule the lands the gods loved so, and the earth became dark with sorrow. In this time the mortal King Gunner married the beautiful mortal Veleda, who bore him a daughter, Dana. The god Heimdall took as his wife Veleda; Mab and Aske their children. Heimdall and Veleda committed so grievous an adulterous offense the gods forbid their children to rule or to walk in heaven with the gods. With Oberon, son of Finn and Eleya, Mab became immortal and the mother of all fairies. Aske chose mortality, and became the father of all prophets.

"When all the hope of the gods failed, Woden, Lord of the gods, walked in the ancient forests of Miðgarðir. There he heard a voice with the beauty of a singing bird, and he found its owner Dana, the mortal maiden. In the glades of the forests he loved her, and she bore to him a daughter."

Caer's head lay on her arms on the table, and Beoreth smiled as she paused. The child would sleep, and just as well, for these places could grow dull, and life could become listless. Sleep became their sole escape.

"The heavens raged, but the words of the god Heimdall calmed them. The daughter of Woden would grow with the power of gods and the knowledge of men; for the child would not be cursed as the fairies and the prophets, his children with his mortal wife Valeda. The children of Heimdall, born of a mortal woman, chose to live as mortals, or to be immortal and banished beneath Miðgarðir in the sidhes, and so became born the prophets and the fairies, mortal and immortal, one to tell the future and die, one to bear the gifts of magic far from their cousins, and to come into Miðgarðir yet never to dwell there, never to spread their wings and fly.

"But not so with Woden's daughter. She would hold the power of magic. At last a human would rule as the gods saw fit, for always would her line bear the blood of the gods. Though in the entirety of the kingdom of men no man could be found worthy to rule for the gods, one woman would rule the destiny of all."

Caer's eyes closed, and though not sleeping, soon she would. Just as well, Beoreth considered as she continued to mix the herbs.

Beoreth wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. Six long years she feared, and the enemies of the light never came into the safe haven. One of the few places left in Sul Belial could not touch, the gods and the Witch Queen Beren wove their magic in Fensalir, and so Beoreth and Caer remained safe.

The fear passed, and the sun warmed the wise woman's face.

Outside the world remained cold, hidden deep in the winter. Tonight they would see snow again, and ice as well; she felt it in her bones. She took a sip of tea, and spewed it out.

"Old fool," she cursed, realizing she added too much ginger root and not enough kanjika root to the witches' hazel and clarified butter. And to make matters worse, she looked at the stored roots and saw she needed more witches' hazel to make the brew again.

"Caer," she called. Caer lifted her head, her eyes swimming with sleep. "Come and robe yourself. We must gather roots."

"Yes, grandmother," Caer obeyed.

Beoreth watched as the girl wrapped herself in the fur Beoreth bartered for in the nearby village. Fear heralded the birth of this small girl, and yet innocence shone within Caer, a light in her eyes against the thickest dark.

Beoreth took her own shawl and concentrated on the path to the village, where she knew old man Hroth grew herbs in an indoor garden. Amused by the idea, she laughed. A greenhouse, he called it.

"Come, grandmother," Caer called, bounding out of the house.

Beoreth sighed and followed.

*****

Night fell as Caer and Beoreth made their way home from Hroth's greenhouse, the basket Beoreth carried half-full with medicinal roots and herbs grown in a greenhouse in the midst of winter.

Caer breathed in the cold air and sighed in gladness, thanking the gods as her grandmother taught her.

The young girl questioned on rare occasions the things her grandmother told her. Kindness and gentleness defined Beoreth. Caer felt the weight and responsibility for her, as if she could sense the presence of Beoreth at all times.

In her heart, she knew the stories already and knew their truth. She never questioned the legends of the gods or the creatures.

But to her core she felt no truth for the story of her parents that Beoreth told her. This story she questioned many times.

Caer's mother and father, Beoreth said, lived not far away. One night the wolves came, hungry and dying, into Fensalir. Evil took Caer's parents away, but not her. Baby Caer stayed with Beoreth on the fateful night, sick with fever.

Her grandmother said winter held the cold emanating from the demon of Eliudnir's heart.

Caer danced between the trees, careful not to laugh lest Beoreth find her playing. Her grandmother searched for barks, picking and plucking what they needed for potions.

Caer looked around but did not see her grandmother any longer.

"Grandmother?" she called, wondering if she should go back home and wait..

"Grandmother—?" She turned, hearing footsteps.

Before her a centaur appeared from a cluster of trees and stopped. His animal half blended with the human half, a single creature born of two, tall and regal as though he galloped out of her wildest dreams. Caer gasped and stumbled back, falling to the snow with a soft crunch.

"Are you lost, young human?" The centaur thundered, neighing as he spoke.

"No, I—I lost my grandmother." She pulled herself up, her eyes wide and never leaving him, impressed by the sheer size of the creature.

"You should find her." He smiled down at her.

Caer nodded.

"You have never seen one of my kind?" His laugh boomed like his voice.

"No, Mister Centaur," she said in earnest. "Grandmother says your people live in the north, far away from Fensalir. She says you fight the Dark Lord, just like us."

"No one," he said, in a low growl and appearing menacing, "fights the heir of the Dark Lord. No one stands against her; no one can." He smiled again in the forced way of his people. "Where are my manners? I am Cahros, son of Cheron."

"I'm Caer." She smiled again.

"Caer, such a beautiful name for a beautiful mortal girl. Caer of the mortal realm, we _do_ fight the darkness. We guard all of you from it, you most of all.

Caer cocked her head, "Why me?"

"You are a child and children are special. We cherish all children."

Caer giggled at the lavish way the centaur spoke.

"Caer?" Beoreth called in the distance.

"My grandmother." She turned to answer. "Coming, Grandmother, you'll not believe who I have found!" Caer turned back to Cahros, and her face fell.

The centaur disappeared.

In his place she saw a small red bird, its wing wounded. _It looks broken,_ she thought as Beoreth came up behind her.

"What have you found, my child?" Beoreth sighed at the wounded bird. It never failed to amaze her. Always Caer would find creatures wounded and ailing, creatures she wanted to help. Beoreth knew it to be her secret nature.

"Come, child." She clutched the bag of herbs in her withered hand. "We will brew a potion and heal the songbird when we return home."

Beoreth's heart skipped when the bird squawked. Tiny pinpricks of light spun around it. The bird lifted off and flew away, healed by the will of the child before her.

Caer turned to her, stunned and joyful. "Look, grandmother," Caer said, giddy and waving her hands, dancing in the snow. "Hand magic."

Beoreth shook her head and wondered how long it would be before the secret she kept would be revealed and the girl would know the truth, and the lies, of the life she lived.

Time, it seemed, would be her answer.

*****

Night fell on Fensalir. In the snug home she always knew, Caer slipped into dreams.

Snow crunched beneath her feet in Ull, the city of her birth. The sun moved high in the sky, and the winter wonderland glittered.

Smoke rose from huts buried in the woods. What birds remained in the cold winter sang from shivering beaks atop ice-encrusted trees. In the distance, near the mountains to the north, a beacon of light shone on her face.

A doe pranced the thick woods and stopped to look at her before ripping bark off of a tree. It stared at her for a moment, and...

It bowed.

The doe stood and cocked its head. Follow me, the deer seemed to whisper, the thought hanging in its eyes.

Caer walked, entranced, through the snow after the doe, into a nearby thicket, along an ancient path. Caer pushed past frozen brambles, the thorns of dead rose bushes tearing at her skin.

Caer yelped and sucked on a bleeding wrist, not noticing the vines at her feet. She tripped, and with a gasp fell face first into the snowy thicket. Caer looked up at the deer.

Just as swift as she appeared, the doe ran from her, into the dark woods.

A woman stepped into the clearing and looked at her, in hope and in recognition, her hair, once flaming red, now white, the color of the winter, streaked with faint lines of what once was.

The woman's eyes glistened with tears, her face young and full, her skin pale beneath the white furs and the robes surrounding her, her lips red as blood, her eyes blue and deep as the oceans. And those eyes cried tears of ice that fell and shattered.

She looks just like me, Caer thought. Caer always imagined her mother looked like this woman.

" _Are you ready to return to me, my daughter?" the woman asked through her tears._

Caer shut her eyes and rubbed them. She knew the voice and the face of this woman were more than just reflections. A memory flashed in the child's mind, of a baby's cry and a mother's tears. They met before: she was sure of it.

When she opened her eyes, the woman disappeared, and the dream around her changed again.

_Afternoon sunlight streamed through the treetops of the woods. Caer stood in a circle of trees on which torches hung around_ Vingólf, the _silent vigil. An altar engraved with the words of the goddess, used for prayer, meditation, and magic, lay beneath one of the torches._

A thick sheet of ice spread across the ground, and within it lay frozen the woman she just met. In dreams she stood here before; there the Ice Queen became her constant companion, a woman whose body remained untouched as the lands around her became as cold as the ice in her tomb.

A man stood nearby, gazing up at the heavens, a man she also knew in her dreams. He was a boy in her dreams who played with her in the frozen forests. One day he would become this man, tall and strong.

His hair grew longer, she mused. Emotions stirred within her. Waves of chestnut hair fell onto his broad, strong shoulders. Tall and with shadowy eyes, the man bore a semblance not of fear but of fury. As he prophesied aloud, his voice carried on the wind, his voice the voice of the man he would be and the boyhood left behind.

_The fiery illumination of the torches faded, and the power of the altar and of the man disappeared. Ripped from this dream and into another, she saw and felt the shadows of the great western wastelands of_ Óskópnir _._

The jagged rocks, the hopelessness and despair, the fire and the pain of the western wasteland beneath the boiling black clouds of the demon flew by as Caer floated to the place where the Dark Lord waited.

_The souls of wicked men littered the ground, one of the few lights in this place of darkness. Golems moved in silence, the offspring of evil, made and bound in_ Óskópnir _until evil controlled all lands._

Eliudnir, the fortress of the demon, rose before her, its sharp stone parapets black spears of death; the blood of the earth, flowing rivers of molten rock as they spilled from the ground, yet another light in this evil place, flames shining from the windows as a beacon of evil.

In the chamber the demon waited amidst the fire light, cloaked and hooded, her midnight eyes glaring as it waited for revenge and for power.

The shadows caressed the demon as she stood on the cold stone in the firelight, drawing Caer into its lair in waves of fury.

" _Tell me where you are..." she hissed, "...where you wait for me."_

_"BELIAL,"_ _the Ice Queen cried across the lands separating them, the kingdoms of light and dark, of ice and flame._

Caer's dream winked out.

Caer felt cold snow beneath her back. She lay again in winter. So cold, and yet so comforting. She opened her eyes.

The Ice Queen stood before her, wrapped in furs. The sun remained at its place in the sky, as she stood in Fensalir.

The Ice Queen knelt beside Caer and touched a cold hand to her head. Her tears fell onto the snow and shattered as she looked into Caer's eyes. "Your time yet awaits you. Go back to the safe place, and sleep in peace for a short while, and return when the time comes."

She bowed before Caer. "Until your time comes," she said again, as Caer's dream dissolved, and she awakened.

*****

Snow covered the entire forest, the trees and the path to Ull and the haven. The snow crunched beneath the horses' hooves as the man and the boy rode through the wood, covered in a thick blanket of winter.

Clouds in the heavens circled in cold delight over the last night's storm. Headred thought of the warmth of their house in the city, and of the girl who he knew from strange dreams.

Sometimes she appeared in his dreams as a small girl. But more often he saw a woman, tall and beautiful, with flaming hair and piercing eyes, the eyes of the Ice Queen, her mother.

He didn't remember much about the time before the Queen departed, a boy of but six years. The Ice Queen they called her, frozen in the world of her making, too weak to carry on, to fight the shadows and dark plaguing her people.

Not the truth, he knew, but what they said anyway.

He saw her, under the ice floor in Vingólf, the silent Vigil, in the woods by the sacred place. Many times he walked to the mount of Glasheim, the sacred place of Sul, where the people entombed the ancient Queens of Sul, where Enyd, the Ice Queen's mother, lay in death, calm in sleep though she brought great evil into Miðgarðir.

And he strayed into the circle and looked upon the face of the Ice Queen.

There she lay. Streaks of white and auburn hair shimmered when the sun hit the ice. In the city the people whispered Beren's soul walked on the frozen earth every night. Bound to the earth, and to the people within it, ever weeping for the Kingdom of Sul.

They called her a monster, a creature walking the night.

But Headred knew her to be a goddess, whose tears froze on her cheeks and shattered on the earth.

She appeared as the woman of his dreams. The meaning of his dreams became clouded, even to his father, Hamald. Why she walked with him in his dreams he did not know, her purposes unclear. After all, her own actions overturned fate.

He saw the Ice Queen and thought it to be a dream. At night, as the god and the goddess danced in the heavens, he walked on the frozen paths of Vingólf and Glasheim and prayed to foresee what would come.

And she stood before him.

Weeping, never speaking, with her hand pointing to the south, to this place he now rode through, she stood before him, pleading in silence with him to seek what lay in the south.

So they rode.

Hamald, his father, learned about the vision almost at once, waiting not far away from his son as they hunted for the meager winter meat. Through Hamald Headred understood what happened those many years before, on the night Beren's daughter came into the world.

Some of what happened on the fateful night Hamald kept from his son, but the boy's father knew the destiny forged long ago spoke of Headred as a man. Beren's daughter would hold his heart, and her kingdom in another. She would make a choice between them. And one she would destroy.

And Hamald prayed the words did not mean what he thought they did.

Still, Hamald would not let it upset him now.

To the entrance of the fairy sidhes, the silver palaces in golden glades hidden from mortal eyes, Hamald and Headred went, to seek out vision in Elphame, land of their cousins the fairies, to understand the meaning of those visions.

The horses snorted through the ice crusting their nostrils. How many times, Hamald wondered, would they stop to thaw the horses?

Such became the life of winter. He looked beyond his destrier at the endless blankets of snow, the trees whose spirits sank low under the shield of ice covering them. When would it end?

Hamald stopped his destrier, and motioned for his son to do the same. They sat still in the cold and silence. "Drink some fire ale, my son, while we have time," Hamald said, shivering. The cold seeped into his warm wrappings as he jumped down from the horse and retrieved the brew for the horses from a saddlebag.

Hamald took a swig from the flask and handed it to his son. His insides warmed. Color returned to Headred's face.

"Have heart, Headred," Hamald took the fire ale his son offered. "There are places not like this. The magic of the darkness cannot touch the place where our cousins dwell."

"How far away are the sidhes, father?" Headred asked him, shifting in the saddle. Already they journeyed three days.

"Not far, my son." Hamald replaced the fire ale in Headred's saddlebag. "Not far at all." Hamald climbed onto the saddle. "Soon, my son, we shall see the places where the fairies dwell." Hamald's eyes misted. "The gates of Elphame, the fairy sidhes, are a mark of beauty, where green grasses grow and the warmth of the sun still shines. There visions can be seen, where the gods and their children walk, where we may learn the meaning of your prophecies."

A howl shattered their ride. Headred recognized the sound; many years passed since the wolves of the west strayed into Sul, ever watched by the vigilant eyes of the Ice Queen's specter.

"Stay here," Hamald told him, a gleam in his eye. He pulled an arrow from beneath the furs on his back. Its small swishing sound reminded him of the old wars as he placed the arrow in his bow and he rode into the wide wood.

Headred sighed as his father disappeared. In his heart he did not fear. Before his mother passed, he heard many tales of the battle his father fought in, not against one starved wolf but thousands of wolves and golems in the dark armies ranks. Legends of those battles spoke of Gareth, the King of Sul, the consort of the Ice Queen, and his father, Hamald. His mother spoke of the wolves and golems felled by his father's arrow and sword.

The boy sat on his horse, waiting. His ears perked when he heard movement in nearby the trees. Headred felt fear for himself. His fingers clutched the dagger beneath his fur wrappings, as he turned to look in fear at what evil came upon him.

*****

Not far away, Hamald raced through the snow-covered woods with the fury of the winds, to the place where the wolf cried. And there he saw something he did not expect.

The wolf howled no longer. It returned to the form of a man, and lay naked and quaking in the snow.

"Wolfsbane," a woman's aged voice called him.

Hamald turned to face Beoreth in awe as the wise woman shuffled through the snowdrifts toward him.

"You do not think I have been defenseless?" she asked, and smiled.

"'Tis good to look upon your face," Hamald stammered, interested to see the wise woman, and knowing wherever she stood, the child of light could not be far away. And a werewolf ventured here, he thought.

"He ventured too far from his brethren while they hunted in the west," Beoreth said, seeming to read his thoughts.

"And you have killed him?" He leaped from the horse and headed toward the convulsing man.

"I have taken what of the wolf remains in him away," Beoreth walked beside the warrior and prophet lost to her for many years. "No longer can he hunt men and eat their flesh, though Belial will haunt his mind until he dies."

"What will you do to him now?" Hamald peered at the man, whose struggles faded as the herb paralyzed him.

"I will leave him here," she said. Nearby the writhing man howled in pain, the sound echoing around them. "His suffering will end soon, whether by his brethren who search for him, or by the cold taking his life."

Hamald did not hesitate. He loosed his arrow into the chest of the werewolf, and blood stained the snow.

"Why offer them food? He deserves as much for his crimes."

Hamald thought of the villages not so fortunate, when the wolves found their sustenance the flesh and blood of the living. For the wolves would not eat the flesh of the dead.

"Aye, perhaps he does." She began to walk away.

"Do you disapprove?" he asked her and hooked the bow over his shoulder.

"Nay, child." She continued to walk. "What road do you travel to pass through Fensalir?"

"On pilgrimage."

She heard the fear on his tongue.

"Headred foresaw dark visions, many and often. We go to Elphame where our brethren dwell, to seek answers."

"What does he dream about?" Beoreth spun, peering at him as if she knew the answers.

"The Queen," he whispered.

And she froze.

"They say she walks and she waits for the coming of the light. But you did not see the end. She lays in the ice of Vingólf, the Vigil not far from the city and the sacred place," He watched the tears bud in her eyes. "There she cannot move, and cannot speak. But they say her spirit wanders Miðgarðir. Headred saw her, and she bade him come here. She knows that which comes, and I fear it comes too soon."

"Aye, 'tis," she walked beside him, her feet crunching in the snow. They exchanged glances as they heard laughter before them, where Headred waited.

*****

"You are a boy," the little girl behind him, nigh on six, said.

She looked very familiar to Headred as he sat on the horse and relaxed his grip on the dagger. "Of course I'm a boy." He turned the horse around.

"I'm sorry," the girl said, almost invisible, wrapped in white furs against the unmarked snow. "I've never seen a boy before, you see. I've lived alone with my grandmother in these woods all of my life."

"I'm Headred," he said, puffing out his chest and trying to make a spectacle for the simple country girl.

"I know who you are."

He looked at her again, realizing why he recognized her.

"I felt you coming and I came out when my grandmother left to meet you."

Headred wondered about the Ice Queen he saw in visions and dreams. Did this have meaning? _Perhaps_ , he thought, _the answer would be found in seeking knowledge at the fairy sidhes._

"Do you have the same dreams as I?" he asked. Headred shifted, wondering if he saw the girl before in dreams he remembered little of. She seemed familiar to him.

"Aye," she said, giggling again.

Headred almost slid off the saddle in mortification.

"I am Caer," she announced.

"You shouldn't be out alone," Headred said. He regretted his words as tears came to her eyes; when they fell, her face reminded him of the Ice Queen. "I'm sorry," Headred jumped from the horse in desperation. If his father returned and found he made the girl cry, it would mean a strapping.

"I know you," the girl said with patience beyond her years.

Headred's blood ran cold. In his mind, he saw a woman from his dreams, tall and beautiful, her eyes an unearthly blue. He saw what would come.

With the grace of the Ice Queen, Caer picked up a small branch, broken from its tree by the weight of ice. She twirled it.

On the end of the branch a single green leaf appeared, and shivered in the cold.

_Magic_ , he realized and thought of the child lost to them all. "You use magic, yet evil haunts our kingdom and the witches' children within it." The experience made him uncomfortable. "Where did your grandmother go?"

"She walks in the woods not far from here." Caer looked to the west, as though she could see the gnarled old woman. And from where she looked came the howl of a wolf, piercing the air.

"Stay behind me," Headred shouted, drawing his dagger and pushing the girl back. But the sound did not reoccur. He sheathed his blade and turned to the girl.

"Does your grandmother know you walk alone?" he asked her. The fearful shout ringing through the clearing told him the answer.

"Caer!"

"Grandmother," Caer said, and stared at her feet. _Beoreth_ , Hamald thought, _seemed equally as outraged as fearful_.

"I told you to stay with me," Beoreth said. "These woods are safer than most, but they still hide shadows."

"I have a sword," Headred said with pride, removing it from its sheath.

"I'm sure," Beoreth glanced at the boy she delivered from his mother's womb. _He grew tall already,_ she thought.

"Before you go, there are things I must know," Hamald whispered, convinced neither child knew the other.

"All I can I shall answer," Beoreth watched the children.

"Does she show her power?"

Beoreth feared the answer she must give, the answer she dreaded for days. "Once, a small bit of magic. She healed a bird, and for all my gifts 'tis a feat I could not do."

Hamald breathed heavily. "Darkness remains in the west. Have care for her, for we do not know when it will reach out again, and the eyes of Belial search the lands for the child of light. If she finds her, Caer will die."

"Aye," Beoreth clutched Caer.

Hamald nodded in satisfaction and hoisted himself onto the horse. "Come, Headred, we have a long journey before us."

Behind him Headred spurred his horse on. "We will meet again, I think, Caer of the Fensalir haven," Headred called, and followed his father.

"Father," he asked after a while. "Have we met the girl before?"

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," Hamald said. "I do not remember all those we have met in our travels."

"Oh." Headred glanced at the few birds singing in the trees. "I saw something in her there, in the woods just now. I saw things in her destiny, of dark and light. Within Caer lies more than she appears."

_And so the world moved on, season after season of winter, of ice and snow, as_ Miðgarðir _froze in the eternal damnation of the frost binding it._

The boy grew to be a man, a prophet like his father and his father before him. He dwelled in Ull, far to the north, and never forgot the little girl he met in the woods, the girl he saw in dreams as a youth, the girl who he dreamed grew to be a tall and beautiful woman, who resembled Queen Beren with flaming red hair and eyes as blue as the sky.

Caer did grow to be a woman, tall and beautiful, living in the safe haven of Fensalir with her grandmother. And as the years moved from cold to cold, she prayed the man she dreamed of would one day return to her.

Inside her a candle flickered in hope and burned in the loneliness of her heart.

*****

Caer snuggled in her bed in the earthen home and prepared to dream.

She felt the presence of her dream man somewhere in Sul as he also slept and dreamed. In her flights of fancy, Caer saw him as a prince or a King who would take her from the safe haven and make her his Queen far away.

The stars glimmered, wisps of clouds passing over them. The dream world grew warm.

In the light of the moon he walked towards her, towards his destiny.

"Do you walk in dreams often?" he whispered as he drew near. "Or do you walk on the path of my sleep alone?"

" _I walk in your dreams and those of no one else." The deep chestnut of his eyes and his flowing hair reminded her of the boy she met in the wintry woods while awake, so long ago. She often wondered where he lived in the vast lands of winter._

" _You bring good dreams. So little good remains in_ Miðgarðir _now."_

" _In the cursed winter," she agreed. "You bring good dreams too."_

" _Ah, but you are not real, I think. You are beyond me, somewhere hidden when I wake. I will feel my heart break when I awaken and you are not beside me."_

"If you always search, your heart will never break." They walked through frozen forests. Beneath birch trees, in a thicket, they stopped and stood together in the moonlight.

" _Aye, but I know this will fade in the morn," he said._

Caer thought for a minute, and rose on her toes, kissing him on the cheek. "This does not fade," she spoke, and drew away.

In Ull, where he slept, Headred's hand touched his cheek and felt where she kissed him.

" _Perhaps it will, my beautiful Queen lost in the wilderness, and you make it a good vision; perhaps it will sustain my heart through a long and empty life. Then again, maybe it will not fade. Perhaps you hide from me somewhere I have not been."_

" _It will not fade, and one day, my prince, you will come to rescue me from the wilderness. One day we will meet, and dreams need not come between us."_

He smiled, but already the dream began to fade.

Frustrated and alone, Caer awoke in the hovel in the wilderness of Fensalir.

*****

"Do you think the stories are true, Huma?" Caer leaned against a tree, her bag containing the herbs and leaves she bartered for from Hroth dangling limp in her hand.

"What stories, fair lady?" the goat-man asked, his usual jovial laugh interrupted by a hiccup. The hairy goat-man gulped from his flask, coughing and sputtering as the fire ale went down.

"Princes come to rescue fair maidens," Caer said, lost in thought, looking at the edges of Sul, at the mountains of mist where Kern rose into the heavens and disappeared. "I wonder if a prince would rescue me from this abysmal existence."

"Of course, fair lady, as me mum thought," he took another swig.

"Your mother never wed," Caer reminded him. "Centaurs don't wed."

"'Tis sad but true," he said as his eyes misted. "As long as I have lived I have heard the story from my kindred, fair lady. Me mum watched the stars, and fell asleep. The gods punished her. A goat had relations with me mum in the night, and made me."

Caer laughed and sank into the snow. "Why do you cheer me when my thoughts are so bleak?" She watched the smile grow on his face.

"'Tis my nature, fair lady." He bowed. "For I am a prince, and you a princess already, and who knows our parents nature?"

Caer laughed. She knew everything she needed to know about her parents, and he did also. Neither one wanted to know more, believing they would be disappointed.

She knew the man she loved in dreams. She saw him every night and remembered their childhood meeting in the woods, perhaps a dream as well, for Beoreth never mentioned it, and Caer did not tell her grandmother of her dreams.

Beside her the goat-man took another swig of ale. Brown wool covered his body and crept up his back and his stomach in the way of the centaurs, though it lacked their regality. A mop of brown curls and horns crowned his head, and he made the occasional bleat. But for the wool, he possessed the thick hide of a centaur. On his head a circlet of gold bound his thick hair, much like the long, bound braids of the centaurs.

At his full height Huma still stood shorter than the average centaur, shorter than Caer whose own stature grew tall and beautiful as she neared her twentieth birthday. Yet his small nature never bothered Huma; in fact the presence of the centaurs lurking in the woods throughout Caer's life seemed to be all that troubled him. And his brethren seemed none too fond of him either.

Yet he remained her constant companion, the one friend she ever made. She found him many years ago, wandering behind the hovel, bleating and hungry. Beoreth complained about Caer's new pet. Yet Caer took him in anyway and gave to him her friendship. Now he lived in the woods nearby.

Beoreth, old and frail, but still wise and quick-witted, tended to her chores in the hovel now, boiling the brews to help her ailing health. As Beoreth aged, Caer went in her stead to the nearby village of Waterdam when they needed supplies.

Beoreth's voice shattered the silence.

"Caer!"

"We should return," Huma stumbled a bit as he began to walk.

"So, old friend," she persisted. "Do you think my prince will come?"

"You need no prince," he mimicked the words of Beoreth. "You need a good man with a strong back who'll do what you tell him to."

Caer laughed as they walked on. She did not notice the lady who watched her or the banners waving, illuminated by the torches glimmering not far away. She did not see the lady's watchful gaze, the deep brown hair, or the immortal beauty.

But the time would soon come when the Erianrod, the child of light, would be awakened, and she would know all.

*****

The full moon shone around the earthen hovel. Inside Caer turned and tossed in a desperate search of sleep.

Sleep always came to her without effort. She wrapped the thick, woolen blankets around her and sat up, confused why dreams did not come to her now, when she wished to dream.

Unless, of course, the problem lay with anticipation.

She became desperate to see the man in her dreams, for so long her friend and confidant in sleep. But every morning when she awoke her heart broke because she lost him again.

Auburn hair fell around her shoulders to her waist, deep red in the firelight. Her cotton dressing gown seemed to block as little of the cold as the wool blankets she clutched around her.

Caer iormeita...

The woman's voice calling out to her lilted soft and beautiful, ringing in her head like the tinkling of bells. The hairs on Caer's head prickled, and her skin seemed to tingle with curiosity and fear as she realized she knew the meaning of the strange words.

Caer, come to me...

"Who's there?" she whispered, glancing at the glowing embers of the fire, at the dead candle on the table, its wax almost spent.

She heard no reply.

Caer set down a foot and drew it up again. The earthen floor grew too cold to walk on. Caer laced leather boots onto her feet, and stood. Caer and Beoreth remained alone in the hovel, for it would be hard to miss a woman in the small room she lived in. Yet the words seemed to ring in her head the same, as if spoken beside her.

Caer iormeita. Caer, come to me.

Caer tip-toed through her home, glancing at the tattered curtain her snoring grandmother slept behind. Caer placed a log onto the hearth and stoked it for the heat they needed. Relaxed again, she turned to the bed she abandoned.

Caer ibormeita? Caer, will you come to me?

"Where are you?" She picked up another log, hefting it over her head as a weapon. It seemed as good as any weapon one could make.

Sistan niehereth. Giharad nestlith.

In silver palaces. In golden glades.

"Fairies." She felt something rare, as if a candle burned in her heart, unable to break free and shine its light. The voice spoke of Elphame, the fairy kingdom beneath the earth. She strained her ears. The sound of pipes and lutes floated outside, playing not the joyful songs she imagined the fairies played, but a slow, mournful tune. Above the pipes and lutes she heard the fairies sing in their language, which her heart understood.

Caer crept to the door. As she gripped the latch, she glanced at her grandmother's curtain and listened. And without a second thought, Caer opened the door and disappeared into the cold world, wrapped in blankets offering little warmth against the chill.

The sound of the pipes grew clearer now, the sound of the singing as if whisperings from far away. She could hear the words as they sang, the same mournful sound of the pipes.

Lithia patuna, shrediagova, fwelithia nastari, shacrina. The light has passed, the darkness grows, the world is fallen, and shadows close.

How did she understand the words? She walked through the snow, and the icy chill of the wind broke through her wrappings. Could it be because she imagined she understood, and she dreamed of this in the hovel? No, it could not be a dream. This chill could not be imagined.

She paused, letting the crunching beneath her feet cease to listen to the fairies' mournful song.

Watunasa licam amus sira? Watunasa isum basaledin? Solani cavala gomanin. Thiapara fwer amar.

When will the light come among us? When will we be saved? Soon is the call of the gods. The path for her is made.

The pipes and voices seemed closer now. Caer glanced back and saw the hovel framed in the moonlight. Caer wondered if she walked so far, or if the darkness played tricks on her mind. It seemed the world itself moved and brought her closer to the fairies.

Before her the woods glowed, not the soft white light of the moon, but a shimmering, moving blue light. It lay over the ridge not far away.

Caer glanced back one more time and began to walk toward the dancing lights of the fairies.

_Ibormeitas Caer. Come to me, Caer,_ the voice whispered in her head. And without thought, Caer obeyed.

Caer climbed over the ridge and saw what she never imagined she would. Stretching as far as could be seen, fairies walked, hundreds and thousands of them. Their dress they wove of silver and green; blue as clear as the water and clear skies; the deep, rich brown of the earth beneath her feet; and the purest of white silks, trailing in the snow.

Some of the fairies' hair hung free, framing their strong, chiseled faces, falling to their shoulders, cascading down their backs. Others drew their hair in a knot, with a single cascading tail. Though she imagined them as princes and queens, Caer did not see a single crown on their brows. And yet somehow she did not believe they needed crowns or circlets of gold to make their presence known. Their eyes glowed the blue of the oceans, their hair golden and silver.

The men carried glinting swords at their sides, the women daggers and arrows, or small children at their bosoms. They rode horses or walked; some carried spears.

The blue light shone from lanterns. The others carried streamers of cloth hanging from tall yew staffs. The silky cloth blew in the night air, a silver tree with golden fruit against a backdrop of cream. Above each tree the golden visage of the crown of stars worn by the Witch Queen of Sul embroidered upon it.

The ones closest to her wept, thick tears of deep blue seeming as if they belonged in the places of the gods, and not fit to fall on the horrible earth of her mortal world. Caer gasped, awe-struck. The fairies glanced in her direction, and Caer ducked behind a tree.

The fairy song changed.

Lithia lonuasol owentari. Lithia lonuasan ewespria.

The light is lost in lands of winter. Without the light there is no spring.

Caer watched the glittering fairy lights as the words of their song repeated.

When will the light come among us? When will we be saved? Soon is the call of the gods. The path for her is made.

Ten banners rode by Caer, blowing in the icy breeze, with ten lanterns before them. And behind, on a silver steed, a lady sat, tall and regal, with a crown of stars upon her head, her hair the dark brown color of oak, her eyes also weeping.

"The Fairy Queen," Caer whispered. And the lights went out.

Caer waited for her eyes to adjust in the moonlight. She peered into the ravine where the fairies walked moments before, but found it empty, save for moonflowers blooming where their tears fell.

She turned around and could not see the hovel. She seemed to have traveled with the fairies, for the house disappeared, though moments ago it remained distant.

Fear clutched her heart. She might freeze. She cursed herself for not wearing her furs. Kicking at the snow, Caer walked away from the ravine, hoping to find her way home. But in the night even the trees seemed displaced from where she knew them to be.

A little way off she saw the fairies' lights gleaming. They no longer hid, and instead came into the open, and did not move. At the center of the procession sat Mab, the Fairy Queen, on her silver horse behind the torchbearers and banners.

"Help me!" Caer cried. "I cannot find my home!" Breathless, she arrived where they waited.

Mab's penetrating stare locked onto her. The Queen spoke in the voice of the woman who called to her. "Ibormeith Caer." Her voice rang in the woods like the soft tinkling of bells. _You have come, Caer._

"Will you help me find my home?" she asked again, looking up at the Queen's beauty, the type of beauty the gods alone, Beoreth once told her, possessed in Miðgarðir.

"I will," the fairy Queen replied. A moment passed before Caer realized the Queen spoke in the language of mortals. "In Eliudnir, deep in the wastes of Óskópnir, Moloch's heir gathers darkness to its call. You should not wander too far into the woods."

"Why do you pass this way?" Caer forgot fear and let her curiosity take hold. "Are you going to fight a war?"

"The time of war passed long ago." Mab waved her hand at a nearby tree. The hovel appeared behind it, as if masked by a powerful spell.

"Do not wander too far into the path of Sul, young daughter," Mab warned, her tone as grave as her features. "Remain in Fensalir, where you will be safe."

"I will," Caer promised and wondered if Mab spoke aloud or in her thoughts. She glanced down at her feet in the snow. "Did you call to me?" she asked, peering up. But she found the forest around her empty. The fairies vanished.

The lights disappeared from the woods. As she trudged back to the hovel and shut the door, she thought about the joy and the wonder and the fear she felt upon meeting the fairies. She crawled into bed, and sleep took her into dreams, and into strange places she saw before, worlds sleep alone could give to her.

Not far away Mab watched and waited. Centaurs alone did not watch the child of light frozen in the wilderness; all who awaited her return watched and waited for the coming of the light.

_You hear because you are the heart of the world,_ Mab whispered, and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

*****

It began. Caer, wrapped in the thick wool blankets, now warm and snug in the light and warmth of the fire, fell into dreams, and heard the call of places she never knew.

The warmth of the hovel disappeared, replaced by ice, and a dead city before her. The moonlight caressed her face, and a crown of stars rested upon her brow.

The time comes...

_Caer took in the lands of winter around her. As she flew through the lands of Sul, over the wilderness of Fensalir and the fairy dwellings of Elphame, she perceived the darkness and shadows of Belial. Caer saw now around her the forests of ice and snow, the lands of perpetual winter, in the far north of Sul, where the path of light passed into Ull and at last to Glasheim and_ Vingólf, the vigil of the Ice Queen _._

"Your time draws nigh, my daughter."

The Ice Queen stood nearby in the clearing. Tears streamed down her face, and yet...

And yet the woman of Caer's dreams looked upon her in hope and happiness.

" _You have returned to me at last, my daughter,"_ _she cried, as her tears of joy shattered on the ice and snow, before the shadows of Caer's mind overcame her, and she drifted out of space and time._

Do you hear the call _, The Ice Queen's voice intoned on the wind. Caer felt light as a feather, a specter in_ Miðgarðir _._

Do you feel the call of Miðgarðir and the people who forget you?

The White City rose tall before Caer, shining in the light of the dawn sun.

" _I hear it," she murmured and felt the world change, and the presence of Beren faded away on the wind._

The standing stones of Glasheim and the stone benches of the sacred place rose before her. The fairies stood in a circle around the stones, and beside Caer stood a figure cloaked in white with light pouring from beneath its hooded veil.

'I should not be here,' Caer thought, suddenly fearful. She turned to see the peaceful faces of the fairies, the children of the gods looking upon the face of their father.

Let the future be opened to you now, _Woden's cloak swirled as he spoke to Caer in the languages of gods and men from beneath the white hood._ It is time for you to understand, for you shall know the destiny laid down for you in the heavens and on the earth.

You are not so unlike them _,_ _his voice continued on the soft wind, as the language of the gods moved in her mind, words no man would know_. You are the daughter of my line in this world, a line that bears the face of Dana, the one whom I loved.

" _What must I know?"_

He gazed at the stone of Frigg before them.

She gasped. The ghost of a child stood there, the boy she knew from childhood dreams. Headred, she thought, as he walked among the stones. Was he lost to her forever?

Your hearts will not be one so long as your heart remains frozen, _the god told her as the wind sighed._ What he foretold to your people and your mother spared your life.

" _What did he foretell?" She heard the god's words spoken from a time long past._

"In her hand she holds the love of a man," his voice rang clear in the night, "and the magic of the gods. One she will lose, one she will forget. Her heart will be frozen in the land of winter where she will see her mortal destiny. There she must choose her fate and the fate of her people.

" _Her destiny weaves in the night of the gods. She cannot fight, she cannot love, and she cannot face her destiny unless she lets love touch her also, in the lands of magic she returns to._

" _The war of shadows will be met in Sul. Men will join her; kindred will fall. The world will change forever, for y Erianrod must come among us, and shed her mantle of secrecy. Belial_ , Moloch's heir, _may fall, but a price must be paid in a life._

"A life must be taken to bring balance again into the world of magic. One of them, witch or demon, must die. And the sacrifice the gods will take from the victor will make their triumph as bitter as defeat. A sacrifice of death shall bring life to all. The battle meets in the place of the gods.

" _In the lands of magic, under the shadow of the mountain, y Erianrod and_ Lord Belial _will meet their destinies._

" _The door under the mountain must be opened. The heart of the world must be reformed. The shadow must pass under the mountain, and so must the child must enter its vale. In_ Náströnd _, in the shadow of the mountain, they will meet, and the fate of the world will be forged."_

Before Caer, the boy faded into mist. Woden diminished, and vanished into the moonlight. In the stillness of the night, as the nymphs of the wood and waters awoke from enchanted sleep, Caer stood alone by the standing stone of the Frigg, and faced the distant mountains.

And the world shattered again.

Winter glittered around her in the empty wood. Nymphs sang in the trees and the frozen wells, the fairies played mournful songs, the centaurs stepped soft across the snow, and mortal children chattered and played. A song rose above all of these, calling to her from the mountain of the gods, beckoning her to come.

*****

Cahros, son of Cheron, paced in the snow outside the hovel, sipping fire ale and watching the portents among the stars. The wise woman and the witch slept inside. Fire ale burned in his throat, and its warmth passed through his body. He longed to go to his kindred in the north, to pray for absolution in the place of his people, to ask for forgiveness for his father's betrayal.

Cheron knew what would come for the child of Beren. The stars long foretold this destiny. He disobeyed the most ancient of the centaur's laws and aided Beren in her time of need.

Cahros' father helped the witch and her daughter, as he promised to do long ago, and betrayed all the centaur's ideals.

The moon descended as Woden drew the sun, his chariot, from behind the earth. Frey and Freya moved along their paths of the stars. Tension built in the land of the gods, as darkness grew in the world of magic.

"We have lost so much," Gehrdon commented. Before where she stood on the rise Cahros started. "So much must be forgotten, while other things can be told, and remembered."

Gehrdon moved atop a nearby hillock. Long dark hair cascaded over her milky white skin; her eyes, large and round as a horse's, glittered in the light of the moon. Her dark, brown eyes seemed sad tonight; the night all things must change.

When he realized he loved Gehrdon, Cahros did not know. Whether when they rolled as foals, or when they walked in the moonlight and the snow as adults. Or perhaps he always knew, and she always knew.

Now war came to them all, this he read in the stars. In war all perished. He would not leave her a widow, or she him. And so they waited, in the long years of winter. He shunned her advances for this task he took upon himself. The daughter of the cursed witch rose again in their world, and so Cahros would watch over her. Her light came, and the darkness would follow.

"The heavens are dark tonight; the gods grow fearful in their dance," he said.

Gehrdon sighed as she came down from her perch above the hut, her hooves making the slightest of sounds in the snow.

"Gods fear men, my love," she said, her hands touching his back, as his own reached for her. "They fear what they cannot control, and never have they forgotten their greatest creation, the human heart."

"'Tis so, yes," he said, and lapsed into silence.

"What troubles you, my love?" Gehrdon moved before him, blocking the moon from his view.

"What always troubled me," he countered, "how not even we can control the human heart, and the choices it makes."

"Would you control her?" Gehrdon asked. "We are outcasts because our people care not for the troubles of men. You have always said this to be so."

He sighed.

Her hand lifted his face to her own, brushing her lips against his "The heavens have long foretold this night Beren's daughter would return. And long have they also foretold the shadows will return, and time will be short."

He said nothing, looking at the hut. Beren's daughter slept in there, and he watched. He saw the signs in the heavens, and he knew.

Something troubled her in her dreams. She dreamed of the north, the lands of her birth, awakening in her a power too great and terrible to understand, forged by the gods by their dance, power to bring balance to what the demon long ago destroyed.

But could the gods now stand against such a power? Could witches, the Tuatha Dé Danann, descendants of Dana, hope to save Miðgarðir from the demons winter?

"Do not fear, my love," Gehrdon kissed his lips again, deeper than before. "We must have faith in the good, in the witches. Already it begins."

"But begun for good or ill?" He asked.

She stared at him. "The daughter of witches grows stronger though her world remains frozen." She dared to hope, a hope once a fool's, now come to them in the eternal winter. "Through the curse of Moloch's bane the rivers and streams flow under the ice. Trees have new life and sleep beneath the cold of the world. The nymphs dance in the snow, and the fairies laugh in their palaces."

"The Dark Lord returns to this world," he growled. "Tor rises in red, his shield of blood in the sky. There will be death now. We cannot entrust the fate of this world to a human, even a witch."

"We must," she countered, and turned away. "So the gods meant it to be. They who till the lands rule them, and the centaurs look into the heavens and foretell what will come to pass." She took his lips to hers, with love and longing, and tasted him as though she would never do so again.

"Look to the heavens for the sign," She moved away, her hooves soundless on the snow.

Cahros padded through the snowdrifts, his body numb with cold, and looked in to see the peaceful, sleeping face of Caer on the straw bed.

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to betray her trust, and perhaps, long ago, he would have. But many nights ago the signs came, of light and life, of promise and love.

And he knew now those things might come to pass, but foretelling the future in stars could be crude and difficult, though not all hope fled from his heart.

The dawn in Sul cast long shadows over the world, from the mountains of mist in the north, where laid Ull, Glasheim, Vingólf, and Náströnd, to the hovel in which the child of light now slept.

The sun hid its face beyond the mountains, but the sky arched blue and clear above. For a moment it seemed strange to see its light, and not the clouds of snow falling on most days.

Cahros stared at the light and basked in its glow. One hundred and fifty years he walked on the earth, and for twenty of those years no seasons came to them in the long winter. Yet it seemed now for the first time he would gaze upon the sun and feel its heat upon his skin, warming his flanks.

Water froze in icy daggers on the trees. He heard the sounds of the forest, the creatures as they awoke, the wind in the icy tree branches, and the remaining silence of the long winter.

"Will you awake, my nymphs," he asked the faces in the tops of the trees, the wild hair at their tops and the long, slender, rough forms. "Will you dance for me now, as the moon fades and the sun rises?"

The trees did not answer. Their spirits slept within their wooden homes, clothed in bark. They would stay deep in their trees until the cold began to pass.

Cahros turned away.

For a moment he heard the song of the spirits of the woods rise around him as their sleep waned. They would not awaken yet, but their answer cheered his heart.

A fool, it seemed, could hope.

The night before, as the humans slept in the hut, after his love left him, Cahros stayed awake and alert, gazing at the stars, at the heavens and the dance of the gods.

In the evening Cwen rose from the mists of the clouds, a shining beacon of light, set far in the north by the mountains, above the city of light. The chosen one, Caer, daughter of the Ice Witch, would reclaim the throne and the White City.

A cloud of darkness passed over the moon and Cwen, the bright star of the north, the goddess of light. Evil drew near to their lands, the demon gathering her forces.

Cerdic, god of war, a red star in the early light of dawn, rose hours ago. Where the bright evening star of Cwen drifted beyond the horizon, the faint red of Cerdic rose. The centaurs saw clear portents. War came to the kingdom of Sul. Darkness and war would come over them all.

Selred and Denulf, the sons of Cerdic, rose not far from their father, though he looked at them and smiled. Fear and chaos would consume the world in the war of light.

And as the night became morn, and the clouds cleared, Woden rose again over the world, drawing his chariot across the skies and giving light to the day. The King of gods gave light, his form overshadowing the celestial gods who waned in the north.

The gods would have victory over the darkness, though men might not prevail. The light of the witch would be diminished, and she would fall.

Nothing compared to the darkness warning him the heir of Moloch would return, an evil the heavens foretold would come to pass.

The balance of the world sundered. The veil of life broken so long ago would shatter. As the demon had been born from the witch Queen, death was born from life. Death would come upon them as waves on a black sea in the war the demon Belial would soon make, carrying the souls of the innocent into the empty cold of the Dark Lord's dominion.

And the light of Caer would fade into the night of her birth.

Many times Cahros pondered the ways of his people. The centaurs never revealed their portents to other creatures, especially to the men who long ago forsook them.

Yet if the centaurs did warn, as his father taught him, no race would not now face Belial and her wrath. If the centaurs told Queen Enyd about the evil creeping across Cwen, she would have known, she would have foreseen.

They did nothing, and the world paid dearly.

And what would have become if they foretold to Beren? If they told her of the winter and the death, and the power growing in Belial, perhaps this winter would not be.

Cahros read beyond the heavens. The chosen one, the child of light, would come to them as a Queen. In the morning she would rise and hear the call so long hidden from her, the call of the destiny of all lands in Miðgarðir.

Watunasa licam amus sira? Watunasa isum basaledin? Solani cavala gomanin. Thiapara fwer amar.

Long have the demon's towers been silent. Long the evil one looked and searched for the child who lost to her, who will destroy her. Long she sent her servants into the world to hunt for Beren's daughter.

In the lands of the west, Moloch's heir waits.

The endless hunt for the light endured. Day and night, the Demon Queen searches for the child saved from treachery. With each passing year her anger grows; the loathing she harbors in her heart for the child she never saw shakes the world beneath her.

_No longer are the towers of Eliudnir silent. They awaken to take what they do not have by right or by force. In Sul, prayers are given to the gods_ : reveal to the world the light you have made, and let not this dark war happen.

For without her, no one can stand together against the raging evil.

*****

In the Belial's fortress, hidden in the shadows of the wasteland of Óskópnir, Waermund waited.

The heavens hid from him in this accursed place. Above, storm and shadow raged and boiled in vicious unison, in the promise of evil for ages to come.

Evil lingered in Eliudnir, demons and their kindred. Fire flowed in rivers; ash and soot filled the air and choked the mortals who walked here.

Long ago he came to this place, after he betrayed the witches and the race of men to serve the demon. Wolves found him as he wandered the forest. In the moment they found him he remembered in the crystal his visions of the child, his words to his master of where the Ice Queen lay in dreams, his treachery to his world when he wandered in the woods in robes of velvet as black as his deeds. The crystal before him glowed, ancient and wise and dark; within his hand the globe's surface swirled with shadows, and through it he watched Caer sleep. He once saw, as Belial did, neither good nor evil in the hearts of men. Power remained in the anarchy, overrun with foolish mortals and selfish creatures, begging to be controlled.

And so Belial's will, through promise of power, took root in his heart.

Lightning flashed above the fortress, and its light shimmered in the shadows. By the fire he drew warmth from the nearby hearth.

He could see the souls in the valley of the damned, the faint specters who once walked the world of magic, the men and women whose lust and greed consumed them and who would never again see the light. They walked in Óskópnir, pale skin glowing, and their eyes as black midnight.

If his mistress won, no one would see the light again.

He could feel her anger now, infinite and terrible, as she passed through the lands of magic. His death flashed through her mind, and in the fortress of Eliudnir in the wasteland, Waermund, son of Waerlith, cowered. Waermund shook as he picked up a goblet with his free hand.

He held a goblet, the blood of a creature of magic squeezed into it, perhaps the leg of a Griffin or the heart of a Simorgh. Reverence lost to him, Waermund drained the goblet and felt black magic flow through him. He set the goblet down again.

In darkness and fire he stared into the blue globe in his other hand. He saw into the lands beyond him the daughter of the Ice Queen, and the death of his master.

And not for the first time, he feared Belial's wrath.

Light shimmered in the valley of Óskópnir, and the storms raged and boiled above. The shadow appeared at the doorway of the chamber.

A thousand stars glimmered in Eliudnir, in the valley of the damned and the hills of shadow surrounding it. Lightning crashed, and the thunder of the gods' anger roared.

Waermund chose not to move as the wind picked up. It slammed him against the wall beside the blue hearth fire. Pain ripped through his chest where it hit the wall, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

Lightning forked from the sky and through the window of the tower, slicing through the air as it met his chest. Cold tendrils, like a thousand cruel blades, snaked into his skin as his thoughts drifted away and darkness clouded his vision.

_Not yet, my worthless slave,_ she whispered. _You will suffer first._

Again and again the lightning struck him, and pain ripped through his body, its heat, its fire. The cloak he wore burned away, and his skin beneath charred.

And he heard silence once more.

She who knew all, she who saw all, she whose power men feared, appeared before him, fury in her eyes.

Waermund's heart clutched as her icy tendrils of wrath wrapped around him. Pain exploded in his eyes and each breath became a labor. The stones of the keep wavered before his eyes, and death began to consume him.

One chance remained for him.

"You still have a chance," he shouted. The pain stopped.

Waermund lay on the floor, gasping for breath, a mortal servant, betrayer of the Ice Queen, and thankful for his Dark Lord's grace.

Belial, Dark Lord of Miðgarðir as her father before her, saw a coward of a human, yes, perhaps a coward foolish enough to serve her purposes, but a coward nonetheless. When she finished her conquest, she would take great satisfaction in feasting on him.

"Speak now, before I lose my patience." She spoke with a hiss, glowering at the cursed stone in his hands.

Within it the lands of winter opened before him. Y Erianrod, the child of light, slept in blessed dreams, the woman who raised her for many years nearby, and the equine paced beyond the door of their cold, earthen domicile.

"Hope endures," he whispered, his eyes fixed on the face of the demon. "The world of winter remains, the ice keeps its magic heart from beating. Soon she will return there--" He rose as he felt the anger in Belial's cold heart diminish, "so also will the darkness again hold sway."

"If I succeed in those lands," she replied, "you will pay for what you have done."

"My Lord..." he started and stopped when her dead fingers touched his lips.

"If I do not," she said, as sweet as honey, "you will pay with your life."

"My gracious master."

"Come, Fenrir," she instructed the wolf-man who hid in the shadows nearby, watching and waiting. "We have work to do."

*****

Years passed since the boy prophet met the strange girl in the woods as he traveled with his father. Headred grew into a tall and handsome man, with chestnut hair cascading to his shoulders, and deep brown eyes seeming to peer into the souls of others.

He seemed a god among mortals. Women fawned over him, but he paid them no attention. He loved one alone, a woman of great beauty and power, a woman he met in his dreams.

Amid the snow-covered forests, green hills rose in the frozen trees, and within them lay the doors of the fairy sidhes. Not far from the path of light the entrances to Elphame rose, hills of green grasses amid a land of winter. More, the winter could touch what lay on the earth alone, and so the realm of fairies remained unchanged, filled with spring, both entrance above and otherworld below.

Headred walked the ancient path of his cousins beneath the hills and felt the warm air as it blew over their mounds. The wind whipped his chestnut hair, and he closed his eyes in anticipation.

Here he would draw the circle and seek visions.

He cast the sea salt around him, again in a pentagram within the circle, and cleared his mind. The salt melted a line in the snow, which began to glow bright even in the daylight, as the magic of the fairies and the prophets took root. He prayed to them to open his mind, to visions of what lay beyond.

He prayed to be shown what would come.

He clutched the talisman given to him long ago, the one whose mate he also carried, a circle engraved with the sun, the moon, and the stars, forged by magic, with a single blue stone in the center. The other belonged to Beren's daughter, now lost to them for so long her very name defined legend. His robe shone white, for purity, and as the wind blew, it caressed the naked skin beneath it. He placed a circlet of gold on his head, as a son of the gods. At his side hung his athame, consecrated in the waters of the temple, and on his back a bow and arrow.

The visions began.

Not far away, in the shadow of the trees, Belial waited. The prophet did not hear the wolves howl as they circled him, nor did he know the desire of the Belial's heart. She would take the one bound to the light and make him her servant.

A shadowy mist moved through the snow and disappeared in the light of the fairy mounds. There, not even Belial held sway. Her power could not touch beyond the mortal world, a world she could not yet claim power over.

_Come to me, son of gods,_ she called.

The visions dissolved. Headred stood in Eliudnir, in a chamber lit by the amber glow of the nearby fire. He wondered why the circle disappeared, and how he came to this place. He knew it not to be the vision of the gods. Something, someone else called him to this place.

The circle remains _,_ _The Demon Lord walked over the cold stones of her father's keep_. You are with me now.

She led him to another chamber in the tower. There the silence permeated all parts of his existence and clouded his thoughts.

_With him he saw the woman of his dreams, the one he loved from boyhood. Headred did not see the ebony cloak of the demon, her white, rotting skin or her piercing_ _midnight eyes._

Caer's shade tossed her head and laughed. "I will make you my King, and together we will rule the world of winter," she said, enticing him, letting the cloak slither to the floor.

" _As you wish," he murmured, holding the dead body against his._

" _You have seen the one in your dreams..." she trailed her fingers on his back._

Belial cackled. Headred watched a vision of his dream woman throw back her head and laugh as she held him, slinking over him. His fingers slid over Belial's skin. How long he waited to touch the woman in his dreams, taste her, feel her move beneath him. But the one he saw now neither moved nor tasted, and where he wanted warmth, he felt the frost of winter.

" _Caer," he whispered, and a light appeared in his mind._

" _My prey?"_

" _Why do you bring me into this illusion," he asked. He fought the evil winding around him. Belial grasped Headred's mind as he fought for freedom._

" _Tell me where she hides."_

" _Let me go!" He pushed her away in desperation, trying to find his way back to the circle. "Get away from me!"_

" _Worthless human." Belial shoved him into a wall. His skull cracked against the stone._

" _The circle..." he mumbled, his mind too far gone for the demon's purposes._

He succumbed to sleep as his head began to bleed where he fell in the snow, and as the shadows disappeared from the place of the fairies.

When he opened his eyes the hallowed circle shone around him. Not far away the demon waited, looking at him, and surrounding him. Headred saw the wolves hunting his dream-girl.

"Get away from me, demon," he shouted. The wind slammed into him, throwing him out of the circle.

"Fool," She threw her head back, looking at the sky, and let out a blood-curdling scream. Out of the woods the wolves bounded, in a half-moon around her.

"Kill him," she ordered.

In a moment Headred jumped to his feet; and in another moment he shot an arrow, striking down a wolf. They snarled around him as they fought, drooling at the scent of blood.

"If I cannot have you, she will not have you either."

A second and a third wolf fell dead arrows in them. But the wolves drew ever closer.

Too many wolves gathered for him to fight alone. He always knew this battle would come, the battle he could not win. And yet, he thought, hope remained.

Anger bubbled inside him, and he gripped a dagger he strapped to his ankle. He slew another of the cursed werewolves, and slinging the bow around his shoulder raised his hand and let the dagger fly.

Belial screamed as the dagger struck her abdomen and shattered. The wolves stopped menacing him and ran to her. Headred needed no more distraction. He set off running, wounded and bleeding, into the winter woods.

"After him," she ordered, touching the cold black blood pouring from her wound. "Hunt him, kill him, but follow him first, for he may lead you to the one whose blood calls to him. If he escapes, you will all die."

The wolves needed no more coercion, and with howls of fury, they disappeared into the wood, as the storms began to rage above.

The anger of the demon boiled in the skies. Snow fell in thick sheets. He ran for what seemed like hours, changing direction every so often, going for a while and doubling back. The sounds of the wolves died down and disappeared as he ran through the drifts of snow. Headred stopped and panted for breath before looking back into the empty wood behind him. Headred sighed in relief, finding himself alone.

He began to run again, not for fear, but for warmth. He knew the futility of his situation and how barren the haven could be. But he hoped perhaps he might find shelter by a kind stranger's fire.

The cold lashed his body, cutting through the white wool clothing, chilling him to the bone. He stopped once, to lean against the tree and tend to the wound.

It hurt his pride more than his body when he realized one of the cursed dogs touched him. Even as his blood poured crimson onto velvet snow, his thoughts remained on his pride, his ego. Headred believed himself to be infallible; now he found himself mortal also.

_I could be_ , he thought, powered by the fury stoking the fires of his mind.

The blizzard around him raged, spun, and toppled, as he came to rest in a snowdrift. And even as he fought, his mind succumbed to the darkness.

*****

Headred struggled to open his eyes.

He pushed himself up in the snowbank as best he could, praying to find the strength to survive. The poison of the wolves did its work, seeping through his body.

The loss of blood did not help him either.

Headred stood, shaking from exhaustion and cold, in the now-calm world, several inches of snow falling from him. He did not know how long he laid there. Not a cloud hung in the sky.

He could not hear wolves and was thankful.

The prophet scanned the world, the deepest part of Sul's forests. He did not know where he ran to, or where dreams took him where he collapsed.

The stars shone into his blurred eyes. And the trees swayed in the gentle, cold breeze.

In the distance, Headred, squinting, saw a glow, like a fire. Perhaps he would find travelers who would share their fire.

The woman stared at Headred as he tore through the forest and stopped before her. Their eyes met in confusion, but recognition overcame both gazes. Headred keeled into the snow. As he fell the woman from his dreams ran toward him.

Auburn hair fell in a braid down her back; she wore a simple cotton and wool gown underneath warm wrappings of fur, and her form the pale beauty of a goddess living in a world not her own. Her face mirrored his shock and recognition. Her soft, red mouth formed words he could not hear.

_I love you,_ he thought, as pain from his wound intruded once again. He stumbled, falling into her arms as the world spun around him and turned black once again.

The man fell on Caer, knocking her into the snow. However shocked she felt by the appearance of her dream-man, Caer found herself more shocked by his sheer weight as she struggled underneath him.

There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat beneath his thin wool robe. As she stood, breathless from the heavy task, red, sticky liquid covered her hand. Blood, she realized. Yet she did not know where the deep cut came from.

She needed a way to take him home. She glanced at the far-away smoke rising from the earthen hovel's chimney. His weight would be a problem. And so would the recognition she felt for this man.

"Huma!" she shouted. "Huma!"

The sound of the hoof beats resonated in the forest. The shadows of the forest moved as the goat-man bounded to her.

"You screamed, me lady?" He stumbled sideways, careful not to spill his ale. His foot kicked Headred's limp form. "Got a visitor, do we?" he asked, a glimmer in his eye. "Didn't know suitors came for ye nowadays."

"Quiet yourself, mule," she shot back.

"Well I never," he said, and stumbled again in his stupor. "I am not an ass."

"A goat," she retorted feeling the urgency rise. The man's wounds still bled. "We must hurry."

"With what, me lady?" he asked. "I am of the noble race of centaurs. We do not bear humans on our splendid backs."

"Carry him!" she shouted, attempting in vain to heave Headred onto the goat-man's back.

"Allow me, me lady." He lifted Headred onto his back with one stroke. "To the White City," he pointed.

"To my home," she ordered, and pointed the opposite direction.

"Yes, yes, me lady," he mumbled.

Caer sighed as they began to descend the hill, wondering how much more injured the poor man would be when they arrived.

*****

The sun rose the next morning. Caer watched all night as Beoreth tended to Headred. The old wise woman seemed worried when he first arrived. The worry subsided as the night wore on, though their patient lay in feverish dreams.

Huma came to the door, and when he deposited the man inside the hut, the goat man left in a drunken stupor. When last Caer checked, Huma collapsed into dreams of his own, often muttering phrases such as "me mum" or "relations with a goat." She covered him with a blanket and left him in the empty stables where he often slept.

Beoreth began to act strange. Often she would whisper words to Headred, simple phrases in reference to his father, to his mother, or about the White City. This man lived there all this time, Caer realized; he been so close to her, and yet so far away.

"Child," Beoreth said, disturbing her thoughts, reading, perhaps, a look of recognition on the girl's face as well. She dangled the empty herb bag before Caer. "I need oak bark for his wounds."

Caer looked at the wizened face of her grandmother. "I know him from my dreams. I have seen him before; I feel it."

Beoreth paled. "Of course you have." Beoreth regained her composure. "You met Headred a long while ago when he rode through the woods with his father."

"But I see him in my dreams," she whispered, and fell silent.

Beoreth looked at her and sighed. "Course you do." Beoreth laid a comforting hand on the back of the girl she helped to birth. No, she decided; nothing happened for Caer to know the truth. "You liked him, and as you grew into womanhood you thought of the man he would become."

"Yes, of course," Caer shook her head.

"Of course, child!" Beoreth threw up her hands. "Now get on with you and gather the bark for his wound."

"I will return soon." Caer took the bag and wrapped herself in the fur cloak. "I wish to speak with him again when he awakens."

Beoreth smiled, but her heart fell, not for the fate of the man who lay near death nearby, but for the fate of a woman she raised, who one day would face the same dark as he. She followed Caer out to check on the goat man before he froze.

Beoreth wondered whether Caer would survive her fate.

*****

The cold haven of Fensalir stretched before Caer, the wind cutting like a knife, the snow whirling. Every morning of her life began this way, biting cold nipping at her heals as Miðgarðir waited for the winter to end.

Grey flashed before her.

Caer shrugged it off and continued walking. She did not notice the eyes peering from the shadows of the trees, glowing red in the sunlight, or the occasional crunch of snow or low growl

The wolves smelled the scent of the one they sought, and they found before them a tasty morsel to snack on before the feast.

A long, deep, low growl sounded. Caer stopped as a howl echoed through the forest.

_Wolves_.

She turned to run but her feet slipped on the snow. Her ankle twisted. But fear powered her away from the hovel where her love lay, where her friend and her grandmother waited. The wolves might reach her, but they would not reach her loved ones.

They followed fast and hard. The crunching snow behind her drew ever closer, until it seemed hope fled.

She felt their evil, the power of the demon working within them.

Wolfsbane. She prayed to remember where the root grew. Without stopping she turned and cut a new path through the forest, hoping the root would be powerful enough to stop those who chased her.

Caer stumbled into the patch of wolfsbane, the wolves not far behind.

They leapt, and she closed her eyes, ripping some dead roots from the ground and throwing them in the charging wolf's face.

The animal staggered and fell. It turned into a man, quaking before her. She noticed the arrow in its side, and heard its last whimper before it embraced the darkness.

Caer glanced behind her. Headred stood there, his leg-wound mended with a strip of linen and a poultice. He held a dagger in each hand, his bow once again slung over his shoulder, fighting the wolves as they charged him. Six remained, each large and powerful.

"Behind you!" he called, and she whirled.

A single wolf clawed through the patch toward the wolfsbane, the largest of the lot. As the girl looked at him, Fenrir smiled.

"Eat this, filthy dog," she shouted, and threw the wolfsbane at him. Fenrir snarled and continued.

Headred shouted, and Caer heard a commotion behind her, but she did not move. If she ran the wolf would overtake her fast enough. As long as she stayed on the patch of tree roots, a chance remained the wolfsbane would still have the desired effect when Fenrir came to her.

She noticed the battle behind her ended. But she saw the anger and fear in the wolf's red eyes. It saw something behind her and snarled. With little more than another glance at her, it turned tail and ran away into the woods.

Caer spun to see Headred staggering toward her.

"You felt them coming," she whispered as he drew near. "You knew they intended to kill me."

"Aye," he said, his voice weak with exhaustion. "Perhaps we should go back while I can still walk. I don't fancy riding on a damned donkey again."

"Of course," she agreed, snatching some wolfsbane. "For your wound," she explained and hefted some of his weight onto her shoulders.

Headred smiled but said nothing as she helped him back to the hovel, wondering what strength lay in a man who could ignore their own pain and fight their way out of unconsciousness to help another in need.

She also wondered whom such a man might love.

*****

The cauldron simmered with stew made from roots Caer gathered and dried, and from leaves Hroth grew. She ladled it into a simple wooden bowl and ignored its foul smell. It would not taste good, but it would heal Headred.

When she sat down beside the bed, she stared at his familiar face for a moment before picking up the bowl.

"It tastes bad," she warned, letting the glop fall from the spoon into the bowl, "but it will heal you. Either you feed yourself, or I will spoon it down your throat."

"I will feed myself, milady." To prove it he took a large spoonful and grimaced at the horrible taste. "My apologies, madam." He took another spoonful.

"I need no apology." She shook her head and fell silent as he ate.

"Why did the wolves attack me?" she asked.

His eyes flashed in uncertainty. "I am sure they craved mortal flesh." He spooned distasteful brew into his mouth.

"Yet the wolves do not venture into this part of the world," she said. "The Dark Lord and her servants avoid the fairy sidhes, for fear of the fairies wrath."

"Aye. They hunted me by her order."

Caer sat back and stared at him for a while, as he pretended not to notice. Moments later the latch clicked, and Beoreth entered.

"Ah, yeh've returned," she said and frowned at the man who ate sitting up. "I did not think you would awaken so soon." She rubbed her hands together, feeling his face and his neck, examining the wound. "Your wound reopened!" she shrieked.

"Headred saved me from some wolves attacking me. Tell me, grandmother, why does the demon venture to the safe haven and order her dogs to attack a stranger?"

Beoreth frowned. Headred looked at Caer as if a hungry dragon awoke beside him. After all, he remembered her mother's anger, when provoked, could be as a dragon's fire. The woman beside him would be furious to know the truth, and the lie she lived.

Beoreth sighed and sat down to reseal the wound as she talked. "There are things yeh don't know about your past." Beoreth looked at Caer's eyes, radiant with anger. "Things I never told you, things your mother asked me not to tell you until the time came."

"Like what?" she asked as fury bubbled within.

"You're a witch," Beoreth informed her. "Your mum too. I think we need to tell this tale from the beginning so you can understand, love."

"Maybe we should," Caer replied.

The ancient wise woman wove a tale of the past, taking them back twenty years, to a time and a place not so different, as the veil of destiny tore open, and the gods sent their savior into the world.

Idalir, the Castle of the Sun, rose on the face of Mount Kern, facing the city sprawled around it. Snow fell in blankets. In the heavens, the god of war and the goddess of light mated in a union of power, and blessed the coming child with magic. Inside, Beren screamed as her child came forth, a child promised to turn back Belial's evil, an answer to her prayers.

"Breathe, my Queen." Beoreth, an experienced midwife with children and grandchildren of her own, whispered.

"It comes," a lady-in-waiting said from beside her and smiled.

In the castle, the scream of Beren's daughter filled a house long bereft of joy, hope, and light. She meant to them what no other of her line meant before, a chance to turn back the dark. Beren's daughter rekindled hope in the hearts of mortals.

"There, there." Beoreth wiped the baby with cloths.

"Let me hold her," Beren said, thinking about the childbed death she once watched overcome her mother; a cold, dark death would not come to her. Little blood spilled this night.

Beoreth handed the child to her mother and watched as the baby suckled Beren's breast.

"She shall be called Caer," Beren whispered, stroking the bright red tufts of her daughter's hair. Beren thought of all they lost.

The standing stones where she cried out, kneeling in the snow wrought by her sister Belial's evil ways. The gods came to her at the sacred place, knelt beside her and promised her a child. They told her the price she would pay, and it seemed a small price to save their world.

Cerdic, god of war, shone red upon Miðgarðir, and Cwen glowed white in the sky, a night when the white star and the red star met in the heavens and danced together in power, when she conceived this miracle.

The night of the dance the call came. The eastern woodlands burned in the fires of Belial and her armies. Beren's husband, King Gareth, Warhammer as the people called him, left to lead the armies and fight the war her sister began.

Beren remembered the night she saw Gareth last and wept because only his corpse returned.

Time passed. His child grew inside her, and she gave birth when the gods converged in the heavens.

She thought of the night a few weeks before, as she gazed in the heavens, and the words of the Fairy Queen came to her.

_The demon will strike at the light remaining,_ Mab said. _She will destroy the child you carry, as your mother did not destroy her when the chance came._

So Beren returned to kneel in the place of the gods. Again they walked with her. And soon they would have their price, so her daughter might be spared. But still hope endured.

Hope, it seemed, staved off Belial.

*****

Inside the temple, darkness consumed him.

For all of Enyd's reign over Sul, and while her daughter Beren ruled, Waermund, son of Waerlith, served the people as a priest in the temple of the gods. He kept the old ways and the ancient knowledge in the White City. And he alone saw clearly the way set before them.

No one could stand against the demon and her power.

He remembered, the many years before, when the shadow of Moloch came upon the city of light. He saw the black cloud settling upon them, upon the chambers of the Queen. And he saw the life conceived by Moloch's rape of Enyd. Moloch died, and Enyd gave birth to his heir.

He knew the Moloch's victory. And he vowed he would live on, after the mortals fell.

For too long the witches ruled these lands, their power bound in their female offspring. The witches never bore a male child. Men never held the power of magic.

Unless, of course, they took other measures.

Belial would defeat the Queen, and her power would overshadow the world. Waermund could not stand against her. What wise man would fight the victory assured the shadow? And why should he hope, as the Queen hoped?

Fools alone hoped, and Waermund did not consider himself a fool.

He gazed into the goblet before him at the thick crimson liquid within. A carcass burned on the pyre before him at the altar he kept for all people, where he offered a sacred creature to the gods and to his true master, the Lord Belial in Eliudnir, in exchange for the power and magic he could not have by birth.

A "Coventer," the witches once called people like him, one of the last of a dying breed, also called sorcerers or necromancers. But Waermund considered himself neither. By ingesting the blood of magic creatures, he became as a god.

The blaze nearly consumed the poor creature he placed upon the altar. The unicorn's horn would survive the burning. And he would use the horn as his aid when the shadow came upon them.

Waermund swished the unicorn blood and peered into it. In the pale light of the night the blood seemed black. Not far away the Queen gave birth to a daughter, and new hope came to save them.

And the people called her _Y Erianrod_ , the light of her people. No longer did the world dwell in the seasons, and instead it became consumed in the night and eternal winter.

In the hall beyond the altar room, the soft footfalls of the healers passed. But they would not come to him.

Waermund lifted the goblet and drank life-blood of the magical unicorn. And he waited for his master to come to him, to grant him the power he craved, so he might fulfill what needed to be done.

The child would die by the power of the shadow, and he would be rewarded.

In the distance a babe cried, for she sensed the evil spirit coming into Ull.

"Master," a voice called behind him. Waermund jumped and wiped at the blood dripping on his chin.

Athellind, of the healers, stood framed in the torch light of the halls. "Master," Athellind said. "The Queen awaits your blessing on the child who she birthed this hour."

"I will perform the blessing in the morning."

Athellind tried to peer into his mind, and yet she knew already what she sought. She sensed the demon in the shadows, in the depths of his eyes. And she watched, and waited. "Very well." She walked toward the door.

"Athellind."

The healer turned.

"Do not peer too much into the thoughts of men," he warned, his voice low and cold. "For one never knows what one might find, buried in the deepest corners of another's soul."

Athellind nodded and left, glancing over her shoulder at the torch-lit door, determined to linger and wait for treachery to be unveiled.

*****

When the sound of the healer's footsteps ceased, Waermund stood and began to walk.

"Fyr," he said, his hand over the tip of the torch in his hand.

With a word the torch in his hand burst into blue flames. Not far behind him Athellind walked through the ancient passage beneath the White City, trying not to make a sound. She saw he led her to a long-forgotten door.

In the night he walked out into the demon's winter. Athellind followed.

She slowed as they entered the forest. Wolves came out of the shadows to guide the priest. Werewolves, she thought, terrified and shaking, guiding him in the guiles of the Demon of the West.

Deep into the forest they went, past the places Athellind went before, the healer careful to remain behind, looking around for the wolves and the creatures conjured by the Dark Lord before his fall.

Here they lurked and waited. Tonight the war of Belial set upon them all, as the light came into their midst.

The forest grew deep in the longest hour of the night. Blankets of snow fell on the frozen world. She trudged through the snowdrifts, desperate to follow the one who she knew already betrayed them.

Her feet frozen, her body numb with cold, terror clutching her heart, and stifled by the fury rising in her blood, she walked.

When she knew all, she would warn the Queen.

A light grew before her, in a hollow where the trees grew thin and a circle formed in the wood. Athellind hid in the shadows and eavesdropped as the wolves circled the priest.

He drew a circle in the snow with a cruel dagger he drew from his cloak.

Athellind recognized it as a sign of the Coventer's arts, for to gain such power, a creature who held magic, white or black, must die, and such things the Witch-Queen's forbade.

She saw him drink from the goblet. And on the pyre before him a creature burned. Though he tried to hide the single horn on the alter, she saw the remains of the unicorn. He took its life, and drank its magical blood.

He called to the servants of evil, to the black magic and to the power of the demon, to guide him. The circle glowed.

The wind whipped, covering everything in a blanket of snow. The trees swayed in the wind, brought in heavy gusts by the power conjured. Above them the cold storm clouds boiled with fury, and Waermund called Belial into Sul. The wolves howled, their screams carried upon the wind.

Horror gripped Athellind's heart at hearing the wolves howling around her. Would she be found? Did they watch her? Would they take her life, as Waermund took the life of the innocent unicorn to gain the power as he now possessed?

She must remain safe, for if they slaughtered her by the servants of Belial, no one could warn Beren of Waermund's treachery.

As the wind roared and as lightning scorched the trees, casting shadows onto the snow, as the wolves howled and the snow swirled, Athellind hefted herself onto the lower branch of the tree, looking down onto the circle cast in the snow.

Silence came over them.

A scream broke the silence, and Athellind repressed her terror. The shadow of Belial poured from the boiling sky into the circle, taking form as she swirled around Waermund and her servants.

_So you come to me,_ the shadow said. _The Queen gave birth to a daughter._

The wolves bowed. Waermund stood his ground and looked into Belial's face, showing no fear or loathing for the evil he called to him, for which he betrayed himself and his world.

"As you said," the priest spoke. "The child who Beren called the light came into the White City beneath the mountains of the gods."

When?

"Not long ago. I came here with all haste."

Your sacrifice will not be in vain. I will rule the lands wrought for me by my father, and power will be yours, my faithful servant.

"Many thanks, my master." He bowed low before the shadow of evil.

_Return to the White City, and wait in the temple,_ she instructed. _When my servants come, unlock the door for them to enter by stealth and surprise. And remain with them until the battle ends and the city burns. They will keep you safe._

She will kill him when her servants stand inside the city, Athellind knew. The treacherous one will indeed see his reward for his betrayal.

Athellind clung to the branch as the wind whirled around her. The cloud of shadow disappeared. The wolves walked with the priest, away from the city, to prepare for his return. Lest the Queen sense his unnatural magic, Athellind figured, as she descended from the tree, and wasted no time running through snow for the ancient door.

For precious little time remained.

*****

Breca ran from the sacred place as if his life depended on it, through the snow-covered forest, to the White City where the Witch Queen and the child of light lay.

The time to save them all dwindled fast.

The blizzard blew around him and wind froze his skin. His hair fell from his hood, blowing auburn strands in his eyes, but he did nothing to stop it. Sweat poured down his body, but he did not feel it or notice when it froze.

Ull shone like a beacon beneath the mountain of the gods, its walls gleaming white against the mountain. A baby screamed, but he could not hear it over the howl of the winds.

As the prophet said, evil came upon them all.

Deep in the forest, a shadow waited for her faithful servant to come to her. Soon in the White City a door would be opened and evil would enter. Far away, above the towers of Belial's fortress, smoke billowed, and renewed cold swept through the lands of magic.

In the north, the centaurs read the signs in the heavens, in the dances of the gods they foretold the future, and saw what would come from the demon's heart. In the forests the nymphs dreamed nightmares of the world falling around them, and the demon's winter covered their deep roots. And in the fairy sidhes, Mab wept for the world above.

The path opened a little before the runner. Not far away lay the oak and iron gates. Torches gleamed on the city walls, as the tower guards paced and looked out. The snow fell in sheets.

It would not be long now, Breca thought. War came upon them, war they might not win, for the allies of mortal men all but abandoned them. The mortal world would fall if hope did not endure.

"Open the gates!" Breca screamed over the howl of the wind. "Open the gates!"

"Who goes there?" Raed called down, peering at the cloaked figure.

"Breca of the moorland. I must see the Queen."

"How goes the war in the moorland, Breca, son of Aedh?" Raed studied the young man. He knew Aedh well. He watched Breca grow and saw innocence in him few possessed. And he knew Breca's strength, to withstand the Dark Lord, and to endure her fury.

"Not well," Breca said, sadness mingling with the panicked urgency. "When last I saw, villages burned, golems raped and killed, and my father prepared to leave the last charge against them. He who sent me north with news of our plight. But Hamald, who I met in the ancient place, gave me a more urgent message I must carry for my Queen."

Raed nodded, and far below the guards acknowledged him. The gates creaked open. Raed descended the stairs as the runner came through and stopped, crouching and panting.

"Breca of the moorland," Raed called as he drew nigh. "The Queen must rest. She just gave birth. Idle business should not concern her."

"I must see her," Breca told him, breathing deeper now, taking the water from the guard and breaking the ice growing on top to have a drink. "I do not call for her on idle business. I have word of the movement of the shadow."

Raed stepped back. "Take him to Beren," Raed snapped at the guards. "Go now."

Two guards helped Breca up and led him away. Raed climbed the stairs and stared at the black mountains in the west, and at the demon rising from Eliudnir, a silent omen of war upon them.

*****

"Milady, a messenger comes from the sacred place."

Beoreth stroked the hair of the young Queen and sighed. Such beauty she saw in the world when she helped birth children, such hope and such joy. She remembered the day twenty years before when she watched another child come, a child of evil. For many years she saw no light, no joy, and no beauty, and cold, darkness, and death alone.

For many years the land suffered, the people lived under the shadow of the demon haunting them. If Enyd ended Belial's life so long ago, if she felt no compassion in her heart, this winter would not be.

The Queen sighed also, her thoughts not shadowed like Beoreth's. She sighed from fatigue, from the labor of her daughter's birth. Beren grew weary from the cold haunting her blood and her soul, the heart she shared with Miðgarðir, and with the demon, whose will brought winter upon them all.

"She rests," Beoreth told the guard, watching as the child suckled.

"He comes on urgent business." The guard stood immobile in the door.

"It cannot be as urgent as--"

"Send him in," Beren instructed, interrupting her faithful friend. Beoreth felt the pulse of her patient and checked the baby's nursing, worrying all the time about the burden her Queen took upon herself, and passed to her daughter, so small and frail, so full of life.

The young man, tall and gangly, strode into the chamber. "I am Breca of the moorland,"

"Breca of the moorland." Beren glanced into his cold and tired eyes. "My people tell me you come with urgency. What business could be so urgent it must come on this night of celebration?"

"My majesty." Breca bowed before the woman he could not imagine wearing a crown. "Time grows short. A prophet rises in the sacred place, and he speaks of your daughter, of her life and safety, and the shadow lengthens in Óskópnir."

Beren's eyes blazed. "What prophet?"

"Headred, son of Hamald, your servant." Breca saw her recognition of the boy.

"I will go." Beren handed the sleeping babe to Beoreth, whose mouth opened to object at once. "Do not argue, my sister and friend." Beren tried to mask her fear. "I must go, if not for myself for my daughter. Y Erianrod must live, even as others may fall."

"As you wish." Beoreth rocked the sleeping child in her arms.

"Take me at once to the child who sees visions," Beren instructed Breca.

"Yes, milady," and he led her from the chamber.

As they walked away, the child cried, and Beren prayed the gods would not abandon her. She felt the cold evil of her sister forged ever deeper into her soul, and the heart of her world.

*****

Breca ran again through the snowy woods as the snowstorm cleared above and the white mist of Niflheim, the primordial lands of the gods, fell upon the Sul and the cursed winter.

Beren's white horse, girded with leather and gold, pushed through the snowdrifts behind Breca on a brown destrier, struggling to keep up as the runner seemed to pass through the snowdrifts. Beren noticed the spot of bright blood on her skirt. Her mind clouded as she realized she still bled. Her power weakened as her sister's grew.

But much more blood would be shed if the light faded and the darkness won.

_Why? my sister,_ Beren called upon her power to carry her thought to the towers of Eliudnir. Beyond the distant mountains the earth quaked, and the clouds boiled.

Beren saw Belial's vision: Beren's blood on the snow, Caer dead beside her, and the White City burning.

Beren shed a tear for the lands falling in visions before her.

_Do not fear,_ the voice of the fairy Queen rang in her head, bringing light and warmth, so precious in the gloom and the cold growing ever stronger in her spirit. _Time grows short now,_ Mab whispered from the fairy sidhes, _but enough time remains for what must be done._

_So be it,_ Beren thought, and followed the runner through the thick wood and the snow.

Before her, the stone of Woden ascended into the sky, placed there by men long ago to mark the spot where the god descended, where she and many others sent forth spells, guided by the power of the gods and their children in Miðgarðir possessed.

And there, she knew without seeing, the prophet she sought now stood. There a destiny would be forged.

In the night of the winter Beren, the Witch Queen of Sul, came to the sacred place.

*****

Glasheim, the sacred place of the gods, rose above the mist; stone benches where the gods held council in Miðgarðir and monuments wrought by men ascended into the skies to mark where the gods stood upon the world.

Beren remembered Glasheim to be a place of remembrance, beauty, and magic, hidden beneath the snow.

The boy wandered, his hair whipping about in the wind. Beren's horse stopped among the stones as she stroked its neck. Hamald walked not far away, looking upon his son. What Headred foretold she did not know, but she knew the shadow of Belial came into Hamald's heart, and Hamald feared what would come.

Exhausted, Beren stepped off the horse and trudged through the snow, the blood diminishing.

"What did he foretell?" Beren asked.

Hamald pointed to his son.

"The heavens open in the time of darkness," Headred said, his voice light and his eyes clear in his pale, cold face as he foretold the future, as shown to him by Woden's will. "The Queen gives birth to a daughter on this night in the mating of Cwen and Cerdic, a witch who bears the power and the magic of the gods. She will fight the evil one, the Dark Lord above all, Belial, demon of the wasteland of Óskópnir and her father's towers of Eliudnir. Woden and his kindred whisper of the coming of the one. For the world falls into evil's sway, and the gods give hope to all." He stopped.

Beren watched him. His words told her what already happened. But he also spoke of the darkness she knew all too well, as if an omen of what would come. Doubt gripped Beren's heart.

"In her hand she holds the heart of a man," the boy's voice rang in the night, "and the magic of the gods. One she will forget, one will fall before her. Her past will be frozen in the land of cold, the land of winter where she will see her mortal heart, a man who will come. She will know him by this sign: he will come upon her blood, and it will be but a taste of what will come. In the lands of her birth she must choose her fate and the fate of her people.

"Her destiny the gods wove in the night of power. In her heart she will find her light, and her light will be the light of the people. Her past and she who came before her will be frozen in the forests of the north. She cannot fight, she cannot love, and she cannot face her destiny unless she lets those things touch her also, in the lands of magic she returns to."

He spoke of the future, of not just his destiny, but the destiny of another. Long ago Beren promised her daughter to him, this boy who would bridge the gulf between the mortals and the magicks, a union to end the years of separation, a marriage Beren believed would save them all, and a pairing Belial would pay to end before it began.

He spoke of Caer's light, the light of Miðgarðir and her people whose hope and love one day she would know. For the hearts of the witches would always be bound to the earth, to the lands of Miðgarðir their father Woden made.

Caer's past would be hidden from her, Beren thought. Caer would not fight and win as she hoped, not until love touched her heart. Perhaps she would love the boy her mother bound her to. Beren hoped and listened to the words of the young prophet.

"The battle will be met in Sul, the last Dark War. Men will join her; sons and fathers will die. The world forever will change, for Y Erianrod must come among us, and shed her mantle of secrecy. The evil one will fall, but a price must be paid in a life.

"A life must be taken to bring balance again into the world of magic. One must perish, either the Mór-Ríogain or Y Erianrod. A terrible sacrifice will be made. One who stands for good will fall into death. A life must be sacrificed for another to have life. The battle will meet here in the gods' council."

Blood would be spilled; such Beren expected. War would come again to these lands, which she knew also. The Dark Wars Belial, second Dark Lord of the earth, already rekindled in the west; in the west she brought Eliudnir to life again.

Those wars already came upon them.

Her daughter would bear a mantle of secrecy, as the demon bore the mantle of power. Beren's daughter would not be above Beren's sister, but an equal and opposite of her. Miðgarðir would change when the light and the darkness met in Sul, when the fates decided a victor.

One must die for balance again to be brought to the lands of magic. Her sister would fall, but what price did the prophet speak of which must be paid, a price paid in the blood of another?

And the victory would be bitter, even in the minds of her forebearers.

"In the lands of magic," Headred continued, "under the shade of Keros, Mór-Ríogain and Y Erianrod will meet their destinies. Náströnd, the door under the mountain, must be opened. The heart of the world must be reforged. The will of Belial holds sway over the heart of the world, and so the child of light must pass within. In Ull, in the shade of the mountain, the armies of Óskópnir and Sul will meet, and the fate of the lands will be forged."

Beren understood. They would meet their destiny in the White City. The door under the mountain, locked away from Beren long ago when her sister succumbed to her birthright by Moloch, would be opened. But here they would face each other, and the victor would be decided.

Belial would not wait for this to happen. Through her dark arts she already would have peered into the fates and read what she wished. Yet the future would be clouded, and by the will of the gods Caer would be kept safe.

The demon would try to vanquish the light.

"Come," Beren said to Hamald, as the prophet gathered his son onto his mare. "We will go into the city and bind our children in blood, love, and magic. Time grows short, and much remains to be done."

"But milady..." Hamald started.

"Come."

Her order hung in the air above them as she mounted her horse. Breca and Hamald followed her frantic pace to the White City where the fate of Miðgarðir and Sul would be decided, where the war would begin.

But not today, Beren thought.

"You saw what would come," Caer breathed as she looked at Headred. Her mind reeled with the revelations. She always knew Beoreth held something back from her.

Caer sat on a chair, wrapped in a woolen shawl as she stared at the flames of the fire. When the fire began to burn lower, she threw another log onto it.

The flames licked the blackened hearthstones. Orange light illuminated the brown earth walls. It seemed so hard to believe. Her mind swam with revelations unveiled to her in the short time since Headred arrived.

Caer wondered, not for the first time, if when she awakened Headred would be gone. What would she do if she discovered this truth to be a figment of her imagination, another dream she would wake up from?

It couldn't be. It felt too potent.

This truth seemed conceivable, for this life she always knew to be a fantasy, the reality she learned about now and the world of her birth to be verity. She realized the existence in Fensalir to be a comfortable dream she would never know again.

Everyone seemed to think of her as some kind of messiah. What could they mean? Headred's story revealed so many secrets. No one could understand what she felt. After all, not every day did one discover oneself to be the prophesied messiah sent to deliver the lands from evil.

"Let Headred tell the tale of the demon." Beoreth motioned to him to begin. "And it would be wise, I think, to try not to interrupt. I will speak for what you do not know."

Headred breathed as he prepared to recount the tale. Firelight played across their faces, as Caer listened. The old wise woman shook with anguish, sorrowful for what happened, for never telling the truth to the child she thought of as her own.

"Let me tell you the truth you never knew," Headred warned, and as Beoreth cried, he continued.

*****

"But milady..." Beoreth cried, walking behind the Queen who bore her daughter to the tower.

"Trust in me, Beoreth, my friend," Beren said to her friend and advisor.

The silver tresses on the wise woman's head prickled at the sound of the Queen's voice.

"Milady," Beoreth sighed. "You must rest, and you must heal... if you do not you will not be able to fight our enemies when they come upon us."

"They will not come upon us yet," Beren said, turning before entering the chamber. "I stop it here. We will fight another day." The baby wiggled in her arms and nipped at her breast in hunger. " _She_ will fight another day."

Beoreth threw up her hands and followed Beren into the chamber, where Headred tried his best to look brave, his eyes darting at the Queen and Hamald. His father stood behind him, his hands on Headred's shoulders.

"Let us begin," Beren said, handing the baby to the midwife.

Beoreth held the baby and looked at her innocent face. Once again it struck her, how the gods could be so merciful, and yet so cruel. For all mortals did, all they strived for, all the gifts they received, always a price must be paid.

A sweet face must pay for the painful destiny awaiting her. She would love Headred and would choose between his life and the salvation of the world.

Beren led Headred by the hand away from his father, to the center of the room. Hamald drew the window shutters. The firelight played on the figures around him, illuminating their faces as they stood in silence.

"I call to the Earth," Beren began. "I call the mother, who knows the pain of birth; and the children upon her, both good and evil, hear my call.

"I call to the Fire, to the Wind, to the Water; elements within her spirit, hear my cry."

She gazed around the room and stopped at Headred. She placed the boy's small hand on the hand of her baby daughter.

"Two spirits, two hearts we bind tonight, by rope, by pledge, by love, by right. We call on the realms of Miðgarðir, to care for this bond we forge. We call to the gods; bless this union we make."

Beneath the city, in the shadow of Kern, the earth quaked. The stars grew as bright as a thousand suns. The waters of the eastern seas thrashed and roared, and the winds rose and fell in Sul.

It passed, and silence overcame them.

Beren took a cord and wrapped it once around the hand of the boy. Beren saw fear in his eyes. Though he held the power of the gods, as she possessed the gift of magic, he never saw a witch cast a spell.

"God and goddess, by blood and by right I offer challenge to thee, to separate the wills of these two spirits by force and magic. Or bind them, I ask, by magic and rite, together as one."

She wrapped the remainder of the cord around her daughter's limp hand as the baby slept in her nursemaid's arms.

And when the hands of the Witch Queen left it, the rope glowed with the radiance of the moon, cast by Frigg, goddess of light, of love, and of sanctity, whose globe shown down now on the wintry world.

"By god and goddess, demon foe," Beren said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "I bind them now in holy union beneath the heavens. By Mother Earth, fire, wind, and sea, elements four I ask, this union blessed be."

The rope fell to the floor without a sound. She finished the handfasting. The children would always be joined together, as their fates intertwined. They would live even if others did not. She saved two lives, and now one must be sacrificed.

The Witch Queen prayed for mercy.

*****

"Milady!" Gasping, Athellind collapsed onto the floor of the tower chamber, exhausted. The ritual finished, Beren stopped to look at the healer. Athellind's feet, frozen by blizzard she ran through to get here, were white. Her heart raced for terror of the wolves in the woods; all of the way to the city she feared they saw her.

And her heart raced for the child who slept in Beoreth's arms, and for the revenge of Belial.

"Athellind, what troubles you this night?" Hamald asked the chief of the healers, fearing she broke the circle of power forged by the Queen.

"I have seen." She pointed to her eyes. "Waermund betrays us. He drinks the blood of magical creatures. In the woods this night he called to the demon and betrayed the Queen."

Beren's face remained placid. She knew this would come. She foresaw it. "Close the gates. No more will pass into this city tonight."

They stared at her. Hamald moved first, making for the door and carrying the order to Raed, wondering how long it would be before the Belial's armies gathered at the gates and the city descended into fires and damnation.

"Athellind," Beren laid her hand on the healer's head. "Be frightened no more, my sister, for the time comes not for the darkness to hold sway over the White City, or over the destiny of my daughter."

"Milady," the healer begged. "She will strike now; she will kill the child!"

"I know," Beren said, as a single tear slid down her face. "Yet I know also my daughter will be safe for a time."

Beren lifted the child from the arms of her nursemaid. "Do you remember, my faithful friend," she whispered to Beoreth. "Enyd gave to your mother Berwyn a child to care for: Belial, damned from her birth."

Beoreth shook her head, her eyes pleading.

"I do not want to ask this of you, but I must," Beren explained. "For the yoke I place upon you will be far greater than the last."

"Milady, I cannot raise your child while you surrender to your enemy," Beoreth fell to her knees, beseeching Beren.

"I do not sacrifice myself to the darkness," Beren said, letting tears run from her eyes. "I ask you to take her and raise her where hope lingers. Take her and leave this place, and trust the enchantment I wove will protect you and her until the time comes for you to return."

Beoreth cried, thinking of her husband, children, and grandchildren. They would also die in the fire of the demon if the child died. "I will do as you wi-wish," she said, her voice cracking.

"Good." Beren kissed her daughter's face, handing Caer back to the old woman. "Take her and prepare her. You must leave tonight, and the journey will be long."

"Aye," Beren muttered through her tears, looking at the face of a child who would not know her mother, and praying to the gods Caer would not suffer the same fate as Belial.

*****

A rapt silence fell over the listeners as Headred finished and stared at the woman who never knew of the truth of her birth. Caer perceived the fire in his eyes, hatred for the demon and her kindred and also, she thought, in part for her.

"We are connected by magic?" Caer asked, feeling a cold ache in her heart. Her mother handfasted him to her, bound them not by love, but by a spell cast in desperation. Caer thought herself just a stupid girl. He was no prince, not like the stories.

"Yes," Headred answered. "Our people practiced handfasting for generations."

Caer stared at the floor. He did not care for her as she cared for him. And he would not see her cry. He would not see her sorrow, not now, not ever, not if she could help it. She would just forget about him, as he seemed to forget about her, about the meeting in the woods so many years ago. She winced.

Though as a child he did not know the girl in the woods to be his betrothed, he knew now the girl to be Caer; he would know her as the girl whom he met in the woods, ever a childish little girl, and not a woman.

And in dreams did he love her from his heart? She wondered. Or did he love her because magic willed him to?

"Never before have I known of a union between the prophets and the witches," Beoreth explained. "While witches and prophets share the gift of magic, they hold different and equal parts of the gods' powers. A child born of such a union would hold the full power of the gods."

"We are the servants of mortals," Headred said. "A mortal woman, Veleda, and the god Heimdall conceived the first of the prophets Aske, and the first of the fairies in their daughter Mab. 'Tis our curse, for Veleda wed a mortal man, and bore him a daughter, Dana, the mother of the witches, who in turn bore a daughter by Woden. And for the adulterous mating of Veleda and Heimdall, for her betrayal of her husband, her children the gods made to leave behind the mortal world, or to serve the will of others within it. A child of a witch and a prophet would hold great power, both of magic and prophecy."

"Why bind you to me?" Caer asked Headred.

Headred shook his head. "None now know Beren's motivations."

Beoreth nodded. "She had her reasons," Beoreth said, "and I believe she did so to protect you both."

Headred moved on, to continue the tale.

*****

Waermund saw the gates above him, the White City gleaming in the stillness of the night. And with his unnatural power he felt the demon far away, beyond the western mountain, where the gates of the Eliudnir deep in Óskópnir opened, and the armies of Belial amassed.

The gates of Ull remained shut.

"Open the gates!" he yelled to the tower guards. No one answered. "Open the gates, I say!"

"What business does the priest have in the woods and winter, in times such as these?" Raed, chief guard, queried, a bite in his tone. The cloaked figure of a woman stood beside him.

"I gather roots and sacrifices for the altar," he improvised. Once again Raed gave no answer.

"Open the gates," Beren told Breca, who carried the message to the towers. Beren turned and descended to the gates.

The gates creaked open, and revealed to her the traitor, and to him the vengeful face of the one he betrayed, the Witch Queen of Sul.

"Waermund, son of Waerlith." Her piercing eyes gazed into his very soul and made him shudder under their stare. The snow fell thick around them. "You return to us, to make your last sacrifice in our dire need."

Waermund did not move, did not speak, as he felt her power, the witch's magic, flood through the demon's magic in his veins. And she knew now his deeds.

"My Queen." He threw himself on the snow before her.

"You betrayed us." Beren stepped back as his vile hands touched the fur hem on her full-length robe.

"No-no, my Queen, my master," he cried and clawed at the cloak.

Raed hoisted Waermund to his feet. In the woods the wolves howled on their journey west to meet with the armies of their master.

"Your master betrays you," Beren's chilled tone filtered through the blizzard's howl. "Her servants return to her. You she leaves alone, at my mercy."

"Yes, my mistress, my merciful Qu--" he squeaked and stopped, yanked by the hand of Raed as he tried to grovel.

"Your treachery cannot be undone, Waermund," Beren said. "Yet I will show you mercy."

"Milady?" Raed asked, stunned.

"Merciful, gracious master," Waermund said, released for a moment from Raed's grip. Again he crawled through the snow towards her. Beren raised her hand to the sky.

" _Hefon_ ," Beren commanded. Her skirts and cloak whipped around her in the sudden wind, and through the traitor back to the gates. He fell face-first in the snow.

"No, I am not merciful. I am the vengeance, as I am the white. You betrayed me, and in your treachery gained a new master. To her I release you. Find your path. Ever and anon you will be forbidden from this city and these lands. Go to the demon now and pray to see from her the same mercy I bestow."

"No!" he cried out, as Raed gripped him again while he lay stunned. She seemed to glow in the moonlight, as if her power became visible to him, through the black magic lingering in him for a short time longer.

But his scream came too late, and his pleading not enough. He felt himself lifted and thrown out of the gates by their keeper. For a moment he lay there and listened to the creak of the closing gates. He stood and turned to see the gap growing smaller.

"No!" he screamed, running for the gates, reaching them as they closed and the locks bolted.

"Let me in. I know the plans of the shadow. Use remains in me!"

Again no answer came. Deep in his heart, touched and blackened by the demon's power, Waermund knew there would be no more answers.

*****

The night drew on, ever colder, ever darker, as the snow fell around those who remained by the gates.

Long before, Raed watched the traitor leave, pacing in the snow before the city, almost frozen and exhausted. Outside of the city gates, Waermund conjured a blue fire for warmth, which hovered above his hand, and walked away.

"No doubt the demon's gift," Raed muttered and glanced down at Beren in the courtyard. Her pale face seemed old beyond her years; the toll of the night would mean her death. But she did not fear it for she knew what would be, and the sacrifice she would yet make.

*****

The night grew ever colder as the blizzard gripped the city and the lands beyond. The winter flurries fell around them in the blinding cold. Beren's face became a mask of desperation, fear, triumph, love, and sadness mingled as she stared at the barred gates of Ull.

"My Queen." Raed's voice started Beren out of her memories.

The guards finished their rounds. Soon the gatekeepers would make ready to open the gates at the first sign of dawn. So much now would be lost, she thought, as the agony of her loss, and the loss her daughter would endure, clutched her heart. Remember me, my child. She wept for this night, in all its great and terrible glory, for the winter, for her beloved Sul and for Miðgarðir.

"A centaur comes to the city," Raed whispered.

"Let him in," she said.

The centaur strode through the gates, regal and commanding, ignoring the looks of panic and distrust on the men around him. He chose to see Beren alone, the Witch Queen of Sul. His loyalty remained in her and the Queen he would serve. After all, Beren summoned him to the White City this night.

The gates rumbled shut behind him.

"We read in the heavens the plight of men," he said in a low rumble. "I am Cheron. I come to your aid in your time of need."

"How much can one centaur offer?" Raed asked.

Beren laid a hand on the guard's shoulder.

"We are swift, young human," Cheron said. "In all things. No harm will come to your daughter while I am with her."

"And where did the centaurs hide when these wars began anew?" Raed asked in disgust. "The fairies? The nymphs of the wood and the waters? Why do they not all come to our aid?"

"Time grows short," Cheron's rumble growing. "And we require secrecy for such conspiracies."

"Many thanks do I give you, Cheron of the centaurs," Beren said. She gazed at the castle and smiled as her heart wept. "Ah, my wise woman bears my child to us."

Beoreth jumped when she saw the centaur. Centaurs rarely ventured in the kingdom of Sul, and the days had passed when the White City's courts filled with the creatures of magic and woods and sidhes.

Cheron stood six feet above the ground, with the legs and body of a horse, the torso and arms of a man, half-covered in thick hair. His tail glistened with melted snow, his mane long and straight, drawn back in an elaborate braid interwoven with golden ribbons, drawn bottom to top and crossing his forehead in an elaborate crown.

"Beoreth," Beren explained. "I present to you Cheron. He will take you to where you go."

"Milady," Beoreth whispered, "I beg you to reconsider."

"No-o," Beren laughed after her voice broke, "I still ask this of you, my friend."

The baby woke in the nursemaid's arms and sucked on her tiny thumb.

"Be safe, my daughter," Beren kissed her baby's cheek as tears fell down her face. She clasped the wise woman's hand. "You must raise her as your own. She must not know who or what she comes from, or the power she and I bear. The gods protect her now, but we can ill afford to give anything away to the Demon Queen."

"Yes, milady."

"Beoreth," Beren took the chin of her faithful friend and brought their faces together. "More thanks than I can give, old friend. Keep her safe in your care, and we shall see each other soon."

"Quick now," Cheron boomed. "On my back, old human. Little time remains."

"I will do all in my power," Beoreth said, as Raed lifted her onto a saddle placed on Cheron's back.

"Goodbye, my daughter," Beren whispered as the gates opened again, and the centaur sped off into the dawn, her daughter and friend on his back. In secrecy, the spell woven by the gods kept them safe from the shadow. They would be safe, for a time.

And her tears fell onto the frozen earth.

*****

The snow swirled around the hem of Beren's dress as she walked through fresh drifts of snow in the morning light. So little she gained last night: so much her daughter would now lose.

Behind her the sun, the chariot of Woden, peeked its head over the edge of the eastern horizon. White winter glistened as the lands of winter greeted a new dawn.

In Ull, the people who slept began to awaken to lives changed forever. Perhaps they would understand their Queen's undoing. Or they would claim her actions as treachery.

In any case, it no longer mattered.

Beren crested the hill before her and breathed deep. She felt so much pain now. In one night she bled and bore a child; bound her child through magical rite to a prophet; given her daughter to another to raise; and damned her kingdom to winter.

One thing remained for her to do, she thought as she looked at the Vingólf, the forest hall. She started towards it.

Always the people of Miðgarðir called the forest hall Vingólf. In the ancient languages it meant "the silent vigil," a place of prayer to the gods, its door looking west to stones of Glasheim, the sacred place.

Vingólf, a thick clustering of trees at the edges of the woods before the sacred place, made a large, open room in the forest. Even in Beren's time, the priests kept an altar stone there. Iron brackets on the trees of the vigil held torches more for tradition than ceremony: they used it for rituals since the days of the first Witch Queens. High above the trunks of the ancient trees the thick branches formed a roof, leaving the forest hall dim in the new day.

Beren stopped before the opening of Vingólf, took air deep in her lungs, and watched the mists forming from her breath. Beren entered the forest hall.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She saw the brackets of the torches, forged by the smiths of Goewin, the first Witch Queen. The alter stone, covered in the ancient runes, sat blanketed by a thin layer of snow, blown in during the night.

" _æ_ _led_ ," Beren commanded and waved her hand. Blue flame ignited the torches, flooding the hall with light and illuminating the goddess who waited there.

Frigg's features seemed a mask of contemplation. Her pale skin glowed with the light of the moon, her home in the heavens; her radiant blonde hair looked almost white in the torchlight. Her silver eyes glowed as they scanned the witch, her hands folded over a silvery silk gown.

"You will honor your agreement," Frigg stated. Frigg did not question; she observed.

"I will do as I agreed," Beren said as a tear ran down her cheek. "And you will do as you promised."

"I will," Frigg agreed.

"When I first prayed to the gods to deliver my people from the abomination of Belial, I hoped they would give this power to me," Beren said.

Frigg neither moved nor spoke, but her piercing gaze seemed to see into the Witch Queen's soul.

"Instead you gave me a daughter," Beren continued. "And through her the gods gave promise to my people. And yet it seems a double-edged sword, for even the gods must have known Belial would not rest until my daughter's blood stained the lands of Sul."

"All things have a price, Beren," Frigg replied.

"And the price I now pay," Beren said.

"You will do as I asked of you?" Frigg asked. For a moment her emotionless features almost showed surprise. She expected Beren to hesitate.

"Yes--" Beren stopped, choking on her tears.

Frigg seemed to soften. The goddess stepped towards her.

"Not all things will be lost, Beren, daughter of Enyd." Her words, as cool as the night, seemed equally as radiant and peaceful. "I ask you atone for the life I save and relinquish yours for a time. For your sacrifice, I will make sure neither man nor creature serving your enemies, nor even your enemy Belial, will know of her until she learns of her past."

"She will be safe from Belial?" Beren asked through her sorrow.

Frigg nodded.

"Lay down, my child," Frigg implored.

"Until my daughter conquers Belial's evil, I relinquish my right to the throne and the crown of Sul." Beren's chest heaved in sadness from the formal words, but she continued. "I forsake the witch's rite, so my daughter may live. I will not live; I will not breathe in the mortal world, until the evil of my blood my daughter banishes forever from it."

"So be it," Frigg commanded.

A sound like the clap of thunder roared over Vingólf, and the crack, like ice breaking, could be heard in Ull. In the morning all eyes in the city turned to west, and many feared the demon's armies drew near.

In Vingólf, Frigg gazed upon the coffin of ice and beauty eternal of the Queen who laid there. Beren stared out of the coffin encasing her, her auburn hair splayed in an array behind her, her hands clasped over her chest, and skin pale and smooth as a newborn babe's.

Beren, the Witch Queen of Sul, lay frozen in a prison of ice.

Frigg turned and glanced upon the Shade beside her. The spirit of Beren gazed back at her, crying crystal tears, letting them shatter on the icy floor. Always the spirit of the Witch Queen would wander the world, searching for her daughter lost to her, and weeping for the people she could not save.

In those moments, the Kingdom of Sul and the tide of the Dark Lord's war, changed forever.

*****

Belial gazed upon the winter covering the sacred place. The time came: in the name of Moloch, Belial wrought her victory on Sul.

Behind her marched the armies of Eliudnir, the werewolves and the golems, the griffins and men who served the Witch Queens once upon a time but served them no longer, the nymphs whose roots became old and rotted, men whom she corrupted. And behind them lay the carnage of Sul.

Soon the lands would run in blood, and victory would be hers.

BELIAL

The demon staggered, almost falling into the snow as her sister's voice called to her. Annoyance and horror flashed in her eyes. The dark skies followed and raged above her from Óskópnir recoiled.

"So, witch," she scoffed. "You have come to face me."

Belial heard silence as her answer.

"Do you bring your child as well, sister?" Belial cackled, a cold cruel laugh. Above her, from stone-gray clouds, snow fell.

Again she heard silence.

No matter. She continued to walk, with rage and annoyance in her heart. The White City would burn, and Miðgarðir would be hers.

BELIAL!

The force of her sister's magical call picked up the demon and threw her against one of the standing stones. Belial landed on her feet on the snow, her eyes furious.

Belial gasped and saw what she looked for, torchlight pouring from within the shadows of the forest, shimmering between the trees of Vingólf.

Belial strode through the snow, as her guard followed her into the land they meant to possess. Fenrir growled beside her, waiting to see the witch who haunted his master.

The trees opened in a circle, a chamber in the wood where little snow fell. Thick ice covered the forest floor. In brackets on the trees torches burned with blue flames. But she found the hall empty.

"Where do you hide, sister?"

BELIAL.

The force of the magic call shook the ground below them. Snow tumbled from the treetops onto the Dark Lord and her Lieutenants. Belial fell to her hands and knees, peering into the ice below.

A frozen face lay there, a face she recognized. Belial screeched, her furious wail echoing as she looked up to the flaming sword of Cerdic and felt its heated blade on her neck, turning her back from the march into the lands of Sul. Beren's triumphant laughter floated in the trees, laughter of victory and of the hope enduring.

And the Dark Lord looked into the ground where her sister lay frozen.

*****

"Through my mother the demon remains a part of me," Caer said, numb and cold with shock and with the realization of the woman who gave birth to her. She knew well the tale of the demon. Her body shook with hot anger at the man who lay on the bed before her. The woman she saw in her dreams must be Beren.

"Like you, Belial did not know her mother," Beoreth said, wrapping her arm around Caer's shoulders as the prophet looked on. "The darkness lived within Belial from the moment of her conception within your grandmother. She chose not to fight the evil; she chose to join it and betray your mother and your kindred. I know you. You will choose to fight her and the evil she serves."

"You are not like the Dark Lord," Headred pushed himself to sit, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grimacing. "Thanks be to the gods because through you we are saved by their grace and love."

Caer's mind wandered, and she watched in her mind's eye as the two sisters fought, a battle of wills, both like their mother, and yet so different.

She could see the beauty of what once existed, of a land untouched by shadow, and of what Beren sacrificed so they could be free.

"I think you should ponder what we have told you," Beoreth said, her eyes misting. "For the time will come when the battle comes upon us, and sleep will be farthest from your mind."

Beoreth handed Headred a pile of clothes, garnered from one of their neighbors, few and far between outside of the village of Waterdam. Headred gritted his teeth in pain as he laced his own boots, weary from recounting the story while his wounds still healed by Beoreth's draught. Beoreth busied herself, stirring the pot over the hearth, leaving room for Caer to help beside her. As she worked, Beoreth sang a sorrowful song. Caer listened and let her thoughts drift away to the world she never knew.

In the north, in the halls of her forbearers, her destiny lay. They spoke her name as though it became legendary. _'Y Erianrod'_ they sang, as unbelievable as it seemed to Caer. The man she loved in dreams foretold her destiny, and she feared it.

Caer looked to the earthen wall of the hovel, to the unseen west, where the ominous shadows rolled and boiled beyond the black mountains.

"I must go," Headred announced. Beoreth hurried over and laid him, protesting, back on the bed. "I must seek visions. We must know the will of the gods."

Beoreth pondered for a few moments before she let him sit up again.

"I will return," he promised Caer, seeing frustration in her eyes. He kissed her forehead. "I have not forgotten the little girl I left behind so many years ago, or the woman I see in my dreams."

Caer smiled and watched him go, as she felt the cold begin to grow in her being, and the shadows permeating her lonely existence.

Beoreth peered through the crack in the door. Outside, the woman she thought of as her own daughter stood in the frozen landscape of Miðgarðir and sighed. The wintry lands of Sul rose around them, even as the clouds gathered in the distance. Tonight more snow would fall, and perhaps tomorrow. If they began their journey now, it would mask their tracks.

"What are your thoughts, my daughter?" she asked, pushing the door wider.

Caer turned, tears welling in her eyes.

"Do not call me daughter," she told her. "Not when I live and others perish for me."

The weight of the world rested on her shoulders now, Beoreth saw. And she saw the pain it caused. She knew it. She felt it.

"My Queen made her sacrifice," Beoreth told her, "for the people and the land she loved. Without you they could not be saved from the demon."

"I curse the gods!" Caer whirled. "Or perhaps I curse you and this lie you tell, if the story you have spoken for all the years of my life has been a lie."

"Do not think of your life as a lie," Beoreth said. "Do you not understand, child? We saved the light, so the light would live and drive back the dark."

"You lie!" Caer cried.

Lightning forked from the skies and cracked at Beoreth's feet. Caer's face turned bone white, and Beoreth stood in the door, mouth agape. Inside her heart Caer felt the tiny candle burn bright with a golden light spilling through her like a wave of rapture, wave after wave of undeniable power and strength. And yet she feared its power, and what this showed it could do.

"I did that?" Caer asked, her voice shaking.

"You did, child," Beoreth shook with shock, and a small bit of terror. "'Tis the power hiding inside you. It lives now again."

Caer stood, deep in thought.

"What troubles you now, daughter?" Beoreth asked, rubbing an ancient, withered hand on Caer's shoulder.

"Nothing, dear mother," she whispered.

The winter glittered around her. She listened to the song of the nymphs in the trees and the frozen wells; she heard the mournful playing of the fairies, the soft hoof falls of the centaurs, and the chatter of mortal children as they played.

And a song rose above all of these, calling to her from the mountain of the gods, beckoning her to come.

Did her mother call to her now, across the lands and from the place where she slept in ice? What did she call Caer for, and what of the song she heard in dreams?

Headred would know, she thought, and without question followed him into the wood.

"Where do you go, Caer?" Beoreth called. "We must wait for Headred's prophecy!"

Caer did not hear her as she disappeared into the shadows and followed Headred.

*****

Mab watched the girl running through the woods, twisting and turning along the ancient path toward her love. The Fairy Queen's gown of silver, embroidered with golden thread in patterns of falling leaves, fell to the floor of the golden wood. Her eyes pierced; her silver wings like a glistening spider web unfurled behind her.

The Fairy Queen's mind peered into mortal hearts before, but never peered into the heart of a witch; so much depth, so much beauty, and yet so much darkness and despair.

All of the child's life, from girlhood to womanhood, the Fairy Queen watched, and she waited. When Mab's people traveled to the north, following the call the light should return, she remained.

Soon Mab would leave and follow her people to await the coming of the light. The sidhes became dark and cold now, the laughter of the fairies diminished. Mab would not return there for some time. She would wait here, for the last of her people to join her, and together they would make the journey.

Not, Mab thought, before the girl made her decision.

Caer noticed the light glowing among the trees, soft white light of the moon shining as if the night came. The snow crunched beneath her feet; the wind whipped and whirled around her, its icy chill cutting through her with every step.

Still she ran.

A clearing opened before her. She saw the circle Headred drew, the sacred circle of light in the snow. And within it he stood, still as a statue, eyes dark as night, peering into the possibilities of what might be.

Caer watched, trying to catch her breath. What could she do? She wanted to see him, to seek the council and the comfort she found with him in her dreams.

But he became a stranger to her. The man she knew as she slept never existed.

Hestonath.

Caer stood still and listened as the word reverberated in her mind, the musical lilt of the Fairy Queen's voice running over and over, overlapping.

He does he does he does he does he does he does he does.

"He does not exist, nor love me as I loved him," Caer whispered. "He loved me because of an enchantment. 'Tis a curse for him to be bound to me."

Caer ibanestilith? Caer, will you go to him?

"Why would I go?" Caer wondered aloud. "He stands beyond me, in the worlds not yet come to be."

He stands in his circle, the sacred circle. Your blood draws you to it, to him.

"What do you see in visions, oh stranger who walks in my dreams?" she whispered, unheard in the silent woods. "Does magic call me to you, to visions?"

Caer ibenilith. Go to him, Caer.

Her hand reached out to the circle and felt its warmth and power.

Soon you will know the answers to all the questions your heart desires...

The circle spun around her. As Caer's body fell into the snow, one hand within the circle of light, her mind stood beside her love in the circle, the world opening before her, revealing its secrets.

Caer saw visions in light, as Miðgarðir shattered around her, replaced by a realm of cold and ice. The light of the moon caressed her face, and an ancient crown, long hidden, lay upon her brow.

And-- nothing.

*****

The world changed.

_Caer perceived light and color,_ Miðgarðir _before the fall. She glimpsed what she heard of in legends, what no longer lived, now buried underneath the ice and the snow._

_Green fields of grass and budding trees, so much green in_ Miðgarðir _as it once existed. She heard it all too, the centaurs as they walked in forest glades, the nymphs as they danced in the light of the moon, the fairies as they laughed and sang in halls beneath the world, as mortal children laughed and played._

And far away, beyond the dark mountains, it began.

Like a plague of death it swept over the land, shadow and fire, burning, destroying all. In the black forest in the east of Sul, the fires quelled, and the land became silent.

And the winter came.

Ice and snow poured from the heavens. All once green and living lay in cold death under the winter's grasp, a winter which came upon them with the change of seasons, and so the people prepared. Foodstuffs they stored and kept for years, ever dwindling, and the fiercer game they hunted for meat. Ever and always winter came, each howl of the wind the sound of Belial's maniacal laughter.

_Caer fell, hand in hand with Headred, to the kingdom of Sul in the realm of_ Miðgarðir _, and looked out at the kingdom. Caer touched the soft snow of the sacred place and saw the standing stones rise before her. In her blood she felt their power, the power inside her._

A woman walked there, weeping in the light of the dawn. Long tresses of white hair fell down her back, streaks of auburn within it, and her skin pale and cold.

" _Here she walks and here she waits,"_ _Headred murmured._

" _Why does she walk and wait?"_ _Caer asked, when he did not finish._

" _For the coming of the ligh_ t," _he whispered, as the woman looked up._

Her eyes bore into Caer, like a light peering into the dark places. Caer realized she saw this before, in her dreams, the woman who gave her life.

Caer studied Beren's smile and looked upon her mother, the Ice Queen.

The time now comes... _Beren's voice echoed around her.._

Caer perceived the winter around her as she walked to her mother. There the path into the forest opened, and the trees arched to make a doorway.

Your time comes upon us all, my daughter.

The Ice Queen stood in the clearing, not far from her. Tears streamed down her face, and yet...

And yet the woman of Caer's dreams looked upon her in hope and happiness.

" _You have returned to me at last, my daughter." Beren's tears_ _of joy fell onto the ground and shattered on the ice and snow. The shadows of Caer's mind overcame her. She flew into the dark visions._

Do you hear the call, _the voice of Beren whispered in the wind._ Do you feel the call of the world forgotten by you?

Ull, the White City, rose tall before her, glistening and dead in the dawn light. And they stood again in the sacred place, the child of light and the Ice Queen. Beren turned and entered the hall of the woods.

" _I hear it,"_ _Caer whispered and followed her._

Headred and her mother disappeared. Torches, held in brackets in the trees, burned blue. Caer slipped twice on the ice covering the forest floor. And she fell.

Caer stifled her scream, as she looked down at the woman she knew as her mother, entombed in ice in the forest floor, weeping within it, alive and cold, alone for all eternity as she waited. She listened to the sound of drumbeats in the distance, the howl of wolves and the march of golems. Caer recognized the sound: an invasion, and she could not escape.

Caer ducked behind a nearby fir, thick and cold, and waited for the enemy to pass.

_But no invasion came. She peered out from her vantage point and saw the Dark Lord walking in the snow beyond the_ Vingólf _. Her mother Beren lay frozen beneath her in the ice coffin, crying crystal tears shattering in the cold._

" _Tell me where you hid her, sister," Belial growled. "End this now and tell me."_

The Ice Queen said nothing.

_Belial's dead face contorted in rage._ _"Have it your way, fool!" Belial screamed. "Her blood will yet run through the world in rivers."_ _Lightning forked from the skies, and touched the demon's heir. Swirls of mist surrounded her and exploded. In raging clouds and shadows, Belial disappeared._

" _Your desire does not change, sister,"_ _Beren whispered as her spirit walked in Sul, crying._

And as Caer looked on, with Headred again by her side, the world changed again.

*****

_The wasteland of_ Óskópnir _rose before them. Spirits of the dead moved over the cursed earth, into the depths of evil and despair in Belial's domain._

Far below a great disturbance commenced. Wolves sparred in great, shadowy pits, some tormenting the men they captured, and others battled among themselves. Golems wrestled other golems with swords cast of iron in the shadows before the dark towers of Eliudnir. And in the sky, lightning crackled.

The storm clouds in the shadowed skies whirled over the parapets of the iron fortress in the wastelands. Demons' laughter cackled amidst the thunder of a land crumbling, burned and smoked as if the very depths of the underworld.

And some might have called it so, including the one in the highest tower of the citadel, a sorcerer who holding the demon's orb.

Inside the tower there no laughter emanated. The sorcerer lifted the glowing blue orb above his head and watched the images inside. Hundreds of places flashed through its eye, never pausing, never showing the one he sought.

Lightning flashed as Belial looked on from the shadows beneath her hooded cloak.

The other man beside her possessed no face, his soul just as evil as his master. Gorga, Lieutenant of Belial and chief of his clan, growled beneath deformed scales, the sole, visible part of his face his wide mouth. As he growled it opened just far enough for Waermund to notice the rows of sharpened teeth within.

We are close now, Belial thought.

The sorcerer held the shining globe up, illuminating the land around them, as worlds of wonder passed by, worlds of castles and trees, of death and of life, of destruction and chaos, and of order and perfection. Walls built as others crumbled, empires destroyed as others rose. Finally, a world Belial knew, a land of peace and winter, of forests and trees, of deep rivers and ancient roads and those who walked over them praying for the spring and the thaw of the light, of people and of things Belial would never understand.

" _There, in the safe havens,"_ _the sorcerer announced. "In Fensalir, the light survived, the one whose birth defeated you lives on. To save the lands of ice, she must return. Destroy her when she remains weak, and you will have this world for your own."_

Belial cackled and shook with delight, as the globe became red with the blood she prayed to spill.

Caer, looking on, covered her mouth and cried out.

" _Who goes there?" The demon demanded, "Imp or wolf, man or golem? Answer me now."_

Caer said nothing.

" _She watches now," Belial hissed. She peered around unaware of Caer's presence, looking for her sisters form. "She watches as she walks, and she walks while she waits."_

Belial neared Caer, who could smell death on the demon. Belial sensed her too, the light in her presence she could not destroy. Belial screamed in rage.

The moon waxed high in the sky and the ground became heavy beneath Caer and Headred, together again as their spirits fled the fortress of Eliudnir. Above the travelers, a few bright stars glimmered. Clouds obscured the moon, the home of the goddess who watched the night world.

The trees became shadows again, tall and thick. Caer and Headred passed a frozen stream and ice-covered rocks. In the starlight and the moonlight, wood and water nymphs waved in the wind kicking around them. Gentle breezes flowed through the shaggy hair of the nymphs, the call of the north waking them to the frozen winter.

_Above rose the western mountains. Caer gazed upon_ Niðafjöll, _the black mountains of the west. Without blankets of falling snow to shroud her view, Caer floated high in the air. The life in_ Myrkviðr _Forest beneath the_ Niðafjöll _Mountains became shrouded and weak, the trees dark and dead in_ Myrkviðr, the black forest of Sul _. Once she thought she saw movement in the wilderness, as they stood atop the great precipice and the narrow path into the valley._

Before them now lay the mountain Kern. By far the tallest mountain in the kingdom, taller than any she could imagine. The mountain's snow-capped peaks disappeared in the clouds. Beoreth recounted the legends as Caer's bedtime stories, of the gods ascending to the mountain's hidden top and looking down upon the world they made.

*****

Night turned to day again. The sun moved through the skies, soon sinking beyond the distant western mountains. Its amber light flooded the heavens with color. The glade became dim as they dreamed, and the one remaining light the glowing circle Headred drew.

In the snow beside Caer and Headred lay an oval pool. She could not tell what hid from her within the reflective surface of the icy pool. It seemed to be water, but when she looked closer she saw a silvery liquid, like a thousand tiny strands of silk. A single light within it moved, up and down, hitting the flat sheets of ice and moving on, lingering on the intricate knot of metal encasing the glass and moving into air.

The world of her dreams, Caer realized. She fell into the pool and again into visions.

The Silent Vigil opened before them, the circle of trees guarding the Ice Queen in quiet, eternal, cold sleep. The clear coffin of ice encasing Beren revealed her hair splayed back, more white now than auburn, her lips still as red as roses, and her skin as pale as snow. The tomb, though ice, seemed made of glass, holding her beauty forever, beyond Caer's reach.

Caer looked upon the face of the woman with recognition and with hope. The Ice Queen called to her in her dream.

" _I am the one Belial seeks,"_ _Headred's deep voice murmured into her ear. For a moment it seemed she watched a shade of herself and Headred together in the woods. Before she knew what happened, Caer laid beside him._

" _Why does the Demon seek you?"_ _she questioned, fear filling her heart. Where am I? she wondered. The sounds of the coming spring, moments before surrounding them, disappeared. Not even the whispers of creatures' movement could be heard in the trees._

" _Because she desires power, and power she will have if she possesses the future and those who see it,"_ _he murmured. His deep brown eyes looked into hers as his chestnut hair spilled onto his crimson-velvet clad shoulders. Soft breeches the color of the forest floor covered his legs, the knee high black boots rising from his feet. It all seemed so real._

" _Do you fear me, my love?" he asked. "I have known you for as long as you have lived, from before the coming of the winter, before our handfasting made our destinies one."_

"I remember the dreams," she told him. "I sat here as a child and looked at the boy who lingered in my dreams."

" _You spoke to me," he whispered. They grew so close their bodies pressed together._

" _You waited for me, though you did not know why," he moved so close she thought she could no longer breathe. He seemed more beautiful and handsome than she could have imagined._

" _I didn't wait. I wanted what waited beyond me," she murmured back. His lips closed on hers, surprised her as they brushed together, and she felt warmth and longing in her stomach._

" _Wait for me now, for I am yours to have when your heart thaws." His voice became husky._

" _Caer!" Beoreth shouted from far away._

Caer turned, feeling like her body became a rock hurtled off a cliff. Her head swam, but not as if she fell into dreams. Now she awakened from them.

Caer looked up and hers eyes locked with Beren, whose spirit watched.

Come to the sacred places and lay at the foot of the mountains of mist, _the Ice Queen spoke. Beren pointed through the_ Vingólf gate _to the standing stones of Glasheim._

_For a brief moment Caer saw her mother Beren, watching her as tears clung to her cheeks._ The time becomes short... _her words echoed over the winter and the darkness._ Be safe, my child. Your destiny awaits you.

Come, _Beren said._ Your people await you.

The shattered world reformed.

*****

"Caer!" Beoreth called through the dissipating haze of the visions.

A hand stroked Caer's hair, not the withered hand of Beoreth, but another. Caer opened her eyes and saw Headred, a mix of worry and annoyance on his face.

"You should not have entered the circle," he informed her. "Such action gods and men forbid."

"She did not know," Beoreth snapped, and with strength beyond her years pushed him away while she tended to her charge.

"'Tis all right now, Caer," Beoreth murmured, stroking her hair and holding her close.

It seemed as though the entire day passed while they sat in visions.

"'Tis not the place of witches to see the future," Beoreth whispered. "If the gods intended witches to do so, the power would be given to them."

"Aye," she murmured and glared at Headred. He opened his mouth as if to say something, turned, stifled his anger, and stalked off into the woods.

"Come, child," Beoreth hugged Caer's shoulders. "Let us go home. I've made stew. The food will do you good."

Caer allowed herself to be lifted and led, and stared at the Headred's back as he walked ahead.

He never believed Caer would violate him in such a way as this, he thought. Prophets shared what each willed. Not like Belial, not like the demon corrupting his visions. And yet...

Yet Caer now corrupted his visions and peered into his thoughts and into his gift. He did not think he could forgive such a violation.

But it seemed to him as it seemed to her, for their bond, for their dreams, they remained a man and a woman who did not know each other, whose lives seemed as separate as magic they held.

And time, not magic, would overcome.

*****

"We must go to the north," Headred whispered, unsure of the meaning of his recent visions. He knew Caer heard the call of the north. Her heart drove the vision. "The shadow rises in the west. We must go to the sacred place where the four races gather, and there we may be safe for a time."

The hovel glowed with the dying light of the hearth fire; the moon shone on the earth and filled it with light, even as clouds moved into the sky. Beoreth went to the hearth, where she stirred her brew and held back tears, knowing now the time she long feared came.

Caer glanced at Headred. He stared at her, his eyes deep and dark. Beautiful, she thought, framed in his strong face and his long, dark hair, the firelight flickering on his face, in the deepness of his eyes.

"We need to speak," he informed her, his deep, rich accent flowing through her mind. His eyes turned to stare at a pendant glowing on the table, spilling soft, silvery light around her.

He touched the pendant in his pocket, the moonstone woven between the moon and the stars and the sun, and stared at its mate on the table between them.

"Long ago, when your mother yet bore you in her womb, she made this for you," he murmured, fingering it, remembering the horrors of the day before, and of her discovery.

"It's beautiful," she whispered and touched its surface.

"As I said, we need to speak," he settled in. "Caer, you must know the truth of what we tell you," he told her. "Belial comes back into Fensalir to hunt you, to take your life. You are in danger. As," he said, "am I."

He stared at the stone and murmured in a language she did not know.

"Come with me," he whispered. "We will find a place where we can be safe until the morrow's night."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said, pushing herself up from the chair.

"All they did for you would be thrown away for your vanity and pride," he said. "Yet you enter my visions and share my power for selfish gain."

"Should I be grateful?" she shouted. "I didn't ask for you to come here. I didn't ask for a destiny to save the world. And I didn't ask anyone to do me any favors!"

"Perhaps you are not the one I have known," he railed at her. She did not want him. There must be a way to convince her. She stared at him in disgust, remembering his tale, remembering her dreams, her love she gave him, as embarrassment washed over her.

"Perhaps I'm not," Caer spat.

"I need some air," he said, pushing away from the wooden table, and walked out of the hovel, into the moonlight and chill of winter.

Headred padded through the snowdrifts, numb with cold, and looked in the window to see the calm, cool face of Caer, clutching the pendant of her mother to her heart.

Long ago, before the Witch Queen Beren forsook her oaths, before she betrayed them all to the damnation of cold, she forged the power of the talisman, by magic and by right, and by the love a mother held for her daughter, so she would give all she could to save her child's life.

He wanted to hate Caer. He wanted to have her trust and her love, and perhaps, long ago, he would have. But many nights ago the signs came, of light and life, of promise and love.

And he knew now those things might come to pass, and not all hope fled from his heart.

The pendant she clutched fell with a soft clatter. The light it bore when she held it faded, and soon it reverted to a simple adornment of metal and stone, its magic hidden within silver and sapphire depths.

And as he watched he clutched its mate, the pendant given to him by her mother so many years before. _Belial will search the lands for her, but the demon cannot find her yet. I have given her this, for the time will come when evil will find her, and you must stand before her, and give your life for your people to be free._

Beren's words echoed as he fingered the glowing stone, watching Headred's every move. Could it be so simple? Could the stone light the way to her truth?

Beren's shade gazed upon him as he stood outside of her daughter's home.

Headred looked at her and sighed. "Take the stone," he said, holding his hand out.

The Ice Queen stared at the pendant with desire, trying to deny the part of her wanting to take it, to be connected with her daughter for just a moment, when for so long she walked alone for so long. And curiosity seemed something she never could to resist. Yet it lay beyond her, as all things now waited beyond her.

The world swam around her and went into a vision. _She_ _held the light in her hand and soon stood in snow, and watched sadness grip the world._

Images swam past, resting on the night Beoreth fled the White City on Cheron's back.

" _Go now, Beoreth," Beren commanded the wise woman, waving the way to the gates of the White City. "The time draws nigh when the darkness will break._ _Fensalir_ _awaits you. Go," she ordered through her tears. "Go while I can still bear to see it."_

" _Milady," Beoreth said, bowing her head and taking the child. And when she stepped within the gates of the city on the back of the centaur, she disappeared..._

Caer gasped and dropped the pendant onto the floor. Beoreth rushed forward before she saw shock, not pain, on Caer's face. The door swung open, and Headred stepped in, closing it behind him as a whirlwind of snow blew into the hovel with him.

"Milady, the time grows short." Headred told Caer and turned from the specter of Beren as she faded to mist, still watching her daughter. Beren wondered what dark part of Caer's destiny yet would be unraveled.

"I don't know the magic I hold inside me," Caer snapped, crossing to the door and whispering in anger, her face white, "but you're going to go now, and I'm going to forget this ever happened."

"No, milady, I..." He stopped and thought, and in the darkness of the night, he remembered.

The moonlight shone clear in the cold, dead gardens of Idalir, the Castle of the Sun. Beren waited, the moonlight seeming to shine through her, fading as her world faded. In her hand she clutched the talisman she forged by her magic, which her daughter would hold one day.

" _Milady," the boy Headred said. "You called for me."_

Headred would grow tall and strong, she knew. She felt the weight of the silver, the moon and the stars shining within them, the sun and the stone cast in them. They would be his now, for in the morn she would sleep in the world dead to her.

And in sleep she would hope.

" _Give me your hand, my child," she whispered._

He looked down at his hands and then stretched out his arm.

"' _Tis yours, Headred, son of Hamald," she continued. "It contains the light of our lands, of our people, and within it lays the magic given to us to hold them."_

He nodded and stared as the light of the stone diminished in his hand. She smiled down at him as he frowned, looking at the stone as if his gaze would bring back the light. He alone could bring it back; this she knew.

" _You will also possess its mate," she said, holding out the second talisman. He reached out to take the pendant, the mate of the one he held._

" _Why do you give me these, milady?" he mused. "I am not meant to hold them."_

" _One day, Headred," she smiled, "You will find the one it belongs to. To her you will give one, and the other you must keep. For your hearts are bound to one another. You are handfasted, and for so long as you live you will never love another but my daughter."_

He nodded again, watching as the light diminished in the second pendant.

" _Will you not find her, milady?" he wondered. She smiled down at him, and for a moment he saw the light flicker in her eyes again, a light dead but a few hours before when she gave her child to another._

" _No, my child, this world passes, and this age passes. I will wait as my mothers wait. This task I give to you."_

A single tear ran down her cheek.

" _Go now with you," she said with a laugh, wiping her face. "Go, take them to your father's home and keep them safe."_

Headred turned to walk home.

" _Headred," she whispered. He turned to face her once more. "Promise me now; no matter what may happen, you will have hope, and you will love. Even though the world grows cold, your heart will be warm. Even though the world grows dark, you will watch for the light."_

" _I promise," he told her, and looking confused, walked from the gardens into the city._

For a moment Beren lingered, and after, she began to walk, from the place of light, from the White City, out into the winter and the frozen places. And her tears shattered onto the frozen earth...

Headred started out of the past, as Caer's eyes flashed with cold fury.

"Milady," he began.

"Stop it!" Caer whispered, seeing Headred through the window. "Stop with this lunacy. Go back to where you belong!"

"The darkness already wins," he said as he gathered firewood from the stack beside the house.

He watched Caer walk away from her destiny and embraced the cold darkness of betrayal she felt in her heart.

And in Elphame, the world of the fairies, Mab waited for the morn.

Night fell on Fensalir, and the last of the sunlight faded. Above Caer, the heavens shimmered with starlight, and the lady in the moon smiled. Pondering, Caer gazed down at the silver half moon and stars, forged by her mother's magic. The stone glowed with the light of the moon.

Beoreth often said: _And the gods blessed their mortal children. Frigg gave to them her light, the light and power of the witches._

Headred retained the other pendant. Caer wondered if Headred's love for her came from himself or their magic handfasting. Her heart ached. Her mind became muddled with confusion and self-doubt.

Caer entered her earthen home, and, as an afterthought, turned to look out into the vast, frozen forests of Sul.

The night drew on, and Headred still did not return from seeking visions. Where did he go? Caer stood in the doorframe, illuminated by the light of the dying fire, and listened to Beoreth sleep. The wise woman dreamed in peace, awaiting the dawn she feared for so long.

Caer wished for the dreams of peace and love would come to her as they once did.

She worried for Headred and wondered if she been too harsh on him. Her heart broke, and she regretted what she said.

She imagined him trudging through the snow, following the fairies, while his deep, dark eyes gazed north, to Ull. And he did not so much as glance back to the safe haven, or to those he left there.

And yet in her heart Caer could not fathom him abandoning her now.

She remembered their meeting in the woods, their mutual recognition, the woman he said he saw in dreams. There they met, yet she wondered if the love they made lay in imaginings and not in the world. Perhaps more than magic bound them together.

And she prayed to dream of him as she once did and to know at least his love in her sleep.

Restless, Caer left the hovel and closed the door behind her.

The cold air caressed her face. She experienced it now, not just the cold and the dead of winter, but Miðgarðir, her world, sleeping beneath layers of ice and snow. She felt the power she always knew slept there, the light and the flame within her essence. Her chest pulsed with the heart of Miðgarðir as if it became her own heartbeat.

Could she feel Headred? Caer wondered as the snow crunched beneath her boots. Could she feel one so close to her, and yet so far away?

_Caer iormeita, sistan niehereth, giharad nestlith._ The voice she knew too well signed on the wind as it caressed her, a warm wind of change from a place beyond the mortal realm.

_Caer, come to me, in silver palaces, in golden glades,_ called Mab.

The landscape changed. Where once snow covered the ground, now green grasses and towering golden trees surrounded her and dotted the landscape. Mists poured over the forest floor as the golden leaves fell in the eternal autumn of the fairy sidhes.

In the distance she glimpsed the silver palaces of the fairies, and stringy webs of silk strung between the tall trees, the dew clinging to the silky strands, shimmering in the endless spring and twilight. The stars shone, and no moon hung in the heavens. In the distance Caer saw a light, the door to the sidhe. From the door the radiance of the sun from the mortal realm ever came.

Caer walked through the golden forest. She smelled on the warm air flowers and sweet fruit budding on the trees, over the scent of a cool rain on everything, as the world before the coming of the shadow.

The golden leaves crushed beneath her feet exploded into a million shimmering stars. She listened to the songs of the fairies who lingered in Elphame while their kindred journey to the council at Glasheim, watching from the trees. Creatures of the forest darted to and fro, unafraid of her.

Caer stopped as she came to a pool and gazed within it at Sul, where she came from, still gripped by eternal winter. Headred entered the stables behind the hovel, gazing up to the stars. In his hand he clutched the symbol of their bond, and in the moonlight, he kissed the stone.

" _What I have vowed," he whispered, "to my promise I will be true."_

" _He tends to the horse I have sent to you," the familiar voice rang behind her._

Caer turned to see the fairy Queen smiling. "I am sorry," Caer bowed her head. "'Tis wrong to look at others when they do not know."

Mab laughed like the tinkling of bells. "'Tis never wrong to look upon a handsome face or a pleasing form of a man," she said, her smile wider.

Mab's fingers caressed Caer's chin as she lifted it, bringing warmth to one who lived in the winter for too long, where the shadow of doubt endured.

A blast of cold rushed through the Fairy Queen. The magic of the fairies faded as the prophesied time drew near. Even now, the shadow of Belial pushed through the door, and soon even the sidhes would not be safe from her power.

" _Do not bow to me, my daughter," Mab told her. "I am not worthy of such acts."_

Caer saw Mab's twinkling eyes and caught a light, feeling as it warmed her heart. "Did you bring me to this place?" she asked, whispering for fear the illusion of beauty and warmth would shatter around her.

" _Aye," Mab replied. "'Tis the places of my people, the golden glades and silver palaces beneath the sidhes."_

" _Why?" Caer wondered._

Mab's eyes softened. "Your heart becomes troubled. The talisman forged by your mother weighs heavy on your heart. You do not trust what lies there."

" _I do not trust others' hearts. I do not know what lies in them."_

" _And you doubt all you have known."_

" _Aye," Caer gazed at the man in the pool._

"You hear his words and look upon his face. Do you not trust what words he speaks when alone? Do you believe he does not love the woman in his dreams, as you love the man in yours?"

" _I do not know what to believe," Caer murmured to the fairy queen, whose silver, dewy wings spread in the starlight._

" _Believe, my daughter, and trust in what lives within your heart," Mab said. "In your heart you will find the truth you seek. And you may find it in others, if you dare to look."_

Caer felt the winter's chill in her hands as Mab and the sidhes faded. She stood again outside the hovel, the fairy Queen beside her.

A sound of crunching snow came from nearby. Two horses walked from the edge of the trees, white and shining in the moonlight. Not far away, a small troop of fairies waited.

"These are my gift to you," Mab said, leading her to the stables, to Headred. "They are from the stables of my palace in the sidhe. They will do as you command, and their spirits will always be pure. They will aid you in your journey."

"You do not come with us?" Caer asked, and her face fell.

"We will meet again," Mab touched her shoulder. "But for now, I think the time comes for you to follow your own path for a while."

As Headred looked up he glimpsed the two women rounding the bend, leading white horses.

"Tend to these, my cousin," Mab instructed. "For the souls of beasts and the spirits of mortals alike need tending."

Headred glanced from her to Caer. The fairy Queen joined her troop and the light of the fairies faded into the night.

"I am sorry," Caer said as the night fell full again, and they found themselves alone.

"I am sorry," he turned and stepped towards her. Her chest pounded, "for I did not explain my desires or my feelings. I should not have closed my mind and heart to you."

"Nor I," she said and smiled.

"You are not the girl I saw in dreams," he murmured. "The girl I saw left long ago, faded in the past. You are the woman I dreamed of."

"I am not a dream."

He stepped closer, his chest pressed to hers. "Aye, 'tis not a dream." He brushed his lips against hers.

The air grew hot with passion. Stars exploded in the heavens of Caer's mind, as the dreams she held inside broke free. Through his lips on her own, the spark of magic in her burned into a flame and awoke a passion she never knew.

"You should rest." He opened his eyes. "The morn will come in a few hours, and tomorrow we begin our journey."

"Of course." She turned to walk away. He felt a yearning to go with her, a yearning he would not, could not yet give in to.

"Dream of me," he called.

"Aye." She turned the corner and entered the hovel. There would be only dreams of passion for her this night, or for many nights to come.

*****

Drifts grew the night before. In the morning light, the snow and ice glistened, and the cold breeze chilled and awoke those within it. Though the flurries still fell, the snow made the world new and whole. Its beauty shimmered in the pale dawn light.

As she awoke Caer opened her eyes to the empty bed where Headred slept. Caer's dreams left her uncomfortable. They were as stormy as the clouds, though unlike the clouds the dreams became pervaded by heat and passion, and not the fury the storms unleashed.

And once she awoke in the firestorm of her lover's passion, and saw Headred smile in his sleep.

Beoreth tended to a brew she would bottle, for her rheumatism. How would the sojourn affect the aging Beoreth?

For the first time Caer realized what Beoreth sacrificed to bring her here, to care for her. Once married, Beoreth bore her own children and grandchildren. Would there be great-grandchildren awaiting her in the cold north? Did they even know she still lived? Caer stood and pulled on her boots and a woolen gown.

The door opened, and the cold air blasted through the hovel as Headred entered.

"The horses are ready," he informed Beoreth. "We should begin."

Beoreth poured her brew into a large bottle and corked it. She glanced around the hovel, her home for many years, for the lifetime of Caer, a babe not so long ago.

"We will leave as soon as I finish gathering supplies," Beoreth took charge of the situation. "We need bread, water, and ale in the cupboard. Take some sacks and bag it, for I fear food will be short on our journey."

"Dear mother," Headred said, exasperated. "We do not have time..."

"Blankets," she interrupted, pointing to a stack of thick blankets she piled on the table. "Warm things, furs. They will be useful when night falls and it grows cool."

Caer laughed as he threw up his hands and went to stuff the blankets and furs into a sack.

"Caer, my brews please." Beoreth waved at the potion cupboard. "One does not know what one will find as one journeys."

"Perhaps the bedsteads too?" Headred wondered.

"Perhaps?" she wondered.

Caer giggled. Headred showed his resentment for the sarcasm with a cross expression.

"Headred, are the supplies packed I have already given you?" Beoreth questioned.

"Yes, dear mother, and I begin to think you will leave nothing behind."

Beoreth laughed.

"Perhaps..."

"No." Headred said, and hefting the sacks, braved the snow.

Caer stifled another laugh and helped Beoreth into her wrappings, taking on her own. When he returned, they stood ready.

The fairy horses waited in the stables. They snorted, their breath a frozen mist. In the sunlight they shimmered. As she observed them, Caer realized the wondrousness and weight of the journey they now faced. She turned to see Headred and found his face inches from her own.

"Have you ridden before?" he asked.

"Course I have you great baboon," Beoreth said and, despite her age, managed to lift herself onto the steed.

"No," Caer said, once again finding laughter bubbling out. "Will you show me?"

"I will try." He hefted himself onto the horse. Caer shrieked when he hoisted her up and sat her on the saddle before him.

"You rush me from my home," Beoreth muttered, highly indignant, "only to fool around like children."

Caer smiled as he adjusted the reins, and with a single command the horse began to move.

"Think you would go into the winter without me, me-lady?" a voice rang out. Huma watched Caer, his eyes misty but clear. Sobriety clung to him, she realized.

"By all means come with us, my good centaur," Headred exclaimed.

The goat-man started at being so addressed. "Never been called a centaur in all me life." Huma reached for the bottle of ale by his side.

"Well, why not?" Headred asked. "Have all who meet you been blind?"

"You have not told him?" Huma asked Caer. "Why, I must tell the tale, I suppose. It all began with the Goat King and his relations with me mother..."

Caer laughed and felt Headred's chest rumble behind her, as they rode on the path of light, toward the destiny awaiting them. She watched as Fensalir and the earthen hovel, her lifelong home, disappeared behind her in the curtain of trees.

Caer feared she might never see it again.

*****

The day passed. The long and arduous path of light, the ancient road, long ago became hidden with drifts of snow covering the ancient highway. As night fell, Caer felt her eyes hurting from the endless white.

The chill seeped into their clothes and fur covers. The breeze cut like a knife.

Her feet froze as they forged paths deeper than the one they rode in. In the moonlight the daggers of ice on the trees shimmered and seemed to drip tears.

The forest seemed immense, dark, and cold. Sounds rang out, the scampering of tiny paws on the snow; the bark ripped off a tree by the all-too-hungry mouth of a starving deer.

They crested a great hill deep within the wood. From the hilltop they glimpsed the distant tower rising at the base of Mount Kern. Caer inhaled as she glimpsed Ull a hundred miles away. In the moonlight it shone white-gray and ethereal. The city lit like a candle in the night, guiding their path.

The shimmering speck of Ull's light met her eyes the next day. She stared and imagined the voices in the city, carried on the wind, of warmth and laughter and promise for safe places to rest. And for a moment she thought she saw a lady walk in the woods, not very different in appearance from Caer, her long white hair streaked with red, lips as blood, and her skin as pale as the snow, with a crown on her head.

The darkness wavered. Rough hands drew her out of the sleep. Headred's face swam before her, his brow furrowed and his eyes concerned.

Headred also saw Beren gliding nearby. The Ice Queen watches us, he thought. Beside him Beoreth said nothing but glanced every so often at Caer.

"She cannot go on like this," Beoreth said with chattering teeth. "She freezes and grows tired, Headred. We must rest."

"We will rest soon," Headred answered, the back hooves of their horse kicking at the snow. "We must journey while time remains." Headred clenched his teeth and held her tighter.

"Have you no respect for the daughter of your queen?" Beoreth countered. "She cannot go on further this night."

"I know of a place nearby where we can rest," he snapped.

"She will die like this, Headred," Beoreth challenged. "And what will happen if you let this happen? Would you submit to the rule of the demon rather than a Queen?"

Headred glared for a moment and sent his horse into a trot. "I know this, Beoreth. But the place I speak of lies not far from here. There we may be safe and warm for the night."

"You are not so much a fool as you would have me believe," Beoreth said, forging her way toward where a trail veered off the path and into the forest. "If the demon wins, Miðgarðir, and all within it, creature, men, and immortal, will be hers. You know this. You have foreseen it."

Headred stared at her. "I would not follow such a trail," he fired back. "Strange things have come into this wood in the years you have been gone. 'Tis not safe."

Beoreth turned back toward him.

"Drink this," Huma suggested to Caer. "It's fire-ale, made by my kindred in the north. It will warm you on our journey."

Holding one arm around his waist, she took a gulp from the small bottle, and choked.

Beoreth chuckled even as she shivered with cold and took the bottle from her. Luck traveled with them, Caer thought, that the hairy goat-man came with them, and providence Caer insisted she buy the fire ale for him in Waterdam.

"The centaurs are masters in the making of ale and in the reading of the stars," Beoreth said as she rode beside Caer and Headred. She took a swig, unbothered by the scorching. "They can make ale for any purpose, to sleep, to conceive life, to warm and to chill. And they read the stars to know what will come."

"'Tis said the gods are the stars, their light shining down," Huma said. "So signs within the heavens are the portents of the gods themselves, even as the magic of the witches runs through the blood of the gods in their veins."

The fire ale, for good or for ill, did warm Caer, but made her even more tired, if not a little more aware. Headred took them off the road and up a hill to get his bearings. Caer saw forest for miles. In the distant east she thought she saw the sea, and in the north she glimpsed the mountains and the white beacon there. In the south and the west there she saw solely the sight of woods, trees of all kinds, endless untamed woodlands running to the horizons.

She felt each movement of the horse and Headred.

"Do we go to the City of Light?" Huma asked.

"Ull?" Headred asked. "I forget, my good centaur, you have been gone. When the winter came upon us, the people moved from within the gates of the city to where they would survive, most in the forests, and some over the great sea to lands far away in hopes of a better place. The faithful remain within the gates, but I have been there, and few now remain. As for those within the forest, their numbers dwindle with every passing year, as do the creatures which once dwelled there."

"And those who went over the sea?" Beoreth asked. "What of them?"

"None now know what became of them, though my sire Hamald foretold dark fortunes for many nights before they left, and for many more after. I do not believe they yet live, though none can know, for they have not returned. They departed in spite of all warnings from the city **Tír fo Thuinn on the coast. If they held straight their course, they might have landed on one of the** Útgarðar isles."

"If they went too far, they will have fallen off the ends of the earth, into oblivion," Beoreth said.

"Most agree on their fate," Headred went on, "They landed on the isle Múspell, or perhaps they stayed on the second isle, Magh Tuiredh, the isle of pillars. Let us hope for their sake they did not."

"Why?" Caer wondered. Headred's eyes clouded when they met her own.

"Death rained upon the isles not long after. We call them Múspell, the isle of flame, Magh Tuiredh, the isle of shadow. Nothing now can live there."

A short way further the high ground sloped down into a small valley in the drifts of snow, where the trees grew thick and shadows shrouded all.

"Here we shall rest," Headred announced. Without warning the fairy horse reared and deposited them in the snowdrift.

"Many thanks for the ride," Caer told the horse, cursing magical creatures in all their forms.

The horse stared at her as if to say "you are welcome."

"We're supposed to sleep here?" Beoreth asked Headred. "We're surrounded by a bunch of old trees in the middle of six-foot snow drifts."

Headred grinned and pointed.

Hidden in the snow, a small hole into an earthen hut welcomed them.

"In my childhood, we knew this to be a safe haven in the pilgrimage to the fairy sidhes," he explained, pushing aside the snow so they could step in. "So it continued to be. The prophets and other peoples saw reason for this place to remain, for the weary to have rest." Headred unveiled a rotting wooden door, collapsing at his touch. "We have not, however, used it in many years."

Headred led the way inside, picking up the flint stones and lighting the tiny candle on the wooden table.

"Won't he come in?" Headred asked Caer, motioning to the goat-man, who continued to drink ale and stare up at the stars.

"Sometimes," Caer said through chattering teeth. "When he gets good and drunk and sees himself as a god in the heaven's fortunes, he'll come in and celebrate with sleep."

"Aren't the centaurs dangerous when they drink?" Headred knew Huma to be but half centaur. Still, it might be enough.

"Oh, not too much." Caer muttered, as Headred lifted a stack of wood and threw it into the hearth. "It dulls their minds. Makes them weak and tired."

Beoreth broke in: "Now, let's get a fire started."

*****

Caer sat on the floor of the hut, wrapped in a woolen shroud. She stared at the flames. It seemed so hard to believe, she thought. The flames licked the stone of the simple hearth, and the orange light flickered on the dull earth walls. So much happened to her in these last days her mind swam with doubt.

She asked herself, ever since Headred and Beoreth revealed her past to her, what she would do if she discovered it to be an illusion, a dream she would wake up from.

It couldn't be, she decided. It felt all too physical, the heat of the fire and the cold of the snow, the feel of the horse beneath her and the ache of her body after the long journey, and the visions and revelations changing her life in a few short days.

This felt real, and so it seemed conceivable the existence she always knew never had been her destiny at all, but rather an illusion. The fate she went to would be the life she meant to be: her time in the safe haven one became no more than a comfortable dream she would never see again.

Everyone seemed to think of her as some kind of messiah. Did they know what they talked about? So many mysteries in this world existed.

"Are you lost in your thoughts?" Beoreth peered at her, a steaming goblet of amber liquid in each hand. "It's a drink made by the priestesses for ceremony, but I've found it good on winter nights when a roaring fire cannot be made," Beoreth handed her a goblet. "Many times I made it for my..." children, Caer finished for her and glanced down at the drink in guilt.

"It's good," she said, after taking a sip.

"What thoughts come to you?" Beoreth asked, setting her goblet down.

"There's so much I want to know..." She trailed off and sipped the steaming drink, which made her feel warm and drowsy.

"Will you see those you left behind long ago?" she asked Beoreth.

"Perhaps," Beoreth murmured, and Caer looked away, wondering what Beoreth thought of upon their return.

She turned to see Beren framed in the doorway of the hut and spilled half of the contents of her goblet onto the frozen floor of earth. In the wink of an eye Beren disappeared, and Caer found herself swept up in visions of what happened after her hiding.

In the valley beyond Ull, Náströnd, the door under the mountain rose before Belial.

Long ago men carved upon the door the symbols of a language now forgotten. Towering stone armor-clad warriors guarded the entrance to the passage with their eyes glaring at all passing.

She did not fear them.

_Belial gazed into the mountain's depths, knowing it held at its core the heart of_ Miðgarðir _, a stone of neither good nor evil, the power she could not possess until the witches lay dead at her feet. Yet the blackness surrounding it became her kindred spirit. She would pass unharmed._

" _Go now," she commanded as the winds howled. "Go, wolves and golems, on the path over the mountain. Gather to you all who are my servants in the eastern wasteland beyond Sul. Gather the soulless men who in ages past became servants of my power, whose offspring now lie imprisoned in the wasteland. Gather wolves, your brethren, and the werewolves not already fallen. Call to the spirits of the trees whose hearts are rotten, and gather for me an army. For when we meet on the other side, the battle will begin."_

The golems and the wolf men bowed before her and slunk away into the thick shadows of the wood. Belial would continue under the mountain, alone.

" _It does not have to be this way, my sister," Beren said beside her, the snow untouched by her feet wherever she walked, and her skin white and frozen._

" _Fool," Belial spat at her, her hair and eyes black. "'Twas this way long ago. My destiny the gods made for me, as yours they made for you, and your daughter's for her. You must die, for me to live, and for all worlds to be mine."_

" _So you think," Beren said, tears flowing from her bright blue eyes._

Belial turned toward the door under the mountain.

" _Why do you choose the darkness, my sister?" Beren called. "Why do you forsake what you are for the evil of the one who made you?"_

Belial stopped, and for the first time, felt a light within her. Many years passed since she embraced it, since she admitted that part of her.

You are a demon _, the voice inside her insisted, the voice of the demon Moloch, slain before her birth; her father._ You are the Queen of the Darkness. She lies to you. You are destined to rule the world she kept from you, the world of the witches _._

" _Witch," Belial said._

" _I am," Beren said with a smile. Color came for the first time in many years to Belial's face. Perhaps there hope remained. "As are you."_

You are not like her, _Moloch boomed._ Your blood runs as black as the heart you bear. You know not good, and know not evil, only power. You are not like her, weak in her goodness. You are a Queen.

The color seeped out of the cold, dead demon once again.

" _I am Belial, Queen of the Earth, daughter of Moloch. You are no sister of mine, save for an unfortunate accident of birth. I will have everything, and you will watch as I spill the blood of your daughter and bring my minions at last to Ull. This world will be mine."_

" _So you believe," Beren whispered, and bowed away._

Belial let the fury bubble inside her. And when she unleashed it, she flung Beren into the arms of an old dead tree. "Go to death. Or to the ice you made for your kingdom. I do not care any longer."

" _You forget, my sister," Beren replied, turning back to Belial. "My body lies frozen. My spirit alone walks the earth. Your shadow can touch me no longer."_

_Belial turned away and, after looking once more at the gloom beyond, stepped through the_ Náströnd _and into the murky passage to the power she coveted._

Caer watched Beren and Belial fought, good against evil. They seemed tragic sisters, one born in night and one born in day, and so different.

"I think you should sleep," Headred said, "for the time will come when the battle meets, and sleep will be farthest from your mind."

Beoreth made up pallets on the floor before the hearth, leaving room for Huma beside them. As she worked she sang a song of sorrow, in a language Caer did not know. Caer listened as she drifted into long, peaceful sleep.

*****

Caer's dreams turned to a world on the cusp of winter. Autumn leaves fell onto the frost.

A woman wandered in a flowing gown. She held the two pendants of the heavens, forged by her power for her daughter and another. She rubbed her stomach, full with child, and cried for what must be.

She watched and waited. Her tears glistened as the tears of the moon, her power the radiance of the sun, and in her hands she held the stars of the sky, whose light fell onto Miðgarðir and once gave life to a land now in death and winter.

The winter came; the woman bore a girl-child and hid the babe in the wilderness. The Queen's body the gods took as payment for this life saved, and the lands of Sul became cold and dead.

In the forests she walked and waited. She watched as the baby grew to a child and a woman. She looked on as the one her child loved came to her, as a boy and as a man, in waking and in sleeping. And in her Vigil she prayed for the hope so long enduring.

And her tears shattered on the frozen earth.

Headred sat sleepless on the floor of the small hovel, not unlike Beoreth's home. Even after Huma stumbled in and fell to the floor asleep beside the hearth, Headred remained awake. He thought, and he listened.

Wolves howled every so often. In the forests the servants of their enemy hunted Y Erianrod. Even now war brewed, and soon the shadow would unleash herself against these lands.

He would fight, and he would die, before he let the Mór-Ríogain touch a hair on Caer's head.

"Arien lasol," a woman's voice sang outside of the cave. "Thriamus locam, esan nevol sharis."

Few knew the fairy song the woman sang. It spoke of the beginnings of the world, when men awakened in the forests, and breathed the night air.

Quiet as a mouse Headred stood, and clutched the hilt of his sword. He drew the sword and listened to the quiet scrape of the metal. He pushed aside the blanket they put over the door to see what came upon them in the night.

The Ice Queen stopped before him, her icy gaze chilling him to the bone as it latched onto him.

"Milady," he bowed, shivering, his teeth chattering.

"Her care you must now provide," she said.

Headred glanced into the hut as Caer drew the covers up to her neck. "She stands for herself, as does her heart," he replied.

"Her heart bleeds for her world. Your heart bleeds for her."

"Do you come now to torment me with what I already know?"

The glimmer of a smile came to her frozen face. Headred blinked-- and she vanished.

Headred whirled to go back in and jumped. Beren kneeled beside her daughter. And as the mist of winters chill came from her mouth, she gave her daughter an icy kiss on the cheek.

A cold wind blew through the blanket. Headred shivered. When he turned around again, Beren disappeared.

"Are you awake?" Caer called.

"I stand guard," he corrected. "Go back to sleep."

"What could harm us here?" she asked, falling back onto the pallet.

What indeed, he wondered and glanced to where the Ice Queen walked. Beren watched over them. He wondered if she feared Belial drew close.

But Beren did not come again.

*****

The dawn light in Sul threw long shadows from the mountains of mist in the north, where laid the sacred place of magic, to the hovel where the travelers slept.

The sun hid its face beyond the mountains, but the sky remained blue and clear. It seemed strange to see its light and not the usual clouds.

Some wondered at this miracle, but others knew. The gods smiled in the knowledge the witch returned, and the winter would soon meet its end.

Water dripped in icy daggers from the trees. Where the branches exposed beneath the frost, a few fledgling buds began to bloom. Such things were but memories now, remembered since long before Headred's birth twenty-six years ago, when the last spring touched the world. He noticed the sounds of the forest, the creatures long laying in sleep as they awoke, and the spring began.

A small rabbit crept into the clearing. Headred held the bow, took aim, and loosed an arrow. The rabbit's blood seeped into the snow, crimson death in the field of white.

"Beoreth," Headred called. He tossed the rabbit meat beside the door with the other small creatures he killed in the night.

"What?" Beoreth asked and groaned from the pain in her back. Beside her, Caer stirred, and opened her eyes to see horse hooves inches from her face.

Beoreth sat up while Caer stared at the hooves of the half goat, half man, collapsed beside her by the hearth. She wished she could go to sleep again and dream as he did.

"If you mean to ask the time, dearest mother among mortals," Headred said, "Woden begins to wake, and to ride Sleipnir in the east, across the sky on his journey today."

Beoreth brought the fire ale to her lips. It did not heal her pain, but it helped.

Cold and stiff, Caer could manage to moan, and nothing else. She sat up, her eyes locked on Headred for waking her from a peaceful dream. "And what do you mean?"

"It's dawn," Beoreth explained. "We must rise."

"Beoreth, would you cook these creatures? We must depart as soon as we have supped and drank. We have a long journey to make, between the wild lands of this outpost and the mountains of the north. By nightfall we must be past the Black Path."

Huma stirred.

Caer sighed and stood. Her eyes met his, and a fire lit in a moment in her heart. Headred turned and stalked out.

Something happened in the night, she decided, helping Beoreth stoke the fire and cook the meat. She listened as, outside, Headred fed and talked to the horses. Perhaps today's journey would be better, and by its end they would be one day closer to their destination.

And she found it something to be glad for.

*****

The cold lands opened on their trek through the ice and snow, the shadows of the mountains of mist ever present before them.

The wind blew from the north, cold, but not as bad as the night before. It caressed Caer's skin, and in moments as they rode along through the worn and weathered path, Caer felt the wind carried a song, singing and calling her ever closer to her birthplace and birthright.

Squirrels and small animals scampered across their path. Some looked at the travelers, and when they did, Caer perceived recognition in their eyes. Once a white stag bounded from the trees not far from where they walked, his companion and mate, a white unicorn, by his side.

The stag stared at her with deep brown eyes, its antlers a noble crown of white. The unicorn's silver spear flashed in the sun as her golden eyes pondered the travelers. They recognized Caer, and to her surprise and concealed delight, they kneeled, bowing before her.

Huma watched the magical creatures, entranced. When they disappeared, he looked at her, confused. Caer said nothing as they continued on.

For a long while they stayed silent and listened. A falcon flying in the distance let loose an angry scream, while nearby birds twittered in the trees. The ice around the trees seemed deeper, as black magic struggled harder to entrap the nymphs in crystal prisons. In fact, the snow seemed to be thicker on the ground, growing as they went.

"The winter grows colder in the north," Headred said, breaking the silence. "Belial directs her will to this place, so the cold and evil makes the winter here. In the mountains and Ull it becomes the worst."

"What did you see in the night?" she asked.

"How do you know so much of me when we met days ago?"

"In dreams we have met and walked," she replied. "There I knew you before I met you; better, perhaps, than I knew myself."

After a moment of contemplation, he revealed, "I saw visions of your mother. She fears for you."

"What does she fear?"

"Belial betrayed her power and her gift, her world and all who dwell within it," he said, his voice a low growl, more harsh and angry than he meant. "The spell Beren's heart wove over Miðgarðir made it remain the winter Belial conjured; it would forever be in twilight, and until the light returned, evil could not hold the world in its sway."

"Belial's blood lived in my mother, yet Beren could not undo the sins of her sister, and so made the winter of her world," Caer said.

An understanding and a shadow lingered in her eyes.

"One might argue the opposite," Headred muttered. "One might say she saved us all. Though many have not survived the winter, the light endured."

They rode in silence on the ancient path, facing distant mountains never seeming any closer.

Caer tried to convince herself that Headred attempted not to blame her for what happened, for the winter Beren allowed to endure, for all who died in this cold, while she lived free and happy in the havens, never knowing her destiny, never knowing her people's pain.

But he knew better than she the suffering caused because of her. And it meant she would have to make him, and all like him, see she cared.

"Tell me what you see in dreams," she instructed.

Headred smiled as he heard her regal order, similar to the one her caretaker gave him in his childhood, and as Caer's mother gave as he ran through the city.

"What do you think I see when I dream?" Headred countered. Caer turned in the saddle to look at him. His eyes seemed large and round and deep as the oceans she imagined at the edges of the world, boring into her.

"Everything," she guessed. "Such are the gifts of the prophets."

"I dream of a woman of great beauty who lingers forever in my mind and torments me in waking all the days of my life."

"And does she speak?"

"She speaks. And when she speaks I hear nothing else--"

"We near Helveg the path to the door under Mount Himinbjörg," Beoreth interrupted.

Ahead, the trees darkened where the new path began. As they passed the road to Náströnd, a cold wind rose like a gust of death.

"The door under Mount Himinbjörg?" Caer asked.

Headred's arms tensed as they passed, and Caer wondered if they dreaded the door.

Huma shivered as they passed, fear in his eyes.

"They say the heart of Miðgarðir lies in Mount Himinbjörg," Headred whispered. "Long the demon sought the heart, for good yet remains in it, but so long as you and your mother live, it lies beyond her."

"The heart beats with mine," she said.

He remembered the words of her mother the night before. Headred sighed, cheerful to be past the road. "Our world, Miðgarðir, lives just as you or I: just as no one can own your spirit unless you allow it, so no one can possess the spirit of Miðgarðir. Yet you share its essence. When the world hurts, you hurt. When the world bleeds, your spirit grieves for it. It lives through you and you through it; just as it lives in Belial, and she in it."

"And so she connects to me," Caer finished, hearing Beoreth harrumph, "as I am a part of her."

Caer grew silent, wondering about the door and ever watchful of the demon who wanted to destroy her. Beyond them the shadows of the distant mountains loomed closer.

*****

The noon sun swam in the sky and scattered light, as shadows crept into it from the storms coming to rage above the travelers again.

Caer found comfort riding before Headred, noticing his strong arms move when he held the reins of the horse, trembling as he breathed and when he sighed, and knowing he would glance at her and suddenly away.

It felt comforting to find love.

The snow seemed to gleam more intense than the day before, despite the clouds casting shadows and threatening to pour cold fury upon them. The drifts seemed bright and new to her as they trudged along in it.

The light grew and faded, and Caer sat alone on the horse.

" _Hello?"_ _she called and made out movement before her._

The familiar woman walked and waited in the towering oaks long sleeping and the firs yet living. Her skin appeared pale, her lips red, and her eyes the blue of the sky. Her hair white blew in the breeze.

" _You are my mother,"_ _Caer murmured._

The Ice Queen drew near to her in the empty glade, deep in the wild forest of Sul. "Go back."

From the four corners of the world the winds blew, whipping the snow into frenzy.

" _Go back to where?"_

Her mother's frozen eyes fixed on her. "No longer will you find this road safe. The shadow and her servants have claimed it. You must not take the path of light."

" _The shadow... the demon." The realization hit Caer. "She walks here."_

" _No," the Ice Queen said with great patience. "Death walks here."_

" _What do you..." Caer started to ask her what her cryptic words meant, but the vision faded._

She found herself in the horse's saddle once again; Headred's strong body pressed against hers, the snow crunching as it trampled beneath hooves.

"By the gods," Headred gasped, and Caer followed his gaze to the death her mother spoke of.

On either side of the path, men hung limp from bloody cords tied to tree branches, mauled and hacked, their blood flowing onto the ground, staining the snow crimson, their dead eyes fixed, staring at the place where travelers would pass.

"Golems and wolves." Headred unsheathed his sword.

"The path of light no longer remains safe from the death and damnation of the shadow," Beoreth cried. "What madness happens here? What are we to do?"

Caer paid no attention to them. She sensed something in the woods, an afterimage of the vision perhaps. Something evil lingered here, but not all became lost.

Caer gasped as the corpse closest to her began to move.

" _Help me..."_ _He turned to gaze at her with an axe blade still in his chest, bleeding again as his blood began to flow._

" _Help me... Help me..."_ _the corpses called to her, one after another awakening from death. A wolf howled, not far away._

Caer screamed. Headred's arms latched around her as the world returned.

"What's wrong?" Beoreth asked, her ancient hands feeling Caer's head, her voice and eyes worried.

"Nothing," Caer said. Beren used her to save them, she realized. "We must go back."

They turned to her in surprise.

"To where?" Huma asked.

She explained. When she finished they all stared at her, Beoreth with her pale, white face, Headred with his jaw set, and Huma confused.

"To the road to the door?" Headred confirmed and groaned. "Beren would not lead us astray."

"It's suicide," Beoreth said, "and forbidden."

"It's the path we must take," Caer counseled her, "and the way we must travel."

Beoreth moaned and looked at the girl she raised in a mix of wonder, worry, and fear. "If the Ice Queen wishes it, and if her daughter agrees, I do not stand in the way," she said, and turned her horse.

"Do not fear me-lady." Huma increased his pace to trot beside their horse. "I'll protect ye and the boy."

Caer smiled, despite it all. When she turned Caer saw the disdain on Headred's face for the path they now embarked upon. Caer looked ahead, at the dark opening of the forbidden path, and wondered at what she knew lay inside the door under the mountain, and the heart of the world.

*****

The blustery weather blew unceasing, and the snow fell in sheets. They could see nothing through the white blizzard and the icy wind ripping through their wrappings.

Caer did not know how Headred could see their path. They entered the road before the storm, but now everything appeared the same to her, the trees blowing in the gale, and the unending snowfall.

"We stop here!" he shouted over the storm bringing their horse to a halt.

Beside them gaped a black and lifeless cave maw. But in strange lands how could one tell what lay within? Did not Beoreth tell Caer as a child of dragons and great, cave-dwelling bears, towering as high as the trees and devouring travelers?

She waited in the blistering chill as Headred helped Beoreth from her horse before he led them into the cave. The cave seemed frigid, but they felt grateful to be out of the chilling storm.

"Wait here," he instructed. "I will go gather wood for a fire."

Caer worried. Would he find his way back to them? What would happen if he became lost in the blizzard?

"He will return," Huma reassured her. "Drink some of this, me-lady." He handed her the wineskin of fire ale.

The ale burned her throat but brought some warmth back to her. Her body no longer felt as rigid and stiff. Caer sank to the ground against the cave wall, exhausted from the few hours' journey of the day.

Headred reappeared, carrying a stack of snow-covered wood.

"Ale," he asked Huma, his teeth chattering.

"You would drink before you light the fire?" Huma asked.

"No," Headred said through fits of shivering as he brought the flint out of his pocket; he managed to grin at Huma, but the cold made it appear more as a grimace, "ale to light the wood on fire."

Huma looked hurt but obliged Headred. Soon a fire crackled on the floor, and the travelers warmed themselves as they listened to the howl of the storm outside.

"Let us keep our hearts joyous," Huma said, now seeming much warmed. He hiccupped.

"We cannot, you mule," Beoreth said, annoyed with the entire situation. "We cannot celebrate when even the path of light becomes shrouded by the Dark Lord's powers. It's bad enough lighting a fire with Belial's henchmen hunting the world."

"And yet we could freeze here without the fire," Headred reminded her, which seemed to end the quarrel.

"Perhaps a story," Headred suggested after a while. "It might be well for Caer to learn the stories of the wars, or of her people, if she would lead them."

Beoreth nodded as they huddled together for warmth.

"My tale begins long ago, before the Time of Ice," Headred started, his voice husky, his eyes misted as his mind went back to the beginning. "Before Beren, daughter of Enyd, ruled from Ull with her husband and consort Gareth Warhammer; when Dana bore Goewin, the first witch, on Mount Kern in the North of Sul, darkness entered the world.

"Moloch, the Incubus, first Dark Lord of the Demons in the wasteland, came into Sul with his armies, to take by force what he could not have by right: the power of the gods and the world of magic. For many generations the wars endured; from Goewin to your grandmother Enyd the witches also endured. So began the First Dark Wars. Defeated and dying by the sword of Enyd's warrior consort King Cuthred, Moloch came to the chambers of Queen Enyd, and in her womb planted his seed."

Caer saw in her mind a time long ago, in a place she never knew.

*****

" _No!"_

Enyd fell to the ground beside the stone of Woden in Glasheim, the council of the gods, screaming and weeping, cursing the gods for the injustice done to her, for the evil they cast into the world, for the death of her consort.

She observed the battle from the sacred place, casting her sight by magic to the battle. She witnessed the trees burn in the Dark Lord's fire, ripped from the ground by the armies of Lord Moloch. She watched as the blood of men, centaurs, and fairies flowed in rivers on the ground, pooled into oceans spilled by the power of evil. And she looked on as the Dark Lord fell.

She saw him take the life of the one she loved.

" _Milady," Berwyn cried and ran over. The wise woman knelt beside the Queen, and drew back when she felt as the magical cold encircled her mistress, even as cold pain enveloped Enyd's heart. Beside Berwyn, the wise woman's daughter, Beoreth, stared at the Witch Queen of Sul._

" _Milady," Berwyn asked, her voice trembling, "what happened?"_

" _The Dark Lord falls into damnation," Enyd whispered._

Berwyn breathed a sigh of relief.

" _The King," Enyd gazed at the wise woman with tear-filled eyes. "The King falls into darkness."_

Berwyn's hand lifted to her mouth in shock, her daughter's face white as snow. Berwyn laid a gentle hand on the shoulder of her Queen, of her friend.

"' _Tis done," Enyd murmured, her voice cracking. "Our armies have victory over Moloch. The gods have delivered us."_

" _Come," Berwyn said. "We will go back to the city, where you should rest. The armies will return when they finish."_

Enyd took the arm Berwyn offered. Berwyn turned them to the path to Ull. Once Enyd glanced back, terrified, into the shadows where the dawn broke. A cloud rose from the earth, black and evil, passing toward them.

Evil came to them on swift wings, she thought, and turned away.

Hours passed, and night fell. The bells of Ull's healers rang in mourning for the loss of the King. Gavin, the Queen's man, walked on the gate walls and looked to the west for the armies' return.

He could see nothing save for the black cloud of evil, the last triumph of the Dark Lord.

Fear lingered in Gavin's heart as the cloud moved toward them. It descended Ull, filling the ancient fortress with ash and smoke. Shadow covered the white stones.

Shadows crept through the city streets. Residents shut their windows to keep out the cloud of evil. Some shouted in terror and others in mourning. And some ignored the shadow and mourned the loss of the King, and celebrated the victory of the armies and of the Witch Queen of Sul.

_In_ _Idalir,_ _the Castle of the Sun, at the heart of the city Ull, the Queen slept in her bedchamber. Berwyn told Gavin what happened, and they cleared the castle, allowing the_ _Queen to mourn and to sleep in blessed dreams of solace, aided by a potion from Berwyn._

But Berwyn dreaded the evil descending upon them, covering the Castle of the Sun with shadow. Moloch torments her, Gavin thought. He seeks his last revenge on the Queen who destroyed him.

_Gavin watched the shadow and prayed for the coming dawn, for the demon at last to flee, and for_ Miðgarðir _again to be made whole. And in the coming clouds he saw a great, black dragon, its eyes the eyes of the Dark Lord, and a bloody wound in its side. He moved to sound the alarm as an enchantment came over him, and he collapsed, asleep._

In the Castle of the Sun, the dragon became a man.

_In_ _Idalir_ _footsteps echoed and became lost in the night. Enyd awakened, groggy from the potion. Something seemed wrong, she thought and forced herself to stand and walk to the door of her chamber._

" _Who goes there?" Enyd gazed out into the dim halls of the castle, but found no answer. She listened, but she heard and saw nothing now. Far below, the wise woman and her daughter slept in the kitchens beneath the spell of the dark cloud covering the city._

Enyd glanced, terrified, out of the window of the tower she slept in, at the mists shrouding Ull. She felt the chill of the wind coming from it, which blanketed the whole of the battlements in evil power from the diminished spirit.

Enyd cried again for her lost husband.

The footsteps sounded again, and the bedchamber door creaked open.

" _Cuthred!" she shouted and ran into the cold arms of her love._

His side still bled. His eyes stared into hers, and he took her mouth to his, tasting in passion and fury, taking what he would. And she gave to him all she could.

" _Come," he said, his voice growling and tired. He took her hand and led her to the bed. "Come and lie with me, my love."_

" _You are wounded," she said, wiping from her hand blood oozing from his side, staring at the blood appearing black in the moonlight and shadows. "The healers must see to this."_

" _It can wait." He pressed his mouth to hers again and unleashed his pain in passion. "It must wait."_

The wound looked gruesome. His torn shirt and doublet revealed his ripped skin. Blood seeped down his side and oozed onto his leggings. Before she could stop him, he straddled her, pushing her onto the bed, ravaging her mouth, his blood staining her white gown.

Her fingers felt where the sword plunged into his side. He ripped her gown from the neck, tearing it in fury, in want, and in need. As he pushed his mouth to hers, she screamed, feeling the death upon his skin.

Something evil came in the night.

The Dark Lord laughed as he let her scream, unheard by the others in their enchanted sleep. A spike of pain thrust between her thighs, as her eyes rolled back into her head. The body of the man faded as Moloch grew weak; the vision of Cuthred disappeared to reveal the face of a monster, evil as death and chilled as stone, exacting his revenge. She felt it, his magic working in her body, the cold, empty feeling of his child in the pit of her stomach.

There will be a child _,_ _she heard the voice of Mab in her mind_ , a child of great evil and power, who will bring damnation upon us all.

I must not sleep, she told herself, as she wept. I will not sacrifice this life to his will. The child will choose the destiny of the gods, as all have done. She will be my child, my good. With her sister she will grow, and she will know love. This I vow.

In the confines of the chamber down the hall, ten-year-old Beren awoke as the shadow diminished. She too felt the emptiness growing inside her mother, and in the stillness of the night, she cried for what she knew would come.

As the seasons passed, the Queen became great with child, and the eyes of the demon's servants watched Sul.

_The sun shone on the_ _Idalir's_ _gardens. The dawn came, bright and full, as the handmaidens rushed about calling for more pillows to be sewn or_ _another table as they set up the place where the baby would sleep._

Across a blanket spread on the ground, Beren stared at Enyd in anger and terror.

Inside Enyd's taut stomach the baby kicked, full of life. She ignored the chills spiking through her womb and the emptiness weighing on her heart.

Nine months passed since the demon gave her this life. Nine months passed since Beren awoke, came to Enyd's bedchamber and kissed her face.

" _The child will be evil, mother," Beren informed Enyd in that moment._

" _She will be your sister," Enyd replied and looked at her daughter's face, twisted with incredulity._

But worse seemed the gaze of Mab.

_Mab knew already what occurred. But her words upon returning seemed harsher than Beren's, colder than the icy blood creeping through Enyd in her time with child. Her gaze pierced, saw the child of the line of demons and_ _of the witches. In her heart the Fairy Queen wept, and in her voice shadows broke._

" _She will bring damnation upon you," Mab chided Enyd out of the hearing of the others. "Her evil will bring an age of second darkness. Her heart grows cold, even now, for in her she carries the spirit of her malevolent father."_

" _She will know good," Enyd replied. "She will know the path she must take."_

" _One path alone stands before her," Mab said, sadness overcoming her being. "The path of shadows, which leads to death, and winter will cover these lands."_

And when she left, Enyd seized by the pain her unborn daughter brought in the Queen's womb and kept her hope and her doubts.

_She forgot Beren in the months before the birth, though she did not give birth to the shadow inside her._ Beren means nothing now, _the shadows of Enyd's mind whispered._ Let her pass into the mists, as all whom you loved have passed into the mists.

And so she did.

" _Mother," Beren said, staring at the blanket beneath them. Water pooled around Enyd. Before she understood her water broke, it froze on the ground beneath her, the ground still warmed by the summer sun. Enyd screamed as pain ripped through her body, as the child struggled to be free._

" _Call for Berwyn and Beoreth," she gasped to Beren. "Call for them now!" She cried out in agony, as the contractions came upon her once more._

_Beren ran, searching with tear-streaked eyes, knowing her mother would die, and knew the evil her sister already bore upon her, and on_ Miðgarðir _._

And when she returned, it began.

Beren grew terrified the more her mother screamed.

Healing women, carrying hot water and clothes, rushed to where the Queen brought forth her second child.

" _Breath deep, milady," Berwyn said, looking at the bloodied cloths littering the floor of the tower they took Enyd to, and the ill they foretold for the mother. "The child comes soon."_

Enyd's eyes stared at them, blank, in pain and in the cold clutching her body, frail from birth pangs and the shadows stealing her mind.

" _Push once more, milady," Berwyn whispered, knowing Enyd would die._

Enyd screamed one last time and pushed her daughter out. Above Ull, clouds raged. Enyd's blue irises diminished, replaced by her pupils, as black as the child she moments before carried. Those eyes locked on Beren in fury and vehemence, by the will of the child Berwyn held.

Beren looked at the baby in disgust. Her pale skin, cold as death, drew taut and wrinkled, like a corpse. Beren knew the death upon the child though she never held her. Born with a full head of black hair, Beren's sisters eyes gleamed as globes of onyx, red in the light of the sun. They glared at Beren, laughing in silence at her new life.

The world of mortals would fall, Beren saw, by the power the Dark Lord and Enyd gave this child of evil.

Enyd's head fell back onto the pillow, and the color returned to her eyes.

" _Let me hold the child," she asked. Berwyn offered the child to her mother, and put her hand to her mouth in horror as the dying mother held the demon child. Berwyn tried to hide her grimace._

Enyd looked at her younger daughter, felt her innate death merge with her own as her life began to pass from the world. After a moment she handed the child back.

" _Her name will be Belial," she murmured to Berwyn. "Care for her and Beren as though your own."_

" _Milady, please do not say such things," Berwyn pleaded, holding the child out from her, as if Belial became a horrible plague._

" _Beren," Enyd called._

" _Yes, Mother," Beren said, crossing to the pallet and looking at her mother's pale, frail form._

" _Care for your sister. Teach her the ways of the witches, of magic. Fulfill what I have vowed, so she will not know the evil of her father."_

" _Already she knows," Beren said. "Always she will be evil."_

But Enyd did not hear her; her spirit already offered up to the gods.

" _Come, Beren," Beoreth said, taking her arm and leading her away. "Let us go out into the sun and warm ourselves." As the young healer led the future Queen from the room, Beren glanced back to see the unmasked horror of the ordeal on Berwyn's face, and her sister's dark eyes as she scanned the world she conquered by being allowed to be born. Life and intelligence beyond her years pervaded the newborn's essence; Beren felt sure of it._

_And at the edges of_ Miðgarðir, far beyond the lands of Sul _, frost crept onto the trees and the grasses, the rivers and stones, as the cold death of winter came into the lands of magic. The day would pass when the winter would come upon them all._

*****

"Belial, second daughter of the witch queen Enyd, neither demon nor witch, and yet both," Beoreth continued, taking over where Headred left off, "with the power of the gods and of the demons. The balance of magic this birth overturned, and as she grew so also did her evil, until it consumed her with blind hatred for her sister, and a love of power, a desire to rule Sul and the whole of the world.

"The Wars of Darkness began anew in Sul, and hope began to fade. A prophecy the gods gave, foretold by Headred, boy child of Hamald, Lieutenant of King Gareth."

Caer stared at Headred as remembrance flickered across his features. He saw it all, she realized, as a flame welled up inside her. He came upon them, and he warned them the evil would come.

"A daughter would be born of Beren," Headred said, "conceived as the gods danced in the heavens, born as the gods mated in the light of the moon. She alone would bring hope to the hopeless and drive back the evil.

"Fearing the wrath of the gods, Belial hid and sent out spies. In desperation, fearing the demon Queen would not suffer her daughter to live, her husband gone and her armies failed, Beren watched as her lands turned to eternal winter and sent her child away in secret, never to know her magic, hoping one day she would return and accept her destiny.

"Alone, her power diminished. The gods exacted a payment for saving her world, her craft, and her people. Forever Beren would remain in the frost and winter, neither mortal nor immortal. She would bear the burden of her people with each passing day, ever and always to exist as the Ice Queen." Headred finished his tale with misty eyes.

Beren warned them now, sent them down this strange path where they now huddled for warmth.

"We should sleep," Beoreth said, taking another swig of fire ale and passing it around. "One does not know when this storm will end, and our journey will continue."

One by one they drifted off. Caer leaned against Headred's powerful chest and concentrated on his heartbeat as he held her. And as she listened to him breathe, and the longer breaths of those who slept, she drifted into cold, fruitless dreams of ice, and fiery dreams of passion with the man she held.

The moon shone full when Caer awoke; the embers of the fire glowed in the cave. They huddled together for warmth; while they slept she flung herself on Headred's dreaming form, her arm over his chest. Headred's chest rose and fell as he slumbered warm beneath her and the blankets and fur, at peace in his dreams.

Caer stood, unwilling to disturb the others. She slept enough. She felt ready to wake, and to know all she needed about her world.

Bundled in a thick blanket and wrappings, she walked to the cave mouth. In the distance rose the mountains, but Kern, rising into the royal blue sky, seemed more distant than before. She could not see the road, just endless forests.

"You wake," Headred said behind her. Caer jumped and turned. He stood, wrapped as she, in the moonlight, dark, handsome, and very alluring.

"I dreamed of you," she said as he joined her in the mouth of the cave. He wrapped his arms around her, for warmth and for what he desired most at this moment.

"I would love nothing better than to hear you say such things every night." He brushed his lips over the nape of her neck.

"I shall tell you every night for all of eternity," she murmured and turned to face him.

"We are two halves of one whole, bound together by the magic of the Ice Queen."

"We are bound by love found in dreams of peace," she replied. "Magic does not form such bonds, even I cannot believe it does."

"'Tis so," he agreed. Their lips brushed together. "The dawn comes." He held her tight and close.

She attuned herself to the beat of his heart and breathed as the beat of the pounding in her chest matched his. She turned to view the heavens. "Tell me about the stars. You said you read them."

"Aye, 'tis the gift of the gods to tell the tale of the future in their dance."

"Tell me."

"The time comes," Headred's words seemed heavy. "You should learn of your world. I tell you now the tale of the gods, their birth and their rise, and the beginning of the world of magic and the lands of Sul....

"In the beginning the gods made but one world, with three lands within it. In the north lay Niflheim, the lands of cold and ice; in the south lay Muspellheim, the lands of fire; and between the two lay the chaos, Helrög.

"From Muspellheim, the river of fire flowed into the void and into the lands of ice. In the void, the river filled the empty chasm of Helrög and made the great plain of Miðgarðir rise from within it. And in the lands of ice, the ice became water, and the water took form in the void and became Woden, the Lord of all, and Frigg, his consort.

"They awoke in the void and looked upon Miðgarðir, alone and dim, and began to shape Miðgarðir and the heavens. From the ice they made their children, from the lands of fire they made the sun to be Woden's chariot, and the moon to be the throne of Frigg. The heavens themselves they shaped as their abode and built their hall upon it, a hall filled with warmth and light.

His finger traced a path in the air before their faces, showing her the position of the stars he spoke of. "I tell you now the line of gods, from Woden and Frigg. Four children they formed from the ice and gave to them life: Heimdall, the wisest of the four, Frey, Freya, and Thor. Frey took Sol, spirit of day, as a wife, and she bore to him a son, Hrimthurs, and a daughter, Brimhild. Freya, Frey's sister, took Nott, the spirit of night, as husband, and bore two sons: Grim, who ruled death, and Grima, god of the sick.

"Miðgarðir, the world, gave birth to life, the trees and their roots; the heart of the gods they put at its center, in the mountain called Ithin-hora by the fairies, which men call Himinbjörg. From the ice they made the lands of the north, and children of the gods to dwell in Miðgarðir among the gods while the mortals slept in the night and day.

"The gods gave the world above to men, and kept the heavens and Elphame for themselves. While they created many worlds within the cosmos, most the gods and their children, the fairies already claimed.

"The god Grim made the centaurs before the time of men. The horses he loved so much could not come with him to dwell in heaven. There mortals have always been forbidden to go, for the places of the gods are the halls of eternal life. These Centaurs he made his children, the readers of the fates. When time passed men awoke as they slept in the forests of Miðgarðir.

"Now it came to pass Heimdall went out walking and heard a voice of great beauty singing in the wood, the voice of a mortal woman. Veleda by name, and she fell in love with Heimdall. Because of her love for him, she left Dana, her mortal daughter, in the care of her mortal husband, Gunner, and went with Heimdall to the place of the gods. But the children she bore for Heimdall the gods cursed in punishment for Veleda's treachery to her mortal family, and the children of Heimdall and Veleda would serve always others. Mab, their daughter became the mother of the fairies, and from their line also came Aske, Mab's brother, father of the human prophets, who would foretell the fate of Miðgarðir.

"Grim, the huntsman, bade his brother Grima to take a wife. Grima and his wife loved in the skies and bore a daughter, Morrighan, a sorceress of great power. She brought forth the magic of the gods into Miðgarðir, and her kindred considered her beautiful among their number.

"Hrimthurs' son Heimer, of a mortal mother, took Morrighan as his wife. Morrighan bore Heimer a son, Cerdic, skilled in war. Cerdic took for his realm the red star of the heavens, and war as his domain. Morrighan saw a mortal child in the river of souls whom she loved, and refusing to let her go, took the child for her own, and gave her the life of a god. This daughter, Cwen, the beautiful goddess of light whose realm the North Star, bore not the blood of Morrighan and Heimer, nor the blood of any god.

"Finn, Morrighan's brother, took a mortal wife, and conceived a son, Oberon, the husband and consort of Mab. From Oberon Mab gave birth to the first of the fairies, who chose to live immortal lives like gods. They made their realm in Elphame, the immortal land of the fairies, which mortals call the Fairy Sidhes.

"Cerdic loved his fair sister beyond his own life and sought always to guard Cwen's beauty from those who would take her and diminish her light. Finding no lover for himself in his eternal task, his heart grew bitter. One day Morrighan came upon Cerdic in his vigil, watching his sister's realm, and realized what happened. She told him the truth—Cwen could not be counted by blood as her daughter. On the same night he went to Cwen and told her of his love. He told her the truth of her birth: their love unbounded.

"Every year the North Star and Cerdic's abodes cross but do not meet, at the time of Yule, called the Dance of the Gods. And every year on Midsummer's Eve the stars converge, and Cerdic mates with Cwen, on the night of power.

"Woden also walked in Miðgarðir. There he found Dana, more beautiful than her mother. Dana wandered alone, for her father died and left her unwed. As a swan Woden ran to her, and she took him to her care. He lay with her while she slept and conceived a child of the gods.

"The heavens raged, but the words of Heimdall calmed them. For the child of Woden and Dana would not be cursed as Heimdall's children half-mortal children, and she would grow with the power of gods and the knowledge of men. She would hold the power of magic and thought. At last the gods could count one born in the world of men who would rule as the gods saw fit, for always would her line be one of their number.

"For few but the descendants of Woden know Miðgarðir and the heavens began in winter, and so will be reborn in the coming of Y Erianrod."

Caer looked up from the drawings of the constellations and stars Headred made in the snow. It sounded like the tales Beoreth told her, but more beautiful, more poignant, with the addition of the star-lore.

Headred pointed to the realms of the gods, the north stars of Cwen and Cerdic, the moon of Frigg and the rising sun of Woden.

"The truth you now know, Caer, my love. On the night of the dance the gods showed Beren her child would save her people, the child of your mother Beren and your father, Gareth Warhammer, and as Cerdic lay with Cwen in the heavens, your mother bore you into the world."

Caer and Headred watched the dawn, far from Ull and Glasheim. They stood at the cave's mouth, alone in the wilderness.

"Where are we?" Headred asked as he looked at the endless forest, the path nowhere in sight, as the realization stunned Caer.

There was no road, only endless forest.

*****

"Beoreth," Caer nudged the old wise woman. "Please awake."

"Go away, child," Beoreth muttered, engulfed in dreams of far away and long ago, of the man she once loved. "I dream of youth."

"Beoreth, please!" Caer said, exasperated. "We are lost."

Beoreth's eyes opened so fast Caer jumped. "Lost?" Beoreth asked, taking Caer's outstretched arm and heaving herself off the cold stone. "We are on the road to the door, child, but lost, I do not think so." The wise woman hobbled to the door and gasped. "We are lost," she whispered.

Headred caught her as she slumped into a dead faint.

"Huma!" Caer called to the goat-man, who slept in a drunken stupor. "Get up!" She heard a muffled curse and a moan beneath the wrappings the others threw on him moments before.

"Aw, me head's killin' me," he muttered, pushing the covers aside. His eyes looked bloodshot and his ears droopy. Even his horns seemed to have lost their health and turned a deeper brown.

"We're lost," Caer informed him.

"Course," he replied. "Never met no one who could follow a road in a storm. Not even," he added, "a prophet."

Caer thought Headred would be annoyed with the wayward, dimwitted centaur; being half-goat, half-centaur did nothing to increase his intelligence. But she saw instead a grin play across Headred's face.

"Huma," Headred put an arm around the centaur's shoulders. "You and I are the men here, and so the women need our protection."

An audible guffaw sounded from Caer, and from Beoreth who came out of her faint. They exchanged a gaze bordering on pity for brainless men who thought women needed their protection.

Undaunted, Headred continued. "You see, my good centaur, I need to go and scout for the road we seem to have lost. It will be up to you to watch over your charges while I am gone."

Headred appeared pleased with the outcome and he ignored Caer's withering gaze. Huma seemed surprised, and very proud of himself. And on the floor Beoreth rolled her eyes as she studied the lot of them.

Headred started for the mouth of the cave.

"I'm going with you," Caer caught up to him. "You won't leave me here. I am not some helpless woman you need to defend."

"Aye, you're not. But I need you to stay and help Beoreth, and to come after me if I get lost."

Before he left, Headred restarted the fire, though Caer told him she would be quite capable of tending to it herself. Her fury burned with his retort.

"There are a good many things you are capable of tending to," Headred whispered low. "Perhaps we could discuss the semantics later."

And as though he needed to press the issue, he kissed her, on the lips, open and unabashed. Even more, she hated she liked it.

Caer saw the reason in staying behind, and would have said so, but Huma hooked a long arm around her shoulders and managed to steer her away from Headred.

"Now, now," Huma told her amid grunts from Beoreth, "The little lady mustn't keep her man from leaving."

"Shut up you great woolen idiot." Caer threw his arm off and turned to the entrance to say goodbye. Her heart fell, and her eyes misted.

Headred vanished.

*****

"Wolves and golems take the path of light for themselves," Beoreth muttered some time later. "The world goes mad."

Caer paced in the shallow cave, warm, but only a few feet deep.

It felt strange to know the woman she still wanted to call Grandmother stood in for her mother all these years, a caretaker and nothing more. Caer's heart panged with when she looked at the old wise woman, when she opened her mouth to speak and wanted to use an affectionate term. Beoreth left everything to raise her. In Ull her grandchildren, and maybe great-grandchildren, awaited her return. Her family moved on, all so Beoreth could raise Caer in the wilderness.

So much Beoreth lost. How many children did her caretaker have? How could Beoreth leave behind so many to care for a child who bore no blood of hers? And would they know Beoreth when she returned to them, with the child she abandoned them for?

Nearby Beoreth sipped her brew and rubbed her hands. The cold made her rheumatism worse, Caer thought with more guilt. And now Beoreth wandered with her through the cold winter to fulfill the wise woman's task.

Yet perhaps it would not be a bad thing. They would return to Ull, and Beoreth's task would be finished. She would see all those whom she loved and lost, who Beren and Caer took away from her during Beoreth's long absence.

And Caer would see the home she never knew, and be expected to love it anyway.

She longed for the quiet, peaceful paths of Fensalir. She ached to return there, and for a moment, she wished Headred never found her, and lived there still.

Guilt welled inside for her selfish thoughts. She stole Beoreth's life. And without the knowledge of Caer's hidden past, the man she loved would not be hers.

Caer sank down beside Beoreth at the fire. Beoreth offered her a steaming cup of a relaxing brew she brought with them. The wise woman tore off a hunk of bread and passed it to Caer.

"Do not feed me," Caer said.

Beoreth sighed and set the bread down. "I have three sons and four daughters. Do you think, child, I have raised you and do not know every fretful expression you have? You are the twenty and sixth child I have helped to birth, and the eighth I have raised."

"How much I stole from you," Caer whispered, her gaze on at the floor. "How much my mother asked of you. I do not know how you have stood it."

Beoreth sighed again. "At first, I thought, one day at a time. I feared the demon would discover us, and all would be lost. I feared for my children and their children so far away, for if you did not live, neither would they." The old woman smiled and her eyes became misty with remembrance. "And, my child," Beoreth put a comforting hand on Caer's back, "there came a day when I looked at you and did not see my charge. I saw my daughter, as much mine as your mother's. You are my child, Caer, and now you know why I do not regret what I have done."

She paused. "I have waited to see my seven children, and ten grandchildren. Yet I rue the day when I do, the day my eighth child will no longer be mine to care for."

Caer smiled and laid her head on Beoreth's bosom. Beoreth's ample middle shook with a chuckle, her squat five and half feet of height rumbling as she hugged Caer. Beoreth's silver hair, under normal circumstances drawn into a bun and framing the hundreds of lines on her face, hung loose to the center of her back.

A shout bellowed from the woods. Caer bolted upright and whirled to the cave mouth at the sound of Headred's voice. Something happened to him. Without thinking, without wrapping herself, Caer ran from the cave before the others could stop her, into the snow to find her love.

The world went by in a whirl of glass, spears of ice, of dead trees and white snow. Her hands, arms, and fingers grew numb. Her heart raced and her lungs ached, but she ran toward the sound, deep into the wild wood. And when she could run no longer, Caer stopped and doubled over, catching her breath and feeling her eyes well with tears.

"Let me find him," she prayed.

Something brushed her back.

Whooshilaya ssataname tsashowotu...

For a moment Caer thought the very wind carried voices. Caer thought she heard words, and not the rustling of leaves. Even more frightening, she thought she understood them.

Why have you come into this woodland place, mortal girl?

A great arm of the tree nearest her lashed out and grabbed her, as thin, frail fingers of branches wrapped around her and lifted her into the air, shaking her as she tried to get free. All the while snow fell.

Whassatanai Krunst Velebataia...

We suffer not mortals to walk our paths.

The words seemed clearer this time. They sounded as if the wind itself possessed a voice or the trees and caught the wind and formed words. Some words seemed to be the sound of the roots moving, or the scattering of leaves on the ground.

It did not matter. Caer screamed as the iron grip of the oak tree tightened.

"Gheris!" came a shout from the ground.

The tree released his grip, and Caer landed in a large snowdrift, coming up sputtering to see long feet beneath the hem of a rough dress, and a pale, willowy woman standing before her.

"Caer!" Headred shouted, running up behind her.

"What happened?" she asked, peering at the face of the woman, framed in long tresses of brown hair streaked with green, her willowy form and the fire burning in her eyes.

"Wood nymphs," he whispered, helping her up and holding her close. "We have wandered into their dance."

"I am Whista," the woman explained in the voice of the wind and the trees. "But you need no introduction, dearest daughter of Miðgarðir. You are Caer, daughter of Queen Beren, Y Erianrod of all people."

The towering oak tree moved a little and went still. Whista led them, with Caer supported by Headred, feeling very cold and very foolish.

"Forgive Gheris," Whista begged. "He grows old, and his roots are deep, but his heart becomes rotted within him. He hates all things, moreso those things not rooted in the earth, which he cannot poison."

Beoreth appeared with Huma, the wise woman riding her horse as Huma led the other. Relief flooded over Beoreth's face. Huma appeared hurt and worried at the same time.

"I heard the scream," Beoreth said. "What happened?"

"Dear mother," Whista smiled at her.

Beoreth bowed her head.

"Harm does not come to your charge. Safety flees this place. I will lead you to the road, and there you must go to the mountains of mist, where protection will be afforded to you."

"Aye," Beoreth agreed.

Headred lifted himself onto the horse and pulled Caer before him. Beoreth leaned over the shivering form of Caer and wrapped her in furs as Whista led them through the trees.

"I must leave you here," Whista said. "My people already wait at Glasheim, but many do not want to leave their place. Here we will remain. Y Erianrod at last returns to drive back Belial and her winter."

Whista kissed Caer on the cheek. "Return to us when you defeat Belial," Whista instructed. "When the spring comes, and the nymphs walk free on the forest path. You may see the nymphs dance with fairies in the moonlight."

Whista sang as she departed a whistling of wind. Her hair moved in the breezes, like branches of a tree, brown as bark. She stopped far away, turned, and raised her hand.

Caer waved back, to watch in wonder as the woman became a tall, beautiful willow, frozen in the ice and snow, her dress the trunk, her face hidden in the long, sinewy tresses moving with lethargy, until ice and snow covered them again.

Headred took the reins, holding her close. He whispered a word she could not hear, sending the horses into a walk on the road, which led to the door under the mountain, and the heart of Miðgarðir.

*****

The path of light became shrouded with new snow, covering the blood of the slain men who hung on either side. But Fenrir, Lord of the Wolves, could smell their blood, and he could still taste their flesh.

Fenrir walked on the path of light and hunted Beren's daughter.

The lingering wolves gathered around him, awaiting orders. Fenrir met their cold, red, glowing eyes in disgust.

"The child passed this way," he growled.

Fenrir's legions retreated. "No." Those who did not answer cowered in the shadows.

Fenrir let loose a howl. The wolves seemed wary of his vengeance, worrying if they failed him, their lives would be forfeit.

"Fools," Fenrir said in a growl. "Do you think I would kill you now, when the one we seek walks free? Do you think I will find her by myself?"

They shook their heads and waited.

"They have come. I smell the stench of humans and centaurs here. What have you lazed about doing you could not take them?"

They did not answer, but he knew. They feasted on the flesh of a nearby farmer's family and paid no attention to the travelers.

"They have taken the other path," he growled. "Not the black path, no, they would think it too dangerous. They have taken the road to the door."

The wolves around him howled in fear. He felt it himself, but he pushed it under again with the fury welling inside him.

"Cowards and imbeciles," he taunted. "Follow me. We go to the road to hunt the witch's child."

The wolves howled again and followed him to the road to the door, as the Demon Lord watched from her towers and wondered what her punishment for them would be when the world belonged to her.

*****

"Do you see her?" Belial's words echoed in the fortress.

In the firelight Waermund cowered. "I do not, my master." He waited for her to punish him. A heavy object hit him in the head and knocked him to the floor before rolling away.

The rolling sapphire globe glittered. The golems stood nearby, their hideous faces hidden behind steel masks, holding their sword hilts.

"Find her," the Dark Lord ordered, slamming her fist onto the stone table. A goblet tipped, spilling griffin blood.

Waermund, his eyes on her and the golems, took the remaining blood and drank. He held the globe before him.

"Master," the golems interrupted and bowed their heads.

"What news do you bring me?" Belial demanded.

The golems glanced at one another. "The armies are gathered, my Lord," their commander said. "Are we to loose them on your enemies?"

Belial stared at the sorcerer in disgust as he peered into the mysteries of the globe, and back to her more worthy servants. "No. The Black Gates are closed until the we find and destroy the child of light, and Sul and all of Miðgarðir will be for the taking."

"Yes, my Lord." They lumbered away.

Belial glanced back as the sorcerer sweated, peering into the azure globe. Images passed through it. She saw her wolves and the White City. The Ice Queen walked in spirit through her lands. Its people gathered at the sacred place. But the child of light could not be found.

And in the tower of Eliudnir Belial screamed in rage.

*****

Cold wind blew as the wolves approached. Fenrir snarled at the magic on the air.

"You cannot have her," Beren told the wolves. Her spirit walked from the trees where she hid and watched.

Fenrir growled and leapt, right through the specter, landing in the snow.

"Neither," she said, "can you kill me."

Fenrir barked, and walked to the road to the door. At the first touch of his paw on the snowy road, the world shimmered and rippled. The wind rose to a gale, and an unseen hand grasped his fur and threw him back.

"You cannot pass that way," Beren reiterated, and walked through the wolves. They shivered at her cold. "The one who walks there awaits Belial alone. Go back to your master."

"I do not take orders from you." Fenrir retorted.

The Ice Queen laughed. "Perhaps not. But I do not give orders to creatures who follow evil."

Fenrir snarled. More wolves tried to step onto the road, to no avail.

"I closed the way," she whispered. "Go back to your master." In a flash, as if the snow leapt up and covered her form, the Ice Queen vanished.

Fenrir howled, and bounded into the forest, followed by his servants. They would hunt and find Beren's heir, and damn the Ice Queen and her daughter. In the Dark Towers, Belial watched through the blue glass and raged.

*****

The snow shone, blinding, as they rode down the path to the door, through the Dance of the Nymphs. Clouds hid the mountain peaks as they drew closer.

Caer thanked the gods when the sun began to set over the Black Mountains, and eerie shadows overtook the lands. Her eyes burned from the white of the snow, a white she never before noticed.

This white seemed pure, unchanged, as if never been touched by shadow. Perhaps the winter made by the cold heart of the demon seemed unable to spoil the lands of beauty and light.

They did not stop and rest, though the path grew dark. The wind blew ever more frigid as they trudged along the road to the door, where the wind blew coldest.

In the dark, as Caer shivered beneath her furs and wrappings, she saw a glimmering silver light in the woods, as if specters awaited them at the foot of the mountains.

Headred reined the horse in and stopped, grasping his sword. Beoreth and Huma breathed as they heard the steel of his sword unsheathed, and the crunching of snow nearby.

"Headred," a soft voice spoke from the trees. From beneath the sleeping woods came a man, tall, straight, willowy, with long golden hair and piercing eyes.

Fairies. Caer breathed a soft sigh of relief.

Headred sheathed his sword and turn their horse to face the fairy.

"Elric," Headred said and bowed his head in greeting.

Elric did the same. "The child at last returns?" Elric motioned to Caer.

Headred nodded, as Caer rubbed her legs. He knew how much they must ache, for one who never saw a horse, much less ridden one, before.

"Come," Elric motioned for them to follow. "The Queen of my people awaits you at the door."

The fairy walked over the snowy path, his feet leaving nary a mark. His silver wings waved in the breeze, and Caer wondered how he could be warm in his long silver robes.

Elric smiled at her as he walked beside the horse. "What troubles your mind, daughter of mortals?" The path grew wider.

"Nothing at all. Why do the fairies go to the north?"

Elric spoke, his voice lilting. "'Tis our way. We are drawn to the north when we hear the call, as you and all creatures have heard. The time of pain and the war of darkness are upon us all."

Caer's heart chilled at his words. She fell silent.

The foothills spread out before the weary travelers. The door rose before them, its frame carved into the mountain, covered with runic incantations. The road continued into the mountain, through the door. A second road, wider and curved, led away from the door and to Ull.

A wind blew from the door, cold as ice. Inside the door laid the heart of the mountain, held by the witches. Its heart beat with theirs since time began.

Before the door the fairies made their camp. Silver pavilions, like the webbed palaces in the sidhes, fluttered before them. The blue and silver banners and lanterns, lit by white lamps, blew in the door's breeze.

Mab, the Queen of the fairies, beckoned to them, and the travelers obliged.

_Ibormeitas Caer. Come to me, Caer,_ Mab's voice whispered in Caer's head as they drew closer to her pavilion.

"You have come to us at last," Mab's voice lilted. "Welcome now, travelers and daughter of the Queen." The power in her low voice rose above the wind's howls. "Stay and enjoy the grace of the fairies." Her eyes fixed on Caer.

Watunasa licam amus sira? Watunasa isum basaledin? Solani cavala gomanin. Thiapara fwer amar.

When will the light come among us? When will we be saved? Soon is the call of the gods. The path for her is made.

*****

Warmth washed over Caer as she stepped with her companions into Mab's pavilion, though no fire burned there. Elric led her to soft pillows and cushions and set her down on them.

"Tonight you will sleep in peace, in the hospitality of the fairies." Mab's warm and musical lilt said as she sat.Headred sipped at the spiced wine, and appreciated the platters of cheese and bread and fruit from the sidhes. Caer fingered a silver pear and watched as the others seemed at peace.

"The nymphs told us where to go," Huma said, kneeling on the cushions and gorging himself. "I said to meself we went the wrong way, but I did not want to argue with me companions."

"Why, my brave centaur," Mab patted his shoulder. "Perhaps you will join me now to drink, for your companions are mortals, and do not know or understand the joy of ale in the moonlight."

"Happy to oblige," Huma stood, hiccupping, at which Mab laughed. Mab seemed joyful with him, not the serious Queen Caer expected.

"Perhaps you should rest," Elric suggested when Huma and Mab left. The lights of the pavilion dimmed, and curtains opened to reveal three bed chambers. "You must be tired from your journey, and much remains for you to do. Rest in peaceful dreams while you may. The morn will soon come, and Ull lies before you now."

"Aye," Beoreth muttered, and let the fairy lead her into one of the rooms. Moments later the fairy returned. The wise woman's snores came through the curtain.

"She will sleep now until the morn." Elric bowed his head and departed.

"Milady," Headred offered a hand. As she stood, Caer became aware of the door under the mountain, and the frigid wind.

_Come to me..._ It called.

"Caer," Headred said, his voice hushed and muted. She blinked and glanced at him. "Come with me. Stay with me tonight."

"Yes."

He nodded and turned toward the third door. The curtain fell behind him. Resigned to spending another night in restless dreams, Caer fell with him onto the bed.

And, as she knew, fitful dreams came to her in the night.

Headred melded his mind with Caer's and took her into his visions.

Green grass and fresh rain covered the world. Caer and Headred stood in the woods, beside a river.

_In_ Sul _, the long winter froze the rivers and streams, and their spirits slept. Here warmth pervaded all, and the stream flowed with music. Caer never knew this world. But the heart of_ Miðgarðir remembered warmth _; and through the world itself she remembered._

Leaves rustled in the wind, stars shimmered, and the creatures of the wood chattered. And when all became still, leaves and twigs crunched behind her.

She turned, and in the pale glow of the celestial spheres, she saw them: a stag standing with a unicorn, both as white as the snow, their eyes silver, their heads bowed in reverence. Headred inclined his head, and Caer smiled before she followed suit. The hoot of an owl broke the silence

" _You are a boy,"_ _she whispered._

He grinned wider. "Of course I'm a boy."

They remembered the long-ago meeting as he rode with his father to the fairy sidhes.

But their childhood long ago fled them. She strode forward toward the man. Headred waited, his gaze on the woman who appeared as much a goddess as Freya herself.

" _I'm sorry."_ _As she pressed herself against him, the stag and the unicorn bounded away. Their faces drew closer as Caer said, "I've never seen a boy before, you see. I've lived alone with my grandmother in these woods all of my life."_

" _Many stories and fables begin such ways."_ _He wondered if ever a woman looked to him as she did and knew none ever would again._ _"And I have yet to hear one without a bad ending for the little girl who wanders in the woods alone."_

"' _Tis so. I've been told those stories by my grandmother, who walks in the woods not far from here."_

" _And does she know you walk alone?"_ _His thumb caressed her cheek._

" _Of course she does not. I am Caer."_

" _I'm Headred,"_ _He brushed their lips together._

" _I know who you are."_

He felt her nervousness when he took her shaking hands and looked into her misty eyes.

" _I felt you coming, and I came out when my grandmother left, so I could meet you."_

" _You have the same dreams as I?" he whispered and felt mild surprise when she kissed him._

" _Aye."_ _She kissed him again. She closed her eyes and accepted their bond, letting the pleasure encircle her. Their hands remained linked as the kiss broke, and he rested his forehead on hers._

When she opened her eyes, the woods disappeared.

White walls rose behind them. They stood in a garden washed with pale moonlight, the stars glimmering in the heavens. Roses, she thought as she gazed at the vivid blooms of red on the hedges. Plumes of flowers, fountains and pools lay scattered throughout the garden. Paths of white stone wound beneath the mountain rising behind them.

The turrets and towers of the castle seemed as tall as the mountain itself, their white stone walls gleaming. Warmth washed over them here, restored to the life it knew before the demon's winter.

" _Idalir, the Castle of the Sun, your home, my lady."_ _Headred's voice became hushed and deep. The night air seemed alive with magic and hope, and with the love they shared. Apprehension mixed with anticipation filled her, because she knew this night things would change between them._

Caer's heartbeat increased as he took her hands, and knelt with her on the garden grass. She tried to keep her hands from shaking as nervousness took over her body.

Tonight he would have all of her, heart, spirit, and body.

" _I ask if I am worthy to touch the beauty of a goddess,"_ _he asked, his hands, rough and worn by labor, in hers._

" _You are worthy to touch my heart, and in my heart you hold all I am."_ _She held his hands._

" _What do you give to me, milady?"_

" _I give you everything."_

His smoldering stare sent heat coursing through her body. They stood, and he took her mouth with his, hard and fierce, an embrace of passion and fire as the flames exploded from the flame of their desires.

His eyes never closed, never stopped looking. No matter what, he promised himself, he would not rush it. Tonight would always be hers. Her fingers fumbled with his leggings.

" _Not yet,"_ _he whispered, breaking the embrace to touch her hair, trailing kisses on her neck._

She wondered whether the gods dreamed of this. His hands, rough with time and hard work, skimmed over her gown, the fabric sheer beneath his touch.

Her entire being felt alive with power.

The power created endless waves of light and warmth in her sight. Her hair seemed to be a mass of flames and not the red curls of the girl she pretended to be. Her jaw hung open as she gasped. He moved into her warmth and trailed kisses down her arm, along her stomach. His skillful fingers touched every part of her.

" _Gods,"_ _she whispered. He raised his head and brought their mouths together. Fabric cascaded around them. Nothing separated them in their love and longing._

" _My Queen,"_ _he whispered, as they became one._

She moved with him, with every breath, every wave rising toward the crash on the shores of passion. Time lost all meaning, and eternity passed them. The world became sweltering and full of radiance. And as they fell together the stars exploded in the skies.

Headred breathed, his head nestled between her breasts, his hands skimming her sides and feeling where his unshaven beard scored her.

" _Have I hurt you, milady?"_

Caer found herself lost for words and let laughter bubble out.

" _No."_ _Annoyed, rolled on his back beside her and severed his link with her mind, letting the pavilion of the fairies surround them once more._

Caer shifted and laid her head on his chest. "No, you did not, good sir. You could not hurt me."

He smiled as she gazed up at him, laughter in her eyes, and a smile on her mouth. Each descended into a fit of giggles, laughter the fairies heard outside, and did not end until the young lovers fell together into peaceful sleep.

*****

Dreams of light and warmth and love enveloped Caer's mind. She envisioned Sul when the winter passed and the spring came to them, where she walked with the man she always knew in her dreams, the man who now walked with her in reality. Here the shadow of gloom and doubt disappeared, replaced by the hope and warmth and the power of the gods.

_They stood in a forest glade, once called_ Vingólf, _the Vigil. The torches burned and the moonlight shown above them. Their lips met in passion and love and heat._

Twin children grew inside her, a prophet and a witch, a son and a daughter, with the power granted by the gods long ago. His hand skimmed her stomach, full with child, and his lips whispered of his love for her.

In her dreams of old they played in the woods as children, constant companions in sleep. She saw the beauty and power and the love in their children.

And every day in waking her heart Caer yearned for him. She found him now as they slept in the fairy pavilion, in the warm bed Mab gave them, entangled in each other, body and soul.

In dreams Headred's voice whispered to her.

" _Come to me, come to me, come to me..."_

" _Come to me, come to me, come to me..."_ _the door under the mountain continued to whisper, drawing her out of the sleep of warmth and bliss and weaving its spell around her mind._

*****

Beren watched the lovers tangled in the silken bed. Headred and Caer rested, lost in the light of the fairies.

Her tears fell, and in her spirit, she could feel the evil coming this night, to this place.

Come to me... Come to me, child of the light...

Caer awoke. The door under the mountain called to her. Headred slept, restless. The fairies rested, their eyes open though their minds dreamed of the evil they faced, and the light of the gods, their kindred.

She dressed in silence. The winds seemed to howl. She pushed the curtain away and stepped out into the night. The door waited not far away. Her mind swam. For a moment it seemed as though something possessed her to answer the call of the door, another who took over her mind.

_Go to it_ , the voice inveigled. _What harm would it do? It's just a door, and within it lies all the power in the world._

The door loomed before her. Beyond it waited shadows and gloom. After a moment's hesitation, she stepped through.

The black maw swallowed the Y Erianrod in the depths of Mount Himinbjörg.

Caer could see nothing in the tunnel. She continued deeper.

How strange, she thought, the daughter of the gods passes beneath their mountain and they say not a word.

She slipped on a ledge as she passed over and listened to the call of the mountain. A rock knocked loose by her foot cascaded down the precipice and shattered to dust in the chasm below.

Caer stood in the unending shadows as the power of the world overcame her mind. "I will be the ruler of all."

A sword ripped past her face with speed and guile. Before her men and women appeared, glowing figures of light.

Cerdic, the god of war, held the sword to her throat but did not flick his wrist and to finish what he started. Beside him stood Cwen, also cloaked in light, her eyes shining in the shadow of her hood.

The words of the gods whispered.

"The Lord of the gods does not suffer fools."

"He suffers the demon," Caer answered, "and he suffers you."

She heard the anger in the voices, but the figures did not move.

"Let me pass." She waited. They stood still as statues, their light illuminating the darkness. Cerdic's sword remained at her throat.

"You dare to pass through Náströnd into the depths of Mount Himinbjörg? Within it lies the heart of Miðgarðir. And though there remains good with the evil in the stone, the despair will drive back the hope trying to possess it."

"Do you wish for the demon to possess it instead?" she retorted.

"No one possesses Miðgarðir but Woden."

"Stand aside." She waited for them to respond. When they did not, she continued, "You have no right to stop me. You know of my destiny, to face the demon's spawn, to destroy her. You know this power will be mine."

They said nothing. Their faces appeared clouded, but she felt their hearts and heard them in her mind. _She must choose the path,_ they told one another. _She knows her right._

As though a curtain opened, they moved aside and faded into the walls.

Caer continued toward the mountain's heart where the stone lay, though now Caer knew the gods watched her.

Caer reached for the stone and pain spiked through her body. She saw Belial's mind, felt as Belial's spirit warred with her own. Caer screamed as the foothills of the mountains quaked with the gods' anger. Y Erianrod betrayed by the heart of the world, and the world broke with earthquakes from the sacred place to the door under the mountain.

A hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away. And the door under the mountain became silent once more.

Caer glanced around. She awoke in the fairy bed with Headred just moments before. Náströnd called to her, and everything after faded.

Caer wondered if she entered the path under the mountains. It seemed Headred pulled her away before she could enter.

Pale fear showed on his face, his jaw set as he clutched his sword. He heard her scream, she realized. His face fell into pity and loathing for her, pity for being tempted by the power of Náströnd, and loathing chose temptation.

He wrenched her away from Náströnd and dived with her toward the fairies and onlookers who gathered. Where they stood, a large boulder fell, blocking Náströnd.

Mab said, "The door remains closed to all in the times of winter."

Beoreth knelt over Caer and felt her for injuries, though Headred never let go, forcing the frustrated wise woman to work around him. Meanwhile, the fairies started to take up the camp.

"Come," Mab said, bringing Huma and leading the horses. "We must leave these foothills before the gods become angered further."

Caer let Beoreth lead her away to the pavilion.

"Yes," Caer remarked, sitting on the bed beside a long gown of sky blue, and a frock of ocean blue.

"No, child," Beoreth said, taking her under the arm and heaving her up to stand. Beoreth retained her strength, despite her age. "From now on you will ride as a Queen and a witch, garbed as your forebearers."

Caer took the gown from Beoreth, almost like silk by its feel, though she never felt such fabric before. Caer saw the embroidering along the seams with patterns of an intricate, silver knot on the light blue gown.

It fit, flowing around her curves, showing her voluptuous frame. Over it the wise woman placed the outer garment of midnight blue, like a robe but tighter, tied at the waist with a silver cord.

Beoreth pulled Caer's hair into an intricate arrangement atop her head, her ancient fingers working with more fluidity than Caer thought possible. At last, she placed a golden circlet on Caer's head.

"Hmm," Beoreth murmured, stepping back and admiring her work. "Well, it will do."

Caer looked into a mirror left by Mab and saw a Queen standing before her, framed in the light of the light of morn, a witch of great power who would fight to her dying breath. And though the world grew cold, the cloth of the fairies kept her snug and warm, made in Elphame by magical looms.

"It will do?" she asked Beoreth.

"Yes, dear. When we arrive in Ull, we can do better."

The curtain of the pavilion opened and Mab entered. Her eyes seemed unsure, and her hands clutched a long, thin linen package. Her expression cleared and with resolve she approached Caer.

The Fairy Queen opened the package, and Caer looked on, dumbstruck by its contents: a sword, gleaming the color of silver, etched with runes. A single piece of black leather formed the hilt, and upon it fused a golden rune she did not recognize. Beside the blade lay its sheath, as bright blue as the skies, studded with diamonds from top to bottom. At its top she saw the same rune as the sword.

"I present to you Hünjjuerad, Caer," Mab chose her words with precision and seemed hurt to part with the sword. "It means 'Hammerfell'."

"It's mine?" Caer breathed. Unsure, she grasped the hilt of the sword and hefted it, realizing it held the magic of the fairies. In her grasp it seemed light as a feather.

"It belonged to another," Mab spoke. "Last your father King Gareth, who my people know as Chaíhünjjuer, the Warhammer, held this sword. His name and the name of his sword the fairies gave to him. In his hand, your father found his sword strong and true. Alas, an ambush in the western woods took his life."

Beoreth strapped the sheath to Caer's waist, and fearful of the blade, guided Caer to sheath it.

"Your mother entrusted Hünjjuerad to me, and hoped you might wield it," Mab told her as her eyes misted. "May it bring you victory, and avenge itself in battle, though I do not believe it will be held in your hand."

Mab said nothing more and strode from the pavilion, leaving Caer to wonder of the sword, an artifact of her past, and a tool against her enemy she never knew existed.

*****

It seemed strange to no longer be a small party. Caer rode beside Headred, flanked by Mab and Elric, Beoreth and Huma, and all the fairies who walked and rode in the procession. Though no one taught Caer to ride, she found if she spoke to the horses, they listened and obeyed her command.

Since their departure, Headred refrained from speaking to her, his eyes fixed on some point beyond where she sat. He closed his mind to her now, his emotions no longer playing on his face.

Something changed between their night of passion and her walk. He pulled her out of the door and did not speak to her since.

Mab spoke to him before they left, drawn to the anger and the fury in his tone, and not meaning to, Caer heard.

" _Within the door lies the heart of the mountain, the heart of_ Miðgarðir _beats in Belial and Caer," Mab said._

" _The shadow!" he replied with fury. "The demon's spirit freezes the lands. So long as she lives, evil lives in the heart of the world."_

"' _Tis so," Mab laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "And yet hope and good remain in the heart of_ Miðgarðir _."_

" _It draws her to the black path like a moth to a flame," he growled, not comforted by the Fairy Queen's words._

" _It draws the one chosen to hold it. But the heart of the world resides now in two people, and it becomes divided. Neither good nor ill may possess the heart as long as the winter remains, and the battle rages on."_

"We will rest here." Elric's words drew Caer out of her memories as Headred jolted the horse to a stop. "Eat and be merry for a while."

"Will you speak to me?" Caer looked at Headred, at his face as hard and cold as stone.

"Do as you wish," he mumbled. "I am but a prophet, and I am not so free. I am to serve others. You are still my Queen."

"Do you believe I am just your monarch?" she asked.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am."

Headred helped her down. She held out her hand, but he reached past it and took the reins of the horse.

"Do not let your spirit be troubled, milady," Elric said, his voice hushed. "His heart hurts, but it will mend. The power of the Y Erianrod mends all things. The bonds of love you share the gods forged before your mother placed her spell upon you. The gods themselves forged these bonds, and none, not even a hardened heart, may stand against the power of the gods."

*****

Caer rested beneath the shade of a tree and nibbled on fairy bread and cheese. Beoreth sat not far away, tended to by the healing magic of the fairies, and every so often the old wise woman exclaimed in pleasure how they healed the hurts of her old age.

But now everything became quiet, and everyone rested. Headred left to attend to the horses, and afterward disappeared with Elric. Caer's heart bled as she enjoyed the respite from the journey and wondered.

His pride hurt more than anything. And his temper flared because he feared for her. She imagined someone he cared about being in danger would fill his heart with terror. A witch by birth, danger would follow her like moths followed a flame. And Headred, prophet and man, would have to get used to it.

And her time with Headred meant _everything_ , more than he would ever know. It changed her forever, and it seemed all she knew for sure.

"Come, daughter of light," Mab said. As always, her voice soothed Caer's worries. Although Mab led two saddled horses, care did not hear.

She glanced around. "Where did Headred go?"

"We will ride alone for a while." The look on Mab's face bordered on pity. "And he will ride alone."

"If he wishes," she said and looked up at the horse. She named him Firesong, after a dragon in children's tales and yarns.

"Do not fear. The horses are creatures of the sidhes and live in my home. They will do as I command them."

Caer took little comfort in this and felt awkward as she hoisted herself into the saddle.

Mab already sat on the other animal, gazing over to her. "See, my daughter? 'Tis not so hard," she said. "Naï."

The horses responded, setting themselves into a trot.

"Soon we will come to Ull, and beyond the city lays the Vigil."

Caer understood what the fairy implied; _where your mother lays._

Mab continued, "By nightfall we will reach the council at Glasheim, where the four races gather and await the Y Erianrod."

"Aye," Caer said, holding onto the horse as tight as she could and praying it did not throw her off.

Mab looked at her. "Do you know Caer, daughter of Beren, the history of your line, and the history of the prophets?"

Caer nodded.

"You know my brother Aske chose a mortal life in the service of others."

"And you chose an immortal life, dwelling in lands beyond the world," Caer finished, wondering where Mab went with this.

"Aye, I did. Never have I regretted my choice. Yet I don't mean to speak of that."

"What do you wish to speak of?"

"Before your birth, the balance of the world never changed. Yet you are bound to one destined to be your equal. Such things are sacred, and not to be undone." Seeming to change the subject, Mab asked, "Do you wonder why the fairies have wings?"

Caer shook her head.

"'Tis the curse we bear. Forever we are bound to the lands beneath the earth. Never to remain in the mortal realm, never to spend our days in flight."

"Yet you accepted your curse, to have what you most desire." Caer knew her response seemed somewhat callous. She forgave herself anyway, preoccupied with her many other concerns.

Mab nodded. "Yet you also bear a curse, not in your lineage, but in the destiny forged for you before your birth. Forged not by your mother, but the witch before her, and the demon Moloch, from whose seed Belial came."

Caer frowned.

"You bear the greatest of all curses, for you do not choose the destiny you face, and for your destiny, the one you love suffers."

"But I do not walk away," Caer responded in anger. "He walks away from me."

"You walk away from each other. You see, the union of you and Headred, body, mind, and spirit, broke the sacred order. You have made the one you love, one destined to serve others, into a ruler of men, instead of a servant. Yet he still serves, for he knows not what else to do."

"I do not know what to say to him."

Mab chuckled, a sound like small bells ringing. "Say what you know within your mind. Do not fear your destiny as he fears, as most fear, what the gods set before him. And love, without question, without anything but promise, and he will know."

Caer smiled.

"Behold Ull, Caer, daughter of Beren," Mab changed the subject, pointing. "Behold the White City of Sul, in all mortal glory and splendor. For here your mother, and all before her, ruled these lands for the gods."

The city, carved into the mountain lifetimes ago, rose above them, looking more gray than white against the brilliant snow. Much of the original towering walls, as high as the tallest evergreens, still stood. Others the Queen's rebuilt and fortified with ashen marble, quarried from the vast mountain. Thick walls rose before them, with periodic enclaves indented into them. In each hollow a monument stood, of the gods of old, looking out from beneath their mountain. Wary guards walked atop the walls.

And deep within the city, like a mountain itself, rose Idalir, the Castle of the Sun.

"They are the gods." Mab motioned to the alcove statues. "Long ago when men built this city, they made the gods face out, casting their gaze over the lands they gave your ancestors."

Caer stared up at the city of beauty and wonder. The guards gathered and gazed down, not at the fairies but at her, the one who looked so much like her mother.

They knew her, she realized. They recognized the daughter of their Queen, returned to them at long last.

They rode along the outer wall, passing five sets of gates, all barred. At last they came to the mammoth main gates of Ull, hewn of many tall trees. It remained locked.

"'Tis not yet time for the gates to be opened," Mab said, leading the procession away from the city walls. "Come, let us hurry. For we must reach the council this night."

Once they passed the city, the troop rode fast and hard along the ancient path. And in the White City whispers spread the daughter of the Queen, Y Erianrod, the gods hid no longer. and she returned to them at last.

*****

Night began to fall, and the forest thinned as Caer listened to the endless crunch of snow and wished they could rest. But in the distance she saw a light, and prayed they reached the council at Glasheim where the people gathered.

"'Tis not," Mab told her. "'Tis Vingólf, where the Ice Queen waits."

Caer's heart clutched as the light grew brighter. All of the fairies passed by, until at last Caer, Headred, Beoreth, and Huma, began to ride through the clearing. Her heart jumped when Headred rode up beside her.

"Come," Mab said.

Caer knew there would be time to speak later, as she dismounted and led her horse to the frozen Vigil.

The torches burned where she saw them in her dreams. The forest floor remained covered in thick with ice and snow, and at its center, the snow cleared to show the ice where her mother lay.

Her mother's hair splayed back, white streaked with red, her skin pale and frozen, her eyes staring up. As long as the demon endured so would the winter freezing her.

Caer glanced over when someone touched her fingers. Headred smiled and waited, holding her hand.

You come to me at last, my daughter...

The world shifted.

I am sorry for this task you must now bear, my daughter _,_ _a voice whispered into her mind. Caer whirled to face the lady from the ice, unfrozen, as they stood alone inside the moonlight and torchlight._

Her companions disappeared.

" _Why did you not end this long ago?"_ _Caer asked, wonder and curiosity filling her heart. No noise came to Caer's ears, not the sound of the horse or the travelers, not the movement of the creatures within the frozen woods._

Because Belial desires power, and power she will have if she possesses the future and those who see it. I did not have the courage to stop her. _The lady's white and flaming red hair spilled onto her crimson velvet-clad shoulders, clothes fit for a Queen._ Do you know why I sent you into the haven, why you have lived your life without me? I could not bear the life I would give you, the life of Ull, knowing the evil, knowing what I did. Your life would have been wasted, for she would have taken it.

" _I have seen her,"_ _Caer admitted._ _"In the visions of Headred..."_ _she trailed off._ _"Why did you bind us?"_

I will tell you in time. Now your destiny awaits you, and your love awaits you as well.

" _You knew you would fulfill your destiny, though you did not know why."_

_Beren looked at her._ I didn't. I wanted what the gods held beyond me. So do not fail me now, my daughter, and do what must be done, what neither I nor my mother could do to end this.

_Beren let her tears drift down her cheek and fall onto the snow of_ Vingólf.

"Milady..."

Hearing Mab's voice, Caer turned to see Headred beside her, and Mab standing on the other side of the Vigil. Before her, Beren lay in cold sleep.

"See Glasheim, the sacred council of the gods," the Fairy Queen spoke with gravity, her hand waving at narrow path opening not far away to show the standing stones. "Come. Your people await you."

*****

The stars shimmered as the travelers led their horses down the most ancient path, to Glasheim, the council of the gods, location of the standing stones.

Caer led her horse, deep in thought. Mab walked alongside her, her unquestioning silence a comfort.

"Headred approaches," Mab said and slowed to leave Caer alone.

Headred appeared beside her, breathless and leading his horse. He saw Mab's curious stare before he turned to Caer. "What did you see?" Where she expected anger, Caer heard wonder in his voice.

Caer smiled. "I saw her. The Ice Queen."

Headred looked down at his feet and the snow crunching under them. "Many times, I have gone to the silent Vigil, and there I have seen the White Lady."

"What do you see in visions?" she asked, desperate to lengthen their conversation.

"Many things." It seemed all he would say.

"The gods?"

He frowned, and his eyes flamed. "'Tis not within my power," he said with a rueful laugh. "We approach Glasheim."

Without thinking she took his arm and stopped him. Headred turned to face her.

"I fear many things will change in the coming days," she told him. "But what happened between us last night changed me more than anything else. I will not see my caring for you lost as my life remained lost for so long."

He stopped before her and said nothing, but his features softened as he listened.

"I do not care what destiny the gods have given you. You are bound to me, and I to you. No fate can change the love I give to you, or you to me."

"Aye," he agreed, and brushed his lips over hers. When he drew away he smiled. "We must all follow our destinies, my love."

"Yes, we must. My destiny will always be for you."

Mab approached. "Come. Y Erianrod must be revealed to her people."

And she led the way up the hill, to the sacred place, where the four races gathered, and where much would now be decided.

*****

In the late evening, the day met its coldest point. The tall stones Glasheim rose into the heavens. Caer found herself surrounded by the sheer grandeur of the spectacle, where legends said magic became greatest in power.

Her horse snorted as it trotted up the hill, Headred and Mab on either side. Mab spoke in hushed tones to Huma who trudged beside her and shivered in the cold.

Hundreds gathered here. Among them Caer saw centaurs, some of whom Caer saw in the woods as a child, like Gehrdon and Cahros, lovers for as long as she knew them. They watched over her, she realized, so she would never be alone. Through them, Caer realized, Beoreth knew so much of the outside world.

Nymphs gathered as well, tall and willowy, short and strong, their skin like her own, but darker and thicker, like tree bark. Their hair blew wild and free, brittle it seemed at first, but at a closer look like branches upon their heads, scattered with the leaves and colors of the trees in fall.

Caer searched for male nymphs but found them nowhere.

"Where are..." she started to ask, but Mab held up her hand and cut her off.

"There are fewer men among the nymphs than any other race," Mab whispered. "They mate every so often. They are born after the trees are born, and their spirits give the trees life."

Although Caer saw no men among the nymphs, she saw no lack of them in the camp of humans. She saw hundreds of men and women, with children clutched to mother's skirts.

The women glanced at her in fear, the children in wonder, and the men in deep, blinding hatred.

"Stay close to me," Mab instructed, and Caer let Headred steer her to follow Mab, away the mortal gathering.

The fairies already set up their pavilions at the base of the hill on which the stone circle stood. Everyone seemed afraid to sleep where the gods walked. Perhaps they feared they would meet with the gods in their sleep.

"Mab, Queen of the immortal realm," a voice said, sounding as the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Caer gazed over and saw a nymph. Though young, as all nymphs not rotted appeared young, Caer saw a power within her, a wisdom in her youth and near immortality.

Mab smiled. "Hail, Baros, Lady of the Wood." Mab dismounted.

Headred jumped down and handed the reins of his horse to Huma. Headred held out his hand to help Caer down.

Caer waited in the snow, watching the Fairy Queen and the Lady of the Wood talk in hushed tones. After a while they turned to her.

"Hail, Daughter of the gods," Baros said, her voice hushed. "Danger waits here for you, milady, among your mortal kin."

"Will men rebel?" Headred asked.

Baros shook her head. "Not rebellion, not yet. But in the woods we listen, and we wait, as we have done here. They grow restless here, and in the woods they grow pleased without the hand governing from the White City. Men desire power, and they will not give it to another without fighting."

"I do not want power," Caer said. "My mother yet lives, and may yet be free. She remains Queen of these lands."

"All witches have power," Baros replied. "For now your mother sleeps, and you rule in her stead."

A shout resounded behind them. A fight broke out in the mortal camp.

"We will meet again, daughter of Beren," Baros said, as a younger nymph took her arm and led her away. "In the morrow's council, we will stand with Y Erianrod."

"The morrow's council?" Caer questioned.

Mab paid no attention, gazing past her to the gathering of men. Elric approached.

"Elric," Headred said, eliciting a small nod from the newcomer.

Over his long, silver robes Elric wore a hooded cloak of woodsy brown, his face hidden.

"Mother," he said, kneeling before Mab. "The mortals grow restless. They have seen Y Erianrod and fight among themselves over her fate."

Mab appeared worried. Caer never saw a troubled fairy. Mab's eyes darted to the mortal's camp, where fires gleamed and their banners blew in the icy gusts.

"Perhaps our entrance should have been guarded," Mab said, motioning to Caer.

Elric nodded. "They know Caer comes, for she bears the face of her mother. The elders of their lands, once the Lords and Ladies under the Queen, have taken power for themselves and raised armies. They do not desire to return such power to a woman."

"The hearts of men never change," Mab sighed.

Torches lighted the camps of men, and what looked like swords raised in the air, as the shouts continued.

"Will they fight?" Caer asked.

The fairies turned toward her. "Some may," Mab said in bitterness. "But blood will not be spilled tonight. The centaurs and nymphs and fairies have gathered also, and the men will not stand against so many enemies quite so easy."

"They see her and us as their enemies?" Headred asked.

Mab nodded.

"How will we fight the demon if the men do not stand with us?" Caer asked.

Mab turned. "What do you mean, daughter?"

"They are born of this world, as Dana and Goewin, and the line of the prophets. They rule over this world, as the witches rule over them. If they would surrender it to the shadow, we already lose this war."

Mab chuckled. "They do not surrender to the demon. They will fight her, and their blood will flow as rivers. No, they would not join her, but neither would some among them join you."

Headred glanced at Mab.

"Not all men would keep the power they hold," Mab said. "Ull awaits the coming of its Queen, and those within it have held hope for many years. Inside the city an army awaits Y Erianrod. And some of the lands beyond would join her as well, though others would fall to the demon rather than surrender to the light."

"You know this?" Caer asked.

Mab's deep eyes bore into her, and in her mind Mab whispered words of comfort.

Histare, tomilai nostelheleth.

Do not fear, my daughter.

"I know this, as Elric knows this," Mab said aloud. "By the grace of the gods, the world of mortals, ruled by men, does not fall to the powers of greed. But already it turns against the old ways, against magic."

Elric spoke before Caer could question Mab further. "There are places in the lands ruled by men where they no longer welcome the line of witches. Among the Lords of men who fancy themselves Kings, there are rumors of burning wise women and prophets. Some whisper now to do this to the witch walking among them."

Caer shivered.

Mab looked to where the men gathered. "Such remains the fate of men. For they above others suffer the most of war and disease and the ravages of mortality, and their hearts grow rotten as the trees of the forest grow rotten, and turn to evil."

The group fell silent, and with Mab's motioning they turned toward the fairy encampment.

Caer turned at a shout from the direction of the mortals. A group of men came toward them, bearing torches, swords and curved daggers, blood-hunger in their eyes.

Headred pulled Caer aside and handed her to Huma, before he went to Mab. Behind them the fairies gathered, and in the distance centaurs crossed the hill, ready to join them.

"So it begins, as always it begins," Mab said, and a single tear fell into the snow.

Not far away the band of men stopped and looked at the Fairy Queen and her followers, vengeance, vehemence and fury in their eyes, with fear wrapped around them.

"Where do you hide the daughter of the Ice Queen?" shouted their leader, an older man, not yet bent with age, grey hair and beard trimmed, clutching in his hand a jeweled sword, with rusted armor on his back. He seemed to Caer a sign of a once-great race now bereft of glory.

"First tell us your business with her," Headred demanded.

"Our business does not concern you or the fairy wench," he shouted. "I am Gavial, King of the Black Forest. We seek the life of the cursed witch who lived while her people died, people she now wishes to rule."

"Her life does not yet become forfeit to you, Gavial of the Black Forests," Mab said. "Not long ago you ruled a small land. Did you conquer others, and spill the blood of your people to increase your lands?"

"We have no Queen; we need no Queen!" he retorted. "We are Kings of our own land, of our own people."

"You served as a vassal of the Queen in my childhood," Headred said. "Even in those days you desired power not yours to take."

"Give us the girl," Gavial demanded, "or we will take her by force."

"And risk war with your allies?" Gehrdon asked, trotting forward. "Are you blind? Do you not see the fortress of Eliudnir in the barren land of Óskópnir lives again with the power of Belial? Would you sacrifice all you are, all the power you desire, to kill the one who could save you all?"

Gavial glared at Gehrdon as a stupid mule and turned back to Mab.

"Give us the girl." He raised his sword.

"Take her from us," Headred suggested and unsheathed his own sword.

The men shouted and stomped. The centaurs reared, drawing their bows. The nymphs hissed, and the fairies drew their curved scimitars. Beren walked among them, a shadow of a specter, speaking words Caer alone could hear, touching the men and the weapons held by their sides, and the group who stood with Caer, caressing them for comfort.

So it begins...

Beren strolled beyond the sight of the others. Her fingers touched the sword blades and the tips of the bows. Beren's eyes turned to Caer, bored into her as she shoved her mind deep inside Caer's, unlocking the power and the light laying there sleeping for so long.

...as the world of men falls before us...

_She strode before Headred and Mab, before Gehrdon and the centaurs and Baros and the nymphs. Her eyes stayed locked on Caer as their minds became one. And in her thoughts Caer could see the end, the endless winter, the blood and flesh of_ Miðgarðir _buried beneath the tumult of the demon's victory. Her eyes turned away, and the Ice Queen cried crystal tears falling on the frozen earth._

...here it will end...

Her mother walked before the line of men. The light of the Ice Queen revealed a wave of shadowy mist; the spells and enchantments of the demon wrapped around the mortals as a plague, a disease of evil. The shouts continued, and the people made ready for battle. Caer felt the light of her mother unlocked by the Ice Queen within her daughter's mind. A black mist bubbled on the ground, moving like a snake's shadow, writhing among the gathering's feet. And cold, colder than the winter, a cold worse than death, hung in the air.

...and the world falls...

Caer saw what would come. The arrows loosed upon the ranks of men, the blood seeping into the snow, the fall of the fairies, of Headred, of Huma and the nymphs, the death of Gehrdon and the centaurs, and Gavial's weak smile of victory as his spirit passed into the heavens. The laughter of the demon as she saw victory for herself in Eliudnir, as Beren's tears fell to the frozen world.

...by the demon's dark power.

As the world returned, she saw the battlefield, and the bloody mud, covering the face of the Earth.

"Stop!" she shouted and broke free from Huma.

Mab sighed and looked at Y Erianrod, visible to her people.

"See here," Gavial said in a self-agonizing way. "The child of the damned witch gives herself to us. She makes her death her own choice."

"I give myself to no one," Caer retorted. "Least of all one who already serves the demon."

No one moved; no one spoke at her revelation.

The silence broke with Gavial's laugh. "Stupid girl, your tricks and whisperings will not sway the warrior hearts of men."

"Perhaps not." She paced before Mab and Headred. "But I see the darkness the demon surrounds you with. I hear her whisper in your ears what she wants you to hear. By her power Belial will cleave her sword through the lands of mortals. She divides you now, lest you stand against her."

Gavial remained unconvinced. But under the glare of the fairies and Y Erianrod, one by one some of his followers sheathed their weapons.

"What are you doing?" Gavial shouted. "Kill her now!"

"Gavial," Mab said.

He turned to look at her.

"Once the people of this world held council to reveal to them the true ruler of these lands. Three of each, the sacred number, gathered, and three of the mortal magicks. Tomorrow morning this council must gather again, and there, without blood, may your voice be heard."

He still seemed unconvinced, but he nodded. Some of the men put their arms around him and led him away. Others glanced at Caer and followed.

"Come, Caer," Mab said, leading her to the pavilions. "We will go to my camp, and there we will rest and prepare for the council."

One last time Caer looked back over her shoulder as Mab and Headred led her to the fairy camp. The fires of war flickered in the mortal camp. She wondered what fate would be decided for her tomorrow.

Hours later, Caer sat on the cushions in the fairy pavilion beside Headred and felt the warmth seep back into her. Her mind became tormented by the shadows and visions she saw. Could it be a warning, or an omen of what would come anyway?

Headred took her hand, stopping her thoughts. "What troubles your heart, my lady?"

"They want me dead. I do not know why my life sacrificed would bring them peace."

Headred sighed, and Mab gazed at her, before departing.

"What do all fear to say?" Caer asked "Why are there things I do not know yet, when you believe I am a savior sent to you?"

"You are the light, Y Erianrod." He sighed again. "Your grandmother, Enyd, brought forth the demon from her womb."

Caer stared at him, incredulity written on her face. "And they hate me for Enyd's sin?"

His features turned apologetic, and his eyes sad as his mouth curved into a wry smile. "No, Caer, 'tis not of the reason why they loath you. Enyd could have ended this. Enyd held in her power to choose not to bear the child, to sacrifice the child when upon its birth, but she refused.

"Instead she chose to keep the child and vowed to teach Belial the ways of the light. For in her heart she hoped her child would not choose the evil of her father, and see the light."

"Yet my mother did not suffer her sister's evil."

"She did, my lady. For your mother also made a choice, to honor Enyd's dying words and teach Belial the ways of the witches, instead of breaking the vow her mother laid upon her, and taking the babe's life. Yet for many years she suffered her sister and watched as Belial spread her evil within Ull and the lands of light. And so she too betrayed her people to the darkness and the death of Belial."

"I do not understand," she said, concerned. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Ah," Headred said with a rueful laugh. "You see, my Queen, your mother twice betrayed her people. For though she loved these lands, she did not trust the gift of power the gods gave you. And so she sent you to hide, while the lands and the people suffered under the wrath of the demon. And while you lived in safety, many other children died in the harsh winter and the vengeance of the shadow. Nor do the people trust the witches as they once did. They believe your mother betrayed them to this long winter, and they believe you will betray them also."

Caer wondered, could it be possible the gods gave their messiah to the people of Sul, and a babe could wield the power to destroy evil? Could she have stood in her power against the demon, when now she could not be sure?

No, she decided. Beren chose the one path meant to be, and damned Sul and all of Miðgarðir for it.

The curtain separating the pavilion from outside opened. Elric, Beoreth, and Mab strode in.

"The council will begin in the morn," Mab informed them. "Messengers have arrived from men, nymphs, and centaurs. They have chosen their representatives. Now we must choose the representatives of the mortal magicks and the fairies."

"Who will they be?" Headred asked.

Mab smiled. "I will see to the wishes of my people on the council. My sons, Girth and Elric, will join me."

"And I will stand for the mortal magicks, the prophets," Headred decided.

"And Beoreth, for the wise women." Mab wondered over at Caer. "And last, for the witches, Y Erianrod will at long last be revealed."

"Mab, are you sure?" Beoreth asked.

Mab smiled a little, a shadow in her eyes. "The witch must be brought forth in the council so the others may trust her."

"I will go," Caer said.

Everyone looked at her.

"See, my good friend," Mab told Beoreth. "She chooses this." Mab took Caer by the hand and helped her to her feet. "Come, we must discuss much before the council. Afterward we will rest and comfort before it."

Caer nodded as Mab led her into the chill of the night. Headred waited for her until the night grew long. When she returned she found Headred fast asleep. There she joined him, wrapped in the strong, warm comfort of his arms until the morning, when her fate would be decided.

*****

In the circle of the stones, the councilors sat, some serene, and some irritable.

At the top of the hill the bell for the council rang. Caer and Headred walked up the slope, and when they reached its icy, snow-covered top, Caer saw the place where the gods walked and held council.

Five benches, curved and in a perfect circle, surrounded a silver-shot altar, on which sat a silver basin of ice. The altar and the benches looked extraordinary, carved with the ancient language. On each bench runes wrote the names of the gods' children, the runes gathering magic to Glasheim. Surrounding them Caer saw twenty-one perfectly quarried rectangular granite blocks of granite, upright and arranged in a circle. In later years, men connected each stone to the others by other quarried rocks laid on top. Two more stones jutted out from the earth as if parts of it, their shapes like rough arrowheads. The white stone of Frigg, goddess of the moon faced the north, and the golden stone of Woden, Lord of the gods, faced east.

Caer sat and pretended not to exist as she watched the others, all sitting on the stone benches. Headred and Beoreth settled on either side of her.

According to the ancient traditions, three of each race, and three of the mortal magicks would sit on the council to decide who would be worthy to rule.

"Who are they?" Caer asked Headred, her voice hushed.

"You see Cahros." He glanced to a middle-aged centaur across the way, whose feet stamped in the ice and snow. She recognized him from their childhood meeting. "He stands with Gehrdon, whom you met last night. Many centaurs consider him a leader of his people, though he remains an outcast. The centaurs feel the light of the witches fades, and he stands still with the witches, although his heart grows troubled.

"Gehrdon from the great centaur city Thrymheim you also know. Sestina also hails from Thyrmheim. Cahros comes from Sessrúmnir, a centaur city in the north. You have met them before, for both have watched over you. Gehrdon and Sestina are mother and daughter, and though she loves Cahros, she cannot be with him while he remains outcast, for her mother rules as the matron of the centaurs and keeps their ways."

"Sestina?" Caer followed Headred's gaze to a regal, crowned female centaur beside Gehrdon, who glared at Cahros.

"There," he replied with a sour grimace and a nod to an older female centaur who glowered at Gavial. "She serves as the matriarch of the centaurs, who dwell in the north beyond the mountains of mist. She made herself an outspoken critic of Cahros, along with his father, Cheron. She does not like mortals or witches. Many years ago she lost her standing by making her son, Huma, an outcast."

No wonder the goat-man did not tell anyone his past, although Gehrdon's presence now made more sense. Still, she wondered why Sestina made no attempt to speak to her son, even when she must have seen him upon their arrival.

"Ah, Yidrith came from Ull," Headred glanced toward a young man seated with the mortals. Caer noticed Yidrith's stature to be the same as Headred's, with brown eyes, black hair, and a darker complexion. Yidrith's skin seemed drawn and tired, like the politicians surrounding him. "He lives in Ull, and I have known him all of my life. I remember his grandfather Raed, one of your mother's favorite tower guards. You will find Yidrith to be a good-hearted man, but Gavial and Eadwine do not trust him and believe him to be too young to understand their plight. Even so, his father and grandfather stood among the elders in the time after the Witch Queen's, and his word carries weight in Ull."

"Eadwine?" Caer located the human priestess, a plump, middle-aged woman her silver-speckled dark hair flowing down her back and held by braids wrapping from her forehead to the back of her head. Eadwine studied in Caer in return.

"Eadwine serves as a priestess of the old ways. She served the gods and made sacrifices to them. When the Queen left the city, and you were hidden, the old ways could do nothing to help the people. In the resulting chaos, many of the priests and priestesses fled and made homes for themselves in the forests. They served the Witch Queens in times past, yet now many believe they serve the gods alone, and like other men believe the witches betrayed them. Yet they blame your mother for what happened to them, and they stand with the men who have taken the mantle of Kings."

"Gavial I know already." She glared at the man who called himself King.

"Aye, you do. Yet you do not know all. You see, I once knew Gavial to be a good-hearted man. Long ago he defended the lands your mother gave him from the demon. More so, he does not believe you have the power to defeat Belial and covets his power too much to hope you do. And when the gods bound the Ice Queen, and she hid you, his lands suffered the most, for they stood in the path of Belial's armies. He grew downtrodden, and he did not believe you would return."

"But I have," she said, still eyeing the pretender King.

"He did not _believe_ you would. And now he must give back the power he took, and he fears what another would do in his stead."

Headred stopped, but Caer thought about the whisperings of her mother and the shadows she saw preying on the hearts of men.

"You have also met Whista, the Lady of the Wood." Headred indicated the wood nymph who spoke to Mab the previous night. "You will find her to be good and wise. Though old, one of the first spirits born into the world, her heart is not rotted. You will find most nymphs are as joyous as Whista, but she tries to be careful in her judgments. And with her sits Altha, her sister of the wood, younger than she."

He shifted his attention, pointing to the basin. "And Widsith, a water spirit of the now-frozen lakes, joins them. He may side with men, if their hearts grow dark, for the water spirits are swayed by the other's opinions. Even so, the spirits of the water are good and pure of heart." Headred fell silent.

Mab whispered to the fairy at her left hand, who Caer saw but not met. Caer guessed him to be Mab's son Girth. He looked to be, like his mother, tall and beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, but his face must resemble his father; with a chiseled jaw and strong features his mother lacked. At her right hand sat Elric, who seemed serene, though he seemed restless, smoothing his long brown hair behind his pointed ears as he waited for the beginning of council.

Last Caer knew the representatives of the magicks. The last of her line, Caer sat on the council as a witch. Headred of the Prophets sat beside her. Beoreth, the wise woman, of the lowest class of witch, sat on the council as well.

The opening bell started clanging and Caer clutched Headred's hand on her right side, and Beoreth's on her left. Mab stood to face the council.

The bell rang for the last time. It sounded like a death knell to Caer. She would not be a symbol as the gods of old. She saw the statues of the gods on Ull's walls, and though stone, it seemed the statues simple gaze took in the breadth of the world.

Doubt rose in her heart. The skin around her fearful eyes went pale. Gavial glanced at Caer but said nothing.

"Long ago," Mab called to them all, "the four great races the gods made, and gathered together to make peace with each other, lest they turn to war. Among them are the fairies, the centaurs, the nymphs, and the mortal men."

All became quiet.

"The gods made a choice," she continued. "A mortal woman gave birth to a child made of gods and men, a child with the power of the gods, who would rule in their stead. And so the council again met, and bestowed upon the Witch Queen Goewin and her power. Time passed, and many forget the first councils accepted the rule of the Witch Queens. Yet some remember, as I remember. For twenty years no witch stood in the walls Ull, and in those walls wielded power.

"A new age arises." Her power resonated on the stones. "Behold Caer, daughter of Beren, the Witch Queen of Sul, Y Erianrod, the child of light, returned to us at last, to face the darkness and to defeat it."

The silence shattered. The men rumbled; the centaurs moved away from the mortals in disgust. The fairies remained immobile. The nymphs chattered among themselves.

"Truth in rumors," Eadwine, the high priestess, spoke. "The Ice Queen sent her daughter away."

"She--" Gehrdon started in defense, but at Mab's motion, let it pass.

"She dwelled beyond your lands and knew not of her magic," Mab replied. "Now she returns to you, and though she still learns the ways of her people, do not fear. For she faced the demon and still lives. Neither any I know among you, nor from anyone since the dawn of time, can say the same."

"Forgive me, milady," Gavial interrupted. "I am Gavial, of the western wilds, and my people live near Myrkviðr, the great Black Forest."

"The evil creatures dwell near your lands," Headred asked Gavial. "Yet you remain? You do not so much as send your women and children away?"

"We do," Gavial said in defiance. "Our women fight with men, mothers and fathers defend their children. Long ago we learned women die by the sword the same as a man. And for five generations we have dwelled in our village of Riverfjord. The wise woman of our village charmed the demon's evil kindred away. Yet now power rises from the golems of the dark tower of Eliudnir. Evil returns to us." He glared at Caer.

"Do you believe I am evil, Gavial of the west?" Caer asked.

Mab touched her shoulder. "He fears the power you hold. He fears the power of your mother, for which his people have long paid the price." She turned to address everyone. "I see now we must begin. For I stood and watched as the world changed. Evil wishes us to forget, and now we will remember all, past, present, and future."

"We all know the ancient stories," Gavial said. "We need not hear them again."

"Perhaps you do," Gehrdon kicked her hooves. "Perhaps you would do well to remember again."

Mab held up her hand. "Peace, centaur-daughter. Peace to men. Let us remember, in the tradition of this council, why we meet. For we together must decide the fate of our world, and let not one decide for the rest."

All became silent, and all nodded, except Gavial. "In the wastelands beyond the Black Mountains," Mab began, passing the representatives of men as she walked around the council, "the demon-god waited. Beyond Sul, where the gods cast down the evil called Moloch, the Dark Lord drew power to himself.

"Creatures he made to serve him. Wolves he drew to his power, and gave them the likeness of men, and taste for living flesh. Men he could deceive, but over the other races he possessed no power. The minds of men he found to be their own, to choose good or ill. And so what he could not corrupt he made.

"From Helrög he made creatures in the form of men and gave them a conjured half life. Golems, Moloch called them, spawned from the abyss he came from, created in the likeness of the mortals and yet without the life they possessed.

"And in the wasteland he made the towers and black gate of Eliudnir, the fortress of the Dark Lord, in the cursed lands of Óskópnir, and cast his eye on the lands of the gods and mortal men. In Ull, the Witch Queen Enyd foresaw Woden's will: Moloch's unleashed his armies upon the lands of magic, and his darkness overshadowed all. The eyes of Moloch and the eyes of the Witch Queen met each other. They fought across the woodlands, the mountains, the rivers and the lakes separating them.

"The Dark Lord unleashed his plague. And in the Western plain of Niðavellir, as the Witch Queen wove her spell upon the armies of the races, and the Lord Moloch cast his gaze in victory on the alliance of the four races, the battle of the age began.

"The armies of the Dark Lord marched into Sul and spread his shadow throughout the lands. Nymphs fell as his armies cut down the trees. They drove the centaurs from the mountains and the valleys, and the sky became covered in the Dark Lord's evil. The ill of his heart seeped into the foundations of Miðgarðir, into the golden glades and the silver palaces beneath the fairy sidhes. And the tribes of men he slaughtered.

"Evil entered Miðgarðir, and hope diminished. So the races gathered, right here beneath the shadows of Keros. The council formed once more. They raised armies from what remained of the races, and beyond the Western woodlands of Myrkviðr, on the plain of Niðavellir in the shadows of Niðafjöll, the black mountains, the final battle of the first Great War met.

"Hope fled the day the armies of Miðgarðir engaged the shadow. On the battlefield, in the burning forests and the wounded trees bleeding with the light of the dying nymphs, Moloch stood in the midst of his armies. His shadow covered the whole earth, and his face we found not to be the face of a god, but the face of fury sent to destroy all who remained to stand against him.

"I stood with my people in the midst of battle and looked upon the face of Moloch, the fallen god. In the burning woods of the west I looked at the fervor of battle and saw evil vanquish good, light vanquish dark, neither side gaining ground. And in the shadows I prayed.

"Blood of all races poured in rivers through the burning world as the battle raged. And though the armies of the Lord Moloch fell upon our swords, more among us fell upon the swords of our enemy. For as we cut through them, so he cut through us, and the numbers of the races diminished.

"In this circle of Glasheim the Witch Queen Enyd wove her spell on the lands of magic and the armies sent to face the Moloch's evil blight. Enyd wove a spell against Moloch's armies, the likes of which I have never seen. She cut through them as if she herself wielded a mighty sword and gave hope to the races.

"At last Oberon, King of the Fairies, fought against Moloch when the armies diminished. Long and hard they fought, but in the end, Lord Moloch struck down Oberon, the King of the fairies.

"And when hope failed in Oberon's death, so it rekindled.

"King Cuthred, husband of Enyd, came upon the Dark Lord. And in the shadows his sword struck what remained alive inside Moloch. As Moloch fell, the King of Men turned to walk away.

"Swift as lightning Moloch's sword lashed out and slew Cuthred. But his power diminished, and Moloch could not stop what would come. From the fields of Niðavellir, the Dark Lord fled, deep into the lands of magic, to wreak one final havoc on his enemies.

"I watched as the sun broke through the endless shadow and gave its radiance to the earth again. I looked with the power of my kindred at the damnation I knew would be wreaked upon us all.

"I saw evil would be born into this world," Mab glanced at the faces of the council.

"Now the Dark Lord rises anew," Mab continued. "In his daughter his spirit endures. Through war and pain our efforts are in vain; Belial waits for Caer to be revealed, for the Witch Queens to be revealed again, and to loose her armies once more."

All stared at her. No one spoke as Mab crossed the council and stood before Caer; the sound of crunching snow beneath her feet all they could hear.

"Yet hope walks among us now," Mab drew their attention to Caer. "The gods gave again to destroy the darkness, as once a child of despair Lord Moloch gave. The daughter of the gods alone can stand and face Belial; she alone can save you all. And now I reveal her to you. I give to you Caer, daughter of Beren, Witch Queen of Sul. I give to you, at last, Y Erianrod." She pulled Caer to her feet.

A murmur broke out from the nymphs and the centaurs. Rumblings of dissent and assent came upon the words of the Fairy Queen. And Caer saw them glancing at her, in fear and of wonder, for the daughter of the Ice Queen. But as Yidrith sat unmoving, contemplating, listening to a rumble of dissent from Gavial and Eadwine, the priestess of the old ways.

"Men have no Queen," Gavial looked at Caer. "Men need no Queen."

"The Witch Queen Beren condemned us all to this winter. Why should we accept her daughter now?" Eadwine asked, her voice soft, but with hardness in her tone.

Mab glowered at Eadwine as all eyes focused on Caer.

"If indeed the Witch Queen's daughter walks among us now," Gavial said with a wicked gleam in his eyes, "you will see men no longer serve the witches. We will burn them where they stand."

The council erupted. The councilors stood and though they bore no weapons, a battle of words began. Caer glanced at the camp below and saw people gazing up and girding themselves for war.

"Should we not wait and see?" Yidrith yelled at Gavial.

Eadwine nodded in agreement with Yidrith.

"I do not stand with you if you stand with her!" Gavial reached for the sword he did not carry today, and moved his hand away again. "I, and my men, turn my back on the witches and Y Erianrod!"

"You damn yourself and your entire race!" Mab told him. "You would damn us all!"

"The race of men serves the demon Belial!" Sestina shouted. "Centaurs will rise and fight the forces of Belial!"

"You accuse us of serving the demon, you ass?" Yidrith called to Sestina. Sestina reared.

"Swishaseneth tolasnasekrish olanaswas," Widsith bellowed, his face angry in the basin beneath the veil of ice. _Without the mortals, we all will fall._

Beren glided before Caer, the sunlight passing through her.

See how Belial works...

Headred stood and protected Caer. Beoreth held Caer close, lest fighting break out. As the Ice Queen walked among the divided council she cried crystal tears for the breaking of the races, tears shattering on the frozen earth.

So subtle, so careful is evil...

The men and centaurs began to climb the snowy hill toward the council. In moments a battle would begin to forever change their destiny. The people divided, the council broke, and Caer could do nothing to stop it.

Caer alone saw Beren as she cried in the midst of the feuding.

They do not see her, they do not wish to...

Beren walked among those who fought with words and watched those who would fight with weapons.

Even now, the demon's power works among them...

"Silence!" Mab shouted.

The councilors stilled. Those who gathered in armies around them stopped.

"Men _will_ accept the one chosen by the gods to be their light in the world," she told them. Yidrith withered under the gaze of the centaurs. "Or they will join the demon and choose death."

"Death we choose," Gavial roared, and the battle began.

In a moment Caer saw the battle: The men would fight amongst themselves, and with the other races. Someone tossed Gavial a sword, and with it he slew Elric where he sat, and Sestina where she stood, before Cahros brought him down.

The fairies and the nymphs joined the fray. One by one the people fell, their blood staining the place of the gods. Headred leapt to defend Caer, but he too fell, dying at her feet before a sword took her life, and the life of Beoreth.

The vision began anew. Caer, blinking, saw it begin as she just saw. Beren still glided among them. And in the midst of the council, the spirit of the demon lurked, cloaked in shadow, laughing. Beren grimaced at the shadow. Caer gazed at her mother's eyes, as the Ice Queen's face contorted with rage. But when Beren glanced at Caer, she seemed sad again, and in her eyes Caer saw the love and hope she for so long buried inside of her heart.

The time comes, my daughter...

Gavial caught the sword. The battle met. Belial won the hearts of the people through her trickery. Gavial shouted to those who joined him to kill the witch now, before she killed them. Beren walked toward Caer, through Headred who shivered at the touch of her shade, and continued through Caer as she turned to watch her mother disappear with her words of parting.

The time comes for the light to be unveiled in the shadows...

The vision turned to reality once more, leaving the boiling mist around their feet.

" _Ablinnan_." Caer's voice rang out, commanding the mist to stop. The mist recoiled and trembled, like waves on a stormy sea.

"Do you think I do not see you, foul spirit of the damned?" Caer demanded as the shadow wrapped its cold tendrils around the men, around the council and around Glasheim.

Everyone turned to Caer. No one moved. No one spoke.

"Be gone," she told Belial. "Go back to the wasteland where you belong."

Lightning crackled and lit the circle where the demon stood. Headred did not see Caer, but a shining goddess, so bright the world around her seemed dark as the night. And in the glow the demon screamed and fled.

Far in the west, in the tower of Eliudnir, Belial flew against the wall, away from the crystal she peered into, and fell into dreams, defeated by the power of the one sent to destroy her.

Silence permeated the circle. Caer sat down, her hands shaking. The eyes of the council remained upon her.

"The light unveils herself," Mab reminded them. "Will you join her, or join the darkness?"

Still no one moved or spoke. The wind blew as the skies cleared once more.

At last Eadwine moved. She said nothing, inclining her head, first to Mab and second to Caer. Her priestesses, halfway up the hill, finished their ascent. With her face still pale from what she saw, Eadwine took the hands of her servants and began to descend the hill. One by one the councilors followed suit, some speaking in hushed, shaking tones, as they chose to accept Caer.

At last Yidrith and Gavial alone found themselves in the circle.

"I am Yidrith, son of Shuma, son of Raed," Yidrith said. "I choose the rightful heir, Caer, daughter of Beren. I know in my heart your mother never abandoned us. Her spirit walks still, watching over these lands. I thank the gods hope returns to us at last." He inclined his head and descended the hill.

"And what say you, Gavial, 'King' of Myrkviðr?" Mab asked.

He glared, but Caer could see he feared what he saw.

"How long did she enthrall your mind, I wonder?" Caer pondered aloud.

He looked at her with dread.

"My good Lord, do not fear me. The demon flees, and her power over you vanquished, as long as you do not crave power, and join her in the Óskópnir."

"We shall see if she can deliver us," Gavial said to them. "I am King of my lands, and none will rule us. Even so, I choose the gods and the one they choose, even a woman."

He stalked down the hill. He kicked the snow as he went, and in spite of his words, prayed his faith, and the faith of the others in her, would not be misplaced.

The sun sank behind the mountains. Behind them, Belial schemed in the fortress of Eliudnir and cast her will over Sul. Shadow and doubt lay over the light, an omen of what would be when the gates of Eliudnir opened.

"Eternal winter," Mab remarked to Huma as the night began to still. Standing in the fairy camp, she watched the west and waited for Belial to unleash her wrath upon them, for Belial now knew the child returned. "Eternal suffering, eternal pain, eternal death. These things are now upon us, my friend."

"I wonders if perhaps me mother would speak to me," Huma mused, kicking his hooves in the snow and lifting the flagon of ale, drinking a swig.

Mab laughed.

After all the things she saw this day, she thought, the centaur wishes for family. And families might soon be broken in the blood and death of the coming war.

"Perhaps." She looked toward Sestina, who strolled with Cahros. "But not now, I think."

"She di'not want me, yeh know."

Mab gazed at him in pity. "I know, my brave centaur. Do not go to her for guidance. More like a man than a centaur, Sestina loves her power. Look to those who see, as I do, the centaur who braved the wild for his friend; Caer, who needed him."

Huma grinned and sipped ale. "No un's ever liked me before, not 'cept you and Caer."

Mab smiled. "Well, 'tis a privilege to have such a noble and brave centaur to guard us, while others must trust in themselves alone."

Sestina glanced over. Sestina showed no emotion, but Mab felt sure Sestina recognized Huma—after all, as a half-centaur, half-goat, how could she not? She turned him away to wander and starve, all for her pride. Yet his sister Gehrdon loved him and cared for him, sheltered him in the harsh winter. She led him to Caer, and through the love and caring of Beren's daughter Huma found some peace. In such times, a mother should hold her children close; yet Sestina, embarrassed by her firstborn son's sire, shunned him. Mab thought she saw sorrow in the old centaur's eyes, just for a moment, but Sestina walked the other way, returning to the centaur's camp.

Such Mab knew to be the way of the world. For there might be, Mab knew, many sorrows to come in the coming wars, and it would be well for mortal hearts not to make grief where it need not be.

*****

The council ended. The races would not go to war, so a time of celebration began.

Caer sipped pear nectar wine, brought from the sidhes in crystal goblets shining like the pale blue sky. To her, after facing the demon, it seemed an inopportune time to celebrate. A war must be planned. And the fate of the world rested on her shoulders, as her mother before her also felt.

" _I remember,"_ _Mab's whisper caught in the ears of her meditative listener, in the still and quiet of the pavilion where they rested. Around them others sat still, their cerulean goblets teetering in their hands, and sleep in their eyes, caught in an enchanted trance. Caer looked into the Fairy Queen's dark eyes and listened. A fog crept over her thoughts, before visions took her mind._

" _I remember when Moloch came into the world. I stood there when the Dark Lord took form, when he_ _unleashed the plague of damnation. I saw when the power of the Witch-Queen faced the Lord Moloch, and his defeat. I saw when your father fell and when the heir of Moloch came to be...."_

Darkness and shadow surrounded Caer. In her heart she felt the peace brought by the fairies' magic. She floated on the edge of oblivion, in a place she did not know. Her vision cleared as the fog lifted a little, though the gloom remained. A light grew in the dimness.

_Far below, in the raging red rivers of Muspellheim, in the cold reaches and frost of Niflheim, the primordial worlds of fire and ice, the chaos formed. Caer watched, entranced, as she floated down. Her feet touched the stone of the gods' mountain rising from there. Helrög gave birth to_ Miðgarðir _._

Miðgarðir _rose out of the abyss separating the frost and the fire. In what seemed a few moments for Caer, she saw the vast waters beyond Sul, and the lands coming forth. Small bands of silver water streamed from the lands and ran to the oceans. Clouds passed Mount Kern, and the stars shown._

" _Ah, but it did not begin there,"_ _Mab's voice came from somewhere beyond._ _"My tale begins in the depths of time when the gods made_ Miðgarðir and all of its children _."_

The tops of the trees rose to greet Caer, the mountain growing smaller. The wind whispered and blew cool and radiant on her skin, in this twilight place without sun and moon.

Miðgarðir _stopped its ascent, and she heard the soft crunch of earth beneath her feet, in the ancient forests. Beside her, as she came forth from the mountain itself, Mab stood, graceful and silent, her movement so light and swift she made no footprints. Her eyes spoke to Caer, drawing her into the forest._

Caer glanced down in wonder at the world of her ancestors. Hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of faces, bodies supine, skin white, and faces serene, the first men slept. She heard the story as a child; they would awaken in the radiance of the sun once the gods made it, and so would rule the day in good. Evil possessed the god even now formed in the abyss.

" _The years moved from one to the next, and ages of the world passed by."_ _Mab's soft voice floated to Caer as the world aged around them._ _"The gods made the sun, and the moon its companion, rose and fell. Men built cities and destroyed them, and for a time, peace reigned._

" _Dana gave birth to the first witch. The lands the gods gave them men called Sul, spreading from the Mountains of Mist in the north where lay Keros, to the plains in the south, and from_ Mael Dúin, _the great eastern seas to the_ Niðafjöll _mountains of the west, where the gods cast Moloch down._

" _Moloch, Lord of the deep abyss from which sprang all things, rose once in the heavens. The gods fought a war in their halls, and they cast Moloch down, into the mortal earth, to which they bound his power._

" _And beyond the shadow grew in power and anger. His eye ever watched the heavens, though soon he cast his eyes on Sul, where lay the daughters of the gods, and he cast his shadow upon them."_

Mab stood beside Caer, on the peak of Keros, pain upon her features.

_Caer's eyes lingered on the fairy queen a moment and turned back to the plains of_ Niðavellir _in the distance. There her vision drew her. Lightning, bright and powerful, flashed in the skies over the wasteland beyond those mountains. Rivers of liquid rock flowed around Moloch's towers. Cruel laughter floated even to Ull._

" _Open the gates, and destroy them all!"_ _Moloch screamed, and_ Miðgarðir _shook with the sound of the demon's voice._

_A thousand of the demon's servants pulled the sable chains of Eliudnir's gates, and they swayed inward, opened to the harsh reality in_ Óskópnir _._

The one who waited within the gates sat draped in armor as black as the evil growing in his heart. He carried a sword and a mace, on his head rested a dark iron helmet as though a crown. His eyes gleamed solid ebony.

A golem sat on a wolf beside the Dark Lord. The golem raised his sword, and kicking the ribs of the wolf beneath him, shouted in the harsh tones of his kindred.

The towers emptied their armies upon Sul.

A touch on her arm drew Caer back. She blinked at Mab.

"The four races fought the first wars and blood fell onto the earth. I watched, and I saw my kindred fell on the cold earth above the fairy sidhes. Hope seemed lost, for it seemed none could stand against the demon.

"But in the White City hope rose again. Enyd prayed for the gods to deliver her people. Power, great and terrible, the gods gave to her in response, and with her power the Witch Queen drove Moloch back. But even she could not stand against Moloch. No one could.

"In the Myrkviðr Forest beneath the Niðafjöll Mountains, the armies met. In the sacred places Enyd wove her spell of hope, and far away the spell took root."

_Mab pointed to the plains of_ Niðavellir _. Caer's vision drew her to the battle with Moloch, where the fate of_ Miðgarðir _began._

The battle grew fierce, and the fighting hard. The allies fell like flies and took with them their enemies. But they knew it to be in vain, for nothing seemed enough.

King Cuthred knew it would never be enough. His arm stung as his sword connected with the demon's Lieutenant. He drew back, sword resounding, as he blocked his enemy's axe, avoiding decapitation. He sent his enemy backward, onto earth muddy with the blood of friend and enemy.

He needed but one stroke, and as black blood dripped from Cuthred's sword, Moloch's Lieutenant fell to ruin.

Oberon, King of the fairies, a good friend of Cuthred, fought upon the hillock not far away. Waves of the enemy poured onto the battlefield. Cuthred blocked his mind and sent himself with grim determination into a battle he could not win.

" _Cuthred!"_ _Oberon shouted. Cuthred's sword connected with the neck of a golem and down into the heart of a wolf. They fell._

And as he turned to glance at his friend, his face froze. His insides went cold and stayed cold as Moloch pulled the iron sword from Cuthred, dripping with fresh blood.

Cuthred gasped and fell to his knees to the laughter of the victorious Moloch. Anger envigored the King, and with a thrust his sword connected. The blade melted and blew away as dust, leaving the hilt to fall to the ground from the Dark Lord's unarmored thigh.

Moloch screamed, and the battle went still and silent. The demon's blood fell, scorching the earth. Storm clouds surrounded him, sable as the night. Moloch's screaming face appeared in a funnel of cloud touching the center of the battle where he laid. The whirlwind receded, carrying the screaming face of the Dark Lord into the air, cut from the body he lived in, a shadow of what himself, bleeding and dying.

And when the clouds disappeared, Cuthred closed his eyes, and his last rattled breath allowed his spirit to flee its prison, and escape to the gods he served.

"Cuthred slew Moloch, Dark Lord of the earth."

Caer saw Mab on the day of the great battle, far from the battle, watching it from a hill, surrounded and protected by her kindred. Mab gazed at the battle her people won, and her gaze lingered on the cloud sweeping to the east, Ull where the Witch Queen screamed as Cuthred breathed his last.

"Bleeding and alone, the demon fled through the lands of light. With the armies at the plains of Niðavellir, at the edge of Sul, he saw his opportunity. Injured and dying, the Lord Moloch took Queen Enyd, and with his power conceived an abominable child."

Caer saw Enyd in Ull's tallest tower. A wise woman held a babe; in her eyes was an evil Beren, the little girl who stood not far off, knew too well. Enyd, weary from the birth, shuddered and breathed her last. Beren watched in apprehension as her mother gave birth to her greatest enemy.

Mab touched her arm, and Caer stood on the mountain once more.

"Years passed. Shadows gathered again in Óskópnir. The heir of Lord Moloch rose in the west, in Eliudnir. Belial shared the heart of Miðgarðir with her sister, the Witch Queen Beren, for the blood of the witches flowed in both of them. The Witch Queen felt the coming winter."

The wind blew cold. The world grew older. The wastelands of Moloch remained as silent as they had been from the beginning of time. Shadows rose beyond the mountains, where Belial fled, and where evil consumed her.

"Eliudnir, the dark towering citadel of Moloch beyond the Niðafjöll mountains, rose anew. The child of the damned returned to the land of her father and spread evil.

"The great wolves howl in the night, made by the Lord Moloch, an abomination of their smaller kindred. The armies he forged from the abyss return to their master's child, to serve and to fight, to spread her shadow over the earth like the plague.

"The Dark Lord Belial rose in the west. A second war began, when the blood of men flowed onto the frozen lands. For her heart, like the heart of her sister, remained bound to Miðgarðir. The cold depths of death stretch out over the earth, in ice and winter.

"The tears of the fairies fall for the frozen lands."

A misty cloud ran before Caer's vision, and the vision around her became a memory as the fog over her mind lifted.

She opened her eyes in the fairy pavilion to the revelry of men and fairies, drinking pear nectar and laughing. It seemed as though no time passed for them while Caer saw the past in visions.

Beside her Headred appeared uneasy, as though he sensed something amiss.

"Are you all right?" He leaned in, his breath on her skin bringing her to life again.

"What happened?" Headred's eyes seemed tired, awakened from a strange, forgotten dream.

Headred glanced at her, troubled, and at Mab.

_He knows not_ , Mab said in Caer's mind. _I have revealed this for you to know the nature of the evil you face._

Mab turned away to speak to the fairy beside her. Caer sipped her wine and pondered the visions of the Fairy Queen.

*****

"The races again gird themselves for war." Headred leaned against the cushions in the pavilion, clutching a goblet of wine.

Caer glanced at him as she listened to Beoreth sleep nearby. "And together they will fight. Together they will die."

She looked so much the Queen, he thought, a warrior Queen rallying her troops into battle, the weight of her destiny on her shoulders. She looked like Beren, tired and thoughtful.

Beyond the distant mountains, the fires of the Belial exploded into view. Belial knew Y Erianrod came among her people, and the time for the daughter of Beren to face her came.

She needed only to watch, to wait, and to act.

"We should sleep." Headred broke the silence.

"We should dream." She watched as the fires raged beyond the Niðafjöll Mountains. The exploding flames reflected in her eyes. The eruptions mirrored the fire of her own essence, trapped in Fensalir for so many years. But the fire within Caer would never be a destroyer, rather a blaze of power meant to destroy evil, and to rebuild from destruction.

But she turned away from fire and went to her love.

She dreamed about him many nights and never knew his name. Caer sank onto the cushions and leaned into Headred, felt his strong arms around her, and listened to the sound of his breath and the beat of his heart.

"The council disagreed, and many still do not trust you," he said. "We share these lands, and yet we cannot save them if we let ourselves be swayed by the confusion and doubts of the shadow."

"'Tis no longer." She looked into his eyes. "The races should never be sundered, for what we have made will bring peace and prosperity again. None should let Belial divide what lives pure."

He shifted and brought their faces together. His lips met hers and brushed against them, torturing and slow, taking them deeper until they became one.

And how many times in dreams did she love, and never know of the shadow haunting her cold winter steps, toward a destiny she never knew about?

"Tonight cannot be a night for fear," he said. "The shadow does not yet hold power in these lands. Tonight will be a night of peace before the storm."

"And should there not be a way to stop the storm? What will happen if Belial and I meet, and neither can destroy nor consume the other? What will love or promise mean if the winter always covers Miðgarðir?"

"She does not know love. Born of the witches and the demon, and she made a choice to determine the path she would take. Belial chose evil."

Caer saw the pain in his eyes. "Why does she hunt you? Why did she not destroy you in the woods ere we met?"

Headred sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillows. "She desires Miðgarðir for her own. Belial desires all power, what she does not yet have and no one can hold. She desires to know all things, and so she needs me or my kindred."

"A prophet."

He nodded. "A child born into her darkness and damnation. A child who knows all what will be, could give victory to the armies of Óskópnir."

Caer stared at him. His grin seemed a small expression under the shadows in his mind, but a smile nonetheless.

"Do not fear, my love. Belial would seize, and what she cannot have she would destroy, but she cannot take what you have already claimed. She cannot claim me with magic when I give my love to another."

He brushed their lips together again, a symbol of the promise made long ago, a symbol of the promise they now made.

*****

Caer awoke in the stillness and beauty of the eternal winter's night. As the moonlight filtered into the tent, she cradled the sleeping Headred against her breast and felt the soft rise and fall of his chest against her stomach.

She feared for him. The demon would not have him while she stood for him. Belial could not take what Caer loved.

"You have my heart, beautiful Headred," she whispered and stroked his hair. "You have the love I alone give to you."

In sleep he moved, wrapping his arms around her. And she possessed his heart, though not by his admission. Love seemed greater than the power she felt in the magic of the witches.

She could hear the shouts of men in the distance as they readied their people for war. They sent the women and children to Ull, where they would be safe for a time. The White City, deep within the kingdom of Sul, would be the last fortification to fall.

And when the time passed, if she failed, all would die who stood with her.

Caer hasnordin mesanat...

Mab's voice spoke in her head, Caer's her eyes drooped. _Go to sleep, Caer...Iaenamar hithilas fweleras..._

Sleep in dreams of peace...

Sleep ensnared her, and she dreamed with Headred's arms around her. She felt safe in sleep. And this night might be the last for peaceful sleep and dreams.

At the edge of the tree-line, watching the camps, evil waited.

*****

The torches of the Vigil glowed in the darkness. The ice shimmered beneath them, showing the pale, frozen Queen, in immortal sleep, neither dead nor living, paying the price for saving her daughter's life.

Beren paced over her frozen form, and her tears shattered.

"You have come, my sister," Belial murmured from the treeline.

Beren gazed at the evil who cast her will over the earth. "Belial."

"Oh, come now, sister." Belial's voice rose and fell like the frozen winds. "Do not hate me, not in this place. You lie frozen, and my winter stretches over the kingdom you have hope for. I have won."

"No, my sister. You have lost."

Belial gazed at the specter floating before her. "Do you believe such things? Do you still believe in the girl, after all you have seen?"

"Yes." Beren looked onto the face of the one who chose her evil ways over the good of the witches, whose heart the gods forged in stone, and whose mind and will turned to the pursuit of evil and damnation.

"The sun cannot stand against the raging night."

"Every morning the sun stands again." Beren waved her arm at the camps scattered beneath the council's stones. "It will again."

"Fool," Belial spat. "Can you not see you, and all who follow, are already defeated?"

Beren walked away.

"Watch, my sister." Belial smiled in satisfaction as Beren realized what Belial intended to do. "Watch, my sister, as I take him for my own."

"You must not do this. Return to the land of shadow where your servants await you."

"I will take what I will," Belial scoffed. "I will take his power, and his child." And as Beren watched, Belial disappeared.

The clouds moved over in wave, and snow began to fall around the Vigil. Encased in glassy ice, tears pooled on Beren's face as she watched Belial's evil unfold in Glasheim.

She could feel evil tonight, could feel the pain her daughter would now bear.

*****

Headred awoke to the howl of the wind and the comfort and warmth of the woman beside him. Against his better wishes he separated himself from her.

His dreams came in rough waves of visions. He saw Ull burn, and the blood of the people on the tongues of wolves and golems, all events he saw before too many times.

And he saw Caer, alone as she faced Belial, as the demon struck her down, and evil won the war.

He wore the white robes, bloodied from the battle with the wolves, what now seemed ages ago, and took from his saddlebag the athame he used for visions when needed. The runes carved into its blade and the quartz at its hilt guided his visions; yet the visions the athames took him into often became visions of great evil. When Belial attacked him before, he lost his father's dagger, though embedding it in Belial seemed a fitting end for it.

The wind blew, and the snow fell. He walked from the pavilion as the camp slept. One last time he looked back at the woman he loved and prayed his dreams would be wrong.

He stepped into the cold, cruel night.

The wind and shadows screamed. The torches burned blue in the sacred trees of Vingólf. Icy tendrils touched his skin beneath the robes. It did not matter. He spread herbs around him in a circle. Knowledge would be found tonight.

_Ashnokobesh gredonatesh vasjanobatai nai,_ the demon whispered, hidden in the shadows.

The cast circle glowed with the light of the gods. He faced north, the way of the Lady Frigg, and prayed to the gods for the sight they gave to him. And he watched for knowledge of the fates.

Caer stood before him near the stone of Woden, tears in her eyes. There she lost everything. The snow fell still, and the demon's cruel laugh echoed.

I will bear his child, _the demon whispered to her._ Die witch.

_As Headred shouted, he saw her weakening._ Hünjjuerad lay forgotten in the snow nearby. Belial laughed _. Anger flashed in Caer's eyes._

"Bæc æfnan _,"_ _Caer shouted. The wind whipped and flung Belial away. Belial pushed herself up in the snow._

_Caer pushed herself up on her hands and knees_. "Wyrdan þeostru _..."_ _Caer began to issue a curse at Belial as she crawled toward the discarded sword._

"Acwelan _,"_ _Belial interrupted, holding her hand toward Caer, issuing the curse. She laughed as Caer's neck snapped, and her lifeless body fell into the snow._

Headred watched in horror as blood dripped from Caer's mouth onto the snow, a red no berry dye could emulate. He gazed into her eyes, the eyes he loved since boyhood, as the life passed from them, and his world became empty.

" _Must this be?"_ _he shouted. His vision clouded._

_He watched the exchange of Belial and Caer in Glasheim. The demon and the witch battled, matched against each other's power. Belial shouted, and an unseen force ripped_ Hünjjuerad from Caer's grip. It landed in the snow with little more than a whisper. Caer fought Belial with magic, and the hand of a man seized the sword's hilt...

Belial cackled. The wind blew Headred's robes while his mind saw visions of Caer's death, directed by Belial's magic. Belial's delight grew as tendrils of cloud wrapped around him, and took him deeper into the visions, drawing him from the protection of the circle. She laughed as he came to her. She laughed as she disrobed him in the whirling snow.

" _Sceotan_ ," Belial commanded. A ring of fire surrounded her and Headred, giving his body warmth in the cold night.

Headred knelt and cursed the gods. No one answered. In his vision he cradled Caer's head and wept, as the demon won and he forgot to hope.

Caer's eyes opened. The blood rushed from his face.

_She laughed_. _"She does not win,"_ _Caer told him, her voice happy and joyful._ _"I live."_

Headred could not speak.

" _Already we live in this winter. Must we also fight the Dark Lord, against whom none can stand?"_

" _I do not know you."_ _He stumbled back and fell into the snow._ _"You are not Caer."_

" _No, I am not." Her face contorted into the visage of a monster. Her cold fingers stroked his naked back. In visions he screamed, and he fought, but in the reality of now, the demon would take what she wanted._

"No," Headred whispered and shoved her back, falling past Belial's conjured flame and shivering into the frigid snow. The demon glared at him.

He fumbled, numb with cold, for the robe she stripped from him, lying wet in the snow.

Her scream pierced the night. "So it shall be." Her dark eyes bored into him. "So it shall be."

Icy tendrils locked around his body, slicing through him. No blood fell to the ground. She would take his mind. The girl would not have what she wanted. Belial would rule all.

He fought her with every breath. In great satisfaction, she felt the spirit pour out of him, replaced by the void. His eyes grew cold and lost and he went slack. His mind began to die while his body lived.

And when she let go, she glared at the face of her crying sister.

"You could not have him," Beren said. "Truly no light remains in your soul."

Belial laughed and faded away.

"The Ice Queen!" Elric shouted into the night, seeing her kneel over the body of Headred, his voice echoing and rousing the sleepers. "What happened?" he asked Beren.

She wept and faded.

"What happened?" Mab asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"The demon," Gavial offered, his face grave. "I saw just now. The demon left, as the Ice Queen knelt over the boy."

"Evil touched him," Mab whispered. "His life will pass."

Elric wondered what war they fought, when none would be safe from the shadow. Mab told him without words of the demon's evil.

"I will go for Caer," Mab said. "Prepare him for a journey. We must go at once to the healers of Ull, for they are his last hope."

The people lit torches and the mourning for Headred began. The Ice Queen watched as her tears fell onto the frozen earth.

*****

Caer awoke alone in the bed and screamed. She knew Headred faded.

The curtain of the pavilion flew inward as the Fairy Queen appeared, her face telling Caer all she needed to know.

"Come quick. Headred fell into evil sleep."

Caer ran from the camp, her clothes thrown on in a haphazard manner, clutching her sword belt. Beoreth followed, running to where the fairies gathered over Headred. Caer stopped when she saw Headred. During the moment, Beoreth fixed Caer's lopsided gown and belted Hünjjuerad to Caer's hips.

"What happened?" Caer asked Mab as she bent over the frozen form of the prophet. Red marks on his chest shone through the wet, white fabric.

"The demon touched him," Mab said to her, the Fairy's tone grave. "He passes beyond the magic of the fairies."

"Try anyway," Caer begged.

Mab remembered the ages past, when Oberon fell to Moloch. Her heart bled for many years. And Mab could see little difference between the immortal heart and the mortal heart, except the time they spent in Miðgarðir.

Headred paled, but the pallid cloak did not freeze in the icy chill. He perspired, and Caer felt his hot forehead.

"He tries to fight the will of the demon," Mab said, her voice sounding hopeful. "He grows feverish in the struggle."

"We must do something." Beoreth glanced at Caer, who knelt alone by Headred.

Beoreth saw tears in the immortal eyes of the Fairy Queen. And she knew all but the slightest hope now faded.

"I have walked the paths of the fairy sidhes for ages past. Many times I have seen the flesh and forms of those I loved touched by the demon and her father. And never have I seen them healed."

Caer up with fury in her eyes. "She will not take him," she said to Mab. "For too long Belial took and destroyed. It ends here."

"There may be nothing to be done," Beoreth said.

"Try." Caer commanded.

Mab sighed and leaned over Headred's dying form. At best she could keep him alive for a while, giving what she could of her life force to him, at a great cost of strength and magic. But she could not bring a mortal soul back from the land of death.

Mab felt the heat inside him, the struggle. The sun and the night fought their war inside him. The sun began to fade, to grow red and cold, and the night laughed in the knowledge it won. On the sun hope appeared again and rekindled its flame.

Mab gazed at Caer and breathed a sigh of relief and fatigue. "He will not die tonight. We must reach Ull before the dawn."

Caer nodded.

Elric rode toward them, leading other horses with the help of his kindred. Caer stumbled back. The fairies lifted Headred into the saddle when Elric jumped down.

Elric put his foot into the stirrup.

"No." Caer placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. "I too will ride also to the city."

With a flick of her hand Mab stopped Elric from speaking. "We must go; little time remains."

"Await our return, my mother," Caer said to Beoreth as Yidrith rode up.

Mab sent her horse into a gallop.

And as the four rode into the dawn hours the people saw the coming of the darkness. The wars began now, and the first battle would rage, not with swords and spears, but over the life of the prophet.

*****

The horses sped through the narrow forest path. With the speed of the wind they rode toward Ull and the salvation of Caer's betrothed.

"Faster," Caer whispered to the horse, glancing to Elric who held the slumping weight of Headred before him. "Faster."

And the horse obeyed.

Magic rose within her, with fury at the demon who shared her blood, and worry for the one she loved. Magic no longer seemed like a candle, but rather a wildfire, coursing through her veins, waiting for this moment to rise, and engulf the lands around her in the flame of power.

Mab looked on in trepidation as she whispered words of comfort to her steed, watching as the horses sped at breakneck pace, goaded by the fury she knew the daughter of the Ice Queen felt. Yidrith struggled with his sweating horse. Mab whispered comforting words for the horses.

Before them the sky began to turn light. They did not have much time. Soon the sun would rise, and beyond the new day the fairies' magic would do him no good.

"Sleep now, Headred," Caer whispered. "Sleep in comfort and peace, and awaken and find me in the White City."

A howl came from the woods, and from the path before them. As they rode around a bend they saw a band of golems and wolves waiting.

Caer stopped her horse and held on as it reared. Yidrith's horse skidded and sat in the snow. The party faced those who could steal Headred's life without the blow of a sword, by delaying the travelers.

Caer drew Hünjjuerad. The sound of metal scraping the sheath tempered itself by the hesitance of the wolves and golems before her, as they recognized the sword of her father, Gareth Chaíhünjjuer, the Warhammer.

"Leave now, servants of shadow," Caer ordered them. "Leave and I will spare your lives."

Fenrir laughed and stalked closer. "You bargain with us? You will beg for your life when I am done with you!"

"Leave now!" Caer shouted.

The winds picked up, blowing snow across the ground, though Fenrir and his minions did not seem to notice.

"Eat them," Fenrir growled.

"Go back to where you came from!" Caer screamed.

The wolves howled as the wind blew in gusts, lifting the golems and wolves, throwing them into the woods. Fenrir turned just as white lightning forked from the cloudless sky. Bolt after bolt scorched and melted the snow, until the forest lit with Caer's fury.

The wind died, and the lightning ceased. Fenrir saw the burning heap of Garvin, his guard, mere feet from him, and with a howl he ran into the woods.

"Come," Caer instructed as she sheathed the unused sword, whispering to her horse and streaking through the snow.

Again the winds blew, this time from behind, pushing the group along. Mammoth drifts of snow parted in the winds.

The sun began to peek over the horizon.

"Hurry!" Caer shouted at the horse and did not wonder why he obeyed. Elric's face grew fearful; Headred's skin grew cold and white. Caer did not notice as the gates of the White City rose before them.

The horses skidded to a halt again, as the guards gazed down at the riders.

"Open the gates!" Yidrith shouted. "Y Erianrod returns to our city! Open the gates!"

For a moment nothing happened, and desperation began to well in Caer. At a small command from Mab the gates parted by magic before Caer, who at last returned to her domain, the seat of Queens in the shadow of Mount Kern.

Caer returned home.

Mab led the way to the gates of Ull. Inside, a statue of Woden, his arms outstretched, marked the way to the inner door of the city. Beneath the white marble arch, flanked by the mammoth statues of Dana, mother of the witches, and Frigg, mother of gods, no snow fell, and no ice formed. And where once grass grew, cold, dead earth remained.

The gates into the city, the smaller door large enough for a man and the larger entry, remained closed.

"Open the gates, you fools!" Yidrith yelled.

A small window opened in the inner door. "Who goes there?" an ancient, high-pitched man's voice called out.

"I am Mab, Queen of the fairies. I bring with me Yidrith of your city's guard, and Caer, daughter of Beren, the witch Queen of Sul."

"Aha," he replied, a spiteful tone to his voice. "So you say, and so would say the golems and the wolves, and none can see in this pale morning light."

"Are you mad?" Yidrith said. "Open the gate!"

"No." The old man closed the window.

Caer glanced at Headred slumped before Elric, and at the dawn coming over the forests, a dawn bringing his death.

"I am Mab, Queen of the Fairies. Open the gates in friendship or I will loose all my power upon you!"

The window opened again. "Ah will ye now, milady? And will ye turn me into an ass?"

"I will turn you into the worthless toad you are if you do not open the gates."

The man's eyes blinked once and became set again. "I doubt it. Yidrith went from Ull nigh on a fortnight ago, and no one saw him since. Indeed, much more than a fortnight passed since we saw fairies in these parts."

"What happened to this city," Mab questioned, "for you to no longer recognize friend from foe?"

The sun began to reflect on the stone on the edges of Ull. Hope faded, Caer realized, listening to Headred's ragged breath as he sat on the nearby horse. Soon her love would pass, and the demon would win.

"Open the gates, you great fool," Caer screamed. Billowing clouds moved over Ull. " _Abrecan!_ " Caer commanded the skies.

The gatekeeper started to sneer and glanced at the sky. A moment later lightning crackled, and a spear crackled to the ground within the gates, eliciting a yelp from the gatekeeper. The door swung open, the gatekeeper cowering behind it.

As he passed, Yidrith smacked the old man's head. "Fool, didn't you recognize my voice, or the face of your Queen?"

The man stayed still. Perhaps he feared Mab would make good on her promise to turn him into a toad.

"Do not worry, old man," Mab said. "I do not have time or magic to waste on a trifle such as you."

"Thank you, milady, thank you." He crawled off into Ull. Another gatekeeper moved to take the old man's place.

Caer looked into the sprawling citadel. The people seemed sparse, but those assembled stared at her and Mab in wonder.

"Do not worry," Yidrith lead the way into the city, their pace slowed by the throngs of people who began to gather. "They do not see many visitors, and though I am too young, I am told you resemble your mother. Many knew her."

Elric held tight to Headred's limp form as they rode into the capital. Caer reined in her horse many times to avoid the innocent bystanders who happened to close, Mab beside her seeming to find no trouble navigating.

"Tis the lady..."

"...the daughter of the Queen."

"She comes..."

"...come to save us."

The women and the men whispered as she passed. Some frowned at her in fear and mistrust, and up at the dispersing clouds. But most smiled in wonder and the hope they lacked for many years.

Up and up they climbed, up stairs and up hills, through streets and markets. The sprawling citadel seemed to have no end, and people lined the streets to see them pass.

Mab smiled. "Do you see? You are their light, and their hope. You will not fail them."

"I do not know if I will fail them or not," Caer fought back the tears kept at bay with her fury.

As she spoke, several women in white robes came towards them. One, seeming to be the chief, looked familiar to Caer, though she could not quite place her.

"Milady, you have come." The woman smiled, bowing over and over again before Caer. "I am Athellind, the chief healer of the city. I attended your birth."

"Yes, my daughter," Mab said to Athellind, who looked old enough to be the immortal fairy's grandmother. "But we have now more pressing business."

"Yes, of course." Athellind turned to where the fairy pointed. Gasping his name, she rushed to Headred, weeping when she felt his cold skin.

Athellind led them into a gated garden now dead and covered in snow, in which the entrance of the healing house lay. Once they stood inside the gates shut, sealing off the throngs in the streets.

"The demon attacked Headred," Caer said, her voice quivering. "Can you help him?"

Athellind glanced at her, worried. "We will try, dear child." She turned to Mab "Can the power of our kindred save him?"

"I have done all I can. My magic sustained him on the journey. Perhaps with the healers' help he can be spared."

"Perhaps," Athellind murmured. "Perhaps."

They laid Headred on a stretcher and spirited him away. When he disappeared into the house, the tears came to Caer, rivers of tears.

"She cannot have him," Caer sobbed. "I will not let her."

"Some things are the will of the fates." Mab frowned at the house where they took him. "We are not meant to decide the course of fate, or to question the judgment of gods."

"I am their child, as are you," Caer said, her face contorting in anger.

"They who cast Moloch into Miðgarðir, rather than destroy him themselves. They caused this with their stupidity and pride, and now more death must be riven for them." Mab looked deep into the young woman's eyes. "And yet always the blood of the innocent spills, so the lives of many more can be saved. Caer, Headred still lives. If the healers of Ull are still skilled, all hope may not yet be lost. They too descend from the line of Dana, she gave them their gifts."

"Pray he does. Pray he lives." walked away, unwilling to stand in the shadows, unwilling to go on searching for the light.

*****

Athellind's pale face appeared as she rounded the corner of the healing house; in her plump arms she carried tray of herbs and poultices. Her handmaidens managed cloths and a pitcher of water. Simple seemed best. Her eyes met with the eyes of the immortal Fairy Queen, standing just beyond the room where Headred struggled in fever.

Athellind knew the truth. All they could do for Headred they already did. Now the wait would begin.

"My Lady," Athellind murmured and continued on. At the sound of the fairy's voice she crooked her head to listen.

Mab bowed her head and murmured in the tongue of her people, the words forgotten in the long absence of the fairies from Sul.

Athellind's voice fled as sadness gripped her heart. Mab's stare caught her eyes, and hope returned in the gaze of the Fairy Queen and in the knowledge their savior came among them at last.

"Athellind!" a voice called from Headred's room.

Athellind glanced once more at the Fairy Queen, whose eyes no longer cried or clouded. And after a swipe of her arm to wipe her tears away, Athellind moved toward the room where a feverish Headred waited.

Mab again stood alone, in silence, watching as the women worked. So many have passed, she thought, so many have perished and been lost because of the demon.

She remembered the battle of long ago, of the last great war against the demon Moloch, and the prayer she lifted up to the gods, the song she sang in the midst of the battle. "Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen."

Athellind stopped her work for a moment at the sound. Her eyes found the form and the bright eyes of the fairy Queen who sang in her native tongue, and she felt the deep sadness tempered by the strange peace they forged in Athellind's heart.

The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

"Nachum ladai, es rea ladai," Mab sang. More stopped to listen, and Headred heard through the veil of his dreams. "Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen."

Mab stood above the battle in her mind, watching as Oberon fought the golems and the wolves attacking him. She felt the tear falling down her face, the fright gripping her heart, much like the fear Caer felt now for Headred.

Our men are dead, on both sides dead. The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

The peace and enchantment falling over the healing room faltered. The women glanced at one another, and at the Queen of the fairies whose sad song floated throughout the house.

"Endor cumes. Laidan wilas. Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen."

The shadow comes. Our death is near. The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

And even as she struggled to find the hope in her heart, Mab feared it already fled. "Lithia cumas redan alis."

The light will come to save us all.

A fresh tear fell as she remembered.

Mab's own scream interrupted her prayer, at the sound and the sight of metal and blood, the last stare of Oberon's eyes as they met hers, and the cruel laughter of the enemy armies' master as he pulled his sword from the chest of the fairy King, and hacked again, laughing as the king's head fell from his shoulders.

Athellind worked over the feverish body of Headred, whose mind stayed locked away in the evil dreams that so many who fought Moloch and his daughter descended into. Mab's tears fell for him and all who fell against the demon and his child. She feared Headred would not live and prayed again to the gods for his life, and the destiny of Caer.

"Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen," she sang.

The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

"Let this not be his end." Mab finished and turned away.

*****

"Milady," Yidrith called from behind Caer.

Caer walked through the streets of Ull, away from the healing house where she left Mab. She turned to see a little boy, no older than six years, walking toward them.

"Milady, my brother Dunstan," Yidrith motioned to the smiling boy.

"Are you Y Erianrod?" he asked her.

Despite herself, despite everything, Caer smiled. "Why would you think so?" She rubbed his hair.

Dunstan blushed. "My mother dreamed about you."

Yidrith sucked in his breath.

"Does your mother see visions?" Caer asked.

Dunstan nodded. "She says she saw you would return."

"Well, I am the daughter of Queen Beren. As for Y Erianrod..." she trailed off.

The boy whooped. She jumped in surprise. People began to glance at them, and Caer laughed.

"I see them look at me," Caer told Yidrith, motioning to the people. "I hear them whisper, most good words, but some are ill."

"'Tis the way of things, milady," Yidrith replied. "They gather to see Beren's daughter, and some will accept, and others will see a curse. And yet most see a candle come into the world of shadow."

Caer agreed.

"I must go," Yidrith said, trying to quiet his brother. "My brother must be home soon, or our mother will worry."

"Go with you."

He inclined his head and began to lead the boy down the street.

*****

The skies grew dark and angry.

Headred ran through the woods, looking over his shoulder in fear. A boy of twelve years, he did not know what to do, did not know what to think. His father left when they heard the wolves howl and left him alone.

The wolves waited nearer than they thought.

Tears streamed down his face when he thought of how his beloved horse fell after one kiss from the wolf, how he reared when the wolf jumped him, and how his blood fell onto the white snow.

He ran, as the howls grew louder, the wolves in more numbers pursuing him through the frozen forest. Behind him paws crunched through snow. With their teeth bared, the wolves waited to taste his flesh, his blood.

" _Headred..."_ _his father Hamald called._

Headred looked around wildly and could not discern what direction the call came from. He could see trees and more trees, endless trees in this southern wilderness.

They followed the path of light, traveling as pilgrims to the fairy sidhes, the dwellings of their cousins.

The wolf howled, and his father disappeared, leaving Headred alone when they attacked.

" _Headred..."_ _Hamald called again._

This should be different, Headred thought, a tiny voice inside his head telling him this seemed wrong. Something changed. The wolves never attacked him.

He remembered a girl. He met a girl while his father went to scout, a girl who wandered through the woods alone. She seemed such a small thing.

She called him a boy.

At twelve years old, Headred very much resented being called a boy. At twelve years old, Headred wanted to be recognized as a man. He believed himself to be a man, able to defend her if the need arose.

Her grandmother arrived soon after, with his father.

_It all came back to him as the tiny voice grew louder. Beren chose Beoreth as Caer's caretaker in Fenaslir. Headred remembered the Witch Queen, and her daughter Caer,Y Erianrod, promised by the gods to drive back the_ Mór-Ríogain _._

And Headred grew to be a man, a man who remembered.

He left Caer in the pavilion and wandered into Glasheim to seek visions. Belial attacked him and broke his circle. She tried to kill him when she could not take what he would not give.

He remembered the wisps of cloud piercing him, and felt the angry red welts on his chest. He remembered the cold as his body froze, as Belial sucked the life out of him and her laughter as she faded.

And he remembered Beren as she knelt over him.

Sleep now, my son, _her voice echoed in memory._ Sleep and dream, where you may fight the demon who takes your spirit from us, from the day.

And dreams came.

Headred stopped and heard the wolves and their master pausing behind him. He turned to face them and drew his sword and dagger.

" _You cannot have me!"_ _he shouted at Belial and waited for the attack._

The wolf flew at him swift as lightning, but Headred swung quicker. The dagger slashed through fur and spilled blood on the snow. Mayhem commenced as the wolves launched, driving him back, driving him down, and still he fought.

They clawed, they bit, and they took what they wanted, but Headred felt nothing but the pain in his chest where the demon touched him.

In the infirmary, the healers watched his fever begin to burn and rage again. _He fights the death of the demon's curse_ , they whispered. Others ran to get the chief of their order, but those who remained knew him not to be strong enough to wake.

Headred saw his dreams change, the wolves vanish in the dark mists of his mind, and the blackness took him under.

The world swam into view again. He remembered this time. He walked through the forests, on the path of light, before the council, before he met Caer.

_The sun streamed down, and the_ Niðafjöll _mountains appeared sable against the backdrop of sky. Beyond them the Dark Lord hunted for_ Y Erianrod _, hidden so well by the gods Belial would never find her. But she tried anyway._

A woman walked before him, white hair spilling down her back, skin pale and frozen. And every so often she would turn and stare at him.

Come to me, my son, _she would say._ Come to me and cast aside Belial's curse.

And she disappeared.

The standing stones at Glasheim rose in the morning light before him, the place where he cast his circle, where he sought visions. There he saw Beren, walking and waiting in the south, the woman in his dreams who now plagued his visions as well.

_Not far away stood_ Vingólf _. He walked there countless times, gazed down upon the face of the Ice Queen as she slept in her tomb of ice, the price she paid for her daughter's safety, for the safety of these lands._

_He trudged through the snow towards_ Vingólf _, watching the flickering torchlight. The Ice Queen walked before him, and beckoned him to come._

And so he would.

_He entered, but_ Vingólf _remained silent._

" _Milady!"_ _he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. The call echoed through the woods, through the empty dream plain. No answer came._

He glanced down and found her, frozen in the ice. A single tear formed in her eyes.

I am here, my child, _a voice said behind him._

Headred turned to see the spirit of the Ice Queen behind him, crying as always, her tears like crystal raindrops.

Rest now, my son. _She placed a frozen hand on his shoulder as an act of comfort._ Battle no longer. The shadow flees for a while.

And again the dream faded.

He stood in his circle in the sacred place. In the catacombs beneath Glasheim he heard the echoes of the ages past, of Queens and daughters who lay there, in the cold sleep of death.

He called to the north, to the mother of the earth. He called to the south, to the father of fire. To the east and the wind he called; to west and the water he cried. And as the elements surrounded him, visions awoke in his mind.

_He saw the sacred place, framed in the moonlight, surrounded by doubt and the shadow of the demon. Within the stones stood two people, Y Erianrod and_ Mór-Ríogain _, equals and opposite in the world of chaos._

Caer faced the demon Lord.

Lightning lanced and delivered the sword of Moloch at Belial's feet. Caer unleashed her magic, the hope of her people, upon Belial, and the demon and her minions cowered.

The sword touched his love, and she fell, and her blood spilled onto the frozen lands.

Belial won, and Headred lost hope. He sank to the ground and wept, and shadows covered the earth.

*****

For twenty years Ull survived without the Witch Queens, and in some ways it fared well. In other ways it fared worse.

The city still stood. Its population lessened as people left for the shores legend said lay across the great eastern sea. Some of its people, the priestesses and keepers of the old ways, and others who followed, sought their fortune in the wilder lands of the kingdom.

And some people stayed in the city, for fear of the evil things beyond the high walls.

Those within the city built glass sheds and heated the air inside. They watered seeds with melted snow and cultivated plants and herbs. But most knew even this could not sustain them forever, and the people would starve.

Still, in other ways, the long wheel of time passed as the peoples' lives turned hard.

Game became scarce in the forests beyond the city gates, where once creatures roamed plentiful. Hunger developed in the walls of the White City, and despair with it.

But now the daughter of Beren returned.

Those who called her a curse in previous years reveled over her return. With a chance to defeat Belial upon them, a chance to end the winter, the people began to whisper, and hope came into Ull. Too long the people lived bereft of hope.

Caer walked through Ull and saw the starved people, the children running through the streets while their mothers worried in the doorways. Mab walked beside her as Caer witnessed her people's pain.

"Time cannot be turned back," Mab whispered as they walked, their boots clacking on the paving stones. "These people suffer, but they will suffer more if the demon and her winter are allowed to endure."

Caer nodded.

"So much pain lies here, so much death," Mab continued. "And yet life remains, however pitiful you may think it. And you bring hope back to your people."

"I know this," Caer said, a little irritability showing. "I know I am the child of light, Y Erianrod, conceived in the dance of Cwen and Cerdic, born on the night of their joining, a child of power. I know it all."

"But do you understand, I wonder?"

Caer stopped to look at the fairy. "Of course I do." She resumed walking. "I just wish I could do something more for them."

"Perhaps you will." Mab took her by the shoulders to guide her down another street towards Idalir, the Castle of the Sun. The fairy's arms hugged her, but Caer felt a change in them, tenser than she ever saw Mab.

"What did it cost you?"

The fairy stopped.

"What did it cost to save his life?" Caer clarified.

"Perhaps too much, my child." Mab's eyes softened. "To save him, I gave a part of myself. I am diminished, and I cannot rest until I return to Elphame. I do not know how much I have given and lost, but it may be I will never return to this world above my own."

"Do you believe it to be worth the price?"

Fatigue clouded Mab's immortal features. "Perhaps. I must now go and rest." Her wings fluttered with exhaustion. "I must regain my strength before the coming battle."

Caer nodded and watched her walk away.

"Milady!" a voice behind her called.

Caer turned to see Yidrith leading Dunstan. Caer tried to give the little boy a half-smile before giving up, crushed by her own misery.

The boy, however, seemed to think the opposite. So little joy remained in her or in the lands, or even in her heart; she found it hard not to smile through her misery.

"My brother didn't want me to bother you," Dunstan said, seeming to want to burst from his own skin at the chance to visit with her, and jabbing his brother with his elbow. "But I made him—ow!"

Yidrith rewarded his brother with a cuff to the ear.

"How sweet of such handsome gentlemen to fight over me," Caer said, kneeling and exaggerating a slight faint. The boy bought it and laughed.

"Yidrith wouldn't fight over you; he's been best friends with Headred for years," Dunstan rattled on as his brother's sheepish grin faded, as if he knew what the boy would say. "He says you're Headred's woman."

"Well, young sir," Caer glared at Yidrith before continuing, "No man owns a woman just as no woman owns a man."

"But my brother said—ow!" the boy prattled on, despite another clout to his head. "He says men need to find a woman to cook for them and stuff because the men have to hunt and go to war and defend the city."

"Really?" Caer stood and glared at Yidrith.

"Mm-hmm," Dunstan nodded.

"Well, good sir," she said to Yidrith, who blushed beneath his blonde hair and seemed to think he might be the next facing an existence as a toad, "perhaps you will find a woman, if you can find a cow still living in the land who would be your wife."

"I am sorry, milady. 'Tis not what I meant, and my brother speaks too much."

And for good measure he rewarded Dunstan with another slap to the back of the head.

"Besides," Dunstan went on, unfazed. "Who wants to have girls around anyway? They don't know anything about blood and golems and werewolves, and they don't like to play good games either. Girls are no fun."

"Well, my good child, one day you will find girls are fun in other ways," Caer said, deciding to forget Yidrith's ignorant comments rather than let herself fester in anger. "If you enjoy my company half so much as I enjoy yours, so you will find it with other girls."

"I am sure such things would be well with him," Yidrith said, and she laughed.

"Would you like to see the city, milady?" Dunstan asked.

Caer smiled. "I've never seen a city so big." She took his arm. "What else may we see?"

"Well, we're in the south quarter and almost all the people in the city live here. All the markets and the healers are in the east quarter, and people live there too."

"People used to live throughout the city, milady," Yidrith informed her. "It no longer seemed wise to populate the entire city when so few remained. Still, people are free to live where they choose, even if it's far from the main residences and beyond our defenses."

"Yeah, but if you want fun we should go to the west quarter. Almost no one lives there," Dunstan led her through the arch to the empty streets of the west quarter. She thought she saw unsavory characters, and many of the houses appeared empty.

They passed the old guard dwellings, from before the passing of Queen Beren when the city remained filled with throngs of people. Yidrith explained to her that he and Headred both lived here as children and showed her the barracks. And she thought of this as they walked. She wondered what the West Quarter looked like before this part of the city emptied.

Yidrith pointed to a house as they passed. "We dwelled there, before. Your father, King Gareth, dwelled here as well."

Caer looked at him.

"You and I are cousins," Yidrith explained. "Your father and my mother are brother and sister, from a family of noble blood. Gareth served as a guard of the tower before he caught the fancy of the Queen, and she him."

Caer couldn't think of what to say, to discover cousins and family she never knew, to hear others speak of a father she never knew.

He showed her a hut, where a strange old lady, her father's aunt, told fortunes. The old woman's eyes looked haunted, and when she looked at Caer, Yidrith shrank back.

"The runes said you would come today," the cracked voice of the fortuneteller slithered over Caer as their eyes met.

"Did they tell you anything else?" Caer asked her, stepping forward. She stopped as the woman began to cackle.

"Aye, they did," the woman answered. Her eyes seemed to menace. "They foretold a death even you cannot stop. And do not fear for Headred; his time does not yet come to pass into the abyss. No, child, the runes say death surrounds you."

The old woman made Caer nervous. Yidrith, who seemed to have regained himself, guided Caer away.

"Go back into your house, Arda," he told the fortune teller, "and foretell death omens to those who care."

Dunstan lingered for a moment, before Yidrith grabbed his collar with a free hand and tore his brother away from the fortuneteller's gaze.

"Geroffme!" Dunstan told Yidrith. Yidrith let the boy go when they stood a safe distance away. "Maybe Arda could read my fortune!"

"The runes would have said you die tomorrow, choking on pea soup," Yidrith told his brother with no small amount of irritation. "Mother told you never to come here for a reason."

"Rune-calling, its bad enough," Yidrith whispered to Caer. "'Tis well known to us Arda summons spirits, and such practices are dangerous. She practices what we call the Coventer Arts. The law forbids this among those who are not born with the gift of magic the Dark Arts."

"Why?" Caer asked him. Yidrith glanced back toward Arda's house, his features as stone.

"For one, the spirits of the dead cannot be controlled by non-witches, nor can the caller control which spirits are called," Yidrith whispered. "For another thing, for a mortal to use magic, a sacrifice of a magic creature must be made, and to kill such creatures the law forbids. So in ancient times the practitioners of this magic made a pact with Moloch, to serve him in return for this power and knowledge. For this we call them coventers."

Caer's temper flared.

"There are servants of evil in Ull?" She questioned.

Yidrith shook his head and tried to calm her. "No milady, not so much as you think. The coventers no longer honor their pact, for Moloch died and so released them. But the death of a magical creature the law still forbids, and so their practices are kept a secret. They resent witches and the power given to them. But they do not serve Belial."

"Nor could they be called 'good'," Caer remarked.

Yidrith shrugged and seemed unwilling to discuss it further.

"Your grandfather Raed served as the chief guard of the tower," Caer changed the subject. "What became of him?"

"He passed," Yidrith said, almost choking when he said it. "'Twas a few years after your mother left the city, to rest in Vingólf. As he hunted in the woods, a golem's poisoned arrow struck him down."

"The golems wouldn't get me," Dunstan declared to no one in particular, his chest swelling with pride. He seemed recovered from his momentary desire to have his fortune told. "I've been practicing my sword fighting and archery. Mother says I'll be as good as grandpa one day."

Caer laughed. "And you chose the guard because of him?" She asked Yidrith

"No, 'tis not. My father also served the guard. He defended this city with his life. Nine years ago wolves came from the forest and attacked a guard who went out of the city to scout, leaving the gate open. The wolves entered the city and would have killed all they could, but my father and his men stopped them."

"They killed him," she realized.

"I looked like a man, but inside I knew myself to be a boy of seventeen. I learned my father's weapons so we would not starve, and I joined the guard to keep my family in a home."

So much suffering, she thought. All because of...

She started to blame herself when she realized it not to be the case. Enyd perhaps, and the blame belonged to Belial, and perhaps even her mother. If Enyd or Beren possessed the courage to stop this evil, none of this would have happened.

"Milady, milady, look!" Dunstan's gleeful shout rang out.

"Yes, my good sir?" she asked, seeing a wall of stone. As Dunstan's small hand traced a squared groove before touching a handle, she saw the small, rectangular door hidden in the wall.

"It's the secret door," Yidrith said. "No outsiders are supposed to know where it lies. 'Tis used to ambush the enemy by going from the city and attacking from behind. No one now knows where it comes out of the city, for it lies hidden in the mountainside, and we have not cause to use it anymore, or in many generations, even before the reign of Enyd. Perhaps it now goes nowhere."

Caer gazed at the door. "What else have you to show me, young master?" she asked as they walked back.

The boy scrunched his nose. "Nothing except the door to the north quarter, but it's pretty boring."

"How could an unopened door be boring? Any adventure could lay beyond an unopened door."

"It can't be interesting, cause no one can get in." Dunstan rolled his eyes with boredom at the very thought of the door. But behind his eyes she saw a glow, one desiring to see beyond the locked door. "Upon departing the city, your mother locked he central quarter. No one goes in there; it's forbidden, and no one but the Queen knows the key to open the door."

"What's in there?" she asked Yidrith.

He covered his brother's ears and struggled as the boy tried to get free. "Idalir, the Castle of the Sun. 'Tis meant for the Queen and her children alone to dwell in. And they say your mother's spirit comes and walks there when she grows tired of the wild lands."

They crossed the threshold into the city's south quarter, and into the west quarter, in her opinion, too empty to dwell in for too long. And not far away, in an area the crowd seemed to avoid, stood a door with an ornate, arched gate, carved with runes, and, on its edges, an intricate, knotted pattern.

"I expected more," she said, walking over.

"'Tis why I do not come here, milady," Dunstan said, bored with this game.

She held the handle. "Open."

Yidrith jumped as the latch creaked open. The crowd in the square stopped and stared, and the murmuring started again. Caer saw their faces and knew her step into the castle told them a Queen walked again in Ull. She took another tentative step into the central quarter and Idalir.

"Milady, you do not enter the keep of Idalir while your mother still sleeps in Vingólf?" Yidrith asked her. "Beren herself forbid it before she left."

"I'm going too!" Dunstan exclaimed.

Yidrith picked up the boy and held him like a sack under his arm.

"I'm going to look and see." Caer glanced back at Yidrith, daring him to challenge her.

"I'll take him home," Yidrith replied. "After I will return and wait for you, lest you find trouble."

"Thank you, Yidrith. How noble of you," she said and felt her annoyance grow as he grinned. "I am sure if I sprain an ankle, Headred will not cut your head off right when he awakens."

Yidrith chuckled, stopped, and grew serious.

"Sprain your ankle?" he worried, but she already shut the door.

"Come along, you runt," Yidrith said to Dunstan. "I swear by the gods if she hurts herself, I'll not be held accountable by Headred."

"Don't think on it. I'll tell him you let her go, and she went in alone."

"And you think your words will help?"

The boy stared. "Well, she said men do not own women. You can't control her."

"Sometimes my boy, you have to try," Yidrith flipped the boy around and set him on the ground, leading him home and feeling his neck all the way.

Idalir, the Castle of the Sun, rose before Caer, its gleaming white turrets and towers snow-covered, its high walls and arched gates, beauty and splendor wrapped in the eternal cold of Belial.

Snow crunched beneath her feet as she walked through the ancient fortress and the gardens where Beren, and later Belial, played. Evil still lingered where the demon walked, where she waited for her chance to strike.

The doors loomed before Caer, doors Beoreth once carried her through, the night of her birth, the night she left the city with Beoreth. Her mother soon after sacrificed herself for the safety of one she believed would save them all.

Caer felt she knew this place, these halls. She knew the crests and the seals of her father and her mother, of their families, the banners hung on the ramparts, gold and white, silver and blue. She knew it all.

Caer stepped over the threshold from the gardens and terraces into the Keep of Idalir.

A cold draft blew through the castle. A thin layer of snow covered the floors, for Beren left the doors open, in the fateful night so long ago, when Beren fulfilled her pact with the gods and abandoned Idalir. The ceilings seemed to rise to the heavens.

A warm feeling came over Caer, as if she knew she returned home.

She passed endless rooms, all empty, and cold, ballrooms and banquet halls and kitchens; the dais where her mother sat upon the throne the ancient witches forged. Bedrooms of splendor lined with gold seemed devoid of life. Snow lay on the floors and the furniture; the statues of centaurs, fairies, nymphs, and gods, and the tapestries hung on the walls glistening with ice. But the portrait in the great hall of her father King Gareth grasping the hilt of Hünjjuerad, the tip of the blade resting on the floor below, painted before he fell to the wolves in the woods, weeks before her birth struck her most.

This place waited for her and beckoned her to come. It called to her, as Náströndir, the Heart of the World, called to her.

The closed door in the castle became visible as she climbed the stairs of the tallest tower. Caer recognized the place where her mother practiced her gift, where for many years she alone stood.

Caer touched the handle, and it opened.

Tears swam in her eyes. The wind from the open window rocked a bassinet, and next to it waited a crib, woven by fairy magic, of soft heather and fashioned like a nest, made by the pixies of the fairy sidhes. Caer paused at a wooden cabinet carved with runes and knots. She unlatched the doors to find herbs still stored there, as if time stood still, next to cauldrons and athames and a crystal-tipped ritual wand.

Magic lingered there.

Caer turned and jumped to see Beren, rocking in the chair, cuddling the babe who suckled at her breast. Bright red hair seemed pale in the pale light, and an ethereal fire crackled in the hearth.

_I do not know what fate I send you into, my daughter,_ Beren said, _yet I know I have done all I can. Sleep in peace now, Caer, my child, sleep in dreams of peace and warmth._

"Mother," Caer cried, but the woman did not look up from her sleeping baby. Caer sank to her knees and curled up and laid her head on the cold stone floor.

There she dreamed of peace and warmth.

*****

Caer awakened, cold and sore from lying on the stone floor. She shook her head as she walked toward the healing house. She could not have stayed; it wearied her too much for one day to find her heritage and be cast into a magical sleep.

Caer walked through the narrow streets of Ull, her heart filled with muddled thoughts, after her uncomfortable sleep in dreams of peace in Idalir.

The arch with its ancient wooden door waited before her. She hesitated before stepping into the house of healing. Could she do anything to help the man she loved?

The door opened.

"Come," the healer, a young maiden, beckoned. "The mother expects you."

The halls looked colorless. Caer wondered if all of the homes in the city looked the same, endless corridors of white, with stone floors instead of earth, high ceilings adorned with golden chandeliers and the candlesticks glimmering within them, casting soft light.

The healers carried ivory linen blankets and sheets through the halls. Some bore steaming goblets of herb brews for the sick. All of them glanced at her, curiosity getting the better of them.

"Some of these have heard of witches and never seen one," the healer remarked. "When your mother sent you into the world, when your mother passed from us, most of the women here stood knee high to a grasshopper."

"These are wise women?" Caer asked.

The healer chuckled. "Course they are, dear. The line of Dana alone bears the blood of the witches. The daughters of Dana's heir carried the blood, though the firstborn daughter of the Witches will share her mother's power and become Queen."

"How do you still possess magic?" Caer asked

"Beoreth told you nothing? So unlike her," the healer muttered, and Caer felt some small resentment at her boldness. "Over time the blood of Dana's heir diluted and now runs in women throughout the land. We are called to serve, as the healers, the priestesses and keepers of the old ways, the oracles. But our magic flows little. Soon the healers will have no power save to brew herbs and do what they can with them."

Caer thought about it.

The healer looked at her and frowned. "Don't fret m'dear. Herbs can cure all manner of illnesses. You just think about fighting the wench in the dark towers, and we'll all be just fine."

Caer laughed, and the healer joined in. Still, in the back of her mind, Caer wondered if her own magic could help to heal Headred.

"I've never heard anyone speak of Belial in such a way," Caer said, trying to catch her breath.

"Oh, posh. Beoreth's me cousin, twice removed. Me mother waited on Enyd there the night she gave birth to the wench. Could see the demon in her, me mother said. Should've ended there, but it didn't. Always seemed a nasty child, I'm told, and I don't fear no evil when she wants us to fear."

Caer smiled, though her heart still feared for the fate of Headred.

If Beren knew her daughter would need help, perhaps she bound her to Headred to link their magic, their power together.

She didn't have much time to think about it. Athellind breezed toward them.

"Go to the ward," Athellind instructed the healer with an edge to her tone. "Freana bears her child."

The healer clapped her hands over her mouth and gasped before running off, leaving Caer alone with Athellind.

The older woman stared at Caer. "I remember the night your mother bore you, you know." Athellind took her by the shoulder and led her through the halls. "I went out into the woods, and when I returned your mother knew what I saw. I served as a priestess, and I followed Waermund into the woods and discovered his treachery."

"Yes, Headred told me about you." Caer imagined Athellind's ancient form running, hunted by wolves, to warn the Queen.

Athellind's eyes peered into Caer's soul. "'Twas a wee mite younger, I suppose. But I still remember. I remember the child, ye riding off on the back of the centaur, and I remember Belial being held at bay by the sacrifice of the good Queen."

"It will not be in vain," Caer told her.

Athellind gazed at her. "Course it won't be, child, Ye're born to the power and magic of the witches. 'Tis no greater light in the world but yours, and Belial cannot abide against it."

Caer walked in silence with her, and the healer left her alone in her thoughts.

"What became of Waermund?" Caer wondered about the priest who betrayed them.

"Most figure he died. No, I told them. I reckon he's out there, serving his mistress Belial. Always a crafty one, that Waermund, from boyhood on. I knew him. Liked to make the girls cry, but not me, for I'd just as soon break his nose. More of a pain than it's worth, I'll tell you, to heal it for him afterwards."

Caer laughed. The laughter stopped as they came to the door.

Inside the small room Headred laid on a featherbed, where he laid for three days, his face pale, the demon's gouges on his naked chest the red of flames. It looked like an animal clawed him, but although it marked it did not break the skin, nor drew blood.

"He grows feverish at times," Athellind explained, "and cold other times. We give him herbs, but they ease his pain. 'Tis all we can do for him now."

"They won't heal him?"

"One thing can heal the touch of the demon: the will of the injured person. And I'm sure Mab told you never a man's or a woman's will been strong enough yet."

"I guess hope is lost," Caer whispered, as a single tear cascaded down her cheek, onto his skin as she leaned over him.

"Don't give up hope, my child. I knew his mum, and I knew his dad. Good people, and strong. Wolves killed his mother, nigh on two years ago. His father passed last year, by fever. But they fought, both Hamald his da' and Weina his mum when her time came, and both of 'em lasted long enough to make goodbyes."

Caer turned at the word.

Athellind smiled. "If he awakens at all, he won't need to make goodbye's, 'cause he'll live. Just sit with him, child, talk to him, and let him know you're here." Athellind left them alone.

Caer sat beside Headred as he slept, fighting the demon's wounds with all his strength.

The sun began to sink low when a knock sounded at the door. Caer's attention to Headred wavered.

The healer at the door offered a tray with two goblets and two steaming bowls of stew.

"He should take some herbs. You should eat too, my dear, for if you do not eat the shadow may take you as well."

Caer took a steaming bowl and studied the stew inside. It smelled good, and when she sampled it, it tasted better than it smelled. The mug held what looked like water but tasted like wine.

The healer spooned broth to Headred's lips. At first, he did not swallow. She sighed in relief as his body gulped the herb mixture at last.

"See there," the healer said with a small smile, "he drinks the broth, and hope endures."

Caer ate her stew, relieved, as the healer spread soothing balm over the demon's marks, and finished giving Headred the herbal brew.

"You may sleep here tonight," the healer offered, rising. "But perhaps we should leave him alone in sleep."

"I will stay here," Caer answered, taking his hand and holding it.

The healer sighed and left.

"What do you dream of, beautiful Headred?"

He didn't move, but she thought for a moment she saw color in his face.

The candle flickered and sent more color to his features. She knew it to be a trick of the light. He slept beyond her.

They knew each other not more than a month, in spite of dreams and childhood meetings. And now as he died, and she could do nothing to stop it, not like before, when the wolves attacked him.

The circle, she thought, and a light kindled in her mind.

Perhaps if she could cast a circle, she could enter his dreams.

She could lead him back to the living, to her.

In a flash she stood up, searching for the saddlebag she brought from their horse.

She found the bag and took out the small pouch of salt. Caer spilled it around the bed. Caer tried to remember Beoreth describing the ancient practices to her as a child. With the ritual dagger she drew a pentagram in the air above the circle and Headred.

Nothing happened.

"What must I do?" she asked. Did he call to the gods? Did he pray for guidance? "If you watch this now," she announced to the gods, "If you see what Belial did to him, let me into his mind."

Nothing happened.

Caer closed her eyes to block the tears. When she opened her eyes the circle of salt glowed with the light of the moon.

Caer stopped herself from squealing. She felt sure the healers would object to this, but it felt hard to contain her excitement. She cast a circle.

The last time she saw his visions, she touched the circle to enter his mind. But perhaps it needed more now, when she cast the circle.

The energy coursed up her arm as it passed through the invisible column of air. No visions came to her, and she could not see into Headred's mind. She stepped through, until she stood in the circle with him, and felt the energies convulse around her body, through her, until it touched ever part of her.

His mind remained closed to her.

"Can you hear me, Headred? Open your dreams to me. Let me help you."

Even as she spoke, cold came in waves over her body, pouring through her as the demon's cold touch passed through him. She felt herself going under and felt the floor as she collapsed upon it.

And after she saw only darkness.

*****

The winds howled around Glasheim; the screams of the demon echoed in the night.

_Headred fought until his strength failed. Sul fell, Ull burned, and his love lay dead. But death would not await him if the demon took what she wanted. His fate would be one worse than death, an eternity of punishment for_ Miðgarðir _, and for him._

Before him, among the stones, Belial cackled.

Caer saw Headred as the shadows surrounded him, as the snow fell from the sky and piled on the ground. The earth moved on, cold and lost.

" _Belial!"_ _she screamed._

The demon turned toward her.

" _An active imagination you have, Headred, son of Hamald,"_ _Belial taunted and flicked her wrist to send rocks at Caer._

Nothing moved.

The howl of the wind began to die. The snow stopped falling. The roiling skies and blistering cold could not stop Caer.

_Y_ Erianrod _now faced_ Mór-Ríogain _._

" _The child of light. She comes at last to face my wrath."_

" _Or you have come to face mine,"_ _Caer retorted._

_The demon laughed._ _"I will have what I deserve. I will have all what I desire."_

" _You cannot claim him,"_ _Caer whispered, but the whisper resounded. The stones shook with the magic within them, and beneath, in the catacombs, the mothers of old lived for a moment again._

" _Fool."_ _Belial faded from Glasheim as though she never walked there._

" _Rest, my love,"_ _Caer said to Headred._

Her mother floated toward him.

" _Help comes now."_

The tendrils of shadow around him began to dissipate. Caer followed the Dark Lord Belial into the night.

The towers of Eliudnir rose into the heavens. In the fortress the demon screamed, thrown back against the wall, again cast out by her inferior.

The girl would pay, she decided and set to work. A potion would be needed, to ensure the boy never awoke. Caer saw the foul things Belial threw into a bowl to mash and heard Belial's thoughts as she spoke to the poison she intended magicked into Headred's veins.

Belial gazed into the ball Waermund held.

" _I see her now,"_ _Waermund told the Dark Lord,_ _"in the lands of shadow, here with us."_

_Belial glanced up and around._ _"She comes here?"_ _She laughed._ _"Do you think you can cast me out, child, and you can come and spy on me in my lands?"_

Koshnoteth kataia.

The force of the spell bombarded Caer's physical body, still in the circle in the healing house, and she landed on the floor of Headred's room, with the healers and Athellind looking down at her.

Athellind pushed her in the chair beside the bed and pushed a cup of water to her lips until she drank. On the floor, the healer's feet destroyed the salt ring. "Beren did such foolish things, and it cost your mother her life, and her kingdom."

Caer saw more fear than anger in the old healer. But Athellind looked worried as well. "I saw Belial."

Athellind's face shot up. "Where, child?"

"In his mind. I drove her out, I think."

Athellind closed her eyes and murmured to herself for a moment. "Your mother would have done the same. She would rather have died than let another suffer her sister's wrath." Athellind fingered the chain around her neck.

"She made a poison. She's going to try to kill him."

Athellind looked at her, pleased. "We can stop her, if you tell one of the women what you saw, we can make an antidote straight away. So the wench knows you're here, eh?"

"Yes." Caer focused on Headred.

"Don't you fret now, child. You rest." She handed Caer to another maiden. "We have work to do so he will recover."

Caer glanced back as the healer led her to another chamber. She tucked Caer into the bed as she would a sick child. And despite herself, she slipped into sleep and dreams.

And she saw Belial raging in Eliudnir and the victory Caer made.

Beoreth walked through the freshly fallen snow among the standing stones of Glasheim, her arms folded over her chest for warmth, thinking. No word yet arrived about the fate of Caer or of Headred. Not long ago Gehrdon galloped alone into the forest to seek news.

The sky above cleared, and the stars shimmered, even as the skies over the distant wasteland writhed. And beyond the Niðafjöll Mountains, the fires of the demons gleamed, a sick, pale light.

Beoreth heard hoofbeats and whirled. Gehrdon returned.

"What news do you bring, old friend?"

Gehrdon shook her head. "I saw their path, a path full of strange portents. Yet I have found death there."

Beoreth clutched her mouth.

The centaur continued, "Not our own death, but the wolves and golems. I saw their carcasses scattered. I saw magic amiss there, but none such as I have ever seen."

Beoreth breathed a sigh of relief.

"Have peace, Beoreth, for I feel they have reached the White City, and beyond Ull we still know nothing." Gehrdon turned to walk away and stopped.

Huma bounded toward them. "Me mother," he shouted. "Me mother spoke to me!"

Gehrdon smiled. "Have peace, my brother, and tell me what our mother said."

They could hardly understand Huma, as he shouted and ran. "Me mother's not ashamed the goat got her with child her no more! She wants me to come home."

"I'm not supposed to talk to the outlanders either." He turned his nose up at Beoreth.

Gehrdon looked at him. "Why not, Huma?"

The goat man seemed uneasy. "The mortals who have gathered," he began in hushed tones, turning sideways, trying to keep Beoreth from hearing. Beoreth found it amusing, his sister twice as tall as him. "They have council alone, and some believe they turn against us."

"Why would they believe men turn against us?" Beoreth interrupted.

He seemed to think her stupid, in her opinion a very remarkable feat for the goat man. Gehrdon, however, nodded for him to answer.

"Emissaries come to their camps," he squeaked, feeling as if doing something very wrong. "Emissaries they say are from the Lord Belial. They want the men to join her against Caer."

Gehrdon glowered at the human camp, gauging the distance and the armaments.

Beoreth looked stunned. "I don't believe it."

"You call me mum a liar?" Huma asked, enraged.

"Your mum focked a goat," she retorted, angry and disturbed. "What else would she do?"

"Peace, both of you," Gehrdon soothed and reported on what she saw. "The men hold council, and two creatures have joined their number. I see them, cloaked in shadows. They serve Belial."

"Deliver us," Beoreth prayed and hoped praying would be enough.

*****

Gavial glanced at the mortal council. Most went along with him thus far, but he doubted they would follow him now. For by happenstance he even discovered this council, and he attended to try to stop this madness.

Around him sat the twelve self-styled kings of the lands of Sul, once the vassals of the Witch Queen, each as powerful as him, each with his own weaknesses: women, power, gold, glory. The bonfire lit their eyes with the flames of the demon as her servants whispered among them. No one knew the origin of the wraiths.

"In the winter you have suffered," one servant rasped and shook his head in sadness, clicking what might have passed for a tongue. "And yet, the demon made not this winter, as the fairies proclaim."

"Who made it?" one of the Kings asked.

The servant laughed. "'Tis the work of Beren. Yes, your fabled witch and Queen. She did not tell you the whole truth about the birth of her sister Belial, a witch through her mother, and a demon through her father, the Great Lord Moloch."

"What truth do you mean?" Freotheric, one of the young men already persuaded to turn against Gavial, asked.

The creature chuckled and turned to his companion. "They do not know," he said to the other emissary, his tone scornful.

"Tell them," the deep voice of the other instructed. Gavial swore a demon hid beneath its cloak. The sound of his voice, the breath he exhaled, felt like a wind colder than death or night.

"Your Queen, though first born of these lands, the gods did not mean to rule," the servant explained. "You see, the _good_ Queen Belial, the Dark Lord, yes, but she will be benevolent so long as you obey her, and her mother wished for her to rule Sul. Beren knew it to be her deathbed wish, in fact, and such things are powerful magic."

Gavial felt disgusted but listened as the servant droned on.

"The gods didn't like Belial very much, and so decided not to let her rule. The gods want you to serve them, and not to know their power grows weak. But soon there will be no gods. Even now Belial plans to conquer them all."

Gavial's ears perked, for he knew enough about their lore to know Belial did not have the power to conquer the gods. But many in this council lived all of their lives away from the old cities and did not hear such things. They knew legends of great power, and great evil.

"Even so, she wishes for men to have the kingdom of Sul as theirs when she defeats the child and becomes Queen of the earth. And so the gods and Beren damned your lands to winter. The witch you call the Ice Queen should not be the Queen at all, but a traitor, for she forsook her mother's dying wish and tried to have Belial killed, rather than give her power."

The creatures made it seem so easy, to just take the world when the demon finished with it. There would be no men left, for even the races could not stand against Belial with no witch to help them. And though he did not trust the Witch Queens, he could not help but remember his father's broken body brought to their family's keep, the swords and spears of the golems still embedded in his back.

"This ends now," Gavial said, standing. The undecided Kings gasped, others looked at him in hatred, and the warriors who followed Gavial stood as well. "These are lies of the shadow. I dwelled as a vassal, a Lord of the Queen, when Enyd gave birth to Belial, and I knew the very day of her evil. 'Tis her heart making the winter. She cares for no one, least of all men. She fears us, as she fears all races of free mind who could one day stand against her.

"If you join her," he shrugged, "count me no longer as your friend."

Freotheric leapt to his feet. So did two of Gavial's warriors, their swords at Freotheric's throat.

"Do you wish this, Gavial? You shall be King of nothing," Freotheric boasted. Gavial's warriors' blades pointed at the necks of Freotheric and his followers. Freotheric's sword dropped. The warriors of Freotheric followed suit.

"So it comes to this," Elric said as the centaurs and fairies stepped from the shadows, and the nymphs watched.

Gavial, seeing the emissaries trying to sneak away, shouted and pointed. "Stop them!"

Elric held up his hand. "Let them go. Let them return to their master so she learns she possesses no allies in this realm."

"Did you fools not hear her tale?" Freotheric said and stopped as the scimitar came closer.

"I did," Gavial circled Freotheric. "And yet I understand the truth; the demon Moloch ruled as the first Dark Lord, and his daughter takes his place. I fought against Belial, and I grasp what lies they told. I know when the gods made men they could not find one man worthy to rule, yet one witch could."

"And why should she?" Freotheric asked. "Tell me or kill me now!"

"Because she can," Gavial replied and stepped back, leaving his dagger in the man's belly. "All who do not follow the Ice Queen and her daughter leave now and go to your new master!"

Beoreth reached the King's council just as Freotheric's body dropped limp to the ground. Beoreth watched as almost half of the men began to pack up their equipment.

"So it begins, as it always begins," Elric sighed. "With chaos and discord."

"They will return," Gavial said. "They will come and attack."

"We will be ready," Gehrdon replied

Beoreth shook her head. "What are we to do?" she cried, wondering where Caer walked now, and of the fate of Headred, Mab, and Yidrith.

"Pray to the gods, wise Lady Beoreth," Elric said. "The time of battle comes upon us. Let us make ready for war!"

*****

"Milady," the healer whispered, as the moon shown through the windows. "Milady, you must awake!"

"What happened?" Caer asked, sitting up and seeing the concern in the healer's eyes.

"Milady, we fear your love passes into shadow, and the demon's power becomes too much for him."

"Take me to him," Caer commanded as she stood and wrapped a robe around herself.

"He seemed to be better," the healer explained as they hurried. "Better, but not enough, it seems. His body grows cold, his mind and strength weak. The demon takes too much from him."

They entered the room where Athellind bent over him. "We can do nothing more for him." She stood, her eyes brimming with tears. "Tonight he will pass into shadow."

Caer stared at her as if she killed a unicorn in front of her.

"Child, we can do nothing," Athellind said. "His body grows too weak, and no one can fight Belial once she touches them."

"Leave me with him." Caer waited, but neither of the healers moved. "Now!" she commanded, as a Queen.

The healers bowed their heads and obeyed.

Caer crossed to the bed and touched Headred's face. She jerked her hand back from the sudden rush of cold, as if death took him. Caer cried, unable to bear it.

Caer took his hand and laced their fingers together. She laid her head on his chest and drew herself on top of him. "Do not leave me, Headred, my love, you are my light, my light."

He did not move, and his breath rattled in his chest.

"Do you remember?" she sobbed. "We lost our way on the road to the door, and we stood in the cave as the others slept?"

He did not answer.

"You held me, for warmth and for love, as you told me of Cwen and Cerdic, the lovers of the gods?" She wept as his breath rattled on, and his skin grew colder.

"Woden and Frigg, Lord and Lady of radiance, hear my call!" she cried. The winds outside howled and spun, and the guards and warriors who walked and watched in the streets grew fearful.

"Use whatever power you have given me to heal him. Spare his life."

Athellind pushed the door open, breathless from running back down the hall, alerted by the other healers of strange happenings in Headred's chamber. Something felt amiss in the city. Magic returned again; she felt it in her blood. She watched as Caer slumped onto Headred's chest and felt the magic grow.

"By the gods," she whispered and covered her eyes.

Where the light came from no one knew, but some said the stars themselves burned as bright as a thousand suns. In the Eliudnir, Belial screamed and shut herself in, and in the council of Glasheim they saw a flash. Above the city the sky glowed as if the day came.

Athellind rushed to Headred as the light faded. He stood at the door of the hereafter; now color and warmth returned to him.

Caer slumped, cold and dying, above him.

"Take her to the bed there," Athellind instructed the healers who rushed in.

"What happened here?" Mab asked, from the doorway. The fairy Queen's wings fluttered in full health, no longer exhausted. The healers turned to face her.

"I do not know," Athellind replied. "She healed him of Belial's evil touch, but now Caer ails." Athellind laid an aged hand on Mab's shoulder. "Can you help her?"

"I do not yet have the strength left in me to do what you ask," Mab sighed. "I did not think she would sacrifice all to save him, and for her foolishness she may damn us all."

Athellind shook her head. "Don't you turn to such thoughts, Mab," she said to the fairy Queen, who seemed taken with surprise at the healer's indignation. "I've heard the people of this city say too many times of the good Queen and her daughter. She'll live, and she'll face Belial."

"I hope to the gods you are not mistaken." Mab turned and left, praying the healer would be right. Or doom would come upon them all.

*****

By dawn, the people spoke of the night's events. They said Y Erianrod awoke, and her power made the stars shine. And as word spread it grew.

Throughout Ull, people told the tale of how Caer returned to them, and through her power the dead resurrected, and the evil of night faded away. And as rumor ran rampant, the people lined the streets before the house waiting to be healed by her.

Inside, Mab watched Caer sleep. She improved, the warmth returning to her skin.

Caer's power, Mab thought, was greater than she could have imagined. Caer's power overcame her, and she could not control it.

Athellind bent over Headred. "He will awaken soon enough."

"Soon enough or now," Headred answered, his voice scratchy.

Mab sighed, as Athellind poured water down his throat.

"I am parched, woman," he said, with no small amount of irritation. "Do not drown me so soon after I have cheated death. If I possessed the strength I would shove the glass down your throat."

"He'll be fine," Athellind said and left them alone.

"Do you remember what happened, my child?" Mab asked.

He looked at her. "I do. I saw clouds boiling above me, and heard the demon whispering to me. I could not resist; I grew too weak. She drew me to her, to Eliudnir."

"Did she succeed in breaking you?" Mab asked. She seemed concerned they just healed the one who could destroy them.

"No," he whispered. "Because all of the sudden I stood with my love, and brilliant sunlight surrounded us. She kissed me, and I felt joy and warmth and strength within me. And I slept without dreams until I awoke."

"Strange omens indeed," Mab whispered and fell silent.

"Y Erianrod guarded against the Mór-Ríogain." Headred said.

Mab smiled and peered at Caer, unconscious in the other bed.

"Will she awaken?" Headred asked. She looked as bad as he felt.

"Great is the power the gods gave her," Athellind interjected, returning with broth. "Eat this, child or I'll shove it down your throat as well as the tea."

"She'll drive me mad," he said to Mab and began to sip the broth in submission.

"Indeed, I see her power," Mab told Athellind. "She too went through the shadows, so her love might find peace."

And as Headred gazed upon her and remembered her sacrifice, he listened to Caer's shallow breath as she slept in dreams of warmth and peace.

*****

Sable clouds boiled above Eliudnir; lightning streaked as the rivers of fire poured through the wastelands.

In the courtyard behind the closed gates, the golems worked, building according to Belial's instructions: massive machines of war they would take with them, machines to bring the lands of winter to its knees; machines to tear down the walls of Ull and leave a smoldering ruin of blood and flame.

Belial oversaw Waermund as he mixed the thin, grey powder. His hand shook with nervous anxiety as he combined the ingredients in a giant, stone basin. It looked like ash and soot; Waermund did not know how this powder could bring down the stone walls of Ull.

"What does this do again?" Waermund's question hung in the air.

"Just be careful," Belial snapped and watched more.

The powder settled. Belial glanced up. "Watch." She lit a long stick with a torch. Her hand moved towards the powder-filled wood box. "Stand back, fool of a man."

Belial lit a line of cloth at the box's top, and they stepped away as Belial tossed the box from the tower window.

The sound it made deafened Waermund. The blast turned a nearby section of the fortress wall into a smoldering ruin, ashes and dust flying up as wooden sticks burned on it.

"Good." She seemed pleased. "Very good."

"More will be needed," he reminded her.

She nodded, her dead skin sagging. He almost cringed but held back his disgust for fear of his life. But she knew, he thought. She always knew.

For now she just stood as he went back to where he mixed the powder. Such a simple thing, such a little thing.

Yet how could dust be made into a war machine? Waermund wondered.

Lord Belial explained it not to be just any powder. Many golems and wolves died to bring the charcoal, and other components, to dig it from deep within the mountains. Worth the cost, she thought, the powder's fire still gleaming in her eyes, worth the death of her servants to possess the weapon her enemy did not.

Waermund cringed as footsteps sounded outside.

"Gorga," Belial acknowledged the golem lieutenant as he stepped into the room.

Small slits, unseen if one did not know where to look, quivered below the forehead of his horned face, containing his eyes, opened on rare occasions in near darkness and covered in blood. His cold grey skin mimicked hers, his eyes red, and his pointed, yellow teeth gleaming in the light of the towers. "The machines," he growled, glowering at Waermund and swinging his club. "The machines are ready, my Queen."

He sacrificed so much by joining her. Waermund wondered as he mixed more powder. How many times would he pay; how many of her servants paid more? He wished he never betrayed Beren.

"You will be rewarded for this," she promised Waermund, leaning close and bringing her stench of death and decay. "Make this ready, for we will leave soon and make war."

"Come, my Queen, and inspect our work." Gorga led her off.

Waermund glanced out the window at the Black Mountains and wished again he never betrayed the lands or the people of Sul.

But hope fled him now. For war would now be made on the lands of Sul, with his help.

The golems' feet stamped in the wastelands. Thousands of them moved about their tasks below the battlements of the towers. The army of Óskópnir, within the fortress of Eliudnir, waited for Lord Belial to come, and for the gates to open.

The War of Darkness endured in the time of winter, and the final battle now came upon them.

Night fell when Belial arrived at the battlements. She gazed at her army. Golems, shrouded in iron armor, rode the demon-bred horses of Eliudnir and traveled on foot, carrying with them the doom of men. Wolves stood on their hind legs, claws and teeth their weapons, with glowing red eyes beaming from beneath their helmets.

The rain ceased, though storm clouds still swirled above. Waermund glanced at Belial, who nodded. The warriors before the towers readied their whips to force draft horses into drawing open the vast gates, so long closed.

Ull would fall, the people would bleed and die, and Belial, at long last, would be Queen of the lands given to her by her father before her birth, lands forever destined to be winter, in eternal damnation.

If Caer lived it would not happen.

So Y Erianrod must die. But how could such a miracle happen if the gods protected Caer?

Belial stretched to her full height upon the battlements. The gates remained closed. As she scryed on Ull in the frozen pool on the ground, she saw the great machinations of war. Belial stood at the tower's heights, her minions watching her, wrath and fury in her eyes.

Belial believed Moloch's power would not let any touch her. By Caer's death Belial would change the earth.

The Lord Belial, in a hooded riding robe, her eyes glowing red in the dead skin of her face, descended the stairs to the courtyard. She seemed carried by the wind, each tread resounding as though she already sealed the doom of Miðgarðir.

"So we have come to this place," Belial hissed to the army. "Before us lies the vile child, Y Erianrod, taken from the Queen's own blood, who stands against my power and my will. She and the four races would keep you here, yet you follow me, for you believe your place will be to fill the earth with your children."

The army stood quiet before her. The wind blew off her hood, and her black hair streamed down her back. Waermund saw the jet ovals of her eyes and her soul, the evil he served and the horror surrounding all she touched.

"We have brought doom upon many in my name," Belial said, her voice rising, accompanied by the thunder overhead. "Your forefathers fled when Moloch fell, and yet you returned here, seeking shelter, and the power you believe awaits you."

Belial stood unmoved by the golems' stamping of approval and the joyous howl of the wolves. She raised her hands. They quieted. She came closer to them. Victory so close to them now, so much within their grasp as they waited for Belial to strike.

"A fool Caer the daughter of Beren must be," Belial said, haughty laughter spilling from her. "She thinks her power could save the lands of magic or the peasants from the coming death. Nay, fool of a woman, her doom my father wrote long ago, but I shall endure."

Belial's eyes showed malice and fury for Caer in an instant, scorching all they looked upon and leaving the army shaken in fear of her gaze. Above them, the storm clouds grew.

"You do not know yet who I am, for I have not yet unleashed my power upon the world!" Thunder clapped, shaking the earth in cadence with her words. "Run now, my greatest servants; run through Sul and wreak havoc upon all you see! Show no mercy toward our enemies, for your Lord Belial will show no mercy to you! Show the races I will slay all the servants of witches where they stand!

"Burn the hides of the centaurs, the fairies, the trees and men. Eat the flesh you crave from the children and the mothers and the younglings of the four races. Tear down the trees and burn their roots. Vanquish the fairies with your axe and spear. In my name, destroy them all!"

No one in the army said a word, though her eyes foretold fury and wrath for the races of men and Caer, their leader. The evil will inside her filled with fury, until Belial felt she could take no more from it. With its power it lashed out and struck the gates.

The golems and wolves saw fire thrown in the air. The river of fire flowing through the land burned and scorched the soft tissue of those who worked readying the great war machines for transport. Eyes fearful, they turned to the gates, awaiting the battle, as Belial faced the enemy who tormented her for so long.

"I am Belial, daughter of your Lord and father Moloch, bearer of the gifts of the witches and of the dark powers, servant of my father's will upon the Earth," she said in a voice like thunder, drawing her sword and raising it. "I am the one sent into the earth, of whom the prophecies laid down long ago. I am the shadow come into Miðgarðir, to drive back the day and bring forth the eternal night and winter."

Belial swung herself on her jet-black horse, its eyes shimmering with blood, snorting as she turned it to the open gates and began to ride past the army.

"Go now, my children," Belial boomed, as the storm raged. "In sunlight you are destroyed, and light no longer dwells in Sul. Go now from this place and spread my shadow over all the earth!"

Her army needed no more prodding. They sped forth through the open gates, toward Sul where the battle awaited them, following their Lord Belial as she rode for the distant mountains.

Belial moved in the storm she created. Long ago driven from Sul, her kingdom by birthright, now she returned the Dark Lord of Miðgarðir. Now she returned, dressed in robes of simple ebony under a mantle of grey.

Cold snow began to fall upon the wastelands, and the storms spread over Sul.

"Gods help us," Waermund said, standing alone in the towers of Eliudnir. None here saw more than he of her evil and her power.

"Why do you not deliver us?" he shouted to the skies, the few golems and wolves who remained gazing up at him. "For I am weary, and Belial took much from me."

No answer came as Belial and her army sped to the Niðafjöll Mountains and the lands of winter. The black hand of Belial moved to war against the peoples of Miðgarðir.

*****

From Glasheim, a rider rode fast upon a fairy horse to warn Caer.

The horse gleamed white. The rider did not think; he rode. Salvation must be brought to the races at Glasheim now, or the demon would forge this harsh winter into an eternal, unchangeable fate.

Girth could see the beacon of Ull shining through the trees. In the forest wolves howled, and the sun hid behind thunderstorms. Woden, it appeared, could not or would not, drive back the power of Belial.

The Dark Army came on swift wings.

Girth knew this day would come, for he fought in the first Dark War beside his father. He stood on the battlefield and watched wolves, golems and Moloch cut down the people, destroying and pillaging. He saw Oberon struck down.

The second Dark War came to an end, more than twenty years after it began.

It began when the Lord Belial rose from the ashes of her father, when she gathered his evil to her and his servants to her command. The wolves flourished in the wasted lands beyond the Black Mountains, and there evil consumed all.

Belial fired the first shot of the second war, sending an ambush to kill the mortal King. Wounded and dying, Gareth called out, and Beren heard. And in Idalir, Beren waited.

For hope would come into Miðgarðir, and she would bear a daughter of power.

The white horse kicked the snow remaining in the deep trench Caer forged. He saw her great fury, her strong will, and her heart desperate to save the one she loved, so she might save them all.

The trees seemed to bend to the will of the rider, bowing before the immortal gracing the path between them, whispering in the winds, so the path looked like a hall of trees, stretching before Girth.

The path widened, and the city loomed, tall and powerful, the first and last refuge of mortals.

He did not stop; he did not rest; and he did not wait. He flung out his hand. The gates flew open. And inside the city, Mab waited.

He stopped inside of the White Gates.

Girth stepped down from the horse and looked at his mother.

She, tall and sad, beautiful in the way of their people, stared back at him. A single tear slid down her cheek. "It begins." She knew.

"Yes, my mother. The men--"

"Not here, my son. We will go where we can talk with friends." She led him through the city, to the house where Caer slept, to where she waited and the destiny of the people hid.

*****

The dawn broke on Ull, spilling light on the ashen walls and the turrets, the tower guard and the stone statues of the gods guarding the gates, the visages of the ancient gods in stone alcoves, bearing sword and axe against the enemies of witches and men.

The healing house gleamed. People passed by, and children played in the streets before the ancient doors of the house, and on the stone steps of the nearby temple.

Inside, the healers worked. Down the hall from where Caer lay asleep and Headred sat awoke, a baby cried for his mother's milk. Another man lay feverish from poisoned herbs, sleeping lost and alone. He awakened for a moment when Caer shone her light the night before.

Mab brought Girth there, before sending one of the maidens outside to awaken Yidrith. Now she sat beside Headred, listening to his complaints. Beoreth warned him not to run off and told him he would leave soon enough.

Headred grew tired of lying in bed for days on end and wished to cast his circle and seek visions.

Athellind leaned over Caer and felt her aura as she listened to Mab and the stranger who spoke in hushed voices.

"Y Erianrod sleeps in evil dreams," Mab explained to Girth. "'Twas to save him she made this sacrifice."

Athellind grunted, and Mab turned to her. Never missed a beat, thought Athellind.

"The good healer would have me tell you the daughter of the Queen will be well and lies in sleep," Mab said, smiling at Athellind. "The power of Lord Belial breaks here."

"'Tis not so in the camp," Girth said.

Headred glanced at him as Mab watched the western window. Athellind moved to the other side of the bed and listened, gleaning information from their whispers.

"War comes upon us on swift wings," Mab said. "None can stand against it but the light."

Silence fell over the chamber as they felt the power of the fairy's words.

"What happened?" Headred asked.

Girth sighed. "Envoys of Belial convinced some of the race of men to join her. Some welcomed her emissaries, and they held council against the other races. When some of the men joined the enemy, men shed at Glasheim. The men who betrayed us flew from there, but Gavial believes they will return and attack."

"First blood," Mab murmured. "Before the final battle, red rivers will flow through the lands."

"Be grateful, my mother, for no blood of our numbers was spilled, but rather the blood of those who betrayed us. Gavial killed Freotheric for his treachery."

Headred's head snapped as he turned to the fairy. "I would not have thought Gavial would have stood against the dark. Not after the council."

"He would not stand with the demon," Yidrith interrupted, striding into the room. "He loves the power he holds, but he loves the people he rules as well. And at his age he knows more than most Kings of mortals what the power of the demon did to these lands."

"The war begins?" Athellind asked, forgetting her eavesdroping without being noticed.

All eyes turned to her, and she flushed a little.

"No," Mab said. "But soon the war will come, and the battle will be met, and we are powerless to stop either here."

"What do you suggest?" Headred asked, anger rising.

Mab laid a comforting hand on his. "We must go back and gather the people. If a battle must be fought, we must do all we can to ensure victory."

"Where the emissaries of Belial are," Girth said, "her army cannot be far behind."

Wolves already lurked in the forest and grew stronger as winter endured. But golems never dared enter Sul after the Queen's sacrifice death.

"The city remains safe," Yidrith said. "The men have gathered, and the enemies of Belial will have to fight and sacrifice many of their legions, if they hope to gain this place."

"Doubt it, my son," Mab whispered so Athellind could not hear. "She builds great machines of war, machines to obliterate all they are unleashed against. Some of them could tear down stones."

"How do you know this, my mother?"

Mab's eyes grew dark. "In my dreams I walked in the shadows and saw what would be. Ull may burn before this ends. But hope remains in Caer."

*****

Caer heard voices as she saw the past and the future in her dreams. Athellind tended to her as the others talked. Caer felt trapped behind a veil of dreams, unable to break free.

And so she listened to what she could, watching the clouds gather, clouds of evil and omens covering the earth, and listened to the screams as blood ran in rivers.

War will come... _Mab said in a voice like a whisper. Caer listened to the screams of death in her dreams._ We are powerless to stop...

What do you suggest...? _Headred's voice trailed off._

The sky blazed with lightning both white and black, scorching the ground and freezing it. Belial appeared within the circle of stones, throwing her head back and laughing.

We must go back...

...do all we can...

And the world changed, no longer night but day, no longer winter but the end of summer.

_Caer stood in the once-dead gardens of_ _Idalir_ _, alive and blooming in the heat of summer's end. She heard laughter and followed it, touching blooms of colors she would never have believed possible. And she stopped, feeling faint, as she saw the scene before her._

_A child of the damned played, young and free, her black hair flowing in the cool breeze, watched by a woman_ _who looked so like Beoreth that Caer knew she must be her mother._

Belial walked on the earth for two years, but she grew more than other children. Already she walked and talked, learned to read and write; already Belial's face bore the stamp of Moloch's.

Berwyn feared the child. None of Enyd lingered there, nothing at all. Not like Belial's sister, Beren, tall and beautiful, with flaming red hair and deep blue eyes, the image of Enyd. Belial's skin remained cold, pale, dead, her eyes circles of coal in fields of milk, her hair ebony.

Berwyn promised Enyd she would keep the child and raise her in the good of the witches. And this she vowed to do, even as she detested it.

Belial fingered a rose bud, blooming even as a slight chill began to grip the air. Berwyn could hear Beren singing a lullaby from inside the castle. She sang of the love of Cerdic and Cwen, and her words floated down to the gardens.

Belial made a face, not at all attractive on the face of a child so strange, but what could Berwyn do? She couldn't make the child's face beautiful—her care remained the child's upbringing.

A bird landed near Belial, and the girl's face turned into something resembling delight. Perhaps she should not lose hope, Berwyn decided. Perhaps the girl did have good in her after all.

Belial touched the bird. It wilted and fell dead beneath the withered rose bush.

" _No!" Berwyn shouted._

Belial cackled, reveling in the death and darkness she made.

City remains safe... the enemies of darkness will have to fight... _Yidrith's voice said from the sky._

Builds great machines of war to conquer and destroy... _Mab whispered._

How do you know this...

Ull will burn before this ends...

Hope remains in Caer...

*****

Caer awoke.

Athellind started as Caer's eyes opened as if she blinked for these last hours. Caer winced at the pain charging through her temples.

"Peace, healer," Mab said, "the light dawns."

"Caer." Headred pushed himself up from the bed, intending to go to her.

Athellind moved like the fury of the wind, pushing him down. "No you don't, my boy. You'll get up when I say, and not a moment sooner."

"Aye." He cursed as she turned her back.

"I've two good ears, boy. I heard you."

Mab glanced from the healer to her charges in wonder at the strange ways of their race and thanked the gods for mercy.

"Caer, did you listen?" Mab asked.

"Course she didn't," Athellind said with no small amount of irritation. "My patient slept."

"I heard some." Caer, stretching, felt as if she woke up from a long nap. "The war comes upon us."

"Aye," Yidrith said. Caer choked as Athellind poured a mint smelling liquid into her mouth. It tingled as she swallowed. But it refreshed her.

Mab's deep eyes bore into her. "What says the child of Beren?"

Caer looked back. "We must return to Glasheim. All who stand with Caer will come to Ull."

"The battle already will have begun," Girth said, wondering if she grew mad.

Caer stared back unafraid. "Blood cannot be spilled on the stones of gods, not the blood of battle. 'Tis a bad omen."

"Y Erianrod gives her orders," Mab said to Girth and Yidrith. "Make ready what we will need."

Girth walked out. Yidrith lingered, pondering Caer's actions. At a pointed glance from Mab, he departed.

Athellind left, but before she did she shot a warning look at Headred. He stared back at her, a look of innocence gracing his face. Mab followed the healer, leaving them alone.

"Why?" he asked.

She smiled. "Because I could not fight without my heart."

He stood and crossed to her. He gazed down at her for a moment before leaning down and taking her lips to his own.

"I do not know what may happen now," Caer said. "But know my heart and my love are for you, even if Belial's will overshadows the earth."

He smiled and tiptoed back to bed just as Athellind returned. She glanced at him before carrying the tray of broth and herbal tea to Caer.

"I saw you," she said with her back to him, and Caer laughed.

*****

Gehrdon and Elric gazed west at the Black Mountains, their faces grave and set, watching the torches of the fallen men as they gleamed at the edge of the forest. Whista's wild hair blew in the breeze. The wolves howled and golems pounded their spears on the ground.

The fairy's brown cloak blew in the wind. The centaur stamped her feet in frustration, in indignation at the treachery and fall of men.

"So it begins," Elric said. "It will end in blood and death."

Gehrdon knew the truth in what he said.

"The enemy approaches." His fairy eyes saw what she could not, a tiny black speck moving toward them over the snow.

"I will go for Gavial and Sestina. Widsith, Lord of the Water Spirits, and the nymphs must know."

Gehrdon reared and her hooves met the snow, beating a path to the others. She did not have to run far. Her mother approached with Gavial, her face grave.

"An emissary of the enemy approaches," Gehrdon told them, out of breath from her mad charge.

Sestina nodded and followed, Gavial trudging through the drifts behind them. When they returned, the creature in the coal cloak stood not far from Elric, a withered hand peeking from beneath his sleeve.

His eyes cast a light beneath the hood of his cloak, as if a specter. They might be ghosts, Gehrdon thought, for few knew the many legions and devices the demon conjured. And by the sounds of their voices, it seemed possible this creature and the other emissaries could be demons themselves.

"End this," he hissed, driving icy chills through the other races.

Elric looked at him, his gaze impassive.

"We do not end what we did not begin," Sestina said.

The specter turned to her, and she felt the full weight of his cold and shadow. "Do the centaurs agree with the lying fairies? They will betray you; the centaurs will keep the mountains, and the fairies will keep the sidhes for themselves. They will destroy the mortal world they cannot have."

"You speak of your master," Sestina retorted and watched in satisfaction as the wraith screeched at the skies.

He turned his attention to Gavial. "All will not be lost for you, my son. Those who claim to be your kindred betray their kingdom and the race of men. For the gods said they gave the earth to men?"

Gavial sneered in response, not deigning to answer.

"If you serve the cursed witch," the wraith advised, "you damn Miðgarðir and yourself."

"I am damned," Gavial, moved to speak, said in defiance. "We are all damned."

"The nymphs grow weak," the wraith hissed at Whista. "Their roots and their hearts rot with age. Soon they will serve Belial, true Queen of these lands. Will you turn against them as well?"

The emissary tried to manufacture sense out of chaos, Gehrdon realized. He tried to deceive and cheat when he could not convince by logic.

"Go back," Elric said. "Go back to your master; go back to those who serve your master, and tell them their blood will mark this place if they come for battle!"

The wraith screeched again, and for a moment appeared to want to attack them. But he turned and glided away, his thin dark shroud blowing around him.

Caer came to the city in sorrow and pain, bearing a dying burden. Though she raced like the wind from the city, much like she raced as a baby, it would not be to save a single life this time. It would be to keep death from touching them again.

The woods spread out before them. Caer galloped beside Mab. Girth, Yidrith, and Headred rode behind them, swords and minds ready for the coming battle. The magic inside Caer grew; waves of heat and power spilled from her fingertips, glistening on her skin and shining in her eyes. It reared inside her, almost too much to handle without the anger she harbored earlier to control it.

Caer could not imagine good Queens and witches using their power in rage alone. Deep inside she began to feel a foundation of strength she never knew before.

Caer pondered her recent dream of the demon as a child. After the vision, Caer knew Belial never knew good. No virtue remained within her from the moment she of her conception. Caer could not understand why Enyd would not use her power to end the life in her womb and stop Belial's evil before it began.

Whether by a mothers love for her child, or by the child who possessed her from the womb, Enyd doomed the world to a second evil.

Ia thelemareth tihood shimeth thalai.

_I feel the darkness grow in power..._ Mab's voice said in her mind.

Caer perceived it too, the waves of cold fury as Lord Belial rode from Eliudnir through the Niðafjöll Mountains. Belial's servants waited in the woods. The Dark Army's presence desecrated Glasheim. She sensed Belial reach for her, to strike at her with winter.

The Dark Lord would not touch her now, not before the battle began.

Shamathai garathinai dovultiman withsis denopenai.

The gates of the dark towers have opened.

Caer rode ever faster, her own wind blowing the snow from the path.

_She will unleash her shadow on the world again,_ Mab continued. _Her shadow will consume the world. You feel this._

She did know this, and she did feel it. She saw in visions what would now come, and the stakes at which the gods set victory. There could be one Queen alone, one witch who ruled Sul. If Caer lost, Belial would rule.

The time comes upon us for the first blood of war...

Caer glanced at the fairy beside her. No wolves or golems would block their path this day. But time stood against them as they raced on. The emissary of Belial, a spirit of the rotted trees, returned to the men and told them the answer of those who served Caer.

Blood will be spilled in the council of the gods...

In Glasheim, the armies gathered. The men who betrayed Caer and men who remained loyal faced each other. The golems and the centaurs, the wolves and the fairies, the wraiths and the nymphs girded themselves for war.

If the shadow cannot be stopped...

Caer nodded and sped on, unwilling to give up hope. Caer would wage her own war, against Belial, the demon who shared her heritage, who hastened on another path as the armies battled.

Belial began this war. The reckoning drew upon them, when she would face Caer.

*****

The wintry world shone in the pale sunlight. It seemed like a shadow passed over the sun. Those who served the old ways told others Woden wept for the Miðgarðir.

But the Lord of gods wept not for the winter but for the desecration to come.

On the plains of Niðavellir, below the tor of Glasheim, where the circle of standing stones commemorated the council of the gods, the armies of Belial and Caer gathered to wage a battle and set the course of a war.

None could stop the blood from falling on the snow; none could stop the evil from happening there today.

Elric looked out with the fairies' archers towards the ebony tents of Dark Army's camp. The army of loyal mortals stood in line, waiting, facing some who they once considered their allies. The line of the traitor's army seemed small, but determination lingered on their grizzled faces. The shadow moved behind their eyes, and crawled in their skin. Elric could feel the evil now living in them.

Golems, the evil minions of Moloch, now under the command of Moloch's daughter, came into Sul for the first time since the last war, wearing black armor and large helmets, their skin grey and dead. Wolves gathered, their howls rising into the skies, grey fur shining and red eyes gleaming, hungry for flesh. Wraiths, the trees whose hearts and roots rotted, and whose spirits grew foul in old age, stood among them; corrupted to Belial's will by her vengeful whispering.

The ranks of the races assembled. The shield bearers of the four races stood before them, three hundred strong. Elric and the spearmen stood behind. And behind them stood the human swordsmen, and the centaur archers.

They set the board, the players waited, ready. Elric waited for the Dark Army to make the first move.

"Huma," Gehrdon called. He donned a human's helmet and clutched a small sword. She wanted to laugh and to feel pride, because he wanted to help them fight. But she could not bear her own sadness if Huma fell. Gehrdon watched over her beloved brother while she watched over Caer.

"My brother, you will not need those."

He stared at her, disappointed. "I want to fight."

"Not today, brave centaur, for another battle awaits you." She motioned to Beoreth and Eadwine, standing not far off.

He appeared even more crestfallen than before, not wanting guard duty.

"Do not look so." She patted his hairy shoulder. "I need you to protect Beoreth and Eadwine, for they cannot fight. Take them to safety, to Vingólf, and follow the path into the woods. If we fail, go as far as you can and do not stop until you find a village of men."

He nodded. Her heart clenched as he trotted off, still clutching his sword.

The road to the city lay between the armies, one way to Ull, one way to Eliudnir.

The golems and centaurs stamped their feet in impatience. The archers and bowmen, the swordsmen, shieldmen and spearmen waited.

In the distance a screech rose, as Mulciber, the Chief of the Wraiths rode a horse of Óskópnir before the treacherous men and wolves and golems, rallying them to their Lord Belial. His cry grew louder, shaking the earth. The dead Queens wailed in the catacombs beneath Glasheim.

Mulciber turned, and with his sword, pointed to the armies of Sul.

The battle began.

The Dark Army moved forward, picking up speed as they ran over the ice and snow, men leading, followed by the golems and wolves, their crunching footfalls sounding the doom of Miðgarðir. The fairy archers notched their arrows, waiting. In unison they dipped their arrows in the buckets of lamp oil beside them. Runners ran down their ranks, human lads, so young they should not have to see war, and with torches lit the arrows. The archers fired their blazing arrows.

" _Enfilin_ ," Elric commanded as the arrows landed on the earth and enemy alike. Flames shot up, surrounding the forefront of the Dark Army in a ring of fire, burning all within.

Gehrdon watched as they fired, again and again, the ashes of the fallen men spilling before the tor. She thanked the gods the sacred stones remained free of blood. She gripped hilts of her swords and waited.

Gehrdon glanced from Sestina as she reared before the centaur's flanks, to Elric where he commanded magic against the armies of Belial, and to Gavial where he raised his sword in the air and rallied his men behind him.

She looked at the thousands of their enemy running toward the inferior forces of the four races, and her heart sank.

We cannot win, she thought, and pieced together her courage. The fury of battle raged in her warrior's heart. No, but they would make the enemy pay.

Gehrdon drew her swords with both hands, raised them crossed over her head, and listened to the sound of her own heartbeat as she waited for the battle to be met.

The gap closed as the armies drew together. No one noticed the white storm clouds gathering above, blotting out the sun.

Gehrdon saw Elric look to Sestina. Her mother nodded. Gavial met Elric's gaze and jerked his chin down in grim determination. The fairy drew his sword, and with his other hand planted the blunt end of his spear into the ground.

" _Gefeoht abutan_ ," Elric shouted, swinging onto his horse. The flaming arrows ceased, replaced with a stream of regular arrows to cover them as they raced toward their doom.

Gehrdon began to gallop, swinging her swords through the air and readying herself. Her heartbeat pounded louder as the armies converged on Niðavellir, the Dark Fields.

They drew closer. Gehrdon could hear the guttural tongue of the shouting golems, the growls of the wolves, the berserker screaming of the treacherous men, and the screeching of the withered tree wraiths.

For a moment, it seemed as if time stopped as the armies converged. Nothing moved. The fate of our future will be decided here, Gehrdon thought, and leapt forward.

A deafening crunch sounded beside the shouting of the armies as the forces met. Spears drove through armor, swords clashed on shields and on swords. The Dark Army smelled the stench of death, as the spears of the fairies drove through their ranks.

Gehrdon twisted and drove down with her swords. Golems surrounded her, striking her armor with their iron swords. She screamed with bloodlust and drove harder, wilder, desperate to free herself from the quagmire of evil. Gehrdon screamed in rage as a golem leapt onto her back. She bucked, but his knees held tight, as he raised his axe come down on her neck.

The golem fell forward and off without completing his strike, and the golems around her scattered. Cahros ran past her, grabbing his sword from the fallen golem's back and continuing into the fray.

Gehrdon pursued the golems. All around her fairies, men, and centaurs lay dead. They fell too fast, she thought as she watched thousands of the enemy push forward. A gleam off dark metal caught her eye as she glanced behind them.

A troop of golems moved toward the trees, ready to strike at the nymphs.

"Centaurs, follow me!" she shouted and raced toward the forest.

*****

The horses of the Fairy Queen left the forest road behind. The party saw the battle raging below. Gehrdon and a handful of centaurs raced towards the golems whose axes tore at the trees. The nymphs began to wail and scream and fade away.

Tears would not stop this death, Caer thought, determined.

"To me!" she shouted, unsheathing Hünjjuerad. She lead the fairies and the contingent Ull's guards down the slope and onto the battlefield.

" _Fordon_ ," Caer commanded.

Bolts of white lightning plummeted from the clouds. The space between the armies scorched and burned; snow melted into puddles, and again began to freeze.

Mulciber stared at the vengeful face of Caer as she drove Hünjjuerad into his robes. The wraith screeched, his wail piercing.

"Burn," she commanded. The robes disintegrated, revealing the form of a man, flesh dry, withered and eaten away in many places, his thin face dominated by large red eyes.

At the sound of Mulciber's screeching, the armies stopped and looked. Caer jerked Hünjjuerad free. Far away in Myrkviðr, Mulciber's decaying tree home went ablaze. And before the armies at Niðavellir, the tree-spirit turned to ash and disintegrated.

Not a sound came from the woods as she cast her gaze on the Dark Army and rode between them and her people, her eyes fixed on a second wraith cowering before her. The Dark Army saw the face of a witch and a Queen, her hair drawn back into an intricate braid intertwined with gold, a circlet of gold on her head and her eyes gleaming with white-hot fury.

"Go away," she told them, her voice echoing. The wolves howled; the golems stomped their feet; and while the men cowered the wraith screeched.

When they did not, Caer accepted their answer.

The sun broke free and streamed light on the Dark Army. The armies of Sul and Caer's companions gazed on in surprise, smelling the stench of burning flesh permeating the plains and seeing the light unleashed.

Wolves howled as they retreated in fear. The golems ran into the woods towards the mountains, and the wraith waited for a moment before spurring his horse away. At last, the ranks of treacherous men were the only enemy remaining to be seen.

The lightning stopped. Snow crunched beneath the hooves of Caer's horse, and the cold wind returned.

"The demon lost," she announced. "Why do you fear me? Belial gathers evil to herself, as I gather good and truth. Who now serves Belial?" No one moved or spoke. "The whispers of the demon are as potent as her poison. If you serve Belial, leave now or face my wrath, and death at my army's hands."

Most ran for the woods; a few remained.

"Now have peace," she told the army and the men who rejoined them. "Tomorrow we depart for Ull."

She rode toward Vingólf.

Mab watched.

"Her thoughts are hidden," Elric said in their language.

"She who walked in Óskópnir and found the gods knows her enemy will gather again," Mab said. "Now she goes to the place of old and seeks guidance."

*****

Belial screamed in frustration, her voice muffled by the retreat of her army. Frustrated and alone, she leapt off of her demon-bred horse and led it to a tree. The animal snorted, its breath a mist in the cold.

So Y Erianrod thinks she wins, Belial thought. Caer won this battle. But it would not be the last.

Belial went to Vingólf to wait after she watched the traitorous men flee.

This time Caer defeated her, thwarted her, and eluded her plans. Try as she might, Belial could not destroy Caer before the reckoning came.

The gods protected Caer. Long ago, when they made Caer, they wove a spell of protection around her. Because of this, she eluded Belial in the forests.

Now, Belial thought, she needed a different tactic. If she could not destroy Caer, she would let Caer destroy herself.

Belial decided to set a trap for the daughter of her cursed sister. Caer would fall by Beren's hand, or one that looked very much like it.

" _Aknoensaia_ ," Belial spat. She transformed into the likeness of Beren. Belial peered into her reflection on Beren's tomb of ice and smiled, satisfied.

In Vingólf, the Ice Queen appeared.

*****

The winds of change began to blow over the world of winter as Caer walked over the ice of the Vigil and gazed down at her mother.

"What comfort can you give me, my mother? A flame burns inside me, and I do not know how to wield my power, or use it without my fury."

The Ice Queen said nothing, a tear rolling in the ice by her eye before freezing again.

"I swear by you, by all who live in this cursed winter," she knelt. "I swear by all who have felt the pain of the demon and the sword and teeth of her servants, her blood will be spilled before this ends."

Her mother said nothing.

Weeping sounds came from the woods around her. Caer looked around, trying to see who cried. She gasped as a vision took her away.

The leaves fell red and gold as the forests turned to winter, clutched by the frost of the demon's heart. Nearby she felt a cold breath of wind, and the Ice Queen stood beside her.

" _Why do you give me this vision?" Caer asked._

Belial chuckled inside, and outside she walked and cried like her sister. "You must guard against the doubt of your heart." The wind blew colder, whipping Caer's hair. "Blood spilled does not heal."

" _Should she live, mother? Not after all she did, all she took."_

The Ice Queen wept.

" _The void made_ Miðgarðir, _a land of winter, a world of pain. Perhaps the gods did not mean for this task," The illusionary Beren said. "I do not think they meant you to face and to destroy this evil."_

Caer stood alone in the Vigil, back in winter. Confused thoughts muddled her mind, stretched her sanity.

Her mother didn't know if Caer could destroy the evil plaguing them. And if she not, perhaps all hope should be lost.

The people below moved as fast as they could, preparing their pilgrimage to Ull, where all would dwell, where the stand would be made.

Caer gazed down on them and sighed as she trudged through the snow. She did not know what to say, or what to think, her thoughts a jumble from the vision of lost faith.

In the fields of Niðavellir, beneath the tor of Glasheim, blood stained a swathe of snow crimson. It seemed to Caer the earth itself bled.

The Ice Queen gave up against the demon sharing their blood.

She kicked the snow. How many times did she see her mother weep for the people she now abandoned? How many times did Beren wish for her daughter to return?

Now Beren abandoned all hope and faith.

Mab and the fairies, the centaurs, nymphs and what remained of the men prepared for the journey. What difference did it make? What difference did it make where the battle took place, if no hope remained?

Headred, beside Mab, observed Caer descend the hill. She seemed troubled and shaken. He needed to go to her, to comfort her.

Mab placed a hand on his chest. "She finds no comfort in the Ice Queen," Mab said. "Her thoughts are confused, and darkness touched her spirit."

"Belial," he said through clenched teeth and looked around for the Dark Lord, as though Belial would linger among them. He went for his sword, but it disappeared. Mab held the weapon.

"Perhaps Belial touched Caer," she wondered as she studied the sword before handing it back to him. "But perhaps not." Still, even Mab felt the Ice Queen grew distant, as though some unseen force kept her from them.

"I will go to her."

"Leave her alone in her thoughts." She did not ask; she commanded.

He obeyed and gazed at Caer as she walked, so like her mother, alone in the winter without comfort.

Beren watched too from afar and thought of Belial's trickery and her own impotence, as her tears shattered.

The long narrow path to Ull now became a basin in the snow, forged by the daughter of the Witch Queen of Sul.

Night came upon them fast. As they rode, Mab heard the whispers of the wind, the screams of the trees, and the howling of the wolves in the distance.

As the dawn came, it shone through the thinning trees. As they passed out of the woods and onto a steep plain, Mab perceived the trees close behind them, and she saw peering out the glowing eyes of wolf-men.

They neared the top of the cold mountains. Here the winter's chill came upon them in full.

In Ull, mothers sang lullabies of the road to Glasheim. The forest surrounded some of the oldest roads in the world. Legends abounded about the strange creatures, and the spirits of the trees, inhabiting these woods.

The legends spoke of nymphs caught in eternal sleep beneath the bark of their tree-homes, never to awake so long as the winter endured. And they spoke of naiads imprisoned beneath the ice of the rivers, who watched the world, unable to walk among its people. Even in their sleep they watched and bowed as the great mortals and magicks passed through their lands.

In the dim shadows of the forest, in the pale moonlight, Mab believed she saw a tall tree goddess bowing.

Caer rode not far away, deep in her thoughts, wondering if her mother abandoned her, first to Fensalir, and now to the great Northern Kingdom of Sul. And in her heart she found hate.

Caer glanced beside the road where Beren walked, ever beside her, watching and waiting and weeping. It pained Caer to see Beren despair. It felt strange to see her. Beren's presence fled from them, though her spirit remained. A wall of ice stood between them.

_Do not trust words of despair and lies of deceit,_ Beren's voice whispered in her mind. _Trust the path of destiny set before you long ago._ Beren vanished.

The people in the long procession before her, the army traveling to Ull, shouted as they came to the gates.

"Open the gates!" Elric shouted.

The gates creaked open. And a vision ensnared Caer.

She saw the city as it faded in the dusts of time. The fire of evil ripped through its stone walls, as Belial's servants screamed in the heat of battle, as they tore down the statues of the gods who stood guard on the walls.

The city burned; rocks thrown by the Dark Army's trebuchets crushed the houses. The people screamed and died as the wolves and golems wheeled the siege engines forward and pounded the gates and the walls. Tubes of iron and wood sent spheres of Belial's fire at the White City.

The gates fell; the walls fell with them. The people screamed as the Dark Army slaughtered them. The centaurs fell. The fairies bled. The nymphs screamed and fled to their tree homes, soon to be caught in the fires tearing Ull down.

_She saw the end: the wolves feasting on the remains, joined by the golems._ Miðgarðir _fell to the power of the Lord Belial and her shadow._

Mab touched Caer's shoulder. She jumped.

"I know what you have seen. I have seen it as well."

"The city will fall," Caer whispered.

Mab nodded. "'Tis an evil vision, a shadow of what may be, if you fail." Worry blossomed in Caer's eyes. "Come, my child and rest while time remains, before the Dark Army comes upon us, and the world knows the endless evil of the demon."

Caer let the fairy ride beside her into the city, her thoughts muddled in despair. She founded herself not to be their messiah. She did not see shadows, but what would be.

"Close the gates," the guard shouted when the troop passed through. Caer rode on. The gates slammed shut, and the bars locked. They would not open again while the demon endured.

And the Ice Queen watched, her tears shattering on the frozen earth.

*****

Caer walked in the frozen halls of the Castle, lost in thoughts of hopelessness and eternal winter, and gazed at the city outside the windows.

Long ago Goewin built the castle, the first Witch Queen of Sul.

There she met the man she loved; there she became the first to face Lord Moloch. Several miles away stood Náströnd, the door under the mountain. The door beckoned to Goewin. She went, and she touched the Náströndir, heart of the world, the spirit she shared, and vowed to fight Moloch's dominion.

The white city of Ull grew around the castle. The people seemed drawn to the castle, its beauty, splendor and scale, carved by magic from the white stones of the mountains; with windows and buttresses, towers and turrets, gates and gardens gleaming in Woden's light.

Now the buttresses gleamed bright in fading sunlight. Woden turned his back on them, Mab thought, sadness overwhelming her heart, and drew away from the Witch who felt no hope.

Mab pondered and walked in Idalir's garden. The healers tended to the sick; the people settled in and awaited the coming war. The sun set, and the land looked bathed in the brilliance of the dying sun.

Idalir became a place of great activity. The servants returned to its halls. The kitchens overflowed as the refugees from Glasheim took on cooking duties. Flames leapt from the great hearths, and warmth returned.

Mab passed the arch leading to the great hall, and the dais that once held the greatest of the Queens of Sul. It became a place of comfort at the end of the long winter, and she came to it now seeking answers for the woes of her heart. As she crossed the threshold she saw Caer in a window high above.

Caer prayed in a whisper, and Mab could not hear. But she knew the desire of the Witch's heart, held since the finding of her destiny. Caer wanted to know the meaning of her vision, of failing Beren, though she did not tell Mab what she saw.

Mab knew of the talisman the girl carried: a circle of a moon, a sun, and the stars bound together by a single stone and tiny threads of silver, an unseen force of the gods. She knew it to be a powerful symbol, though not one to fear without cause. Though Caer did not seem to notice, Mab saw the specters of a bounding white stag of Cerdic observing them, and the dove, Cwen, on his shoulder. Y Erianrod could not see the unending gaze of the gods who watched over the one who came from their blood.

"Why do you let your heart be troubled?"

Caer's head snapped up to see Mab moving toward to her. Mab's folded her hands as she moved with grace across the floor, gliding and her feet soundless.

"My heart grows troubled whether I wish it to be or not." Neither cross nor angry, Caer appeared complacent, her voice seeming to have a deeper understanding. "Evil things I have seen, and I fear for us." She paused. "All of us."

"You fear what you do not know. The future awaits us all. The gods alone know what will be, and what must come in the fullness of time. We must not trouble ourselves with worry of things beyond our understanding."

"And yet nonetheless I worry." The last statement seemed to carry little weight, muttered, yet in the expansive castle Mab heard every word.

"You are not wicked as Belial became. You know this." Mab's eyes softened. "You have been washed clean by the blood of the gods, and been given their grace. No evil can touch you now." The ancient fairy saw tears and sorrow in Caer's eyes, and she realized just how deep Caer's knowledge went.

"I have seen many things," Caer said. "I have seen the future, and its great hopelessness there. It may not be, but evil will be drawn to us here. And I fear the will of Lord Belial will come even to the protection of this place."

"Perhaps it will. Perhaps stronger than any would have guessed. Perhaps you will overcome this wicked enemy. You know your destiny, daughter of the light. You are born to destroy evil."

Caer's mind eased for the moment. Yet she could not help but think some unknown purpose gave her the vision of the city burning.

"Trust in yourself. Listen to nothing else."

"I am unsure what my heart says," Caer said, her voice almost a whisper, her eyes dark with shadows.

"The mind and the heart alone are the sure truths we possess," the Fairy Queen said, her voice echoing in the throne room. "Truth lives and love grows in the heart. In love truth abides, for the way of good is love. In your blood lives magic, and in your heart Náströndir. Trust in those places, for they are where your faith must lie."

Caer nodded and walked away, her heart uncomforted, as she headed deeper into the long-darkened halls of Idalir, under the Fairy Queen's watchful gaze.

*****

Headred wandered the city, lost, though he lived here since his childhood. His thoughts remained on Caer and the worry plaguing her, the visions tormenting her mind.

He felt something strange, an omen, as she walked in Vingólf.

The shadow of evil touched her there and shattered her gift and her confidence in it. Without it they could not hope to overcome Belial, and Sul would crumble in her fire.

Mab saw him walking, looking for the love now lost to him.

Perhaps there hope could be kindled again.

"Headred," she said, touching his arm.

Her cousin turned to look at her, his face fallen. "I prefer to be alone." He walked on.

Mab followed. "Others prefer to be by themselves as well."

"You have spoken with Caer?"

"I come from Idalir where she battles the troubles haunting her mind and her heart." Mab studied his face for reaction. Sorrow clouded his features.

"She leaves me alone to seek my own path," he said, turning from her.

"If you seek her, you are best left to yourself." Her gaze turned to pleading. "Go to her, comfort her, and tell her of the shadows plaguing your heart."

The castle arch waited not far away. He would search, and he would find, and perhaps the damnation of the demon would not be upon them, as their hearts and spirits remembered their oneness.

"She does not want to talk with me."

Her eyes softened. "She does not wish to speak at all. But she must address the doubt coming upon her. Belial used every wicked trick at her disposal to tear asunder all we have tried to build. You must ensure she sees Belial and the evil she stands for; lying and deceit are her ways, that she may she have hope."

The door stood before them, and beyond it, the dead gardens and the castle.

"Go to her. Help her to find peace again." She smiled and touched his cheek.

For a moment it seemed he would walk away. At last he went through the entry.

Mab closed the door. She started back into the city to find her people.

As Headred searched the gardens, Caer wandered, listless, within the white walls and dead gardens, walking toward the castle and the mountain. Behind her the people went about their lives, serving the gods and themselves while time allowed. But Caer found every moment in the city to be a burden, for soon she would leave it behind and follow her destiny.

The waters of a fountain, frozen long ago, captured her attention. Frozen waves lapped against the sides of the fountain, entertaining her. Caer imagined a water spirit lived there, and still slept in the fountain's frozen depths. It drew Caer to commune with her thoughts and witness the faded beauty of this place.

And yet she feared for her people. The future became clouded. And though she knew what to do, a lingering cloud came among her people, into the deepest place of her soul, and defiled all she built. The cold overcame the heat and light in her magic, and the flickering candle burned lower and lower, closer to death.

Caer never asked for the life foretold in prophecy, or asked to be taken from the life she loved. But she saw the memories of Belial's wickedness in others' eyes, and saw how Belial tormented them, tormented them all.

She understood why she must go, for long ago Headred foretold she would return from Fensalir and bring hope to Sul, so long suffering under the Belial's winter. Without her, the Dark Army would destroy the people, and all of the lands of magic.

Even so she lingered in the gardens, reluctant to leave the home she never knew, or to say farewell to the people who showed her such kindness.

For Beren she felt turmoil and pity, for Beren allowed her worry to turn to doubt by the machinations of Belial and the fears it put upon her. Beren forsook her oaths, her gods, and her daughter, listened to the whisperings of Belial and believed them, as Mab tried to tell her. For her transgression Beren would meet her own damnation.

Soft footfalls alerted Caer to the presence of another. She knew Headred came to her. She felt his gaze upon her, of lust, of power, and of love, the emotions intermingled, unable to separate.

She stopped near the fountain. Beside her stood the dead plants where Belial showed Berwyn evil, dead buds once blooming in beauty.

Beyond the fountain carved white stones glittered with snow. These steps would not take her to the land beyond, the forest and the trees, though they heralded her return to the place of her birth, a place soon to be spoiled with pain and sorrow. But the city will not see Belial's wrath, Caer thought. I will take the battle to her.

"I know why you are here." She turned to Headred.

Headred stood unmoving, enchanted by her beauty and power, a power destined to turn back the course of the war with the demon and free their kingdom from Lord Belial's winter.

An ancient wisdom lingered in Caer's eyes. He knew the history of the fairies and the prophets, the mortal children of the earth and the immortal, beautiful, and ageless fairies, destined to keep the powers of the magicks safe from mortal men.

She spoke. "The time draws ever nearer, my love, when the land of your father became beset with turmoil. And yet in this dead garden, far from the fairy sidhes and the places of the prophets, you linger. Why?"

"You know, milady, why I linger," he said, stepping closer.

Caer stood unmoved, and he leaned nearer until their faces stopped inches apart.

"In all of my life I have never seen any so beautiful as thou art, fair Caer." He gazed into her eyes, entranced by the wonders they held. "I would linger for a thousand years in this garden, even if the fires of the Earth rose up and consumed the city around me, rather than leave such beauty in the wilderness."

"Or such power." Caer felt her heart break, but she could not let him enter this battle. It would be her battle, and if she fell at Belial's hand, she wanted the surety he would live.

He stepped back, free from the enchantment drawing him close.

"Whatever beauty you see in me, my love, you see also power, and you possess power yourself even as you would possess me."

"I would possess no woman, my love. I do not force you to love me. I ask you to see my love for you, and if you will return it, and sit with me in the beauty of this garden when the winter ends."

Caer pondered these words, not expecting this. In her visions, she saw herself as he saw her, full of grace and beautiful, flawless and perfect, destined to save them all. And yet the choice stood before her, and she needed to decide to fight or to give in to the distress of the Ice Queen.

"You must seek visions and find the gods' wisdom in this matter." Caer explained.

Headred sighed and turned to leave.

"Headred." Her voice echoed.

He turned. She waited beside the fountain, her gown milky white in the light of the fading sun, her hair as pale strands of amber, and her eyes brighter than the stars shining from above.

"My Lady," he said, bowing.

She touched his face, moving his eyes up toward her.

Headred thought her to be a goddess, to be worshipped and respected. He saw no other now, and no beauty could he perceive save for hers.

"What do you desire?" he asked her.

"I would have you stay with me." She moved closer. "I would have one night of peace, of passion, of love without the wicked war overshadowing my existence. I would have you look at me the way you do and never turn away." She paused, staring into his eyes. "With you I have come to the lands meant for me to one day rule. I will be your love this night and stand by your side in the halls of my mothers, until the day when the world forever changes."

Headred stood speechless before her. She touched her lips to his cheek, kissing him in the moonlight.

"Come now with me, my love, for the time of prophecy draws near upon us, and the time will come when the fate of Miðgarðir will be decided."

"See not the evil of the demon, who seeks to deceive you," he said, holding her. "Do not despair any longer, for whatever darkness holds you, free your heart with me and see the hope again."

"I see no despair," she lied to him and would not let him speak as she covered his mouth with hers.

Headred wished he could believe her. Caer offered him all he ever wanted, all she could give. In the gardens they kissed.

"My love," she whispered and led him into the castle, toward her bedchamber. Soon they descended into the throes of passion, in perfect fusion and harmony, in the castle of the cold, dead world given small light and warmth in these final hours.

*****

Yidrith ran to his home and threw open the door.

In the front room, Dunstan swung a wooden toy sword, stopping to glance up at Yidrith.

"Are we going to fight now?" Dunstan asked.

Yidrith almost wept at the thought. "You are not going to fight, little brother." He patted Dunstan's head as the boy glared at him.

Yidrith yelped as Dunstan swung the sword and hit Yidrith's ribs. "Yes I am!" Dunstan shouted and made for the door.

Yidrith caught his brother and wrestled him to the floor. "No you are not!" Yidrith shouted back. "What are you going to fight with? A wooden sword cannot flesh. Wolves and golems march for this city, and you will be the first they devour!"

Dunstan stopped struggling. Yidrith released his grip and sat against the wall. Dunstan sat, holding back his tears.

"But I want to help," Dunstan said, his voice shaking.

"I know, and you will," Yidrith smoothed his brother's hair.

The door to the kitchen swung open and their mother entered, her glare moving from one son to the other, and stopping at last on Yidrith. "As though these times did not grow hard enough, you have made your brother cry," she seethed. Dunstan shook his head.

"I'm not crying," he insisted.

Aaren sighed and walked over to them. "What caused this, Yidrith?" She scooped Dunstan in her arms.

"The Dark Army marches on the city."

Her eyes grew worried. Dunstan wriggled free of his mother's grip and slid to the floor.

"You must take Dunstan and gather as many women and children as you can. Lead them through the tunnels under the temple, and when you have left the city, make for Tir fo Thuinn on the coast."

"Tir fo Thuinn? What good will a city do us if Ull falls?" Aaren threw her hands into the air in desperation.

"There are ships in Tir fo Thuinn, and I have heard rumors people gather there to sail for a new land across Mael Duin, the eastern ocean. You must try to save yourselves."

"You do not believe Beren's daughter will deliver us?" Aaren asked, her eyes misting.

Yidrith nodded. "I believe, but our salvation may not come before the gates of Ull are shattered, and the golems and wolves feast on our flesh. We must be prepared."

"But I want to stay and fight!" Dunstan insisted.

"You may yet fight, Dunstan," Yidrith told him, ignoring his mother's reprimanding gaze. "No men or warriors will be with you. It will be up to you to defend them on the way to the coast."

Dunstan nodded, satisfied.

"And what of you?" Aaren cried, choking Yidrith with her hug.

Yidrith struggled free and gripped her shoulders. "I must stay," he said, his heart determined and his tone flat. "'Tis my duty, as it would have been father's duty."

Aaren covered her mouth with her hand and cried. She did not stop crying when Yidrith saw her one final time, as night deepened, leading a procession of women and children into the tunnel beneath the temple and to safety, on their journey to the coast.

*****

As Caer curled beside Headred in her chamber, Beren walked in the nighttime forest in spirit. Some of the tree nymphs sang praise to the gods in the language of old; no mortal remembered their ancient tongue. In time she came upon Vingólf where her body lay, a place she always found comforting.

Her strength faded as Belial renewed the war. Beren sat on the snow beside her crystal tomb and watched the eternal blue light of the torches.

She knew the forest by heart, for she spent a lifetime there, searching for answers to the tormenting whispers of her sister, and a link in them to her visions of her daughter's fate.

Beren perceived Belial returned to Vingólf. Evil lived in Miðgarðir for too long and defiled their holiest of places. And yet she knew her child remained safe, for Belial did not yet have the power to destroy Caer.

_It will come to pass,_ Belial hissed, _Caer will destroy you and all you have built here. You have seen all this._

Beren glared at her sister and ignored her.

_Her very steps bring doom to these lands,_ Belial continued. Her shadow grew stronger, wrapping cold tendrils of mists around Beren. _They will bring evil here, and I will destroy all you love._

Beren laughed, and the Dark Lord retreated. "What do you seek in these places, Belial? Would you not destroy us if given the chance?" She turned to her sister without fear.

_Her power will always be bound both to you and to_ Miðgarðir. _And by her death I will destroy you. She will come to this sacred place, and I will look upon the face of your daughter and watch as she dies. She will never leave here, and_ Miðgarðir _will be mine._

Once again Belial wrapped her icy tendrils around Beren, and Beren did not resist. The touch felt as ice, and a frigid wind seemed to blow. It felt like death, and death she craved, to be taken from this existence of pain.

"But I have seen within the realms of dreams what will come, and I know she will destroy you," Beren whispered. "The doom of these lands will not come so long as my daughter remains unbroken."

_Do not let the foolish wills of the gods deceive you,_ Belial replied. _The gods you serve, the gods of the places far away, have shown you what they want you to see. Her return will not be the salvation, but the doom of this age._

Beren felt Belial creep into her mind, whispering to her. Belial told her what might be, if Caer did not succeed.

Oh, my sister... you do not see what now must be. I will reign from Eliudnir. The kingdom of men will fall beneath the mighty wave of my army. The whole of the earth will belong to me, and I will rule it in despair and in terror for all of eternity.

Beren allowed Belial to build images in her mind: a future of unending cold and damnation, the kingdom Belial would dare to create, a Queen of the all lands, powerful and vengeful, whose sword would cleave all who stood against her, and the lands would fall down in horrified praise before her.

She would bring order to Miðgarðir and spread her will upon it, until all of the earth fell under her dominion. The centaurs and the men would perish without crops, as the animals faded into extinction. The nymphs too would fade away into sleep in their trees, until at last the golems cut them down to fuel the fires of Belial's order. And in tears the fairies would retreat to their sidhes, closing forever the entrances to Elphame. In the end Belial would reshape the world in her image, an image of death. At Belial's command the waves would rise, and by her will the earth would tremble. A few men and other creatures would be kept alive, herded and bred to feed her hungry minions.

When at last the whispers passed, and the images faded, Belial laughed and backed away to leave Beren in her thoughts.

Beren sank to her knees, envisioning all Belial showed her. She did not notice when her sister disappeared, and the mist evaporated behind her. Beren heard the creatures of Miðgarðir, fleeing from the coming battle.

And her tears fell onto the frozen land.

Moonlight shimmered; the stars and the gods in their celestial homes drew grace from Miðgarðir below. The White City glowed as if carved from the Frigg's home itself, stretching along the base of the gods' mountain.

In the night Ull became a place of peace and rest. For in the coming days, there would be no comfort, no solace.

The swords of the gods' statues gleamed silver in the moonlight, the shade of the trees upon their faces while their eyes peered into the night.

The enemy drew near; the Dark War began anew.

A wind of unrest blew over Ull as the night drew on. Yidrith stood on the battlements near Hama, where once his grandfather Raed stood, the cruel wind whipping his hair.

Yidrith watched the growing storm over the western mountains; movement caught his vision. He whirled as a grey-cloaked figure approached. Beneath the mantle shone silver light, illuminating the face of Mab, Queen of the Fairies.

"The night grows bitter," Mab said. "Belial moves with fury into our lands."

Belial must face Caer. Belial bears the soul of the void, her soul a shadow boiling and writhing with her hatred for mortals and men. She will watch as the mortal kingdoms fall, as the Kings and peasants alike bleed and die beneath her feet.

Yidrith shook his head, as though his mind felt foggy after sleeping. He glanced towards the distant mountains, beyond which the towers of Eliudnir raged no longer. Now their fire and gloom covered Sul.

Mab listened to the cries and screams of men, women, and children emanating from the eastern villages, which the mortal ear could not perceive. They pounded in her head for salvation from the evil coming upon them again.

"What did you say--," Yidrith began and turned to see what she watched in the west. The angry clouds hanging over the demon's place seemed to grow. Yidrith glanced sidelong at the fairy, who nodded.

"We must sound the alarm. The demon approaches." Yidrith urged.

"The ancients made the council for such things," Mab replied. "You sat on the council. Now you will sit on it again, for the Dark Wars will now end, for the good or for the ill."

Mab saw into Caer's mind as she slept with Headred. Caer dreamed of the coming of Belial, and Mab understood Caer's future pain. Fear and doubt lingered in Caer's mind, a promise made to the people she could not fulfill. And in her mind Mab wept for Caer.

Clouds shrouded Ull, and Yidrith felt Mab grab his arm to steady him. He found the flint and candle. For a moment he believed a cloud passed over the moon, until he saw the sky.

Moments before he watched the clouds over the demon's keep, as they seemed to grow larger in the distance, but now those very clouds, blacker than the night, boiled and raged above Sul.

"The war begins," Mab said. "There will be no dawn, no moonlight or starlight until this ends."

Yidrith breathed and tried to calm himself.

"I will call the council. We have much to discuss, much must now happen to change the world forever."

He handed the candle to Hama and descended the stairs with Mab, following her pale silver glow. The storms rode into Sul, toward the destiny of all.

Not long after, Yidrith sat in wonder in the great hall of Idalir with Eadwine and Gavial. Nearby Cahros, Gehrdon, and Sestina milled with restless anticipation, while Elric and Girth conversed in hushed tones with Mab. Whista sat with Altha and tended to Widsith in his silver bowl. Upon the dais Caer stood with Headred and Beoreth, above them all. He wondered if they would live to see the dawn.

"Messengers have come from my keep at Beaverlake," Gavial said, "with news of the demon and her movements. She crossed the Niðafjöll Mountains with her army. Soon she will come to the land of my people, and there the war will begin."

"You mistake her attacks for war," Mab said. "The war began long ago. This will merely be our last battle."

"But now it will end," Headred said.

Caer sat deep in thought, knowing in her heart the war would end. But to what end she did not know.

"They will come to Ull," Mab predicted. "The demon made machines of war you cannot comprehend. With them she will tear down the walls and slaughter all who remain here."

"She will not," Yidrith said in defiance. "This city stood for many ages; it cannot end now. Its people are strong, and its walls are stronger."

"Much will now change," Mab replied. "The war will bring great destruction to this place. I have foreseen it."

Caer's eyes met the deep silver eyes of the fairy. She saw the fairy sidhes within those eyes, the silver palaces in golden glades Mab longed for, and she watched as they passed forever into Elphame in the victory of Belial.

In her mind she heard Mab speak. _For the shadow's power to be broken, h_ _ope must endure ..._

The councilors fought amongst themselves about the war, the city, the outcome of what would be, as the Fairy Queen advised her. Mab gazed at them from where she sat; she moved around and spoke while they argued. For a moment the Fairy Queen reminded Caer of her mother as she walked and wept, her tears falling.

You must follow your destiny, to heal the pain of the world...

"The horn of war must be sounded!" Yidrith shouted over everyone. "We must gather the people here, in the castle, so the warriors can defend it!"

"There are not enough warriors in these walls to battle an army!" Gavial yelled back.

Some nodded while others dissented.

Mab sat between Elric and Girth, whose eyes pleaded to Caer. Mab spoke to Caer, the one she counseled. As the daughter of the Queen, Caer alone could end this and bring harmony again to the races.

Caer wondered why, when Belial waged war on them, those meant to rule the people could not rule their anger, why they fought amongst themselves instead of fighting their enemy. And she knew when Belial arrived at Glasheim, ahead of her army, and waited for Caer.

"Sound the call of war," Caer told them. The councilors sat and became still as statues. "The war comes to us now."

*****

Beren paced among the standing stones of the gods. She saw this place before, in waking and in dreams from the beginning of her days. Here her mother conceived her. The people considered it the most sacred of all the places of the old ways.

She walked away from the ruins. Her sister rode from Eliudnir to this sacred place. Now Caer returned, and they would face the final battle.

Despair overcame Beren, her thoughts muddled. She felt the doom of this land. Whatever might happen, the world would be changed.

Belial rode to the stone circle at Glasheim, an image of death incarnate, hair as black as night, skin as white as clouds, eyes glistening and black, searching for her quarry.

Belial saw Beren walking among the stones outside of the circle, lost in her thoughts. She felt her sister's doubt, her fear of what would come, and the sorrow for the part she played.

Their eyes met, and they stared at each other, the Dark Lord meeting the Witch Queen she long endured. Belial gave a blood-curdling shriek, riding fast to the circle upon her phantom steed, her drawn sword glimmering with evil power.

The tree spirits who slept seemed to awaken and watch Beren, who faced her demonic sister.

Belial reached the circle with the power of the wind. Clouds gathered above.

"So now the time comes, my sister, to end all your hope," Belial spat, coming up to Beren in the twilight.

"The end nears," Belial laughed as she taunted Beren. "I can feel it in my heart. I can see it in the minds of the people in this land. Even the earth beneath our feet can feel the footsteps of my army and grows troubled."

"I do not despair, my sister, demon of the wasteland," Beren said, bravery in her voice. "The end will come when the gods ordain it. None can foretell from whence the end will arise, and so I do not let my heart be troubled.

"'Tis not our way to determine the fate of what must be. What must be will come to pass. Hope will always endure, as the races have always done, and help those in need."

"I have seen the way it must be," Belial replied. "These lands are my prize, and when I have taken your throne from your daughter, I will be Queen. I will hold Miðgarðir and have the power to defeat all of my enemies, as I have shown your daughter."

Beren sighed. "Look at her of whom you speak. I have seen her as well, and you speak with the arrogance of your father. What remains of him in you will destroy you if you let him."

Belial felt the coldness she always knew rise in her body as snow began to fall. "In the eyes of Caer I see not thirst for power or beauty, but love for you. Power others may have and wield, and through power I will conquer the world, for I spread my will upon these lands. But I desire now for you to fade into nothing, sister, and watch as your child's blood spills onto the earth, and mingles with your frozen tears." Belial's gaze never unlocked from Beren's.

"I always knew," Beren said, the ancient battle of hope and despair waging in their eyes. "Your heart is evil and desolate, and so always it will remain.

"For you, Belial, might have chosen what no other among gods and men could give to you. To turn back the nature of Moloch and embrace the heritage of the witches, to choose what good lay within you rather than the evil you conjure. Yet I see the choice did not matter, for your natural destiny won, when Moloch made you and forged your fate."

Belial shrieked, her echoing through the woodlands. The clouds roared with thunder, and lightning poured from the sky.

Beren cried in the midst of the storm, as Belial waited for Caer, and fearing in her heart this would not be the end.

*****

In Glasheim, in the circle of stones, Belial awaited Caer. The Fairy Queen could see the Dark Lord, her gaze reaching further than the mortal eyes around her. Mab looked where the fires of Belial's armies burned, as they wreaked devastation on Sul and made their way to this city.

She knew battle would come to them inside the thick walls of Ull.

Always now evil clawed at Caer, forcing her under. The kingdom of Sul faded to nothing, the dusts of time shifting, erasing it all.

In such evil times, Mab longed for the peace of Elphame, the golden glades and the silver palaces of the fairy sidhes. There she saw what would come in this Dark War, and what would happen to the earth after.

The wheel of time would turn, and the memory of men would fade.

An age would pass before the memories of mortals would forget; centuries of magic would thrive, passed from mother to daughter among the witches, and from father to son among the prophets. But for the fairy, it would be as a day, and afterward the night would come.

As immortals they would remain, she and her people, in the golden glades in silver palaces beneath the fairy sidhes. Men would forget the legends; forget Belial, like her father Moloch before her, overshadowed the world.

Even after Belial, evil would follow men. Evil, Mab knew, could never be destroyed. For just as Belial made the choice of fate, so every man, woman, and even child among the mortals would also choose between their dual nature, and while most would choose nobility and peace, some would choose deceit and destruction. And evil would endure until the utter waste of Miðgarðir.

It would thrive in the hearts of men; it would move through their veins like a disease. Their minds would turn to its ways, their thoughts to its thoughts. And good would survive to destroy the evil in the hearts of men.

The world would change, and time would move on.

Mab stood atop the gate tower, the breeze whipping her hooded cloak and fair hair, as she looked into the storm, toward the demon and Glasheim.

She felt the winds of change came upon the land. Snow fell as Mab pulled her thin grey fairy cloak around her. Even after Yidrith and the others went inside to escape the storm she stood there, for the winds and the cold now became the anger and the fury of the demon, and if she endured, the elements would bend to her whim.

If Belial did not survive, there would be no more suffering at her hands and the cold of her spirit.

In the west, the storm came over the mortal villages, rolling and boiling above. Mab peered around her and perceived the end approached; her vision carried her across the lands, to where the demon and the Ice Queen fought the battle of their wills.

Her vision broke when she turned, hearing the creak of the stairs. Caer greeted her as she stepped onto the platform.

"My Lady of the Fairies," Caer bowed her head. "I fear the shadow comes now. I do not know what to do to face my fate, or whither my heart will choose."

"Little time remains now. Lord Belial comes forth, and you must be ready to drive her from this place once and for all."

Caer frowned. She heard again the words of her mother, words of doubt and betrayal planted their hideous seeds in her mind.

Something glittered at Mab's side. Caer glimpsed a sword, forged in the sidhes by fairy magic, made in the fashion of the immortal's crafts, but not so old, with writing upon the hilt. Caer realized Mab expected the battle to come to Ull.

"Very well." Caer walked towards the stairs. The words and actions of Beren disturbed her, though not as much as the possibility she would face the demon and fail. She feared what Belial would do in her victory. "Hope, Mab of the fairies, fled my heart already."

"Those are the words of the demon," Mab soothed.

The young woman glanced back and saw the Lady, no longer as a fair being, but as a kind mother looking upon a child.

"You tell me to follow the will of my fate. But my spirit does not know its own will or strength."

"Have peace, Caer. You will find your strength within you, as you have before. Take care not to give into the will of the shadow haunting you, for would will find it the greatest, deepest desire of her cold spirit for you to fail."

Caer nodded and descended from the fortification, heading toward the inner wall in the snowfall, leaving the Fairy Queen upon the tower.

A look of steely determination overcame Caer's face. Whether or not she would be their savior, she would face Belial.

Mab waited upon the tower, facing west. Out there the Dark Army approached. Soon they would come upon the city and the battle would begin. The people of the ancient city knew few hours remained before they must face this doom.

In the distance she witnessed what looked like a low hanging cloud, thicker than those swirling above, moving towards the city. She smiled at the eagles and hawks of the mountains as they approached.

The birds came upon the city, swirling around the gate tower until it seemed to disappear in their mass. The men of the tower, enclosed in the guardroom, shrank back in fear as the raptors surrounded the Fairy Queen.

"So," Mab said to no one in particular as she perceived what they saw. "The demon comes forth, to avenge Moloch. Unto Glasheim she comes, and here she thinks she will receive what she needs. But no longer will her power be allowed here, and the Dark Army she unleashes upon these lands will not live through the night.

"Go now, my faithful friends, unto your homes. You are released from my service and the service of all magicks. No longer shall you serve others. Fly free in all lands."

The birds departed, and the frightened warriors saw Mab once more, atop the gate tower, the wind in her hair and the storm swirling upon her.

A new resolve formed in Mab's heart. When the eagles and hawks disappeared into the mountains, she turned her eyes to the south once more, where Belial waited.

"Let them come," she said, turning to the southwest where the Dark Army forged its path across Sul, and thought of Glasheim, where Caer would face the wrath of the demon.

*****

Caer saw the evil Belial would send into the world. Houses burned under skies of shadow. Even now the fires of her army passed through the forests toward Ull.

As it must be, she thought of the death and pain to come, for hope to endure.

Snow fell around her, on the hood of her midnight blue cloak, with an ancient knotted pattern embroidered in gold thread by the fairies.

The circlet of gold rested on her head. She felt the warmth of the fairies in the silken white gown, the clothes of a Queen and a witch, the clothes she would wear to the place where her destiny would be decided.

As she passed through the door to the west quarter, she walked among cold and dark houses. Those who for years remained here retreated to other parts of the city. The women and children huddled in fear in their parent's homes, the men, also fearful, girded themselves for the battle at the gates.

Now, she thought, the future would be made.

A lantern glowed at the west gate. A grizzled, ancient gatekeeper sat on a stool, and watched the figure move through his empty world.

"Who goes there?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet.

Her face came into view, illuminated under the dark blue veil by his lantern. "Caer, daughter of Beren, the Queen of this city."

He sank back to the stool. "And what business do you bring here, milady?"

"Open the gates so I may leave--"

His glare on her never faded.

"--and lock it behind me."

"Do you leave us now?" he asked in a whisper. "The demon comes here!"

"No, I must face her alone."

He stared at her and did not move. Caer stared back at him. She reached into his mind and felt it become pliable beneath her will. Mesmerized he stood and unlocked the gate, revealing a small cave, beyond which Caer saw a wide land of snow and forests, covered by Belial's shadow.

"Lock it when I leave. Forget I have left."

He nodded, and when she felt satisfied he would obey, she entered the cavern.

Caer stopped and listened to the howl of the wind as it whipped her cloak. Almost lost in the wind's howl, she heard the gatekeeper lock the gate.

Without another thought she trudged into the conjured winter, toward the stones at Glasheim where Belial waited.

*****

Mab stood still and listened as someone climbed stairs behind her in the midnight hours, the red glow of fiery torches lighting the city. The west lit with the flames of the demon and her servants, glowing in the evil night.

"Where did Caer go?" Headred demanded. He searched everywhere in the city, but she disappeared. And he saw visions of what would come, of the facing of the demon, and the death of his love.

"I've waited for you to come." Mab ignored his furious glare.

"Where did she go?" he shouted as the growing wind began to howl.

She turned to see him, her eyes seeming to glow silver. "The light must heal the sorrows." Her voice carried to him on the wind whipping her cloak, her grey form silhouetted against the angry fires of the enemy army burning ever closer to the city.

"I know the prophecies; I saw them!" he shouted. The wind brushed his hair back, and the snow fell thick around them.

"You know Caer must face Lord Belial for Miðgarðir to be restored."

He stared at her as if madness overcame her mind. "She left the city?" Headred exclaimed in alarm.

A tear slid down her face. "She goes to the standing stones at Glasheim. There she will face Belial, and the fate of Miðgarðir will be forged."

"She must not!" He met her sorrow with cold fury.

"She must." The wind lulled for a moment. "For if she does not face the evil sharing her blood, Miðgarðir itself will pass into eternal winter and night."

He stood before her for a moment, and she knew what he would do. Without another word, he ran down the stairs and ran through the city, after the one he loved.

She knew now as she always knew, what must be for hope to endure.

Mab waited on the gate tower. Yidrith carried her a steaming cup of healers' as she listened to the howl of the wind and the wicked sounds coming through the woods.

A reverberation shook the earth. The golems shouted. In these endless hours of darkness, the wolves howled, and fires burned on the path. The roar grew louder, and as moments passed, fear gripped Yidrith's heart.

Something evil came upon them.

The demon's war machines appeared in the light of the enemy's torches, rumbling from the forests on metal and wood wheels, great black shadows in the gloom.

"'Tis the fate of the city," Mab said. "The fires will burn here this night."

"Will there be death?" Yidrith asked.

The machines settled in the snow. The yells of the Dark Army echoed in the city. Below, the men quivered at the sounds, the battle almost came upon them.

"Death and much more, Yidrith."

Their enemies came to the gates. Far below, arguments broke out among the Lieutenants of the Dark Army as they waged war within their ranks.

"Fire the weapons now!" Fenrir growled.

"We wait for the Dark Lord," Gorga said, his second-in-command Gulag by his side. "So she commanded."

"We wait for a sign," Fenrir corrected. "We are here, and I believe our arrival to be sign enough."

"We wait," Gorga insisted, and Fenrir howled.

*****

In Glasheim, the demon waited.

Not far off, Caer trudged through the snow toward her destiny.

The raging storms grew fiercer, deadlier than the heart of the demon who conjured them.

Caer walked, unaware of the time passing, or even the creatures and living things flying by on her journey to destiny. She did not see the Ice Queen beside her.

Destiny drove Caer toward her fateful meeting with Belial.

Caer did not believe herself to be the messiah the people thought, she pondered. The cold muddled her brain.

Beren knew, as all in these lands believed, her daughter would be the one to turn back Belial, and defeat her. Yet legend said the end of Miðgarðir would come, evil would overcome good in those final days, and Miðgarðir would be overturned in fire and water.

Caer lost hope. The messiah, the daughter of the Ice Queen, came among them, and as the reckoning drew nigh, fear and doubt plagued Caer's heart.

The trees began to thin. Caer's feet skidded on the ice as the path ascended. She did not notice the red, hungry eyes watching her from above in the rocks, the servants of Belial ready to kill her.

Belial's power grew stronger here. Caer perceived it in her mind. Perhaps it felt stronger because Belial, waiting for the reckoning, sought to see Caer. Or perhaps because Belial now held sway over Miðgarðir and over what Caer could not yet rule.

A small stone rolled down the slope to her left, enough to capture Caer's attention. She glanced and her vision caught the gleaming red eyes.

Two wolves leapt from the shadows. They landed before her and faced Caer. Tired and angry, her power exploded. White lightning streaked from the sky, leaving nothing but burned carcasses. Under her gaze the others wolves in the trees backed away.

Caer looked at their chief, the largest of them all, and in his eyes she could see the anger of Belial.

_You will fail,_ the wolf snarled.

The wolves fell silent, and Caer walked on.

Caer passed over the rise. Before her lay a single hill in a field of snow, topped by the stones where Belial waited.

_My daughter..._ The Ice Queen spoke, bringing hope to the despair lingering in Caer's mind.

Miðgarðir began to fade, drawing Caer into visions, as Belial watched her enemy and Beren.

_Caer waited in_ Vingólf _, in_ _a time before the endless winter. No snow, ice, nor frost clung to the ground. Caer felt the warm forest floor and saw the light shimmering through the trees green from their leaves._

" _My daughter." Beren stepped into the clearing._

Caer looked at her. "Why do you bring me here? Why would you ask this fate of me?"

_The warm breeze of summer blew over them. Beren bowed her head and watched her tears fall. "You are the hope of_ Miðgarðir _, my daughter. Truly the gods gave me through you the hope I prayed for."_

" _You did not say that when last you brought me here."_

_Beren gazed at her in sorrow. "Do not trust words coming from a cold woman. A heart such as Belial's deceives and lies. It cannot be trusted, for it does not_ _know truth."_

" _Belial?"_

Beren nodded.

" _She sent me the vision?"_

" _She told your deepest fears, my daughter. Once I believed good lived in her, but I fear now her heart long ago became shrouded forever in evil and death."_

Caer thought of the demon who awaited her in the real world.

" _You are the child the gods gave to deliver your people, the hope of your people, and_ Miðgarðir _."_

Caer smiled and felt the candle flicker and burn once more within her, the power given to her by the gods restored.

The vision faded and the cold reality returned.

Caer gazed at the stones above her, standing where the gods once walked. The stones' power began to fade; some broken and some toppled by men and age, but all who looked upon the henge knew their meaning.

Beneath the people of Sul raised a cairn, built of stones from the white cliffs. Once grass grew there, above the catacombs where the Kings and Queens of old lay in death, but winter covered the rocks with snow and ice.

Belial waited on the tor, watching as Caer made her way toward the place of the gods, fulfilling the destiny of Y Erianrod and Mór-Ríogain to meet and to forge the future of Miðgarðir.

One of them would not return home.

There could be but one Witch Queen of Sul.

Caer watched Belial, her black hair covered in snow, standing in the midst of the stones. The time of the reckoning came.

Caer clutched the pendant her mother forged, seeking strength to conjure magic.

Fate stood before them all. Too long the people of the old ways wondered at the future of Miðgarðir, the Queen whose task became to save her daughter, and Y Erianrod who would face Lord Belial.

"So we meet at last, my sister-daughter," Belial said as Caer entered the place of the gods.

"We do." Waves of snow seemed to blow toward her from the demon.

Caer saw the face of the demon who shared her blood, the cold, pale skin clinging to her bones, sable eyes and the ebony hair, dead fingernails on fingers protruding from her long, black cloak. Those fingers flexed and cracked as thunder rolled above.

Caer shook as a vision took her, and the demon's first strike met her like the blow of a fist.

Storms covered the world, and Lord Belial sat on the throne of Idalir. Caer no longer saw Belial as a Dark Lord, but a mighty Queen who ruled the lands in fear and chaos. Ull became a city of gloom and despair, where hope passed away.

Caer stood in the midst of the razed White City.

_Spiked towers rose into the eternal night where once the temples and houses stood; the guardian statues crumbled beneath the shattered walls. She wept for what once existed and would never be again, as the demon cackled on her_ _throne._

See what will be when you and your pitiful mother are gone...

_Winter and death covered_ Miðgarðir _, death and decay like the demon herself clinging to the foundations of the earth._

Ull glowed from the eternal flames of the Dark Queen Belial. The bodies of the dead: Cahros and Gehrdon, Sestina and Huma, Mab, Elric, and Girth, Gavial, Dunstan and Yidrith, lay rotting on the ground.

The wolves and golems feasted on the flesh of the fallen.

All you love will find death in your wake... _Belial taunted_.

Caer felt herself lurch forward as Belial ended the vision.

"Do you see why you cannot stand against me, child?" Belial called across the stone circle, her evil eyes gleaming. "You will lose."

"I will win."

The demon smiled, showing her rotted teeth. "You are a fool." Snow churned and lightning slashed the sky. "You have already lost."

Visions ensnared Caer's mind again, taking her to Fensalir. Beoreth stood in the wilderness. Wolves encircled her, growling with hunger.

The wolves leapt on the old woman, tearing at her as she screamed. Caer raged in silence at the future not yet come to pass, and saw Beren's fading spirit moving through Sul, watching and weeping.

Another vision awoke. Caer saw Headred as he ran to her through the winter, and in the mists shrouding the place of the gods, Caer knew.

Somehow, some way, there would be victory for the light.

*****

"Enough of this," Fenrir growled.

Gorga's overlarge mouth sneered at the wolf. Several wolves began to move and join Fenrir.

"He isss right," the wraith, Gheris, hissed. "The time isss come for this city to burn."

"And what do the men say?" Gorga asked Grislere, the self-styled King of Angrboða, the main village in the east of Sul.

Grislere, who led the traitorous men thus far, grinned. "Let it burn."

Gorga waved, and as the Lieutenants of Belial watched, the missiles lit, and the trebuchets fired into Ull.

*****

Headred ran hard and fast, clutching the pendant Caer's mother gave to him, the stone glowing in his hand as he rushed to Glasheim.

Caer stood there alone, facing the demon, and he needed to reach her.

The storm raged, swirling in the demon's soul-born fury.

Trebuchets sent fiery missiles into the city, and stones fell from the buildings and ancient monuments of Ull, into the streets. The people screamed and ran. The pinnacle of the temple crumbled and fell.

If Caer did not defeat Belial, the city would not last through the night.

He rushed by the gate to the west quarter. Several feet of demon-conjured snow covered the streets. He realized where she went: the one way left out of the city.

The secret gate loomed before him, and the light of the gatekeeper shone in his eyes.

"Who goes there?"

"Open the gate for me, old fool," Headred ordered.

The gatekeeper laughed. "The world ends, and he wants to leave, now does he?" the gatekeeper grinned, insanity creeping into his voice. "No one leaves the city, by the order of the guard. We all die together, they say, if we die."

"I said, open the gates," Headred shouted, and the gatekeeper laughed again.

"Yeh can't turn me into a toad, yeh prophet."

"You old fool," Headred drew his sword and held it to the gatekeeper's throat. "I can turn you into dead."

The gatekeeper whimpered. "Everyone threatens the old gatekeeper, first the fairy and the witch, now you. Nobody loves him, no they don't."

At any other time, Headred may have found his diatribe amusing, but time flowed away. "Open the gate, you great fool or I'll cut your throat and take the keys myself!"

The gatekeeper wept as he fumbled through the keys, and Headred forced the guilt down beneath his fury. "I've got it, now put the sword away."

Headred sheathed his sword as the gatekeeper unlocked and opened the gate.

The cavern beyond stretched into the winter. At its end he saw Beren beckoning.

"Lock the gate behind me," Headred yelled and ran.

The gatekeeper nodded as he cried. "Wonder who told me to lock it before?" He locked the gate and sat in the chair once more, in the room lit by a fire, and dozed off to sleep.

*****

Belial bombarded Caer with illusions of death.

The sky burned with the fire of Belial's heart. Golems burned and pillaged and feasted on the flesh of mortals and the races. Children cried as wolves encircled them, and the wolves fought amongst themselves how to divide the spoils.

And the snow came down in endless torrents.

"It will be different," Caer whispered. "It will not be like this."

The light inside her grew brighter, stronger than ever. The candle of her soul became a roaring blaze. Caer sank to her knees, listening to the calls of the witches entombed beneath her, the strength of the gods' council surrounding and permeating every part of her being.

Fury bubbled inside her, righteous fury. She saw the faces of those she loved, the places for so long suffering under the demon's winter, the trees felled by the axes of Belial's servants, the nymphs who screamed as they passed into mist, the centaurs cut down as they gazed at the heavens, and the fairies who cried in Elphame.

And in fury she felt her light lashing out.

In the real world, Belial's eyes widened. The light ripped through her, lifting her off the ground, throwing her across the place of the gods. The snow stopped falling, leaving Sul covered in a blanket of white.

Belial's head cracked against the stone of Woden. Her mouth filled with metallic-tasting blood, the color of midnight. Blood bubbled on the stone and disappeared as she fell to the snow.

Caer gasped for breath as she watched Belial stagger. The visions of death and bloodshed faded from Caer's mind. She glanced down at Beren as the specter disappeared.

She felt relief, in her hands and knees in the snow. The shadowy shapes of the wolves gather nearby. The servants of the demon came to Belial's aid. Caer wondered how they would face her witches' magic.

"You cannot win," she shouted as she stood, trying not to wince. "Your death will awaken Miðgarðir."

"I do not think so." Belial pushed herself to her feet, Moloch's fury burning in her eyes. "Your end the gods made before your birth."

Belial attacked again, but Caer stood her ground. The power of the gods welled inside her. Belial lifted off the ground and flew to the stones, and again she tasted acrid blood.

The battle raged between Mór-Ríogain and Y Erianrod in the place of the gods.

*****

The gates of Ull rumbled as the golems' battering ram pounded. Atop the wall, Mab felt the earth quake. The ram hit again. The warriors bracing the gates fell back, some unconscious or worse.

"Warriors to me!" Gavial shouted. Dozens more appeared from the gloom of the streets. Together they hefted long iron tridents to brace the doors of the city.

Mab ducked behind the wall and looked at Sestina and Girth, with the archers of the centaurs and the fairies, atop the walls of Idalir. Blazing arrows flew from them. A line of golems, wolves, and men fell.

"Warriors, to me!" Gavial shouted once more. The gates creaked and cracked. They started to give way. A dozen more missiles flew over the city, one striking a tower of the castle. Blazes sprang up where the projectiles landed, shattering walls and homes.

So begins the end of this age, Mab thought, drawing her sword and descending the stair where Elric waited.

The battering ram pounded again, driving a hole through the gate. Golems roared in triumph. They toppled the statues of the gods and the witches, shattering the stone.

Three golems crawled through the hole. Mab look once more at the castle, in time to see Girth and his archers fire, killing the invaders. A cheer arose from the army, but the victory seemed short-lived. The ram hit the oak, iron bars burst, and the gates flew open.

Chaos engulfed the streets of Ull as the Dark Army poured in.

"Gods be with us," Mab prayed, and swung onto her horse. Elric galloped beside her toward the fray as they watched the advance of the Dark Army through the city. Golems threw torches onto buildings, burning the city house by house. Cahros passed by, leading the ranks of centaur warriors, rallying them. On the other side of Mab, Yidrith gripped his sword, his mind racing, his face clammy, his eyes determined as he eyed the traitorous men in the midst of the Dark Army.

"We may die," Elric remarked.

Mab smiled. "Let us die free."

Together they led the charge, spurring the horses toward the enemy.

Mab thought of the last look on Oberon's face as he fell before Moloch. She thought of Cuthred, who slayed Lord Moloch and died doing so, and of his daughter Beren who laid frozen in Vingólf. She thought of the many who perished in the longwinter. The Queen of the Fairies saw the blood of her enemies as she rode into the Dark Army, slashing with her sword.

The fairies and centaurs fired arrows flew into the ranks of golems and traitorous men. Nearby the other centaurs, led by Cahros, reached the gates. Yidrith followed the charge, exchanging blows with the golem called Gulag.

Mab's horse bucked, sending her into the golems. Mab pushed herself up and swung, killing a golem. She turned to see her horse, brought down by a poisoned arrow, still living as the golems began to eat its flesh. Between the Fairy Queen and her dying horse, Fenrir growled, the blood of her faithful horse dripping from his fangs.

Far away, on a rise in the city, Cahros swung at Gheris. Mab, horrified, saw the wraith slash, drawing blood in the line across the centaur's muscular stomach. Cahros crumpled.

Not far away, Gehrdon screamed and leapt toward her lover falling with a golem's poisoned arrow embedded in her leg.

The armies of Ull began to fall.

"For Miðgarðir," she said to Fenrir.

The wolf laughed. _Foolish fairy._ He leapt.

Gavial pushed King Grislere back. The traitorous Lord sent a ringing blow against Gavial's sword. Surrounded by the enemy, Gavial knew this became a battle they would not win.

Closer to the gates, Fenrir leapt on Mab. The archers on Idalir's walls unleashed a new wave of arrows to no avail.

"Wha--" Grislere, blocking a blow from Gavial, glanced over Gavial's. Gavial looked around and saw a dark cloud descending from the mountain.

So it ends like this, Gavial thought. A fool's hope they put in Caer, and a fool's hope failed them all.

He swung with the strength of a man half his age, and yelled at the top of his lungs, knocking Grislere away. Gavial looked again and found himself surrounded by a flock of birds, pecking at the Dark Army, clawing at their eyes.

Arrows streamed from the golem's bows. Hundreds of birds fell. Hundreds more surrounded them. Every second more of the city burned. The enemy advanced fast through its streets, covered in carnage.

It ends now, Gavial thought, and raised his sword. "Men to me!" he shouted. The remaining warriors rushed to his side. Before them, a line of golems and wolves advanced. The wolves, bloodlust in their eyes, bared their teeth, while the faces of the golems remained unmoved.

Gavial, slashing and whirling, led the charge into the army of the enemy, knowing his death would come soon. It would be glorious and earn him a seat in the hall of Woden.

A fiery missile hit the castle wall high above the fighting. A piece of rock cascaded down, crashing into Gavial's helm, sending him sprawling. He embraced the darkness.

"The trees!" Sestina shouted, as the void engulfed Gavial's mind.

Sestina looked down from the highest part of the city, past the carnage of the battle. Lit by the glowing fires, the trees of the forests sprang to life, a thousand nymphs rushing from them.

Some attacked the machines of war the golems used to destroy the walls of the ancient city, while many more rushed through the gates, overrunning the golems who poured in. Still, the nymphs seemed few compared to the army of Belial.

Sestina refused to think of her son and daughter, or of anyone else she cared about in the battle. She watched so many fall this night. The glow of the flames reflected in her eyes, and fury seethed.

She lowered her sword. A hundred archers let loose their rage into the golems below.

" _Anath novem_ ," Mab screamed. Electricity hurled Fenrir off her. Blood seeped onto her dress from the gash on her neck. Fenrir growled.

Mab took the moment to take in the battlefield. The streets grew littered with the dead and dying of both sides. She sighed in relief as Gehrdon pushed the golems away and began to fight again, the arrow pushed out through her leg. Cahros' chest rose and fell as Elric's men rescued him.

Hearing a growl, Mab turned to fight again.

*****

New snow atop old snow and ice made the ancient path running beside the mountain slick, marred by the footsteps of the man who ran along it and Caer who walked before him. The Ice Queen floated beside him.

Headred ran with the speed and fury of the winds toward Glasheim. He must reach her, the woman he loved, born of love and of the promise and hope of the world. Even as he raced toward her, the demon attacked her again.

Lightning lanced out of the sky far away, and the thunder responded. The battle met. Caer faced Belial.

He knew what she faced, for he saw it in visions. He watched Belial's anger lance from the skies. He watched the demon's sword, forged by her father, pierce Caer's heart, and her blood pour onto the clean snow.

There the hope of the people ended.

Even as he ran, visions ensnared his mind. He watched the girl he once met in the forests of the southern wilderness, a girl who saw him in her dreams as he saw her.

He saw at that time the flame flickering inside her, as the light flickered in her mother. He felt the light when he went to Vingólf, and the Ice Queen's spirit came to him.

As a child he knew the girl to be the Ice Queen's daughter.

He did not see it before, as he grew into a man. His heart yearned for one woman, who walked with him in dreams, young and beautiful, dwelling far from him, where he could not touch her, hold her, and tell her of his love. Even Yidrith doubted she would return, but the hope Headred clung to sustained him through the long years without her.

Yet at last Headred found her.

Hurry to the place where she waits...

The Ice Queen raced beside him, the glimmer of her mothers in her eyes. Closer and closer he came to where Caer battled Belial.

But still she seemed far away.

*****

Belial looked at Caer, who came from the line of their mothers, and for the first time in her life, she felt doubt.

The Y Erianrod would not be the easy prey she anticipated. The power of the witches shining from her, illuminating the evil the demon's heart conjured.

Around her Belial perceived the shadows begin to quake and crumble to dust.

"No!" she shouted, sending black lightning flying. The streaks exploded before the lady of light, shoving her backward into the snow, her head cracking on a rock.

Caer's head throbbed from the demon's attack. Blood seeped into her mouth. She found power there, power of blood spilled and life not lost. Hope, it seemed, still remained.

Caer witnessed the cold rage in the demon's eyes, and the demon saw the white hot fury in Caer's. Lightning struck the ground again, but Caer remained unmoved. Far off the wolves began to quiver.

"No good remains in your heart, Belial? No love remains in you?"

_Do not listen to her._ An echo of Moloch's dark voice penetrated Belial's mind as she wavered. _Do not trust a witch. Kill her now, while you have the chance._

Belial unleashed her fury. The lightning and the thunder grew thick. "I'll watch you die, witch!" she screamed, as the lightning struck the ground at her feet, leaving a smoldering ruin of snow and the earth, and a gleam beneath it.

Fury lashed in the winds, carrying Caer off her feet. She smashed into the stone behind her, the stone bench of Cerdic and Cwen.

Caer felt the power of the gods in the stone, coursing in the earth beneath. Even now the gods hold sway, she thought. Even now the end did not seem sure.

She drew strength from the gods, felt their power seep into her blood. Belial's shrieks ripped through the night, sending the winds gusting and the snow swirling. Belial screamed in despair as Caer lashed out and sent her sprawling.

Both women fell to the ground, gasping.

"Kashnateth," Belial gasped. A smoky haze surrounded the ground before her, as a sword, long and curved, shimmered into existence.

The dead hand of the Dark Lord reached for the sword she conjured.

As Headred ran, the plains of Niðavellir spread before him, beginning with the stone circle at Glasheim. He saw Belial rise, illuminated by Caer's light. Caer pushed herself from the ground, Belial's sword glittering above her.

Before Headred, four guardian wolves growled as their fur bristled. They waited for Belial's victory.

Headred did not think; he acted. He ripped his sword from its sheath.

Beside him, Beren sighed. The savior of their people at last comes among them.

The wolves jumped at Headred, howling, teeth bared and mouths foaming.

His sword slashed, sending them to the ground, blood pouring onto the snow.

"You cannot pass," the lone remaining wolf said an instant, before its head went spinning and its body falling. Headred wrenched his sword from the wolf. The metal snapped against a bone and broke.

Headred screamed and ran.

A vision gripped him, and his sight spun.

Belial whirled at Headred's yell, her sword faltering.

"Fool," she yelled and lashed out at him, jets of flame flying from her hand.

"Bæc æfnan," Caer screamed and sent the demon flying. Headred saw Hünjjuerad, lying forgotten in the snow where Caer fell. He picked up the sword and raced towards Belial.

"Wyrdan þeostru..." Caer began to issue a curse at Belial.

"Acwela..." Belial shouted as she stood and whirled. The cold steel of Hünjjuerad pierced her dead flesh and shattered. Blood poured from her stone heart, where the shards of the sword lingered.

Belial, Dark Lord of the earth, fell defeated.

Fire seemed to encircle the whirling, raging clouds, spreading ever outward into Miðgarðir. The clouds dissipated as the long night ended. The sun peeked through as the Dark Army gazed on in terror.

Lightning poked the war machines, setting them aflame, and thunderous explosions ripped through the night. The people cheered as the demon's powder exploded in the enemy camps and sent the golems, wolves, and men into chaos. Those who escaped alive scattered into the woods.

Belial sank to the ground and screeched as the life faded from her, black blood seeping into the ground, burning the snow and the ground, boiling on the stones. Another scream cut through the air as Headred fell beside her.

"No!" Caer cried, crawling to Headred , kneeling beside him. He grew cold, sleep and fever caressing his mind, drawing him into death.

"F--ool," Belial laughed, choking on her own blood. "I will be gone, but your victory will be empty. Nothing can save a man who touches death. I may die, but so will he."

As Belial crumbled into dust, Caer cradled Headred's head and wept.

And so the world changed.

Y Erianrod, awaited since her birth in Ull twenty years before, the gods at long last revealed, and the winter and the shadows of the demon Belial faded away.

In the western wasteland, beyond the shadow of the Black Mountains, Eliudnir, fortress of Lord Belial and her father, crumbled to dust, the memory of the towers power diminished in the defeat of their masters.

Hunting parties sought out to destroy the last of the golems and wolves in the forests, and Caer returned to Ull, scarred from the final battle. The women and children who fled the city before the final battle returned. Joyful women reunited with husbands and sons, while mothers wailed over the corpses of sons killed.

But Caer's victory tasted as bitter as defeat, for though she fulfilled her destiny, and the winter at last ended, devastation lingered from the long winter. Headred laid in the house of the healers, his soul hidden in shadows and darkness, the final vengeance of the fallen demon, death drawing ever closer to him.

_And as the wounds of_ Miðgarðir _healed, Caer's heart bled in pain and sorrow, and she diminished._

*****

Grislere's gleaming eyes scanned the woods. Somewhere behind his men followed, their grizzled faces cunning, searching with their former king for the haven Gheris led them to. The servants of Belial alone could protect them upon her defeat. For her they betrayed Caer.

"It isss not far," Gheris, who led him, hissed. "Not far now..."

Ahead of them, wolves howled. The golems grunted as they marched toward the wastelands of Óskópnir, seeking refuge from the vengeance of their enemies. Storms seemed to have come upon the land again, for the sky clouded and no stars or moon shone down.

"Come, come," the wraith urged. "Our friendsss are expecting you..."

Grislere felt his anger at the witch growing. His heart grew as rotten as the wraith's, thinking of the betrayal of Gavial. But Grislere and his people would live, and they would know the life the others would not know. Grislere would be king again, in a new land.

One day the witches would pass into legend, but Grislere and his descendants would endure.

"We are here," Gheris announced.

They came to the Niðafjöll Mountains, stopping before a mountain marred by a single opening.

"Where are your friends?" Grislere asked. His people murmured in confusion behind him.

"They approach," Gheris said and disappeared in a wisp of acrid smoke.

From within the chasm came a rumbling. The men quieted. They could see into the near-abyss, if they held their torches aloft. Thousands of figures marched through the mountain. Rocks cascaded, and Grislere glanced up when he heard the growl of a wolf. The wolves, once their allies, descended toward them, teeth bared.

Grislere realized the trap, as the first of the wolves jumped him, sending blood flying onto a nearby tree. Grislere drew his dagger and sliced at the wolf. The wolf smiled in satisfaction as fear gripped the man who betrayed the one person in the world who could save him, and abandoned all he believed in. Grislere thought no more.

No one heard the screams of the treacherous men, now betrayed by the servants of Belial.

*****

Mab and the fairies rode from the city to Glasheim, and back again. Caer rode with them, a shell of a person. Elric carried Headred. Mab alone lingered at the sacred spot, to collect the shards of Hünjjuerad and pray to the gods for Headred.

They rode into Ull, past the battlements and the guard towers, the gates and the people, carried by the fury of the winds and their urgent plight. The healers' house rose before them. Athellind opened the door and waited in silence.

Caer stroked Headred's face.

"My lady," Mab said.

Caer forced her own voice to work as her heart broke into the light of a thousand stars. Elric carried Headred's feverish form.

"The darkness wreaked her final vengeance upon him." Caer insisted, pleading to the healer, her blue eyes seeming to pierce the healer's clothes, her skin, and her mind.

"We must work now," Athellind turned to the other healers, motioning to Elric and Girth. "Follow me."

Elric and Girth carried Headred, through the ancient stone walls to a chamber. They laid him on the bed. Athellind felt his light fading.

"Here you will find rest," she said, and with her outstretched hand summoned another experienced healer equal to Athellind in knowledge.

The other healer fled in search of herbs. Headred's breathing became shallow again. He lay on the soft bed, his face pale, his leather jerkin soaked in blood.

"You should rest now, child," Athellind told Caer.

Mab took her arm to lead her away.

"No." Caer resisted.

"His body does not die, but his mind passes," Athellind shrugged, looking from Headred to Mab. "I can do little for him but heal his body. Already his mind begins to pass into the shadow of death."

Mab and Athellind left Caer and began to wait to see if Headred would live or die.

Days and nights seemed to pass for Caer with no end or beginning. She drifted in and out of sleep, alone. Headred slept down the hall in dreams like her own, fighting Belial as she did in her imaginings.

Athellind looked after her and sighed, her heart weeping for the girl. Three days and two nights passed since Hünjjuerad vanquished the demon's shadow.

Caer remembered when they brought Headred to the healing house before, Headred who again lay in dark dreams. Caer remembered in her fatigue now, and she tried again to cast the circle and step in. But this time she found no way to help him.

When she came out, she wept and laid down to rest. Afterward she neither ate nor drank, always sleeping and crying in the small bed.

Athellind knew there hope fled Headred.

Caer heard Mab's sad and peaceful song.

"Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen," Mab sang as she walked through the halls. "Spria hetan, entar y iles."

The battle is ended; the battle is ended. The warmth of spring, the winter breaks.

A tear slipped down Caer's cheek. She found no absolution in the words. Caer should lay in darkness now, not Headred who did nothing to deserve this fate.

"Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen. Arlen hireth, bachai sides."

The battle is ended; the battle is ended. The war is over, and blood is spilled.

The gods let him fall to Belial. They never saw fit to interfere with the evil they cast into Óskópnir. And by miracles of fate she fought Lord Belial.

"Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen."

Now an innocent would perish for Belial's evil to be vanquished.

The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

Caer iormeita. Caer, come to me.

Caer turned to see the door open, though no one stood there. She walked outside, feeling the true warmth of the sun on her skin, for the first time in her life. But the sun gave no comfort in the world, even in the thaw.

She felt no emotion as she walked, nothing as the people pieced together the walls and ruined buildings, shattered by Belial's army. All she passed saw the blankness in her eyes, as if her mind fled.

Two fairy horses waited at the gates, with Mab atop her white steed, and the Firesong ready for Caer.

"Ride with me, my daughter."

Caer stared at her.

"Hope remains for him. Belial no longer holds power in Miðgarðir. We ride to Glasheim, and there we will pray."

Caer nodded and hoisted herself up.

She remembered the first time she sat on a horse.

Headred picked her up and set her before him. And neither her own welling power nor the power of the horse could compare to the power Headred possessed over her. He rode to follow her heart, to follow her call, for she held the same power over him.

Glasheim called to her now.

Caer looked around at the land beyond the city gates. The thaw began; the spring came. The trees once sagging under the weight of ice came alive, tall and strong, blowing in the warm breeze.

The horses skidded in the sludge of mud and melted snow. Grass sprouted beneath it. The sun shone, and still Caer felt nothing in her heart, a heart growing colder every moment.

"Miðgarðir begins again to breathe," Mab said, waving her hand.

Something strange grew out of the ground, a green and red plant, unlike anything Caer saw before.

"'Tis a rose, my daughter. A flower, sprouting from its rosebush where once winter covered all."

The land indeed came to life. Green buds sprang from the trees, as the tree spirits for so long sleeping within them awoke again and stretched in the warm spring air.

Daffodils, moonflowers and roses grew along the path. Moss spread on the wet rocks, and grass sprouted green through the melting snow. Caer pointed at another flower. "What's tha--"

A cracking sound pierced the air, as if a thousand axes worked to take down the wood. It came from the road before them.

"Vingólf!" Mab told her instructions to the horses.

The trees opened before them, revealing the place of the Ice Queen.

The ice covering the forest floor shattered as if the golems hacked the ice apart.

The body of the Witch Queen lay there no longer.

"No," Caer cried, sliding off of her horse and kneeling on the muddy ground, letting tears fall down her face. "Evil keeps nothing sacred, nothing. They could not let her rest."

Mab started forward and stopped.

"Why do you weep, my child?" a voice asked. Caer turned. Beren stood there, skin pale, her hair as the snow once covering the kingdoms, streaked with red, her white gown shimmering in the breeze.

"They have taken your body," Caer wept, white hot anger for the demon rising again.

"Did you think when Belial fell I would linger in the tomb of my making?" Beren asked.

Caer saw the translucent sheen of the Ice Queen disappeared. Her mother, Beren, Witch Queen of Sul, once more walked in the flesh.

Caer leapt on her mother and held her close. She felt the beat of her mother's heart, and warmth returned to her body.

"Weep no longer, my dearest daughter. For the time of winter ends, and the time of healing begins."

*****

In the gardens of Idalir, Caer walked, listless and lost in thought. Her mother returned, and Miðgarðir breathed with the new life given to it, but a shadow clung in her heart.

Headred still lay in feverish dreams, and the damnable cold of the demon. He slept beyond their medicine, beyond the magic of the witches and the fairies. And it seemed now he, as she, passed beyond hope.

"What makes your heart sad?" Beren asked.

Caer's empty eyes reflected her empty heart. "He fades from me." She walked on.

"All things fade, Caer. 'Tis the way of life."

"'Tis not the way of my heart." Her breath rattled in her chest, her tears spent. He saved her, saved them all, and she damned him now for sacrificing his life and leaving her alone.

"Daughter," Beren said, feeling her heart weep for Caer's pain

"I will go to Fensalir," Caer said, "and there I will dwell in my old earthen home. I will bear a child to continue the line of witches. But I will never love another."

"If you feel so, do not accept this fate," Beren said, her jaw set, boldness in her eyes. "Challenge the gods, Caer. Too many for too long have accepted evil and pain and death. Search your heart for the answers you seek."

Caer felt a spark of light in her heart and felt as it disappeared. She remembered how Hünjjuerad shattered, and Belial's cruel laughter as Headred fell. She remembered the last glimmer in his eyes before they closed, looking at her in sorrow, in pain, in love.

"I do not know how," she whispered.

"His strength fails him," Beren whispered as she watched Caer move past her.

Mab came up to stand beside her. "By the dimming of the sun, and the coming of twilight, he will pass."

"You know this?"

Mab nodded.

In her heart, Beren said a prayer and hoped her daughter would find the answer.

*****

Waermund laughed as he ran through the melting winter.

Lord Belial fell, and he could at last return to the land of his birth, and seek forgiveness from Beren.

The Black Forests of Myrkviðr turned to night, but he ran on. He wondered what villages lay nearby, if they would take him in. He tripped over something half-buried and fell to the cold, melting snow.

Waermund scrambled, desperate to get away from the rotting corpse of the man uncovered by his flailing fall. He leaned against a thick tree trunk.

The trunk moved.

"Where do you think you're going?" Gorga asked.

The traitorous sorcerer shook his head and whimpered.

The golem laughed. He hoped to feast on the leftovers of the nearby village in his escape, but far better would this meal be; new meat for him to eat.

"Nowhere I suppose," Gorga said. "You're not going anywhere ever again."

Gorga began to eat. He didn't know how long he lingered. The last sounds he ever heard were hoof beats, as the fairy's arrows slammed into his back. He fell forward on the snow and his quarry.

"What of the other creature?" a human voice asked.

"Perhaps another golem," a fairy voice said. "Let us burn the carcasses before they stain the ground with their foul stench."

*****

Athellind dabbed a damp cloth on Headred's feverish skin.

At times he would grow cold as the ice conjured by the demon, and at times he would grow so hot he could not be touched. Now the fever went, but soon he would be cold, and they would cover him to keep him warm.

At a knock on the door, Athellind turned. Caer watched her. "He grows fitful," Athellind said. "He grows cold."

"I know." Caer crossed the room, taking his feverish hand.

"I cannot save him." Athellind felt his forehead. "I fear his fate rests now in the hands of the gods."

Caer gazed at his face, calm and serene as his body died, and felt her heart turn to dust, the stars vanquished and dead within her. The light disappeared altogether.

Athellind left. She glanced over her shoulder at the girl who stood in vigil, her hope crushed and her love lost. Victory, indeed, became as bitter as defeat.

Caer wondered if she should go. Nothing more could be done.

Look to your heart for the answers you seek...

Her mother's words echoed, as her tears fell. Caer could find no more answers; hope vanished. It ended, and the demon at last won.

"Return to me, my love," she whispered. "The demon fell, why do you yet sleep in dreams? Spring returns to Sul, yet your heart and soul remain in the cold winter."

He did not move, and his flesh chilled beneath her touch.

"You too have lost all hope." She cursed him for not coming back to her, and for sleeping on the path of death while she lived yet on the path of life.

She felt guilt for cursing him and felt it die, the cold in her body complete, coursing through her veins like a plague taking over her soul. A cold wind began to blow, and winter threatened them again.

She felt nothing now, nothing but sorrow.

She took Headred's bag of salt and drew a circle around him. It pulsed brighter than the sun, showing through the windows.

"Let me in," she whispered to him and to the gods, and stepped into the circle.

She entered a wooded glade, warm and sunny. She heard the birds and the waters of a stream nearby, the splashing of fish, the sounds of the creatures who lived here.

A unicorn grazed nearby. Caer saw something in her, something she recognized. The unicorn stared at the witch who came where she should not be.

A stag, white the clouds, bounded through the forest. He too stopped and stared at Caer. At last the knowledge came to her. Caer looked in his eyes in reverence and humbleness.

The stag and the unicorn bowed before her and moved on together.

" _They are Cerdic and Cwen," Headred's voice sounded behind her._

She turned. His skin glowed, no longer wounded, no longer weary. His white clothes mirrored the white of the gods who lived here, and she feared this world he walked in.

" _Why have you come here?" he asked, walking toward her._

She studied him, fighting the tears threatening to overwhelm her. "The war passed," she cried to him and to the gods. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And yet it lingers in you."

" _I cannot return." His hands stroked the tears from her cheek. "I cannot return to life, my love."_

" _You must return to me. To your lands, to your people."_

" _I cannot," he repeated. Tears slid down his face as he took her into his arms. "These are the lands where the gods dwell, where mortal souls go after death. I must now stay here."_

" _Then here I will go," she said._

The unicorn and the stag watched in silence.

" _I will go with you to this world and suffer death, rather than a life alone without the one I love, a life of loneliness in a world with no place for me. I would rather die than live such a life."_

"A life grows within you," he murmured, feeling her belly. "Our children would die with you, the lives we made would perish in your death. He gazed at her. "Go back to the place of the living." The winds whipped and whispered to one another, in the lands of the gods. "One day we will meet again, when the gods wish it to be."

She looked at her stomach and shook with tears, crying and screaming as the light of the circle diminished, and the room became dark. She did not stop for many hours.

Mab stood beside the door and watched Caer's tears stain the floor stones. Her heart broke with sadness, for she knew what Caer saw.

Headred walked with the gods. He would not return.

"Ricam elthia, redan alis," Mab whispered. A tear fell for the pain of another. "Dia soaf ben yen, dia soaf ben yen."

The light came, to save us all. The battle is ended; the battle is ended.

Caer glanced at her, her eyes clouded and hollow. Headred, chilled and dying, did not move.

"Lamen." With the last statement, sung in a whisper, Mab glanced once more at Caer. Saddened by the fate of the prophet, Mab returned to the hall, to see the sun while light still remained.

The meaning of her last word echoed in Caer's mind.

So shall it be.

*****

Headred watched Cerdic and Cwen, the stag and the unicorn, in the land of Woden. They spoke to each other, not in words but in thoughts. He listened.

Should he stay? We already chose his fate...

We are gods. Fate can be changed...

It must be upheld...

As should love...

The time of trials passes...

The shadow came. And Headred saw the void of death.

Headred observed the endless shadow. Warmth returned to his skin, not burning and writhing heat, but an endless wave of comfort.

He wondered where he would go.

No. He would rather fulfill his destiny and know Caer lived.

She would be safe and alone.

He heard her scream, in pain and sadness, as the gods ripped her away from the dream he lingered in, the death he welcomed. His own sorrow took over, as he felt the twins he helped to make cry for their father's fate.

He wished to go back to her, to them, and live again.

A glow in the distance grew larger. He saw movement in the light. Did he go now to the gods? No, someone in the lands of the living made this movement. Did he see a vision after death?

The light grew larger, and he saw a face.

Headred opened his eyes and blinked.

Athellind gazed down at him, white from shock, feeling his head as she began to laugh. Her face remained pale.

"Calm yourself, woman, before you faint on me." He said, his voice hoarse as he tried to move. He seemed to be wrapped in too many clothes, and the heat felt overpowering.

"You awake," she whispered and sank into a chair.

"I do," he said and thought of the gods who spoke in the winds. He knew their decision.

Athellind tried to push him down as he struggled free of the blankets, pushing his feet over the bed.

"You have not eaten in four days!" she cried, fighting with him. "You must rest!"

"The gods sustained me, and they have restored me," he said, taking her frantic hands. "I will do both, but first I must see Caer."

She nodded as he headed into the hall.

He watched through the window as Caer walked in the herb house, listless and cold. The just-unfurled leaves wilted on the trees; the flowers died where they grew.

"Does not the flower bloom when the winter passes?" he asked, stepping onto the terrace.

Caer whirled. "I thought..." she whispered.

He caught her, and his strength failing, sank down into a stone bench.

"As did I," he told her.

"You return to me," she smiled.

Before them the spring came again.

Athellind watched as they embraced, and sighed, holding a cloth to her eyes. Beren patted her shoulder, and Mab looked pleased.

"Now Miðgarðir may begin again," Mab said and turned to Beren. "How did you know to bind them? How did you know his destiny would be tied with hers, and he would be needed to face the dark against so well matched against the light?"

Beren smiled. "Love and light are one and the same," she said. "Love conquers death and night; love's light drives back the darkness binding the world. Love conquers shadows. I knew it would be the only way."

And as they watched the lovers reunited, Miðgarðir breathed again.

*****

Time passed, as time always passes. Six months flew by.

Tears of joy and happy gestures greeted the young lovers. People lined the streets to see the daughter of the Queen and the prophet whom she would wed. The fairies paced the walls, waiting and wishing for home.

The fairies felt the call, as the summer dwindled and the autumn began. They felt the call of the south, from the silver palaces in golden glades beneath the fairy sidhes.

At last the time came for us--I, my sons Elric and Girth, and our people-- to return home.

The mortals lined the streets beside the procession, watching as the immortals passed at last from their walls, sprinkling the ground with rice and the petals of sweet flowers, some crying for the beauty leaving their midst.

And some rode with us on the road south, to make their final goodbyes...

*****

Caer thought of the wonders of Miðgarðir as they rode through the south, Headred's arms gripping the reins of the magic horse they rode. He whispered words in meant for her alone.

She touched her stomach, the bulge showing the children growing there, and thought of the gods who blessed her children. In silence she thanked them for returning her love to her.

"Such soft fur you have," Beoreth said to Huma as she rode beside him. The goat man walked tall and proud.

"'Tis the goat's wool, me lady. Not so tough as the hides of my brethren."

"And whither would thou go, my good centaur, when your people make amends with you?" Mab asked him.

Huma blushed and smiled. "I'll go to me mother." He walked closer to the Fairy Queen's horse. "She's not ashamed of her relations with a goat you know..."

Caer laughed as his voice continued on, relating the familiar tale, and knew happiness for the kingdoms and the people she loved.

"Ah," Headred said, and quieted, guiding the horse along the path.

The trees opened and hills appeared. The road went on forever, into the hills, the fairy sidhes beneath which laid the golden glades and silver palaces of the immortal folk.

"Here we leave you," Mab told her. "Mortals cannot walk in the place of the fairies."

"But I...?" Caer questioned, memories of the sidhes swirling in her mind.

"Some have said their spirits walked in those places of twilight," Mab explained. "Once your spirit walked there, but your body remained in Miðgarðir. No mortal body may walk in the silver palaces in the golden glades."

Caer nodded, accepting. "I feel sad for Belial," Caer remarked. "I feel sorrow she chose her path, and did not fight. I feel sorrow for the life she endured because of Enyd's selfishness, for not ending such a pitiful life when it began."

"So do all feel sorry for Miðgarðir, and the evil she wreaked upon it," Mab responded. "It would be wrong not to feel sorry for such a life, my child. But you must remember every child, every creature the gods give the power of the light and the dark, and within their hearts they must choose their destiny, for good or for evil. Enyd knew this, and knew it would be wrong to kill the unborn child, and not to let Belial choose for herself. The gods gave us their greatest gift in that choice."

Caer looked at the road again and sighed.

"So long as the way remains open," Mab continued, "you and your children will know the friendship of my people."

"Will it always remain open?" Caer asked.

"The path goes on. The kingdom of Sul as you know it will endure for many ages to come; I have foreseen it, though the people may not always remember the gift of magic they bear. Time goes on, and it heals all wounds. The world, like an endless road, goes on forever."

Caer smiled, and Mab returned the gesture. The humans and goat-man watched as the fairies disappeared into the sidhes.

The troop rode from the sidhes toward Ull.

They passed the hovel for so long Caer's home. The windows gleamed. Her love laid there after she found him, where she healed him for the first time. A little girl played outside under the watchful eye of her mother, as Caer once played.

The girl and her mother looked at the troop as they passed and smiled.

"Do you remember our dreams as children?" Headred asked her. She nodded.

An age of Miðgarðir passed away. Sul once again became prosperous, free of the winter and the darkness of Belial. Caer gazed at Beren, Huma, Beoreth, and the man she loved who rode behind her, and as the safe havens passed away from her sight, she knew love.

Night turned to day and day to night as they rode on, closer to Ull with each whisper of the wind and the crunch of the leaves falling on their path.

Even now the lands changed, and what way the paths of history would take them, none knew.

They rode on the path of light with the fairies as they traveled south, and now they traveled north on the other road, the road leading to a door. Caer watched the trees, listened as the dryad Whista sang in the deep and ancient forest.

And one night, as the others slept under the full moon, Caer let the dryads and naiads lead her to their circle in the wood, and there she danced with them. In her womb two children danced, a child of magic and a child of prophecy, children who would change their world.

Soon Kern, the mountain of the gods, rose before them in splendor. Caer gazed up at its icy peaks and remembered the curses she made to the gods, the promises made by her mothers in the deep past, and knew they faded. But for now the gods remained, watching and waiting until their time passed away.

The forest opened; the sun shone. Down the road Ull waited, and before them Himinbjörg, the lesser mountain, which sheltered the door, rose up.

There yet remained something Caer must do.

She touched the ground, hard with the first frost of the year, beneath her feet as Headred helped her down from the horse. The others glanced at each other, and they looked at her, watching and wondering. And as they did, she started for the door.

Beren opened her mouth to speak. A wave of Caer's hand silenced her.

"I must go." Caer walked forward until she stood before the boulder which blocked the path. It broke in two before her, revealing Náströnd. With no more thought or apprehension, Caer entered the door under the mountain.

She saw nothing but darkness. Water dripped down the ancient walls. She felt nothing, not pain nor cruel death as she felt before. The air smelled clear, clean, crisp and cool.

Somewhere, far away, a light shone.

It glimmered, its light growing, drawing herforward. It shimmered on the wet walls as the light of a candle shines on water, brilliant and white.

Caer felt it beating.

She did not desire it for herself. No one could possess Náströndir, the heart of the world, the heart she shared with Beren, and soon, with her children.

A shimmering obelisk, as light as the lightest feather, rested in the air before her, unmoving.

Robed in white, a man and a woman watched from behind veils. Caer thought the woman smiled.

And in the light, in the presence of gods, Caer saw many things to come.

Headred waited at the threshold for her to appear, and with a smile she stepped from the shadows and into the light outside.

"What did you see?" he asked as he lifted her into the saddle. Caer smiled.

As they rode to Ull, Caer thought of what she saw, of Cerdic and Cwen who watched, and of the future before her and before them all. And she knew the truth.

The road goes on forever.

So the tale of the winter and the Ice Queen ended, and a golden age began in the Kingdom of Sul. Years passed, and the friendship of the fairies and men grew.

_I remember, as my people remember. For we remember all in the silver palaces in the golden glades, hidden from_ Miðgarðir _in the fairy sidhes. We remember all._

The ages of those times of magic have long passed from the lands of mortals. On the earth beyond they have forgotten the fairies, the children of the gods. The blood among them sharing the power of the gods became diluted, forgotten in the depths of time.

And so we remain, shaded in silver palaces in golden glades, lost and forgotten by men, in our kingdom beneath the earth, and here we remember.

_Our memory stretches the depths of time when the fairies awoke. Tales we tell of what came before, of the great ages of the gods. And legends we remember, of the dark time of the earth, a time of myth now a mist in the memory of_ Miðgarðir _._

It began before the memory of men and fairies, in the depths of time when the gods formed from the ice of Niflheim. For as in winter, the darkness unleashed itself upon the races, and in winter the darkness fell, so in winter the gods came to be.

The age passed, and men forgot its history. The gods lie sleeping in the heavens when once they walked on the earth, in Glasheim, in the time of winter and in the time before. None remember them, or what now lies forgotten in the past.

None but me.

Evil did not end with the passing of the demon, born of her father's spirit, but evil such as theirs would not be seen again in the mortal world for many years.

The last age of the world moved by, too swift by the judgments of some. Mortals forgot about the power of magic, turning their attention to the kingdoms around them, to the great machines of a new age, to science and alchemy.

And men forgot the ages of magic, going not with a bang, but with a whisper.

Men grew to love their power. Empires rose and fell in the lands above the sidhes; great and terrible, good and pure, all the same under the mantle of power.

_Those who went before these forgot the lessons learned, the challenges passed, and victories forged. Time passed ever on, and the memory of men forgot even the legends and myths of_ Miðgarðir _._

But I remembered, in the silver palaces in golden glades beneath the fairy sidhes.

The blood of the witches became diluted as time passed, and where once women of great power walked the paths of the world, none now live who possess such power. The power and its destiny live on now in every woman in the world, in their hearts and their souls, forged long ago by Dana and Woden, and where once the heart of the witch shared the heart of her world, so now the heart of every woman beats with the heart of the earth.

_I linger here as I remember, beneath the golden pear tree growing in the shade of a silver palace, and gaze out into_ Miðgarðir _. I still hear the rumors of wars; I still watch as they rage in the lands above. And I remember always evil lingers, and one alone, good or evil in men's hearts, can win._

_And as always the wickedness will rise in the heart of one, so will the righteousness will rise in the heart of another. 'Tis the destiny of the good to fight the evil, to protect its kindred from the ones who would destroy it, the endless evil of men above, and I remember times in_ Miðgarðir's _youth, and such a battle we fought._

And I remember the victory of Caer.

I wonder now how I should end my tale. In the world above they call such stories fairy tales, for the fairies whom they do not remember, and tales have arisen of us as well. Each ends the same; they all lived happily ever after.

But this story does not end like that, for nothing in the mortal life ends happily ever after. The pain of the existence can be too great a burden to bear, though the hope of the human heart remains a great joy to see.

But how do I end this tale of years?

_It comes to me as I watch and I see_ Miðgarðir _above in the pool before me. So much grace, so much beauty, reminding me of the woman who once came into_ Miðgarðir _, forged by the power of the gods, in Sul and the lands of_ Miðgarðir _._

You see, once there was a legend.

The legend was real.

