Chapter Twenty
Whispering Winds

Safe?

The barbarian marched her up the steep trail, not caring that she was tired. Not caring that her back ached from her fall, or that the pace he was setting was too much for her legs.

Out of harm's way?

Catriel slipped on a tiny, moss covered rock. Her arms flew out in front of her to break her fall. The barbarian grunted impatiently before hauling her up and butting the small of her back with the pommel of his sword.

"Ayoye," Catriel muttered under her breath. The pommel was rock hard and contained a sharp, tiny gem – totally innocent looking when it wasn't jabbed into you. She'd already learned that to speak up on the trail meant many a painful jab with that pristine little gem.

Not safe, but dangerous, perilous.

Too late Catriel realized how good she'd had it with the mercenaries, even if they were liars – perhaps even vile criminals for all she really knew of them. Yet, despite all that, they'd never treated her this harshly.

Not like this anyway.

She looked over her shoulder to glare at the barbarian. His long hair fell down to his waist like ropes. His beard was nearly as long. Tattoos swirled around his bulging biceps and he wore the fur of an animal atop his shoulders. His glare was daggered, his eyes were fierce. Somebody with sense would be afraid of him, look away, and meekly obey him. But Catriel had lost all sense. She'd curbed her tongue, but that didn't meant she would go willingly. The barbarian ignored her look before pushing her to ascend the trail quicker.

Safe. She'd felt safe with Tristan and Sam. She was only now beginning to see that they'd never meant her any harm. She couldn't say the same for the barbarians.

A life for a life… Did that mean hers?

Their bodies will fatten the crows… Were they dead? Was it really so?

She couldn't bear the thought.

I have to break free. I have to go back.

The barbarians rushed her up the trail. There were no openings, no opportunities to run. The trail was steep and narrow. Many times she glanced sideways off the trail, and many times she realized how high they were ascending. If she darted away, she'd most likely fall to her death. They were bringing her to their village. She would be a prisoner among strangers once more.

There was something strange going on though. With each step, one or more of the barbarians would glance up at the sky, and each time, worry would overcome the harsh features of their faces. She wondered what they were afraid of. Barbarians were not afraid of anything, or so she'd been told. It only made her more anxious to get away.

After a long, climbing march, the barbarian village finally came into view. The barbarians loosened up a little, trading a few barbs with each other with their home in sight. Still others remained solemn. They had lost one of their own after all.

Catriel took in the view of the village with impressed eyes. She had been expecting a few hovels, perhaps a bit of decorative skulls on pikes to mark the limits of the village. Instead, the village rested atop a cliff, protected by a stockade as tall as the trees it was made from, jutting high into the air, the snowcapped peaks of the Frostbacks looming behind, and the cliff below it sheer and dangerous. It was a wooden fortress, a wooden keep – impenetrable to all but the bravest. The high wooden doors creaked open and the barbarian column made their way home.

Inside, it was a simple village. No hovels, but many log houses, long and narrow, bigger than any houses Catriel had ever seen, though she could hardly claim to have seen many dwellings in her lifetime. Smoke curled from fires within the large houses into the blue sky. Though it was summer, the mountain air remained cool, and the wind chill. Dirty, ragged children stared at her with large, curious eyes and huge, wolf-like dogs loped at their heels. Women greeted their husbands with looks as harsh as the men. Totems stood guard in the middle of everything, watching everything. The barbarian shoved her in front of one of the giant wooden structures, carved with the face of a crow or perhaps a raven. It was hard to tell. She only knew that it had a mocking look.

Catriel collected herself up. "What are you going to do with me?"

The barbarian gave no answer. He didn't even tie her up, like she was expecting. She was beginning to think she was going to have to expect the unexpected from these people. They were nothing like they were made out to be in the tales she'd heard of them from Lethra.

"I'm almost one of you, you know. I was practically raised in these mountains."

The barbarian looked her over in disbelief. Catriel was surprised the man could form a facial expression other than the glower he'd been giving her all through the trail.

"Well, on the other side – the Orlesian side," Catriel continued.

"There are no elves in the Frostbacks." The barbarian said it as if it were an undisputed fact and she were nothing but a silly child.

Well, maybe he is right. Maybe I am a silly child. She stood straighter, taller. She'd already proven herself no child. She tired of constantly reminding people. "There are," she countered the barbarian.

"Then what were you doing with the lowlanders?" the barbarian retorted. A mocking grin spread across his weathered face. "Why are you so far from home, from your people?"

"I was kidnapped!" It was a lie, a horrible lie. It hurt to say it, after all they'd done for her. But if they were… dead… then it was hurting nobody.

The barbarian turned away, finished it seemed, with the conversation. Catriel balled her fists tightly. The barbarian had not answered her. What was to happen to her? Why did he not even tie her up if she was to be a prisoner?

There is no escape from this village, she thought as she scanned around, captivated once again by the sheer size of the stockade. This is my cage.

"Wait!" Catriel rushed forward, tugging at the barbarian's arm. He flicked her away but came to a stop just the same. Encouraged by this, Catriel did not shy away. "I wish to speak to your leader."

"The Jarl has no time for children. He must prepare for the ceremony."

A shudder of inexplicable fear coursed through Catriel's limbs. "What ceremony?"

"At sundown, we will have a funeral for Drust ap Arthfael. Then, when the sun rises, we will have the sacred rites of Hakkon Wintersbreath."

Catriel could not hide her confusion. "Drust?"

"The man your kidnappers slew."

"Oh…" She remembered then, the pool of blood. The dead man next to Tristan. Perhaps that blood was all Drust's… but it didn't matter did it? The Jarl had said they were to die. Surely it had been done already. She turned her thoughts elsewhere, she couldn't afford to wallow in regret. "And Hakkon Wintersbreath, he is one of your gods?"

A dark look crossed over the face of the Avvar. Catriel did not miss the man casting his eyes upwards to the sky. "I have no time for this." The man turned away once more. His stride was long and quick. Catriel did not let him get away so easily however.

"Wait!" She jogged by his side. "Please. Let me speak with your Jarl. It won't take long."

The barbarian cast an annoyed look in her direction, but his hesitation was visible in the slowing of his pace. Catriel felt emboldened.

"Please, tell him I am the daughter of Eirlys."

The barbarian halted. Was that a flicker of recognition? She'd taken a chance saying that. Her mother wandered far and wide, mostly in her youth, but Catriel didn't know if she'd ever met with the Avvars. They were not a people to reckon with, not a people to take lightly.

He grunted. "I will pass the request on to the Jarl. Whether or not he will see you…" He picked up his long stride again. "Stay here." There was no room for argument this time, as the man clearly made a show of brushing his hand against the pommel of his sword and the sharp little gem encrusted into it.

Catriel sighed and plopped herself down onto the ground to wait.

…

The Jarl decided to see her after all. Catriel wasn't sure if he would take her seriously or if perhaps she was just there for his amusement. Either way, she resolved to make a strong case for herself. The same barbarian that had prodded her up the mountain prodded her into the largest house in the village – the Jarl's hall. With one last backward glance at the man before he disappeared, she entered into the hall.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the hall, she noticed its high ceiling, the hunting trophies propped onto the wall, beside what she assumed to be war trophies – old swords and shields, some bearing the heraldry of well known Ferelden houses, not that Catriel could recognize which ones they belonged to. She only knew they were noble. Benches were pushed to the side, leaving room for a large fire at the center of the room. A row of hanging hides made another, private, room at the back. It smelled of earth, leather, and sweat, not that different from her cavern.

Filthy, really, but homey. A wave of homesickness threatened to overwhelm her, to throw her courage to the wind. But she straightened up and searched for the Jarl.

He sat behind the fire, a woman by his side. She was old, perhaps his wife. Her eyes were red rimmed like she had recently been crying. As Catriel moved forward, the woman fled behind the hide curtains at the back.

"Sit." The Jarl motioned with his hand toward a fur directly in front of him.

Catriel did as told, though she infused herself with an air of defiance, making sure it was visible to this leader of barbarians. Somehow, Catriel found that if she could ignore the dead bear the man wore atop his head, she wouldn't be afraid of him. Not as much anyway, for his face was still fierce even without it.

"I am Arthfael," he said, unaffected by her defiant look.

Catriel caught her breath. She heard that name from the other barbarian. He is the father of Drust. She felt a stab of sorrow through her heart. Death was everywhere. Death was life. What of Oli- Sam? Tristan? "I am sorry your son died."

A sob could be heard from beyond the hides, and then quickly it was stifled. The Jarl grimaced with the same heartfelt sorrow that Catriel felt. "That is the way of things in the mountains. Nothing is permanent."

I know this… now, she reflected.

She felt the Jarl's gaze upon her. His look of sorrow was gone, as fleeting as the life of his son. He studied her with furrowed brows. "You are the daughter of the Dalish wanderer, Eirlys?"

Catriel nodded solemnly. "Yes, I am Catriel."

The Jarl tapped his fingers on his knees in thought. After a moment, he reached up and pulled the bear skin off. He wasn't so imposing anymore. He was just a man, tired and grieving. "Your mother is known to us. She visited among our tribe for a short time."

Catriel leaned forward excitedly. Her earlier gamble had paid off. "See, she's a friend to you. You must let me go."

The Jarl's expression turned angry. "You take me for a fool, that I must do what a girl says?"

Catriel backed away. "Apologies, I…"

"Eirlys is a friend. But you – you attacked us alongside the lowlanders."

"Unsuccessfully." Catriel lowered her eyes, attempting to bring about a look of submission. Perhaps a show of regret would help her cause. "Foolishly… childishly."

"I am not in a forgiving mood today." Arthfael sighed, reining in his anger. "But since you are only a child, until she fetches you herself, you shall remain here. As she is our friend, I would not let you go, not with the darkening skies approaching."

Catriel's shoulders slumped in defeat. Her mother might not ever come for her. She might be dead. And there it was again – talk of darkening skies. "Then what are you going to do with me?"

The Jarl glanced over his shoulder to the hide door behind. "Etosa," he called out.

A young woman, not much older than Catriel, pushed through the hides, as if she had been standing there with her ear to the hides all along, listening. She kneeled at the Jarl's side, her long, glossy black hair cascading over her shoulders at the movement.

"Take charge of the girl," Arthfael commanded.

Etosa nodded once before her eyes rested on Catriel. The blue irises were not unkind, but neither were they friendly. "Yes, Jarl." Etosa stood up, walked over to Catriel, and simply said, "Come."

The Jarl was clearly finished with her. She thought of protesting some more, but Arthfael was already arising, leaving to do whatever Jarl's did. Disappointed that he'd not met with her for long, Catriel followed the barbarian girl outside.

The light was blinding after the short visit indoors. Etosa whistled sharply and one of the many wolf-like dogs hanging about the village came loping from around the corner. The barbarian girl knelt briefly to ruffle the dog's neck before standing up and striding away from the Jarl's hall. Catriel rushed to keep up. The barbarian girl was blessed with much longer legs than she was. Not to mention the dog kept running in front of her as she ran to keep up with Etosa.

"Where are you taking me?" Catriel asked. She wondered if she was to be locked up somewhere. An image flashed through her mind – Etosa raising a sword high into the air and then bringing it swiftly down onto a neck. My neck. Catriel shook her mind of the silly thoughts. The Jarl had said Etosa was to take charge of her. That surely didn't mean killing her. Would it? Her mother may have been a friend to Arthfael, but Catriel had certainly not impressed him one bit. And the villagers – they sent looks of pity her way, like they knew she was going to her death.

Etosa, unfortunately, did not answer. She continued through the village, ignorant it seemed of everything around her. Unless perhaps, she was purposely ignoring everything. Maybe the pitiful, sympathetic looks were not for Catriel, but for Etosa. Just who was this barbarian girl?

"Etosa," Catriel attempted to gain the attention of the girl.

It didn't work. Etosa headed for a set of steps leading up the ramparts of the stockade. She went up them without looking back, without checking to see if Catriel still followed.

Where would I run off to, anyway?

Catriel warily followed the barbarian girl. The dog obediently stayed below. She buried the next notion she had of an impending death – her being tossed over the stockade to splatter all over the cliff. Catriel had her own cliff back home she loved to climb down. This one, however, she wouldn't dare try to climb down.

Only if my life depended on it. She suppressed a shudder as she looked over the stockade. The cliff was so steep she could not even see it from her vantage point. Catriel turned her attention to Etosa. The girl watched her closely, curiously, as if Catriel were a rare oddity. Conscious that she was somewhat of an oddity in these parts, and suddenly shy of all things – she was never shy – Catriel pulled her hood up and covered her ears.

Etosa finally spoke. "You looked confused when the Jarl spoke of the darkening skies. I wished to show you."

Catriel looked out, above the cliff this time, and saw nothing but a frozen lake, and a cloudless, endless blue sky. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"That lake over there, it was not frozen. It is the hot season after all, and although the peaks remain snowcapped throughout the year, the lake does not. Until He came. It froze in a blink of the eye."

"He? Are you trying to scare me?"

"No, I can see you do not frighten easily. I only wish to show you the truth."

Catriel lifted a confused brow. "What truth?"

Etosa closed her eyes and shifted her face to the wind, strong atop the ramparts, and blowing from the direction of the strangely frozen lake. "Can you hear it?"

"Hear what?" By the gods, Catriel didn't know what to think of Etosa. Was the girl crazy or was she just trying to fool her, to scare her into meek submission?

"Listen to the wind," Etosa replied.

Catriel could hear nothing but the wind whipping against her hood, howling through the fabric each time it picked up speed. Etosa opened her eyes. She reached her hands towards Catriel and Catriel stepped backward, her gut twisting in fear as she thought the girl meant to push her over the stockade. But Etosa only shook her head ever so slightly before pushing Catriel's hood away. Catriel's hair came blowing free in the wind.

"Close your eyes," Etosa commanded.

Catriel hesitated. It could be a trick, she thought. When Etosa closed her own eyes again, Catriel took a deep breath and did the same. At first, the lack of a hood and the shutting of her eyes made no difference. She could hear nothing but the wind. And then, something became faintly audible; a screech, or a roar, by a creature she never heard in her short life. She shivered, not from the cold wind, but from the fear that sound sent rippling through her body. Her eyes flashed open.

A flock of birds flooded the sky in the far distance. They flew away from the frozen lake, away from the deafening roar.

"What was that?" Catriel asked.

Etosa opened her eyes wide and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Hakkon Wintersbreath."

The name of the old god carried on the wind to Catriel. She stood still, confusion on her face as she stared at the barbarian girl in disbelief. The birds reached overhead them now, emitting a chorus of squawks. Etosa watched them fly over her village before turning her eyes onto Catriel.

"Hakkon Wintersbreath casts a long shadow. His breath is cold, freezing everything it touches instantly, even in the dead of the hot season. For thousands of years, the mountains have been his home. Now, he awakens, stirs from his long slumber. And now, the world shall tremble beneath him. We shall appease him, and he will leave us alone. A proper sacrifice must be made."

"But Hakkon Wintersbreath is a god." She almost said he didn't exist. But the look Etosa gave her stopped her from saying anything offending.

Etosa's look remained serious, unperturbed by the disbelief of Catriel. "He is a fierce god when he desires to be so. He has taken on another form."

"But why?"

"Why do the gods do anything?" Etosa looked far off into the distance, past the frozen lake to the snowcapped peaks. "They are never merciful. Nothing is permanent."

That was the second time in a day that Catriel heard that phrase. Nothing is permanent. Somehow, that made all the difference to Catriel. Everything became clear. Etosa spoke of the man that was killed. Perhaps Drust was her brother. She was crazy with grief. The rambling about a god was a cover up. That's all this had to be about. "You knew Drust?"

"He was my husband." Etosa said it with no emotion.

That definitely explained the looks of pity sent her way. Catriel could hardly believe that Etosa had been married to Drust. She seemed so young. And it didn't seem like she grieved at all, unless she was hiding it.

"Then why do you not beat your breast, pull out your hair, and cry out in sorrow?" Catriel asked. Wasn't that what wives did when they were widowed?

"When my people marry, we have a tradition involving knots. The woman will sing a hymn to the gods while the man attempts to untie as many knots from a rope as he can. When the woman is finished singing, the number of knots the man has untied tells everyone how many years the marriage will last for."

"Drust was not handy?"

Etosa chuckled for the first time since they met. It was a charming, musical laugh. "I chose a short hymn, and you are right. Drust was not very handy, at least at untying knots. He only undid one knot. I was expecting my marriage to be over this year… though not in this way."

"You chose a short hymn? On purpose?"

Etosa wavered. "I don't know why I am telling you this."

"You didn't want to marry Drust." Catriel admired the girl's cunning. The barbarians were so superstitious, even if Drust hadn't died, Etosa probably could have gotten the marriage dissolved some other way.

Etosa bit her lip, probably regretting revealing so much of herself. She turned slightly away and brushed her hair behind her ears. Round and small. So unlike my own.

"You would willingly take charge of me after my – kidnappers – killed your husband?"

Etosa raised a brow. She certainly was cunning, Catriel hated to admit.

"You know they are not really my kidnappers, don't you?"

"No sane person would come to the aid of their kidnappers. So, either you are insane, or you are a liar. I choose to believe that you are lying."

"Not a liar?" Catriel smirked.

"Not a liar, only lying."

Catriel sighed. "They are – were – taking me away from everything I know, to somewhere they say – said – is home."

"Barbarian or elf, Avvar or Dalish, it is always the same for a girl, is it not?" Etosa's face finally showed signs of open sorrow. "I was taken away from home and brought here to seal an alliance between tribes. No one thought to ask me how I felt."

"Exactly," Catriel said enthusiastically. "Only, I hope they weren't meaning to marry me off…" By the gods, what if that is so? I cannot marry. For all my protestations of being a child no longer, I am not ready to marry.

"I'm sure it is not so," Etosa reassured her. "Your people are not in the habit of trading away daughters in the name of alliances. At least, not from the little I hear of them." She looked sad, like she wanted to know more of the world, but was stuck here on this cold mountain for the rest of her life to be traded away as seen fit. Catriel imagined that is how she herself would look if she were in Etosa's boots.

"What is to happen to you now?" Catriel asked.

"I will go to my husband's funeral and then… only the Lady of the Skies knows what my future holds."

"I wish to go home." Catriel wanted her mother. She wanted to be a part of the rebellion. She didn't want to go to her supposed father. Now, that wasn't going to happen. She didn't want to stay with the barbarians. She might be there forever.

"I, too, but for now, I must help my mother-in-law tend to my husband's body. She must be waiting. Follow."

Catriel reached a hand toward Etosa, resting it on her shoulder. The barbarian girl looked puzzled, like the gesture was foreign to her. "You can make your own future. The gods do not destine everything."

Etosa eyed her thoughtfully before finally she spun around and made her way down from the ramparts. With one last look at the frozen lake, and a trickle of wonderment in how much Etosa said was truth and how much was meant to scare her into obedience, Catriel followed. She hoped with all her heart the barbarian girl would consider her words. Perhaps, they could flee this place together.

Catriel studied the layout of the village as she followed Etosa. She seared it into her mind to study, hoping to formulate a plan of escape. Her thoughts at one point were interrupted by a familiar neigh. She turned her head to a muddy pen. Her heart fell suddenly as she came to a halt. Halteclere and Durendal paced away from the barbarians, a dangerous look in their eyes as they kicked away at the ground. They did not want to be handled by these strangers.

Etosa looked over her shoulder to Catriel. "They are fine creatures, suitable sacrifices for a god."

"Sacrifices?" Catriel asked, alarm in the tone of her voice.

Etosa regarded her with regret. "To Hakkon Wintersbreath."

"Oh."Catriel's eyes lingered in the direction of Durendal and Halteclare as Etosa came back to collect her. The ceremony was real then. The strange screech… perhaps it wasn't a trick of Etosa after all. The poor beasts. They didn't deserve that. She'd even grown quite fond of them. As she followed Etosa to the barbarian girl's duty, though, Catriel couldn't help feeling a stab of guilt for the relief that flooded her.

Better them than me.

"Come along, ptarmigan."

Etosa dragged her away from the heartbreaking scene.