The eternal fire burned low in the central pit, and Habet, whose job was to keep it stoked, was missing. Persephone added a split of wood, and the room brightened a little. Crossing to the pair of chairs near the far wall—the only chairs in the room—Persephone sat in the one on the right.
Suri had stopped at the door. She peered at the rafters of the peaked roof, where shields of past chieftains hung along with trophy heads of stags, wolves, and bears. She grimaced, then looked across the room toward Persephone, eyeing the floor as if it were a deep lake and she unable to swim. Then, with effort, the girl and the wolf entered.
“How old are you, Suri?” Persephone asked as the girl made her way across the hall.
“Don’t know—maybe fourteen.” The girl spoke absently, her attention still on the rafters.
“Maybe?”
“That’s my best guess. Might be more. Might be less.”
“You don’t know?”
“Depends on how long I spent with the crimbals. Tura was fairly certain I’m a malkin.”
“A—a what? A malkin?”
Suri nodded. “When a crimbal steals—you know what a crimbal is, ma’am?”
Persephone shook her head.
Suri sucked in a breath, glancing at the wolf beside her as if the two shared a secret, then explained. “Well, a crimbal is a creature of the forest. They don’t actually live there, just come and go, you see? They’re common in the Crescent, lots of doorways because of all the trees. They dwell in Nog, a place deep underground where they have grand halls and banquets. They dance and make merry in ways you can only imagine. Anyway, when a crimbal steals a baby, they—”
“They steal babies?”
“Oh, Grand Mother of All, yes. All the time. No one knows why. Just a thing with them, I suppose. Anyway, when they steal one, they take it back to Nog, where who knows what happens. On rare occasions, one sneaks out. They’re called malkins and aren’t quite right again because anyone spending time in Nog is forever changed. Now, usually a malkin is older, like ten or twelve, but somehow I managed to get out before my first year. That’s when Tura found me.”
“How did you get out before you could walk?”
Suri, who by then had completed the bulk of her journey, looked at Persephone as if she’d said the craziest thing. “How should I know, ma’am? I was just a baby.”
Persephone arched her brows and nodded. “I see,” she said, but what she actually saw was how even an innocuous question such as How old are you? wasn’t a simple matter for a girl with a belt of teeth and a pet wolf. Best to keep matters simple. “All right, Suri, what is it you need?”
“Need, ma’am?” the girl asked.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh—I came to tell the chieftain we’re going to die.” The girl said it quickly and with the same casual indifference as if she were announcing that the sun sets in the evening.
Persephone narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me? What did you say? Who’s going to die?”
“All of us.”
“All of whom?”
“Us.” The girl looked puzzled, but this time Persephone wasn’t certain if it was the tattoos or not.
“You and I?”
Suri sighed. “Yes—you, me, the funny man with the horn at the gate, everyone.”
“Everyone in Dahl Rhen?”
The girl sighed again. “Not just Dahl Rhen—everywhere.”
Persephone laughed. “Are you saying all living things are going to die? Because that’s not exactly news.”
Suri looked to Minna, a pleading in her eyes as if the wolf might help explain. “Not all living things, just people—people like you and me.”
“You mean Rhunes? All the Rhunes are going to die?”
Suri shrugged. “I suppose.”
“I think perhaps you should back up. Start with when and how this will happen.”
“Don’t know how…soon, though. Should start before high summer, I suspect. Definitely before winter.” She paused, thought, and then nodded. “Yes, definitely before the snows come, and by this time next year we’ll be in the worst of it. That will be the edge of the knife, the peak of the storm.”
“So it’s a storm that’s coming?”
The girl blinked, furrowed her brow, scowled, and shook her head. “Not an actual storm, just a bad thing, although…” She shrugged. “It could be a storm, I suppose.”
“And you have no idea what is going to cause this or why such a terrible thing will happen?”
“No—not at all,” the mystic said as if such things held no importance.
Persephone leaned back in her chair and studied the girl. She was a sad case, an orphan alone and scared. “Why are you really here, Suri? Are you hungry? Lonely now that Tura is dead?”
Suri looked confused.
“It’s okay. I’ll ask someone to find you a place to sleep. Get you some bread, too. Would you like some bread?”
The mystic thought a moment. “Bread would be nice.”
“And would you like to live here? Here on the dahl?”
Suri’s eyes grew wide, and she took a fearful step back, glancing once more at the rafters. Her head shook. “No, ma’am. I could never live here. I only came because Tura told me it’s what I should do if I ever discovered such a thing. ‘Go to the hill in the big field at the crux of the forest and ask to speak to the chieftain.’ That’s what she said. Not that there’s anything to do about it right now. Need to talk to the trees. They could tell us more, but they’re still asleep.”
Persephone sighed. This wasn’t like talking to Tura, who’d had her own eccentricities.
I can leave this for Reglan. Maybe he can make sense of her.
“Well, thank you.” Persephone stood and offered the girl a smile. “I’ll see that you get the bread I mentioned, and you can take this up with my husband when he returns. If you’d like, you can wait in here.” Seeing the girl take another step backward, Persephone added, “Or out on the steps if you prefer.”
Suri nodded, pivoted, and walked away, the wolf following at her heels.
So thin.
Persephone was certain the prophecy was a ruse. Clever, but the girl had overdone it. She should have kept it simple, like predicting a poor harvest, approaching fevers, or a drought. She was just young and hadn’t thought things through. With Tura dead, she didn’t have a hope of surviving alone in the forest.
“Suri?” Persephone stopped her. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else about what you told me. You know, about the deaths.”
The girl turned around, a hand resting against the nearest of the three winter pillars. “Why?”
“Because they won’t understand. They’ll think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
Persephone sighed. Stubborn, too.
Suri took a few more steps toward the door, then paused and turned back once more. “I’m not Tura, but I know something awful is coming. Our only hope is to heed what counsel the trees can tell. Watch for the leaves, ma’am, watch for the leaves.”
Just then, Cobb’s horn sounded again.
—