White Stag (Permafrost #1)(35)
In the deepest, darkest part of my memory, my parents whispered about me by firelight and a dream of a frozen land reappeared over and over while an inhuman voice called for me.
“What are you thinking, Janneke?” Soren asked, appearing alarmed at my long silence. “What are you feeling?”
Nothing. Not horror or anger or sadness. Numbness, yes, so thick and strong it was almost painful, blocking out any type of thought, emotion, or reaction. Just a blank stare wondering if this had always been my fate and the feeling that yes, yes it probably had been.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t.”
Born on the border of the Permafrost with the coldness of the land in my blood, it made sense.
Soren reached out and brushed a lock of my hair back into place. The brush of his fingertips against my cheek sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, but for once it wasn’t one of fear. He thinks it’s how you build trust. I had to give him credit for trying.
“You’ve earned my trust,” I said. “You don’t need to keep trying.”
“Maybe I just like touching you.” The smirk was back.
“I think you’re ill. You’ve been smiling way too much.” I was only half teasing. I truly had never seen Soren smile or smirk so much in the entire hundred years I’d spent with him.
He immediately trained his features back into his signature scowl. Conversation lulled into silence for a few moments.
“Will I really turn into a goblin?” I asked.
“Your blood is laced with the same type of power as mine, so you have the blood of one, so to speak,” he said. Then after a moment, he added, “But you have the heart and mind of a human. You clutch to the heart as if it’s your lifeline, but you need to be one with your blood if you want to continue to survive, otherwise you’ll go mad.”
I took a deep breath. Continue to survive. The chanting of the flickering flames inside me grew stronger. Survive. Survive. Survive.
“Then what was the point of this, of you taking me on the Hunt? Did you lie?”
“I wanted you to accept your blood and”—he paused, sharp canines biting his lower lip—“I went about it the wrong way. I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning, but I didn’t know how. The longer I kept putting it off, the harder it was for me to tell you. I was afraid. I’m sorry.”
I stilled. I didn’t think Soren would ever apologize for anything. I didn’t think he understood the concept of an apology, and here he was, apologizing for the second time in under five minutes. Maybe he was ill.
“What will you do now?” he asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always,” he promised.
“I’ve had illusions of choices, Soren. Not real ones.”
Soren dropped his gaze again, like the guilt was holding him down. “You’re right, again. I apologize; that wasn’t fair of me to say. For true, this time. You will always have a choice. Every option and every path. If I break faith with thee, may the sky fall upon me, may the sea drown me, and may the earth rise up and swallow me. Until I die, so long will I keep my oath.”
The air crackled as Soren finished the words of the ritual oath. “We’re on even ground now, then,” I said, the ghost of a smile on my lips. “So, what now?”
“As far as I see it, you could leave. Releasing you from the bind I’ve made would be hard. It might even kill you, which was why I thought it would be better to dissolve it over time as you embraced your nature. Assuming you survived, you could go back to the human world. You’d have to travel far away from the Permafrost, somewhere where the burnt lands are no more than just legends. With the power built up inside of you, you probably wouldn’t be able to hunt again. It would attract others. But you could have a chance at a normal human life. Fall in love, raise a family, the things you wouldn’t have had even back in your own village. Or … you could stay here…”
“And become a goblin, or as good as,” I finished.
“There aren’t many like you, Janneke. Human-hearted and goblin-blooded. I don’t know which choice would make you happy and which wouldn’t. I know that you’ll go mad if you’re torn between the worlds.”
The stillness in my heart frightened me; there should’ve been turbulence. There should’ve been pain crashing down like spiked ice and despair rushing through me like sucking mud. There should’ve been hate and fear and rage. But instead, there was the quiet calmness of a land after surviving a strong storm.
I could leave. I could leave the Permafrost and go back to wherever I had been before here; find Elvenhule, see the remains of what was left of my family. I could find some other village, far, far away from the Permafrost, and assimilate back into human culture. Fall in love, raise a family. I could lock all the memories of the Permafrost in a corner of my mind and never let them out again.
But the heartbeat of the Permafrost was like thunder underneath my feet, and the prey lines were clear as the morning’s sun. Insects began their symphony, and I could recognize each of their individual songs and hear the direwolves singing their serenade to the moonless sky. The cold air on my shoulders was a mother’s caress, and the darkness in my eyes a warm, thick blanket.
This place could become my home if I let it, if I accepted the beauty, however cruel, that it possessed. If I left, I would never hunt again, much less in the near-magical way I was doing now in the Hunt, and I’d forget the whispers of the trees and the language of the living. If I stayed, there was a chance my humanity would slip away. It was such a thin line: happiness and comfort, spirit and safety.