Child Of Snow, Spirit Of Wind

By Sandra Elsa

This is a 25,000 word novella set in the Four Lands. It tells about the blacksmith Danoe's early life, his heritage, his magic, and his initial contact with fairies.

His father, an ice giant, is killed on a hunting expedition and his mother, a human witch returns to the frozen north to take her son home to Telgar. On the way he makes the acquaintance of the fairies, Bartol and Ariel. They ask him to help, Princess Arianna should she happen across his path. Miserable and alone, Danoe agrees without finding out exactly what that help might entail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Elsa
• Release date: Dec 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301017720

Book preview

Child Of Snow, Spirit Of Wind

By

Sandra Elsa

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Sandra Panicucci

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.

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All characters, places, and events spring from the author’s mind and in no way represent real people, places, or events, although every now and then a tiny kernel of someone or something may reach the page.

This is a novella set in the same world and dealing with some characters introduced in the Daughter Of The Wind series. The main character this tale, is a minor character in Southern Wind but he gathered my interest enough I knew there had to be a story behind his involvement with Bella and Conall.

This is Danoe’s story.

Chapter 1

Danoe watched the runner enter the shaman's home. Moments later, Garlend appeared carrying his pack filled with herbal remedies and his shaman's rattles. He saddled and mounted one of the village's horses faster than Danoe had ever watched it done. The shaman disliked riding. For him to have left so rapidly, something bad had happened. Galloping hooves raced in muffled silence through two inches of fresh fallen snow toward Hallen Canyon. The runner reappeared from within the lodge and a shiver of fear ran up Danoe's spine as he recognized the man as one of his father's hunting party.

Icy fingers squeezed his chest and snowbirds dove in his stomach as the runner, still gasping for breath, turned a pitying stare on him.

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Later that afternoon the women came to take him to the communal lodge. They gave him small tasks to busy his hands. The simple work could not stop his mind from racing. What had the runner's look meant? Was it his father, Kauloff, who required the attention of the shaman?

Early the next day the hunters returned. Garlend walked beside a travois dragging behind the mare he had ridden out on. A solemn group trailed behind. Uncle Kaolen carried a thick black pelt, many of the others carried meat. The hunt had been successful. But at what cost?

Danoe's dark eyes searched the crowd for his father's immense form. The way none of the hunters would look at him told him more than their words could; more than the absence of his father's bulk. The man laying on the travois was Kauloff.

The pale flesh of the shaman's face spoke of his exhaustion. Magic seared the air, the sting of wind driven sleet bounced off Danoe's bronze skin. The snow's energy was so thick about the travois that when Danoe closed his eyes to prevent his pain from rolling down his face in huge betraying droplets, he could see the storm the shaman had tapped into.

He followed Garlend and his father to their home. The other hunters unhooked the travois from the white mare and two of them carried Kauloff through the door and laid the carrier on the bed. Four more shifted Kauloff from the travois to the bed. A wrap around his midsection was soaked through. Blood crept from the wrap to the furs covering the bed as the travois was removed. Garlend brought out his rattles. The air of the room chilled as the shaman danced and chanted, but with the cold, the blood stopped flowing.

Garlend chased the rest of the men from the house. Danoe curled in a tight ball atop a table on the far side of the room, staying out of the shaman's way, fulfilling the need to see his father's face.

For a brief time Kauloff's breathing eased and the shaman rested in a chair beside the table Danoe perched on. Garlend's ashen face reflected the pain of his friend's wound and the weariness the expenditure of energy brought upon him. He turned dull, silver, eyes on the boy who struggled not to permit his tears to fall. You must cry.

Danoe shook his head. A man did not cry.

Garlend's shoulders slumped forward and his head bowed. He said nothing more for long minutes. The shaman's cheeks were damp when he raised his head again. I was there eight years ago for your birth. Your mother was such a frail thing we did not think she would survive and yet she did.

Danoe had heard this tale before. One night two years ago, well into his cups, his father, a man who rarely drank, bemoaned the absence of his mate, and rambled on at length about her. Lillane was a human witch. Powerful by human standards. She had captivated Kauloff with a beauty rarely found in humans. Her magic brought a warmth few of the Carilem ever knew into his life. She stayed with him long enough to birth a son, but the constant drain on her magic, that living in the tundra required, was too much. When she left, he followed her south but the Carilem could not tolerate heat. The magic the gods granted the Carilem brought their climate wherever they journeyed. Frost in the middle of the growing season caused humans to hate and fear the northern giants.

Danoe's vision blurred. Father told me about mother.

Then you know the power of the snow can bring miracles. We will fight for your father.

Danoe tried to speak. Tried to hide the doubt in his mind. A requirement of magic, was the necessity of belief. Just now, staring at the bloodied furs and his father's torn body it was too hard to believe that anything could save him. Did they tell you what happened to him? He bit down hard on his lower lip trying to hold the quaver from his voice.

He sacrificed himself to save his brother.

Anger flared. How dare his father put himself in harm's way? If Uncle Kaolen had died, Jorlen would still have his mother to care for him. Kauloff had been bigger, faster and stronger than the other men of the tribe. None dared to call Danoe a half-breed and snicker behind his back. They respected Kauloff too much. Now that immense bulk of security was gone. His life stripped away by injuries received rescuing his brother from a walbear. Uncle Kaolen must have done something foolish to require saving in the first place. The tundra did not suffer fools. It killed them.

Despair flickered across Garlend's face. Danoe had not thought the gray skin could get any paler yet it did. Many of the Carilem believed the shaman could read minds. If he could, Danoe was shamed at the pain his anger had just caused.

The boy clambered to his feet and went to look at his father. He forced calm into his mind. In a detached manner, almost it felt there was a second, less caring, soul present within him, he stared at his father's wounds. A three inch claw was embedded in his shoulder. Garlend had not removed it. In spite of his words of hope, the shaman must not believe Kauloff had a chance to survive.

Garlend joined him now at his father's side and stretched his hand down to the gut wound. "This is the one that will kill him. Viscera spilled to the ground when he was sundered.