Chapter Text
- Aleksander -
From a distance, struggling as he was through the tightly packed snow with Kiva at his side, thick pelts wrapped tightly around his skin, and a war helmet he’d stolen from his father resting loosely on his head, Alek looked like a frost giant come to life. Icicles hung from his braids and eyebrows, and his breaths fanned out in front of him in clouds, freezing as soon as they made contact with the air.
Every few paces he was forced to use the axe that he’d liberated from his father’s collection to dislodge one of the ubiquitous boulders that blocked his way. Though it was nearly impossible to see in the thickly falling snow and the sound of the metal making contact with thick ice was sucked up by the howling wind, the shards that sprayed up and into his eyes told Alek that his aim was true. He grunted and lunged like the warrior he had never been, fighting more fiercely against the weather than he’d ever been able against another man. In fact, if there was anyone out in that frozen wasteland worth frightening, he was sure that for the first time in his life he would have done the job well.
Obviously unaware of his moment of self-congratulation as he conquered a particularly large boulder, Kiva whined, snapping at Alek’s heels; it had been hours since they’d last eaten, and she had grown obviously spoiled over the past few years of domesticated life. Alek’s own hunger growled and clawed at his gut, but he steadfastly ignored the sensation, convinced that it wouldn’t be much longer until someone – or something – found them. When he’d crept out of the village the morning before, he had been more afraid of getting caught than running out of food – he’d assumed that he’d be picked up by one of the dreki by now. That lack of foresight was one of many ways his own stupidity would probably get him killed.
When a few minutes passed without him paying attention to her whining, Kiva nipped at his ankles with a more focused intent, nearly sending him headlong into the snow.
Cursing at the wolf, he settled down to see what it was that she wanted. He debated trying to scold her, but knew that it was a waste of his much-needed breath. Kiva was as wild as the storm that was building around them and twice as fierce, and she’d listen only when it suited her. Jace used to love her defiance – more proof, he’d boast, that she was a gift, sent to him by the Gods for services rendered on the hunt. Alek held even less stock in the Gods now than he did when his brother was alive, but that didn’t stop him from wishing that her heritage proved true: it was probably going to take divine intervention to keep the pair of them alive.
“What is it?” he asked, shoving her away as she snuffled at his pocket for scraps. “There’s nothing in there.” Convinced otherwise, she rooted around until she licked up some scraps of dried meat, and then pulled back, licking her muzzle in satisfaction. As soon as she was finished she broke from their slowly winding path, dipping down over a rise without pausing to see if he’d follow.
She knew that he’d never go on alone.
It was dark enough that Alek could barely follow Kiva’s prints through the snow. He moved forward slowly, relying on years of trekking and instincts that had been honed on long expeditions with Jace to see him carefully over the ridge.
When he got to the bottom, he thought for a second that Kiva had finally abandoned him.
“Kiva?”
He wasn’t sure why he kept his voice down – the point of this expedition, after all, was to be caught.
Of course, when he thought about encountering the dreki, it was with the advantage of light, so that he could at least pretend they were on even footing.
Before he could properly panic, Kiva barked from her hiding place – a tunnel that she’d dug in the short moments since she’d left him on the hill.
Sure that this was as good a place as any – especially if the wolf thought so – Alek took the time to remove his layers before digging his own tunnel for the night. The wind cut at his skin, but he knew that even a small shelter would test the limits of his physical abilities, and the last thing he wanted was to be soaked through before bed. He dug quickly, dredging out small chunks of ice and packing the snow in as tightly as he could. He built a small, compact shelter, with a single level that was higher than the entrance, to act as a barrier for heat. He pushed his pack against the entrance – pausing only to let in a whimpering Kiva – and then bundled both of them beneath his furs, hoping for the second night in a row that this would not be his final resting place.
When Alek awoke, all was silent. Elated to have woken up at all, he took his time rising, and then set about pushing away the small drift of snow that had settled in front of the entrance to his shelter so that he could inspect the landscape around them. Kiva, who had slept like a rock through the entire storm, and woken up with the personality of a vengeful demon, barked and pawed at the entrance until the hole was wide enough that she could push through.
Wary of charging out into the open landscape, but aware that nothing he could do would convince the wolf to stay, Alek hung back for a few minutes. He worked slowly to secure the furs that they’d covered in last night, comforted by the sound of Kiva’s joyful bounding. He was just struggling to his feet, weighed down by the pelts and a little unsteady from the lack of food, when Kiva’s joyful yips turned to a low, rumbling snarl. Before he could draw a weapon – for all the help his middling skills would be – there was a high-pitched screech from above.
Dreki.
Alek had only heard that sound once in his life, but it was not the kind of noise you forget. In fact, hearing it for a second time was enough to conjure memories of the last – the unearthly screeching, so loud he could feel it in his bones; the rending of steel against scale; and the smell of blood, as it splattered against the snow.
He forced the memories away and turned his focus to Kiva. He whistled – one sharp sound, a duplicate of the call Jace used when he and Kiva were hunting – and for once the wolf responded. She ran over to him, hackles raised and muzzle pulled back to display a mouth full of long, sharp teeth.
If it had been anything else, she may have stood a chance.
As the dreki came closer, Alek’s legs became weaker. He widened his stance, digging his boots into the newly-fallen snow. Show no weakness; Jace had repeated those words so often that they’d held almost no meaning. Showing no weakness had been natural for his brother – at least until the end.
Alek had been Jace’s only weakness, and he would travel to the icy pits of hell and back before he let his brother’s death be for nothing. Or worse, for it to be used as a catalyst to exterminate an entire race.
The dreki flew closer, hurtling through the air as if propelled by the Gods themselves. He had forgotten that it was possible for something of the Earth to move so quickly. The glint of its scales – red, unlike the bright green that plagued his dreams – against the snow was blinding, but Alek held fast. He waited, slanting his body in front of Kiva’s, hoping that if things went badly she could at least have a chance at escaping, and dropped his knife into the snow. Then, summoning up the memories of the years he had spent huddled in the prison barracks, memorizing the exact rise and fall of syllables, the way the words of the dreki language exploded, up and out of their chests in a cacophonous roar, he thrust his arm up to the sky.
“Stop!”
Unlike his first encounter with the dreki, Alek was braced for the mental assault. Before the shifter’s huge, sinuous legs had touched the ground, its voice reverberated through his mind, as harsh as the clang of steel against steel.
This is dreki land and forbidden to you, Shadowhunter. Explain yourself. The dreki’s wings unfurled, ready to propel it from the ground in an instant, but its head – equipped with rows of teeth as long and sharp as Alek’s dagger – moved closer.
He didn't bother to tell the creature that he was not a Shadowhunter - that he certainly would never be one now, even if he had wanted to be. Drawing from a well of strength that he’d been cultivating over the past six years, Alek stepped forward, bracing himself for the swift and sure death that would come if he faltered.
“I am Alek, Róbertsson, Prince of Venyjard.” Though he knew it wasn’t necessary, he spoke aloud: his command of the dreki tongue was clumsy at best, and he felt that he had more control – that he was more capable – if he could hear the words.
Róbertsson, you show the same arrogance as your father, thinking that you are welcome here. The grating, brimstone quality of the dreki’s voice had dipped lower, but was no less sinister. In fact, its hiss of displeasure snaked along the back of Alek’s neck, chilling him through his many layers. Kiva snarled as he shuddered, but he placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to keep her calm.
“I did not come on my father’s behalf.” Alek took a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke the words that until now had been nothing but a fleeting thought. “I came in secret, without the blessings of my people, to warn you of a rising threat.” The dreki snorted – whether in disbelief or indifference, Alek wasn’t sure – but didn’t interrupt. Alek squared his shoulders and looked straight into the blood red eyes that matched the shifter’s scales.
“I come with tidings of war.”