Coldmarch

by Daniel A. Cohen

  Split waved two knuckles at the Vicaress. ‘Death to your Hookmen! Death to the Khat! Meshua is real!’

  Picka had flattened herself against the Ice, her tongue slapping back and forth against the surface. She seemed unfazed by the fact that we were suspended above death, and was happy to lap at the Cold, making small grumbling sounds.

  Shilah and I pulled ourselves along the rope to the centre of the raft, laughing hysterically. As soon as I was in arms’ reach, Cam tossed his body across mine. The scent of rosemusk was still powerful beneath his shirt. He unstrapped the Coldmaker from his chest and pushed it my way, his teeth already starting to chatter.

  ‘Figured you’d want-t-t to hold it,’ Cam said, his face full of mist and life.

  I tied the bag near the centre of the rope to make sure it held steady. The Ice felt strong beneath our feet; slippery, but confident. It was unbothered by the boiling current lapping at its underparts. I knew, however, that the Singe had eight hundred years of Sun dissolved inside, and we had to get to the far shore quickly. ‘It’s not over yet.’

  Cam nodded frantically, wrapping his hand over my shoulders and shaking. ‘This is crazy! Spout, look where we are! Look what we’re doing!’

  I nodded, looking back at the Northern horizon, which was quickly wrapping itself in night. The streaks from the flamepowder still hung in the air, and I let myself feel the smallest bit of pride at having eluded the Hookmen, hoping the legendary demons couldn’t survive swimming in boiling waters.

  I looked back at the Northern dunes, and could just make out swift streaks of beige bursting into the open.

  Their forms were not what I was expecting.

  Four massive bodies stormed across the land, running as if weightless, their huge curved blades at the ready. They moved with impossible speed, but didn’t have claws or tails or massive gills like the stories implied. I couldn’t see them particularly well through the Icy mist, but they looked more or less like men. Swiftly they raced across the rock and stopped as one unit, lining up silently on the shore. They were dressed in uniform beige, and their heads were shaved and branded with what had to be the Closed Eye. One of the men in the middle – the largest of them all – lifted both his arms, the curve of two blades pointing in our direction.

  ‘We have to get across the river,’ I said, forgetting my confidence, a lump swelling in my throat. ‘Everyone take an oar.’

  Our Ice raft careered along, the water sloshing against the sides, but it wasn’t strong enough to splash on board. Split tried to stand up straight, immediately slipping and landing violently on Picka’s back. The camel grunted, huffed, and then went back to wiping her tongue across the boat.

  ‘Stay low,’ I said, trying to sound as if I knew what I was talking about. ‘Keep on your stomachs and spread out.’

  ‘Spout,’ Cam said seriously.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You’re smiling,’ he said, slapping a hand against the Ice with a laugh. ‘It’s good to see you smile.’

  I hadn’t noticed, and I touched my lips to see if he was right.

  ‘If we make it across,’ I said. ‘I’ll smile until my lips fall off.’

  ‘We don’t want that,’ Shilah said. ‘We need your lips.’

  My chest clenched, and suddenly I found a bit more strength in my fingers, my oar not so heavy. Everyone wiggled towards the tips of the Ice, each of us taking a different side. The insane Cold numbed the whole front of my body.

  ‘Okay. We have to work together so we don’t spin!’ I shouted over the sizzle of our raft’s edges. I wished Abb was here to be our leader, as he was confident enough to deal with such mayhem. But if my father was looking down on us, I knew he’d find it amusing to see that my first time on a boat was on one that I’d created.

  Little Builder, indeed.

  ‘Ready?’ I shouted, dipping my oar through the waters. ‘Pull!’

  The raft resisted, but eventually it began to lurch.

  ‘Ready!’ I dipped the oar back in, trying not to cough on the mist. ‘Row!’

  Another jolt.

  Over and over I shouted the commands, and bit by bit we inched our way towards the far shore. The Singe was at least two hundred paces wide at its narrowest, and already the edges of the Ice raft were retreating. It wasn’t major, but it was noticeable, and I now had to slide back towards the centre.

  We rowed with precision and fury, everyone following my commands. Split blundered his strokes a few times, stopping to dig a pinky into his ear, but mostly we held course.

  Before I knew it we were in the middle of the Singe.

  ‘Great work!’ I shouted, trying to keep up spirits. My shoulders felt like they were about to pop with each pull, and I hoped the others were holding up better. I expected the water colliding with the side of the raft to be scalding, but the Ice took away most of its sting, and by the time it splashed up on my arms it was powerless.

  I wanted to laugh again.

  We were actually pulling this off.

  ‘Row!’ I shouted, feeling more alive than I had since leaving the Manor.

  Picka whinnied at my back, echoing my sentiments.

  Everyone kept rowing at my command, but our pace was beginning to slow. The impossibly Cold Ice was making my tongue and arms sluggish. I looked over and saw both Cam and Shilah shivering, but we had gained some momentum, and soon enough we were nearing the other shore. The river kept eating at the Ice, at least a quarter gone now. We had to scoot a little tighter towards the centre, but the shoreline was almost in reach.

  ‘Just a litt-ttle more,’ I shouted, my teeth chattering. ‘We’re almost-t there! Pull!’

  I thought I saw something moving over on the far shoreline where we were heading, swift and low in the dunes. After blinking a few times, I realized it was just a trick of the mist. The amount of effort I had to exude for each stroke was beginning to get to me. Picka had started to make uncomfortable brays, struggling against her bindings. She must have reached her limit as well. The Cold was everything.

  We yanked and thrashed our oars through the water, our techniques sloppy and frantic, but we were picking up speed.

  Shilah’s teeth were bared.

  Cam put his cheek against the Ice to cool himself down.

  Split grunted with every pull, sounding all too like his camel.

  And my left wrist felt as if it was going to fall off with every stroke.

  But a few dozen uncoordinated strokes more and we were cruising along the shoreline, just about to touch rock. My heart was thumping wildly. We had bested the Singe.

  Then I realized our new problem.

  We were going too fast downstream.

  The rowing had taken us next to the shore where we needed to anchor, but the current had been dragging us at a blistering pace. We were speeding faster than we could run, and I knew if we tried to jump off the raft we’d likely end up missing the shore. We’d fall right back into the deadly waters.

  The Ice bumped against the rocks, scraping off bits at a time.

  ‘What do we do?’ Cam shouted back, retreating his oar so it didn’t snap off against the shoreline.

  ‘I—’ I gaped at the passing rocks and boilweed, all a blur. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Meshua!’ Split called. ‘Another miracle, please!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, shutting my eyes so I could think.

  Just then we crashed into a section of rock jutting out from the shore. The whole raft spun. Picka’s reins tightened and she whinnied so loudly that I nearly lost my grip. Everyone managed to hold onto the rope, but only just.

  My heart sank.

  The raft was moving faster.

  Shilah crawled towards me, her skin as pale as I’d ever seen it. The normal lovely brown was now like wet sand. Her whole body was shaking.

  ‘You still have some Abbs?’ she asked.

  I nodded, my hand going to my pocket. ‘I d-do.’

  ‘Let me have one.’

  I reached ou
t, and the raft bucked against the rocks again, nearly knocking the golden bead from my hand. Shilah took the Abb, biting her bottom lip as she appraised the shoreline. ‘Split! Make sure Picka’s reins are secure!’

  Split scowled at her and then immediately withdrew his gaze. His pinky went back in his ear. ‘I think we should let Meshua make the decisions, girl.’

  Another crash.

  ‘Just check before I push you overboard!’ Shilah yelled. ‘And everyone else tie yourselves on like Picka!’

  Cam reached out and dragged his oar across the shoreline, presumably to slow us down, but it didn’t do much.

  I looped the rope twice around my leg and then placed my free hand on Shilah’s shoulder, feeling what was left of her warmth. ‘Are you going to—’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She winked, her eyelid struggling to come back up. Then she nodded to my lingering hand. ‘There will be time for that later. You’re going to want to use the other hand to grab our machine. Cam!’ Shilah yelled. ‘Tie yourself!’

  Cam jerked his oar away from the shore, looping his belt around the rope and cinching tight. I pulled the Coldmaker against my chest. Everyone tied themselves as tightly as they could, and we all grabbed on.

  Once Shilah’s side of the raft lined up with the shoreline, she rolled the Abb into the bubbling waters.

  The golden Cold exploded with another flurry of Ice. The crystals grabbed hold of both the raft and the rocks at the same time. Everything seared together, and our boat immediately scraped to a halt. The lurch was astounding. Picka’s limbs flew out from underneath her, Cam’s gold-rimmed glasses went skittering to the edge of the Ice, and my leg nearly ripped out of place.

  But no one went into the Singe. The rope didn’t break.

  I paused, looking around with disbelief.

  Shilah had expanded the Ice and brought us to shore.

  We now had a perfectly good platform from which to disembark. We were also well out of range of the Vicaress and her Hookmen.

  I burst out laughing again.

  We undid our bindings, gathered our things, and crawled our way to the shore, Cam squinting as he reached across the Ice. The land felt blessedly solid beneath my feet, and I grabbed Shilah’s hand, looking her in the eyes. She was standing as straight as ever, even though her body was still shaking from the incredible amounts of Cold.

  ‘You saved us,’ I said quietly, giving a slight bow. ‘Meshua.’

  She beamed, her face flushing with relief. ‘I say if it’s true, then it is both of us, or neither of us.’

  I nodded, placing her hand on the Coldmaker. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’

  Split ruffled Picka’s mane, which had hardened into clumpy locks from the Ice. He kissed her over and over on the snout, the camel reluctantly grumbling in return, as she was staring longingly past the Pedlar and back at the Ice.

  ‘We made it, girl,’ Split said in between kisses. ‘Can you believe it?’

  Cam smoothed down his hair, which looked clumpier than Picka’s, and surveyed all that we’d crossed. His teeth were still chattering, his eyes nearly squinting closed, and his face had gone as pale as the Wanted Scroll-version of himself. ‘If only t-t-the whole World Cried could have s-seen that. We wouldn’t-t even need Langria.’

  Shilah took her hand off the Coldmaker and brushed my injured wrist, a question on her face.

  ‘I’ll live,’ I said with a smile, giddiness abounding.

  She cocked her head to one side, her face completely blank. ‘Now don’t go smiling those lips off. I thought we’d discussed that.’

  ‘I—’

  She winked, then her eyebrows flicked quickly upwards.

  Heat swelled back into my chest.

  Cam smirked heavily, pointing back and forth to both sides of his mouth. ‘What about me? I’m very happy about not being eaten or drowned or having my head chopped off.’

  Full colour returned to Shilah’s cheeks, the Cold beginning to wear off. ‘Smile away, Cam.’

  ‘Ready to continue this Coldmarch, Split?’ I asked, fixing the Coldmaker bag on my shoulder and finally feeling the fatigue wash over me. Night was falling fast, the stars peeking out, but I knew we had to put some distance between us and the Vicaress. She’d find her way across soon enough.

  Split gave Picka one last kiss on the snout and then looked up and nodded. ‘If I remember correctly, the next stop is—’

  Cam wheezed, his tongue nearly popping out as he stumbled backwards, pointing frantically. ‘Death.’

  I spun around and nearly vomited.

  ‘Five,’ Shilah whispered, her whole body stiff with fright.

  Looming behind us was a man who could have been carved out of stone. He was nearly two heads taller than us, and as broad as a Pyramid stone. Darkness hovered around his frame, adding to the menace. Like the rest of the Hookmen, he was wearing beige and wielding a giant curved sword that could cut us lengthwise in one swipe. His head was completely shaven, the Closed Eye branded into where his hair would have been, and his nose was wide and flat, as if pressed against invisible glass. His entire being oozed muscle and strength.

  Shilah had her blade out and ready, but it was laughable in comparison.

  There was no way we could fight this behemoth.

  The Hookman raised his blade, going for the kill. As I prepared for the black, I noticed two strange things about the man’s skin. First was the fact that his whole body was littered with scars. The faded lines were grouped in neat rows, tallies spreading across his entire body from the neck down.

  And the second oddity was the colour of his skin.

  He was dark, like me. Like Shilah.

  The Hookman was a Jadan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The curved blade thundered downwards, travelling so fast that I didn’t even have time for a final prayer. All I could do was appreciate the fading light dancing along the length of metal.

  At least the Sun wouldn’t get a clear view of our demise.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the Coldmaker tightly.

  I tried, Dad.

  A heavy crunch of rock and sand.

  My lids jerked open and I saw the weapon dug into the ground at our feet, buried up to the hilt. The rough land proved no match for the monstrous power behind the swing, and the Hookman swiftly fell to one knee next to his blade.

  I stiffened, wondering how many times in the history of the Khatdom a Hookman had missed. First we bested the Singe and the Vicaress on a boat of Ice, and then right away we met an assassin who failed to assassinate.

  I was almost ready to believe the Crier was real. And that he was helping.

  Shilah wasted no time, hurling her tiny blade at the Hookman’s face. It twisted through the air, whipping like a viper tongue, but her aim was off, and the throw was wide.

  Faster than I ever believed possible, the Hookman snapped up a hand and caught the blade right out of the air. In one smooth motion he brought the tip of Shilah’s blade around to his own cheek – his face being one of the few patches of unmarred skin – and looked me head on. His eyes were pools of sorrow, so deep that I imagined no amount of Cold or Abbs might reach the bottom.

  One look at the Jadan man and I could tell he held just as much pain as Split. As much as Leroi. Perhaps more so, because the Hookman’s eyes weren’t cloudy from slag or ale.

  His gaze was as sharp as his curved blade. And there was resolve there, too.

  The Hookman hadn’t missed his strike at all.

  He sliced Shilah’s tiny blade down his cheek without flinching, drawing a deep line of red. Closing his eyes, he almost seemed to savour the pain.

  ‘For Hamman,’ the man intoned, his voice as dark and gentle as a shadow. I could feel the mountainous wave of relief in his words. ‘Hamman is gone. The Hookman is finally free.’

  I looked over to Shilah, my head swimming with confusion. She looked just as perplexed as I felt.

  The Hookman’s eyes shot open, and he brought the blade down to the s
pot above his heart, his chest corded with thick muscle.

  ‘Is this your command?’ the Hookman asked beseechingly, his eyes not leaving my face.

  ‘Is what my command?’ I asked, barely able to get the words out.

  I couldn’t believe I was still breathing.

  The Hookman held steady. ‘Have I failed the Father for plotting to kill the Child?’

  ‘Wait? You know—’ I cleared my throat, nearly fainting at the turn of events. ‘You knew Abb?’

  The Hookman’s eyes shifted into uncertainty, the knife trembling. ‘Have we had his name wrong all this time?’

  Now that the Hookman was still, I could see that not only was he Jadan, but older than I’d previously thought. The hair in his eyebrows was speckled grey, and the lobes of his ears drooped. Looking past the disfigured skin, I estimated the Hookman to be around the same age as my father. How could Abb have associated with such a creature?

  Ice still lingered in the front of my body, my heart hammering. ‘You’re Jadan.’

  ‘Sun in your ears run, dammit!’ Split screamed, grabbing Picka’s reins and yanking her towards the dunes. ‘Don’t talk to the blasted thing! Run away! They have no pain or mercy!’

  I raised my palm, standing my ground. We were obviously in less danger than the Pedlar thought, considering the Hookman was kneeling before us. And now heavy questions were anchoring me down, and I doubted I could have budged anyway.

  ‘How did you know Abb?’ I asked, clutching the Coldmaker bag tightly to my side. ‘How did you know my father?’

  ‘Abb.’ The Hookman rolled the word around in his mouth, as if tasting it for the first time, nodding solemnly. ‘Abb. A beautiful name. I shall carry it with me always, into eternal service or the black.’

  Cam sidled up next to me. His teeth were chattering as he whispered in my ear. ‘Maybe while he’s distract-t-t-ed we can do the thing with the rock again? There’s a fat-t one over th-there behind him, and me and Shilah can—’

  I waved Cam off with a gesture of annoyance, feeling woozy. Of all the things that I’d come across since fleeing the Manor – the impossible Ice raft included – the kneeling Hookman was the strangest. I couldn’t see Abb associating with someone whose entire purpose was to hunt down Jadans and lead them to the slaughter. My father would never befriend such evil.