by A. C. Salter
“Kill him,” he cried, scrambling away.
The two Vikings began to swing their spear and sword, thrusting them at the rising monster, jabbing, slicing and hacking, but not a single blow could bring the beast down. They were as impervious as the snowflakes which floated against them.
Once fully risen, Grimwolf opened his gauntlet and let the broken pieces of the gun fall to the ground. Then slowly, as if making a show of it, drew his sword.
The wolf head hilt glimmered as the steel scraped against the scabbard, the blade as thick as Peter’s arm, as long as his body from neck to ground, and the edge seemed sharper than the night itself.
“You should have run,” the monster whispered, levelling the enormous sword at Ernsk, who subsequently dropped his own.
The clang it made as it struck the rock at his feet brought Peter out of his delirium and he rushed to the prisoner who had been sitting quietly, watching the scene unfold.
“My names, Peter,” he said as he slipped a hidden knife from the band around his wrist and began to saw through the rope which bound the prisoner to the tree. “I’m here to rescue you.”
“I know,” the prisoner replied as the hood fell away to reveal a young girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen. She had steel grey hair, pale skin and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. But the most striking thing about them was that the whites were the pale blue of the northern icebergs, the veins giving the impression of crushed ice.
“Erm, how did you know I was rescuing you?” he asked, shaking the desire to stare at those strange eyes.
“No, I meant I know you are Peter, you’ve already said it once when Jack nearly killed you.”
Peter cut the final strands from the rope and heaved the girl onto her feet, her robe rising to reveal how thin she was. Ribs showing through the dirty shirt she wore beneath.
“Leave her be,” growled Jack as he suddenly bounded into him, knocking Peter to the floor. Flinging open his scorched jacket, he drew a long dagger, reversed the grip and was about to drive the blade into Peter’s face.
From beyond the crazed bounty hunter, the young girl bit the finger of her glove and using her teeth pulled her hand free. Her exposed skin sparkled as she moved, placing her palm against Jack’s arm.
The material of his coat crackled as frost grew beneath her touch, spreading along the sleeve, thickening as it went.
The instant the frost touched Jack’s exposed hand he screamed, the dagger falling from blackening fingers that curled into a claw; skin splitting, the congealing blood becoming ice.
Jack whimpered as he clutched his injured arm and fell to his knees, turning his head to shout for help but his friends were already running, the grimmest of wolfs now looming towards them. Instead, Jack struggled back to his feet and lurched away, crouching over his damaged hand.
Peter scrambled up as the girl sprinted for the horse. She slipped her hand back into the glove before vaulting onto the mare’s back. She was a lot lither than she appeared. Peter caught the bridle as the girl turned the horse about, meaning to jump on behind her. He caught a brief apologetic smile beneath her polar eyes, before her elbow crunched into his nose.
Pain rocked him back onto his rump, tears running down his cheeks laced with the cold air. It hurt to holy hell. His nose feeling like the tender meet on a butcher’s counter. Delicately he touched it, the sound of grating gristle letting him know that she had broken it.
Swallowing the blood and snot, he stared after the girl, but she was already some distance across the frozen expanse, the horse kicking up snow as she galloped on.
Shaking his head, he was about to get up when a shadow of monster with a wolf’s head engulfed him, pinning him down. The tip of the long sword dipping into the snow at his feet, his reflection grimacing back from the razors edge.
Peter spat the blood from his mouth as he stared up into the snarling helm, darkness staring back through the narrow eye slits.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Peter said, feeling every word grate through his nose. “How was I to know she would hit me?”
Grimwolf offered his armoured hand and Peter grasped it before being pulled to his feet. The swift jolt brought a fresh wave of pain to his battered face.
“Scare them off, you said,” Grimwolf grumbled in a mock imitation of Peter’s voice. “Make them run for the hills and rescue the girl like a princess from a fairy-tale. Nobody need get hurt.” His sword made a scraping sword as he slammed it back into the scabbard.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Peter snapped back. “The only blood that’s been spilled was my own.”
Grimwolf raised an arm and pointed at the fleeing girl. “The aim was to get her. Not let her go. If indeed she is the right girl.”
“It’s the right girl. Did you see what she did to that bounty hunter? And her eyes, as cold and sharp as any frosty sky. That one has definitely been touched by winter.”
“We should have done this my way,” Grimwolf complained, folding his arms.
“Your way, Jaygen, always ends in blood and death. I saw enough of that last year. You too, most likely. Besides, those Vikings were fighting on our side the last time.” He glanced back at the trails left in the snow from the Northmen, weapons abandoned in their haste to get away. They would likely keep running until the morning.
“This is the North,” Jaygen muttered, “There’s always battles, fights, sides to choose and change. My Da always said, stick to family and clan. Friends and enemies change with the seasons.”
Peter recalled Jaygen’s father, Ragna. A huge beast of a man with a mighty war hammer. He couldn’t believe anyone would choose to be his enemy.
“There’s no season as brutal as winter,” Peter said, nodding towards the girl who was shrinking into the distance. “Maybe we should stop making an enemy of it. We can’t kill winter.”
The wolf helm swung to him, darkness glaring though the slits for a moment before staring back out to their quarry. “You know I can’t do that.”
Peter sighed. “I know.”
A shrill cry cut through the night as a large bird descended from the stars. It circled above them, banking sharply before opening large wings and landing on Grimwolf’s shoulder. Twice the size of an eagle, hooked beak as deadly as the talons which gripped onto the armour, feathers darker than coal dust and an evil menace glowering beneath a flat crested brow. It fixed Peter with scowl, before staring out across the snowy plain, talons clinking as it shuffled into a comfier position.
Peter had made the mistake of attempting to stroke the scraw-harpy before. The gashes that scarred his hands had faded to white lines, reminders that the animal was a vicious killer, a predator and lethal killer.
“You can’t send Fluffy after her. She’ll tear the girl to shreds.”
“She won’t. And stop calling her Fluffy. It has no name.”
“Everything has a name,” Peter protested. The scraw-harpy had begun to follow them months ago. Becoming a constant companion. Staying at a distance at first, hovering from high above or to watch them from tree tops or cliffs. But as the days grew shorter and the air colder, the huge bird came to share their fire on a night and ate scraps of meat left from a meal. It cemented its loyalties when they had been attacked by a mountain ogre a few weeks ago. The scraw-harpy having been the first to alert them with its cry before falling from above to attack the monstrous ogre, tearing flesh from its face before chasing the giant away. Since then, it had always been close.
“You can’t call it Fluffy. It’s just not right.”
“Fluffy makes it seem a little less scary, less brutal.”
Jaygen snorted. “It’s part of the Dark army. Scary and brutal is what it is. It’s a killing machine.”
The scraw-harpy opened its beak and screamed in agreement. Then as Grimwolf nodded towards the black speck in the distance, the huge bird gathered its legs, crouched and launched into the sky.
“Don’t hurt her,” Peter called as they began to trudge through the sno
w in the direction of the fleeing girl, but if the bird heard him, it didn’t acknowledge it. Not that it would listen to him anyway. He cast a longing glance to the dying fire they left at the bounty hunters camp, the wind teasing a final touch of warmth from the flames before slapping a harsh gust across his painful cheek. God knew, he hated the North.
The snow deepened as they ploughed across the plain, the pristine blanket of white powder reaching passed his knees and making the way a slow arduous slog. Yet Jaygen strode easily through the snow, removing the wolf helm from his head and shaking his long hair out. He unclasped his cloak and bunched the corners to make a sack as he began to peal the rest of the suit away, placing gauntlets, greaves and breastplate into the crimson cloth before throwing the sack over wide shoulders.
Peter envied him. Being a at least a foot taller than himself, Jaygen made light work of the terrain. The Viking was at home in these surroundings where as he, an Earth-born with diabetes, found it hell.
Up ahead, at the foot of a hill, came the cry of the scraw-harpy, closely followed by the cry from the girl. The pair struggled on the ground as the horse whinnied and bolted away.
Peter floundered in the snow as Jaygen picked up the pace, closing the distance to the base of the hill.
“Get off me,” the girl screamed, holding her own head as it was roughly ragged one way and then the other. The bird having a firm grip of her hair, wafting its great wings as if it meant to tear the grey strands from the girl’s scalp. “Stupid bird!”
Jaygen approached the pair and dropped the sack on the ground. He folded his arms, watching the fight for a short while before whistling a single note. The scraw-harpy instantly reacted, letting go of the girl’s hair before swooping onto Jaygen’s shoulder to glare back at its would-be prey.
Peter felt a pang of sympathy for the girl who curled up on the floor, tucking her arms over her knees. She seemed so fragile, innocence staring up through crystal tears. Then he remembered his nose and the pity vanished.
“Why did you hit me?” he asked, pointing to his face. “We we’re rescuing you.”
Shivering, the girl hugged herself, biting her bottom lip to stop herself crying. “Nobody rescues me,” she said, her accent as sharp as those found all about the Craggs and villages. “They take me, steal me or sell me on. I’m passed around like old currency, bartered for, used and traded.”
Hatred permeated from the girl, laced with defiance.
“We won’t do that,” Peter assured her. “We’ll take you home. What is your name?”
Sniffing back tears, the girl stared at her feet. “They call me Figit. Are you really going to take me home?”
Peter hunkered down beside her, bringing his face level with hers. “Figit,” he said, offering her a smile, “I promise to take you home.” He saw the beginnings of a smile tap at the edges of her mouth. They vanished the moment Jaygen spoke.
“After you’ve taken us to Winter,” he said, jaw muscles clenching as he glared down at her.
Figit snorted, shaking her head. “See? You’ll use me and when I’ve done what’s asked, you’ll sell me on.”
Peter turned his face so only Jaygen could see and scowled. His friend only raised an eyebrow.
“We won’t pass you on, trade you or sell you or do anything other than take you home,” Peter pressed, offering her a reassuring smile, although it plucked at his swelling nose and brought a fresh jolt of pain. “I’ll personally see you to your front door.”
“My home doesn’t have a front door. It barely has a roof and walls,” Figit replied, “and the single room will be full of goats.”
“Then, I will see you safely home to your goats,” Peter promised, setting a hand onto her shoulder to solidify his word. She stared at it as if it was poisoned before shrugging it off.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No,” Jaygen said, leaving no room for doubt.
Figit stuck her tongue out at him before returning her attention to Peter. “You know I’m cursed, right?” she said, holding up her gloved hands. “It seems that even Grimwolf himself has a task for me. Which means I’m doubly cursed. Maybe I’d be safer with you, but if Grimwolf comes for me again, I hope he takes that pig.” Her gaze lingered on Jaygen before settling on the ground. “What task do you ask of me? Am I to freeze a lake so you can dig down for gold, or turn an enemy to ice, maybe a spurned lover.”
“I want you to take us to Winter,” Jaygen said, the scraw-harpy on his shoulder imitating his grimace. “Then you’re free to go.”
Figit’s eyebrow’s rose into her grey hair. “Winter?” she asked, waving her arm around the hill and open snow scape. “You’re in it.”
“Not the season,” Peter explained, “the god. Winter herself.” He had a hard time believing it. That gods actually existed and that they were seeking one. Strange how a world merging into another can change your perception on life.
“Winter,” Figit repeated, clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “What do you want that bitch for? She’s trouble.”
Jaygen’s arms flexed, the muscles stretching his furs as they bulged. “Because I’m going to end her.”
“End her?” Figit asked, “Winter? You’re crazier than those last fools that Grimwolf saw off. At least they had the good sense to run.”
“I won’t be running,” Jaygen growled. “I will kill her.”
Figit brushed snowflakes from her knees as she cocked her head to the side. “Why?”
“Doesn’t matter why,” Jaygen snapped. “Can you show us or are we leaving you for Grimwolf.”
Figit pouted, polar blues narrowing as she scanned the white plain. “Yes,” she said rising to her feet and stamping life back into them. “I’ll take you to Winter. Then after you’re dead, you’re friend here will take me home.”
“Deal,” he said.
Figit raised her hands, wrists together and offered them to Peter. “Don’t tie them as tight as Jack did.”
Peter felt the guilt as he placed his gloves over hers and pushed them down. “We’re not going to tie you up.”
“Truly?” Figit asked, mouth opening as if sensing a trick. “Then how do you know I won’t run away. Or that I won’t touch your flesh when you sleep and make a living statue of ice.”
The scraw-harpy screeched before launching from Jaygen’s shoulder. It swept around the girl before rising into the air to circle above.
“Because I’ve always got eyes in the sky,” Jaygen said. “She never sleeps and will cut you down in an instant.”
Figit gulped as she watched the huge bird glide idly above, talons gleaming in the star light, sharp beak pointing down at her.
“She’s of the Dark army?”
Jaygen nodded. “Created for ripping and tearing flesh.”
“But don’t worry,” Peter added, not wanting to scare the girl any more than she already was. “Fluffy wont attack unless asked.”
Figit fixed him with a puzzled look, a smile creeping upon her lips. “Fluffy? That demented slayer of the skies is called Fluffy?”
Peter chuckled as he shrugged, but set a stern expression on his face when he caught Jaygen glaring.
“See? Bloody stupid name,” he said. “Let’s make a start. We’ve been dawdling too long already, and I don’t like being out in the open.”
“Especially with Grimwolf on the prowl,” Figit agreed. She cast a final glance at Fluffy, shaking her head, smirk holding back laughter, and then set off towards the moon. “Sorry I broke your nose,” she offered as she past Peter.
“Sorry you’ve been dragged into this,” Peter replied and trudged after her.
Jaygen stood where he was, arms folded as he cleared his throat. “You’re going the wrong way. Winter will be in the North. You’re heading in the opposite direction.
Figit paused to glance back and pulled up the hood of her robe, blue orbs shining bright from the shadows. “Winter is where she cares to be. I can only follow my instinct. I sense her thi
s way, like a beacon she draws me closer. She may move of course, but for now, this is where out path lies.” Putting her back to them, she paced on, seeming to effortlessly glide above the snow, leaving the lightest of foot prints.
Jaygen heaved the crimson sack upon his back and stalked after her. Peter fell into step beside him as they ploughed on. He cast a glance at the fire that still burned from the bounty hunter’s camp on the other side of the open plain, longing to put his hands near the flame, to feel warmth once again. It slipped from view as they descended over the next rise, leaving the cold sky and harsh wind which dusted the snow from the mountains in the distance. He forgot what it was like to feel warm. But that was the North for you. Stay long enough up here and even your memories would begin to freeze.
2
Dreams
Jaygen tossed another table leg on to the fire and watched the sparks fly up to the broken ceiling of the hut before escaping with the smoke out into the darkness. He warmed his hands over the flames before sitting on a broken wall, glancing about the decrepit building to see what else he could throw on. Amidst the detritus of smashed plaster board, bent shelving and splintered frame there was a plastic chair; bent and twisted out of shape, a metal desk, equally as twisted and the thick trunk of an evergreen which had done the twisting when the worlds had merged. The tree towered above, swaying in the wind to dislodge the tiles that were not already broken. Outside fared no better. Originally this was a petrol station, situated on a minor road that led to a city. The two pumps had survived, although had been emptied by thieves long ago, leaving a gaping hole in the frosty ground above the storage tanks.
“I don’t like it,” Figit admitted as she picked up a discarded mobile phone and began to examine it. “It smells wrong, like it shouldn’t be here.”
Shaking her head, she repeatedly smashed the phone against the floor until it broke apart. She sank beside it to pick through the battery and the circuitry, stretching the wires of the speaker until it snapped. “None of this belongs. What is it even for?”