by A. C. Salter
“It was for speaking to people,” Jaygen explained. “Communicating with others that they were apart from, even talking with somebody on the other side of the world.”
“Impossible. Earth didn’t have magic,” she replied, her gaze flicking to Peter as he began to mumble in his sleep. “Like the metal carts that rode without horses or oxen. It can’t be done without spell casters and binders.”
Jaygen sighed. It had been like this for the entire night as they tracked across the snowy plain. Figit having found an Earth-born to speak with that was willing to answer all her questions. And Peter, glad for the conversation, was equally as eager to talk. No matter that they may have been followed or tracked, or that they might invite unwanted attention from ogres, wolves or bandits.
“Not through magic. The humans of Earth had scientists, mathematicians, engineers, inventors – and thousands of years of learning to live without magic. Not to mention electricity.”
“Electrickery? Sounds like magic.”
Peter’s mumbling became garbled shouts, his legs kicking out from beneath his blanket before he turned over, putting his back to the fire.
“Fine,” Jaygen relented. “Earth had its own magic.”
Figit frowned as she prodded the broken screen of the phone. “I told you that. Still don’t like it.”
“Tough. Earth and Thea are now sharing the same world, so you’ll need to get used to it,” he said, hearing the anger in his voice and not caring.
Figit glared at him as she pulled up the hood of her cloak, her strange eyes glowing from within.
“Only because the daughter of Chaos merged them together. If it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened.”
Jaygen willed his temper to calm. “The worlds were destined to collide together, no-matter what happened. And it was only by the will of Elora that this new Ethea isn’t ruled by the small gods.”
It had been months since he had said her name out loud. Weeks since he had thought about her, yet now when his mind wandered over Elora, he got that familiar heat in his belly that had burdened him since she wandered into his life at Rams Keep over two summers ago.
Jaygen wanted to say more, maybe to defend Elora, maybe to change the subject, or merely to speak to allow him to apologize to the girl for raising his voice. She seemed on the verge of jumping whenever he spoke. Yet whatever he wanted to say was stolen when Peter began to scream.
“My shield,” the Earth-born screeched, his hands reaching out before him, fingers attempting to grasp at the very air. “It’s gone, Carmelga…No…There’s millions…Demons…”
“Peter?” Jaygen said as he shook his friend. “Peter, you’re dreaming.”
“Fire…”
Jaygen grasped him under the arms and sat him up.
“So much blood,” Peter gasped, his face pulled back in a rictus grin of terror, although his eyes were firmly closed.
“It’s just a nightmare,” Jaygen said, shaking his friend once again. He was about to slap him when Peter’s hand swung about and his bony fist caught him under the jaw.
Jaygen bit his tongue, the pain shooting into his brain and bringing tears as he released his grip. Peter fell to the floor and suddenly woke. He scrambled away until he hit the wall. His terror filled face softening to relief as he began to recognise his surroundings.
“I was at the battle again,” Peter whispered, gaze settling on the fire which reflected from the sweat on his brow. “It was horrible.”
Jaygen rubbed his jaw, his fingers grazing stubble. “It’s seems you brought some of that battle with you.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Did I hit you? I’m sorry Jaygen.”
Jaygen chuckled. “Don’t worry none, you hit like a girl.”
Figit shifted, her gloved hands flexing. “Some girls only need to touch to kill,” she said, holding his gaze. Jaygen glared until she averted her eyes and began to poke at an old car magazine, tearing strips from the pages before throwing them into the fire.
“Are you cold?” Peter asked her as he shuffled closer, offering her his blanket.
“I’m always cold. Once touched my Winter, you never feel the warmth again.” She leaned over him stretching an arm towards the fire. The flames licked the sleeve of her shirt and then recoiling, curling back on itself and shrinking into the charred wood. When she withdrew her arm, the flames rushed to fill the air once again.
“That’s awful,” Peter said as he threw his blanket over her shoulders, letting out an involuntary shiver. “I hate the cold.”
“It’s what I am and will always be.” She removed the blanket, folded it and gave it back to Peter. “I’ve forgotten what it was like to feel heat.”
Peter nodded. “What happened? How is it you came to be touched by Winter?”
Jaygen had asked her the same question as they ambled through the night, but she had remained quiet, sullen even. Choosing instead to ask her own questions about the Earth-borns and the things they made. But it was clear that the young girl favoured Peter, probably seeing him as an older brother figure.
“It happened when I was little more than a toddler, barely out of my swaddling clothes. I crawled from my crib one evening and ventured out in the night. I loved to look at the stars, to see the big sparkling sky twinkling down at me. It was fascinating,” she explained, the smile that had formed dimples in her cheeks beginning to fall as she continued. “Yet in my wonder, I stumbled over and fell into a stream. The icy waters pulled me down and carried me away from my home, finally spilling me onto a frozen bank.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t freeze to death,” Peter said, laying a hand on her shoulder. Figit glared at the hand until he removed it.
“I did. My body convulsed until it went numb and my final breath left my mouth. I lay there for what seemed like hours, unmoving, silent, - until my Father’s call went roaring through the night. He shouted my name again and again, panic, fear and anguish retching out in equal measure and I could do no know more than wait to be found. I couldn’t even blink.
“I became aware of a presence as my Father’s voice began to fade. Standing beside me for a time, watching. I could feel its touch as it stroked my hair, could sense its powerful arms as they reached beneath my body to lift me effortlessly to its chest. Such a little thing, it said in a woman’s voice. So, frail to hold dearly to a life that’s been spent too swiftly.
“My father’s voice echoed back a final time, my name repeated by the stream, tingled out by the hoarfrost and sung by the snow that had begun to fall. But I could only draw breath again once the strange woman spoke my name. Figit she whispered, her breath colder than the stream which claimed me, her skin sparkling like the stars above, eyes the pale blue of sea ice. She gave me a life back along with a curse.” Figit held up her gloved hands, wiggling her fingers. “My soul belongs to her, along with anything living that I touch.”
“Like that bounty hunter’s arm,” Peter asked. “I watched his hand freeze solid.”
Figit shook her head. “No, I made contact with his clothes. If I had of touched his bare skin, he would have died, and Winter would have gained another soul.”
Jaygen folded his arms. “If it was that easy, why didn’t you simply kill them. All it needed was a touch.”
Figit seemed to shrink into her cloak, head dropping to her knees. “There were times that I wanted to, opportunities even. It would have been so simple, but for every soul I reap, Winter takes more of me.
“When my Father found me on the bank of the stream, I was still blonde, seeing through hazel eyes, much like your own. He wrapped me in his coat, his tears feeling warm and for a time I felt the heat from his body as he carried me home. The hearth he set me down beside, the soup my mother made and the bed I slept upon - all bore the warmth I had longed for. Even the hound had snuck into my cot to sleep next to me. By the morning everything had changed.”
Jaygen exchanged a glance with Peter as he dropped another table leg on the fire, sens
ing the hut feeling a lot colder all of a sudden. It was a while before Figit spoke again.
“It had started with the hound. Bok, he was called. At some point during the night I must have reached out to stroke him, for my fingers were curled around his frozen fur. I remember my father carrying his body. Bok was a solid lump like a statue, locked in an eternal sleep – never to wake. He was buried in the hills where he loved to chase the goats. I had cried all day, somehow knowing I was to blame. I slept alone that night. The following morning a grey lock of hair was found amidst my scalp and my eyes had dulled in colour. Not so much that a stranger would notice, but enough for my mother to see. It was the same morning she… passed away.”
“You touched her?” Peter asked, shuffling closer to the fire.
Figit sniffed. “She placed the back of her hand against my brow, feeling for a fever… We buried her the next day. Next to Bok.”
“How awful,” Peter said, reaching out to lay a consoling arm around her, then realising his error, withdrew it. “But you can’t blame yourself for your mother’s death.”
“No,” Jaygen agreed, hearing his knuckles pop as he clenched his fist. “It was Winter that killed her.”
Sniffing again, Figit curled back into the wall, hugging her legs. “Father was never the same after. He learned never to touch me, taking only comfort from fire water. The years passed by; my hair growing greyer, eyes paling as I made simple mistakes: a lost goat I attempted to rescue, a neighbour’s dog, a squirrel that had hopped down from a tree and onto my shoulder – all dead with a touch. Word of my curse had gotten out to the village and then to those who had a need for it. I was taken in the light of day, my father too far in his cups to help. By the age of ten I had already killed a man. An Imperial officer that watched the northern towers. Forced to act as his maid, I gained entrance to his sleeping quarters and placed my finger to his neck while he slept. Afterwards, I was sold to a clansman who wanted a chieftain dead, so he could fill his place. Then sold on again and again. I’ve done some terrible stuff in my wretched life, dark evils. And for every life taken, Winter takes a little more of me.”
Jaygen pulled his gaze away from her, guilt overwhelming his emotions as he saw the fragility of the girl. She seemed even smaller now, rocking back and forth, trying to comfort herself.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Don’t be sorry,” Figit whispered. “Just kill her - if you can.”
Gritting his teeth, Jaygen gave her a single nod. “I will.”
There was a fluttering of movement from above, a shrill cry followed by the thud of something dropping from the sky. Figit’s frightened face peered from beneath her hood as she gazed out of the broken wall.
“Fluffy has brought us breakfast,” Peter said as he sauntered from the hut. He returned moments later with the body of a large hare, its stomach torn open and large claw marks piercing its skull. Peter set about it with a practiced hand. Cutting off the head, degloving the skin and setting the carcass on a spit over the fire. It wasn’t long before the greasy smell of roasting meat filled the hut.
They ate in silence, Figit wolfing her share down as quickly as she could before gnawing the bones. Jaygen offered her some of his, thinking she was starving. She shook her head. “I need to swallow it before it turns to ice,” she explained.
Afterwards, Jaygen kicked snow over the fire and they set of, continuing in a southerly direction, following the road for as long as possible until it came to a forest where the trees had merged with the tarmac and the ground was littered with splintered wood, concrete and the wreckage of a truck. The sun had yet to make an appearance. Days this far north were extremely short, the nights giving way to a dusky grey which barely lasted a few hours.
They skirted the forest, choosing not to cut through the middle where countless numbers of beasts may be lurking. Figit led them at a steady amble, finding ways through the deep snow filled ravines, pointing out where to tread and not to tread as the area was criss-crossed with gorges and drops hidden by a pristine white blanket. They paused briefly at a brook to refill the water skins before clambering on.
“How far are we going exactly?” Peter asked, his face flushed from the swift pace.
Figit shrugged, pointing towards a lone mountain in the distance. “I feel she’s in that direction.”
“That doesn’t help,” he moaned. “How far in that direction?”
“Maybe a day, maybe three, perhaps a week. Could be a couple of months,” Figit replied. “Unless of course she moves. Which she will do come the spring. She’ll follow her season around the world.”
“Then we better pick up the pace,” Jaygen said, heaving the red sack onto his shoulder once again and strode on.
The day came and went, the small pale disk of the sun barely rising above the horizon before sinking, giving over to the twilight once again. They left the forest behind them to venture out, their path cutting through an open vista. The stars twinkling down from a vast sky, lighting up the flat plain that lay between them and the mountain. Jaygen watched Figit as she glided ahead, her gaze rising into the night as the celestial silver glow from the moon lit up her face, making her skin appear silver itself.
“Why did the bounty hunters take you?” he asked, making conversation. “Did they want to sell you on or had they a specific task?”
“They didn’t explain anything to me directly, but from what I could make out of their conversations they were to take me to a city. There’s a wealthy patron who wanted me to kill somebody and willing to pay a handsome reward. Jack and the Vikings aren’t the only bounty hunters that want me. The patron will pay whoever delivers me first.”
“If they were wealthy, why not pay mercenaries?” Jaygen replied. “There’s plenty of sell swords in the North.”
“Apparently, this somebody is a demi-god and damned hard to kill.”
Jaygen gripped the bundled cloak tighter as he swallowed his fear. He only knew of one demi-god and she was extremely hard to kill. Many had tried and failed to make a corpse of the daughter of Chaos. “Who?” he asked, hoping she didn’t hear the anguish in his voice.
“A tyrant by the name of Gebadia. A spawn of one of the fire gods. He’s been languishing in the northern reaches of this new world.”
“And you’re supposed to fight this demi-god?” Peter asked.
Figit nodded. “Fight and kill.”
“But if you claim his soul for Winter, your condition will worsen.”
“It’ll happen sooner or later. Either by force, will or accident. I’m bound to touch another. As for Grimwolf, I don’t know why he’s pursuing me. No doubt he has his reasons.”
Jaygen and Peter exchanged a glance.
“By the way, what’s in your sack?”
Jaygen coughed as he stretched his neck. “Nothing,” he lied.
“Doesn’t look like nothing. Seems pretty bulky to me,” Figit said, shrugging as if she didn’t care. “I only hope it’s a kind of weapon that’ll destroy Winter. Otherwise you haven’t a prayer. And I doubt that sword strapped to your back will do any more than annoy her.”
Jaygen said nothing as they trudged on, feeling the weight of his sword, swaddled in fur to hide its identity. His sword will do a lot more than annoy – it will take Winter’s head.
They marched across the plain until Peter begged to stop. He slouched on the ground to rub life back into his feet.
“I think the blisters have popped and I’m sure I can feel blood between my toes,” he moaned. “Must we keep this pace up?”
Jaygen lowered the sack and unstrapped his sword, placing it across his lap as he sat beside his friend. “How long have we been trapesing around the north?”
“Months. Over a year in fact,” Peter answered sullenly.
“Exactly. We’re close to her, I can feel it. Just a few more days and this will all be over.”
“And if it’s not?”
Jaygen lay his hands upon the blade of his sword, fingers brushi
ng the fur that covered it. “Then you can go home.”
“Home?” Peter repeated, saying it as if it was something that only existed in fairy tales. “Now that would be an adventure, but seriously, I won’t leave your side, even if it means waiting out the spring and summer to go scampering after Winter next year.”
“Are you two…you know, together?” Figit asked, blue eyes flicking between them.
Peter chuckled. “No, although we probably bicker like we were. I owe Jaygen my life. Besides, I lost any family and friends in the merge. Not that I had many anyway.”
“What about you,” she asked Jaygen, cocking her head to the side.
“I’ve got plenty of both. Yet there’s something that must be done before I return to them.”
“Killing Winter, I know. But why?”
Jaygen stared at her, “She took something from me; something precious and I want judgement.”
He remained silent after that, his mood sinking with the temperature. Gathering his cloak about his shoulders, he leaned against the sack and closed his lids. He listened to the wind as it ranged across the open, hearing the groan of wood from the distant forest - creaking…creaking, like the timbers of the long boat as it crested a wave, groaning as it settled down, rocking back and forth…daylight spilling beneath the cabin door, reaching his bed…warm words from a pretty mouth, Jaygen? she whispered, raising a notched eyebrow; flame red hair cascading over a slender shoulder, gorgeous smile curling her mouth as he placed his lips against hers…
“Aurora Borealis!” Peter yelled, jolting Jaygen from his dream. “The northern lights. Look, isn’t it beautiful?”
Blinking the ghostly images of Fieri from his eyes, Jaygen stared up into the sky that appeared for a moment as if set upon by green fire. Undulating waves flowed across the stars, shimmering like a lazy mirage. It was something he heard his parents talk about, Odin’s skirts, they called it. Supposedly good luck to witness before a battle, although if you were close enough, surely both sides would see it, he thought.