“Today we sacrifice this symbol of violence. Today we once again recognize the struggles our people faced. We celebrate those who sacrificed. We celebrate those we lost, even recently. The dragons are not gone and we cannot forget. We celebrate… And we remember. Those lost to the dragons will be remembered. We hold them in our hearts.”
The chanting grew louder and louder. The cannon exploded and Morris began loading more powder, working quickly. As he often did, Jason found himself watching the cannon as much as anything else.
“Oh great Dayvos. Watch over us again this year, help us ensure that we remain safe, that we continue to thrive. We ask for your protection as you have granted each year. We offer the sacrifice to you.”
The mayor lifted the totem, and with the others around him, he heaved it onto the fire.
It was covered in the powder the cannon master used, and because of that, the totem began to crackle, quickly engulfed in flames. They burned a bright red, turning blue, and as they did heat began to spiral into the sky, thick with a dark cloud of smoke.
Jason stared at the fire rather than looking up toward the clouds the way so many did. He watched as the totem was engulfed in flames, and felt a grim satisfaction in the destruction. The flames had consumed so much for his people, and even more for himself. Because of that, he wanted nothing more than to see the totem—and Zarath—consumed.
It didn’t take long for the flames to devour the totem, engulfing it completely. Jason watched, a hint of a smile curling his lips, his hands balled into fists. He could feel the heat coming off the totem, and if he weren’t dressed in his bearskin coat, he might have attempted to go closer, but as it was, he remained standing at a distance. It was better to keep himself protected. Safe. Any closer and he would risk burning along with the sculpture.
The chanting shifted and gradually became a song. Jason sang along, letting the words fill him, a celebratory thanks for safety that they all called out to their god. When it was done, the chanting eased and the dancing began again.
Jason turned away. He needed to find something for his family, a way for them to subsist for another few days—at least until Jason managed to procure something more. The hunting had been difficult this winter, though it was never easy in these lands. At least, not for him. He couldn’t leave his family as long as it would take to venture toward better hunting grounds. Instead, Jason had to depend upon luck, hope he could find squirrels and rabbits, and pray he came across larger game like some of the fox or deer that occasionally wandered up the mountain slope. Most of the time, he didn’t encounter any of that. Most of the time, he was lucky to find a rabbit every few days. There had been something by the stream. Maybe tomorrow he’d go back, though by tomorrow, whatever he’d seen today would be gone.
He depended upon his ability to trade for necessary food, but it wouldn’t be long before they were out of items he could trade. Eventually, they would run out, and then what would he do?
Either the tellum mines or the iron mines in Varmin. That would be his only option.
Only, he didn’t want to go to the mines. That meant leaving the village, the only place he’d ever known. And his father hadn’t wanted him to work in the mines. Doing so meant abandoning his sister and mother. That was one thing he’d promised his father he’d never do, and he intended to honor it—even if it meant he starved.
Jason wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. He also wouldn’t allow himself to think that his family was going to suffer because of his failings. And he wouldn’t allow himself to even consider the possibility he would not succeed. His father would have been disappointed in that sort of thinking, which was why he refused to accept it.
As he started away from the festival, another explosion thundered behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, listening to the chanting, the laughter, the happiness. He felt none of it. He wasn’t resentful others did, but he simply didn’t have the time. There was much more for him to do.
2
Jason stopped in front of the small shop. Snowmelt dripped from the roof, and the ground in front of the door was slick with ice. By nightfall, everything would freeze, turning to a dangerous glaze. Each morning, the shop owners would need to break up the ice, typically by mixing it with more snow, using that as their way to ensure that no one got hurt walking into their store.
It was part of the reason boots like those Reltash wore would be so prized. Jason’s boots were less so. Partly that was due to the fact that his boots didn’t have much grip, but partly because they were made of bearskin. While warm, they weren’t nearly as high quality as those made from dragonskin. They were his, though, and he’d never felt the need to barter with people from Varmin—though in part that was his complete lack of anything worthwhile to barter.
Stepping into the shop, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“I’ll be right with you,” a voice from the back of the shop said.
Jason remained in the doorway as his eyesight continued to adjust. As it cleared, he looked around the inside of the shop, surveying everything here. Master Erich had some of the best meats in the village, and he had often taken pity on Jason, though he kept worrying about the time when Master Erich would no longer have the same kindness.
The inside of the shop smelled wonderful, and it set Jason’s stomach rumbling, his mouth watering, and he knew better than to allow it to appeal to him like that. There was no promise of anything by coming into the shop. Master Erich certainly didn’t owe him anything. The counter contained a thin layer of tellum, enough that it heated the entirety of the shop. It was comfortable in a way Jason never was.
“What can I… Oh. Jason.”
Jason smiled. Master Erich was an older man, thin despite his towering size, and blood spattered his apron. His hair was balding, making his high forehead even more pronounced. “Master Erich. I was hoping you might have scraps you might be willing to part with.”
Most of the time he asked for scraps, though he hoped for more. He tried not to get his hopes too high, knowing that Master Erich had to earn a wage the same as anyone within the village. Just because he was kind didn’t mean he should be taken advantage of.
“I’m sorry, Jason. With the festival…”
Jason understood. With the festival, everything would have been turned into treats. It was unlikely there would be any food remaining. Not only the people of the village celebrated during the festival, but those who lived outside the village, on the outskirts, would come here, partake in the celebration, and use it as an opportunity to trade.
He should have known better.
“If you come back in a few days, I’m sure I’ll have something.”
Jason nodded. “I understand. You know, I could help. I’m sure there’s something I could do to make it easier on you during the festival.”
Master Erich shook his head. “Normally I would accept any help, especially yours, but my brother and his children have come to the village for the festival, and… Well, I have more than enough hands to assist.”
“Of course.”
If only he had a few coins, something to trade, but all he had was his empty stomach. And his bow, but he needed that for the off chance that he might eventually catch something again. It might be that he would end up in the mines regardless of what he intended.
He headed back out and wandered to the edge of the village, ignoring the singing and chanting at the festival plaza. There was nothing within him that felt at all interested in celebrating, at least not right now. What he wanted was food.
He paused at the edge of the village, staring outward. In the distance, movement caught his attention and he squinted. He always looked out with his left eye—the silver one—as he was able to see more clearly out of that eye. His vision came with a hint of colors, not just those which he could see out of his blue eye, but almost as if he were able to make out distinctions in warmth and coolness. His father had been the only one aware of tha
t and had cautioned Jason to keep it to himself, worried that were anyone else to find out, they would banish him from the village.
Dragon sight.
That was what it was called, and thankfully, he didn’t have any other features of those who favored the dragons, but his silver eye—and the strange connection it gave him to seeing—was enough.
In the distance, the line of people coming toward the village drew his attention. They were dressed only slightly better than him. Many of the people who lived outside the village on the back slope of the mountain didn’t have much money, either. Only those who came up from Varmin—and from even further down the mountainside, though they rarely ventured this far—owned anything fancier. Furs and sheepskin, all finely made, some of them even with embroidery along them, a luxury in the village.
He was tempted to head out of the village once again. Maybe with everyone coming toward it, something would be scared up for him. The problem was in the danger of staying outside the village at this time of day. The winds would shift and the cold would pick up, placing him at a real risk of exposure to the elements.
Not only that, but snowfall tended to occur at night. It could come down quickly, and without the necessary equipment, he could be trapped out in the snow. He had enough experience navigating the mountain that he doubted he would be truly lost, but he didn’t want to risk it.
He watched for a little longer, staring into the distance, regarding the people as they approached. He didn’t recognize any of them, though Jason didn’t know most people who lived in the backcountry. Many of them only came in for festival time, though there were some who came for trade, visiting people like Master Erich, staying for a night or two in the small inn near the center of town.
Pulling his gaze away, he headed back into the village, wandering along the side streets until he reached his home. They were on the downslope, a place considered less safe than higher up the peak, which made it less desirable. Then again, it had also been less expensive. After his father’s death, they’d been forced to move, and his mother had brought them here to this place, a home that was more affordable but colder.
He pushed open the door, missing the warmth that once had filled their home.
“Don’t leave it open,” his sister snapped from the far side of the room.
She was wrapped in two blankets. Jason closed the door quickly behind him, but some of the draft managed to get in, gusting behind him, letting the cold air swirl all around them.
“I thought you’d be at the festival.”
Kayla pulled the blankets around her, tucking even her wavy brown hair inside. She was thin—far too thin. Were he to see his reflection, he’d probably say the same about himself. “It’s too cold.”
Jason grinned. “It’s always too cold.”
“Not always. This one is particularly cold.”
“You can get near the fire.”
“I tried, but…”
She turned away, and Jason knew better than to push her. She suffered just as much as he did, if not more. Kayla had a bit of a harder time because she was home with their mother. At least he was able to leave, go hunting. He didn’t have her patience, and she didn’t have his stealth. It worked for now.
“You didn’t miss anything, anyway.”
She started crying, and she headed toward the back of the room.
Jason hurried over to his sister and slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“It’s just…”
He pulled her close, hugging her and realizing just how thin she’d become. He needed success hunting to help both of them. They couldn’t rely on the kindness of others in the village for much longer. Either that, or they would have to leave. With their mother as sick as she’d been, that would be difficult.
Kayla leaned her head on his shoulder, almost the same height as he. Though he was short for the village, Kayla was average height. “It’s so hard at the festival time,” she said.
He squeezed her again, hugging her tight. “I know.”
She stopped for a moment, and when she pulled her head away from his shoulder, tears continuing to stream down her face, she shook her head. “The festival is supposed to be a time of celebration. I hate it that we can’t celebrate.”
“We can. Eventually, it will get easier.” That was what he told himself.
“That’s what they always tell me, but it doesn’t seem like it’s getting any easier. And with Mother…”
Jason glanced toward the back of the room. Their mother was probably still in bed, the same way she’d been over the last year. When she did finally get up, she rarely said anything, which made it hard for both Jason and Kayla to deal with. It would be easier for them if their mother would manage her grief, and the fact that she couldn’t made it so that he and Kayla had a hard time moving on.
“How is she today?”
“She got out of bed to pee.”
“I suppose that’s better.”
“You suppose? I’m the one who has to wash the sheets when she doesn’t.”
Jason peeled himself away from his sister and made his way to the small hearth. He grabbed a shovelful of dried dung and threw it into the hearth. Wood was scarce and too much work to haul up from lower down the mountain, which meant dung was all they really had to use, something that made it difficult to stay warm. They had to conserve how much they used as well, trying not to burn through it too quickly, but there were times when they needed heat.
At least during the festival, he didn’t need to burn quite as much. They could get as close as they could tolerate to the fire, warming themselves that way. They might not have the same benefit as those who had dragonskin jackets or cloaks or even hats, or as those who had dragon bone sculptures carved from the remains of dragons and still holding onto that ancient heat, but they were able to stay warmer than they did most times.
“Why don’t you go and fill up the pot with snow.”
“You caught something?”
The hope in her voice nearly broke his heart.
“I will tomorrow. I saw something, so I know I’ll have success.”
Kayla watched him and hurried to one of the cabinets, grabbing a pot and carrying it outside without saying another word. While he was working in the hearth, trying to get the dung lit, he heard a shuffling.
“What did you catch?”
Jason stared at the dried coals as they slowly crackled to life. Eventually, they would burn brightly, but quickly. Always too quickly. “We have broth.”
“What’s in the broth?”
Jason straightened, turning to his mother and wiping his hands on his pants. “The same as we had the last two days.”
His mother’s face was pale—even paler than most in the village—and dark circles around her eyes gave her a haunted appearance. Her hair was disheveled, though it had been that way for quite some time.
“Your father would have—”
Jason stiffened at the start of the comment. It wasn’t the first time his mother had made comments like that, and knowing her, it wouldn’t be the last. “I know Father would have been successful by now. Maybe you need to go farther tomorrow. Or with the others.”
Jason stared at her for a moment before turning away. He headed outside and passed Kayla packing snow into the pot. She did so without gloves, and her hands were already turning red. What was she thinking, coming out here like that? Why would she risk herself to the elements? She knew better.
“Where are you going?”
“Off for a while,” he said.
He pulled his jacket around his shoulders, trying to ignore the swirling wind. Snow was already starting to fall, flakes thick and heavy now, but soon enough, he expected they would become sharp needles that threatened to carve his skin.
He wandered away from the house, at first heading away from the village before deciding better of it. His sister still needed him, even if his mother wasn’t willing to bring herself back together. If his mother had managed to keep goi
ng—the way that Jason and Kayla had—they might have a way to pay for more than just scraps. A healer’s time was valued.
The sound of laughter drew him, and he turned back toward the village and the festival. The voices belonged to Reltash and a group of others the same age as Jason. They were laughing and singing, performing the festival march as they traipsed through the streets, and he turned away before they caught sight of him.
Jason ducked alongside the nearest building, staying low to the ground. One of the advantages of his snow-white bearskin jacket and boots was that he blended into the snow better than the others did with their dragonskin. With those, they practically stood out, drawing attention. Then again, with his silver eye, he was able to see them moving in a different way. There were shades of orange and red around them, brighter now that they had stood so close to the fire, and he focused on that, watching them as they moved along the street. None of them turned in his direction, which he was thankful for. If they had, Jason wasn’t sure what he would’ve said—or what they would have done.
When they were gone, he glanced over his shoulder, debating whether he would return home. Kayla could handle making the broth without him, and was probably better at it than he was. With their meager supplies, she managed to season it far better than he ever could.
Another explosion fired once more, and as the light was beginning to fade, its detonation called to him. He could feel it thundering in his chest, and he remembered the way the powder felt as it was mixed into the cannon, the colorings sprinkled on top. It was all too easy to recall what had gone into the mixture, the way the explosions would ring out, and the smile on his father’s face as he remarked upon the nature of each firing.
Before he knew it, Jason was drawn back toward the festival plaza. The fire danced against the growing darkness and he stood frozen for a moment, watching it. There was something rhythmic and soothing about it, and yet he had no desire to get too close to it. Not like so many others did.
Ice Dragon: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Dragon Misfits Book 1) Page 2