His Frozen Fingertips

by Charlotte Bowyer

  “The Moving Mountains?” Avery glanced at him. “What about them?”

  Asa traced the line on the map, figuring their journey out. “We have to pass through them.”

  Avery scoffed. “Not happening.”

  Asa checked his directions, running over the dog-eared sheet of paper with a cartographer’s eye. He shook his head, trying to figure out some other way. There was none. He explained this to Avery, who repeated his aforesaid statement with a pedantic expression.

  “Well, how do you plan on getting there?” Asa asked.

  “I don’t know,” Avery replied. “But my father says that you can’t go through, under, or around those mountains. They’re too close together for you to do anything but go over, and too high for you to do much of that. They’re not an easy obstacle, that’s for sure.”

  It could have been a trick of the light, but if he squinted, Asa thought that he could see the vague outlines of the jagged peaks in the distance. He shifted his heavy bag and looked Avery in the face, sizing him up. Avery stood his ground, staring levelly back.

  “Are you doubting our ability to make it across those mountains, Avery Hardy?”

  “Maybe I am,” his companion replied, folding his arms. “Problem?”

  “Only with that attitude,” Asa asserted. “Avery, we are going to do this. We have to do this. You may not have realised it, but whilst you were whining about how hard it is to cross the mountains, the snow is still falling outside of the walls. How long until people start dying? Their lives are with us. We have to make it count.”

  Avery smirked. “And yet the tale grows more fraught.”

  Asa clipped him around the back of the head, tugging his friend towards a strange road that was a few paces away from them. It was made of a matte grey substance, like liquefied stone had been poured along a path. He stopped before pressing a cautious foot to the grey surface. He waited for his leg to sink into nothingness, to become stuck, to reach some untimely end. It did not. Asa stepped onto the smooth road, shoes clicking as he stood in the middle. They faced down to what Asa assumed was north, or at least, where the road went. Avery started to saunter down, his object a strange metallic structure stuck into the ground a little way from them. Asa examined it from afar, and then joined his friend.

  It was a signpost. Rather underwhelmed, Asa peered curiously up at the large arrows pointing up and down the road. To his great astonishment, he found that the writing was illegible. He could not read the cramped letters—or even work out their basic shapes. He blinked. Surely he was just tired, imagining things. But the sign remained incomprehensible.

  “You seeing this?”

  “More like not seeing.” Avery cricked his neck and winced. “And I thought that the pretentious signs near your house were bad.”

  “Shall we go down this way?” He pointed what he assumed was north. “Get to those impossible mountains. And maybe find some locals? We need all the help we can get if all of the signs are like this.”

  Avery nodded, plodding away from the sign without complaint. Asa gave it another puzzled look, and then moved on, trying to decipher it. As the lush surroundings changed, he found that he could not quite remember how it looked, eventually giving the whole lot up as a bad job. It wasn’t worth his thought power.

  A rattle sounded ahead. They both simultaneously looked up to see a small horse and trap trundling over a bridge in front of them. The driver was short, squatted low on the seat as the cob pulling it chomped on the bit and tossed its head up. Asa nudged Avery and stood on the side of the road and held out his left arm, flagging down the cart.

  The driver looked up, saw Asa’s outstretched hand, and tugged on the reins as he tried to bring the chunky horse to a satisfactory stop. His hat and low-cut fringe obscured all but his mouth and the tip of his nose. Asa crinkled his nose and tried to look polite.

  “Hello, sir,” he said. “Would you know where the nearest village to the mountains is?”

  The driver stuck his chin out as he surveyed the pair of them. Asa noticed his clothes. They were odd—to say the least. He wore tight brown trousers and a green jerkin over a dirty white shirt. Asa decided not to mention it, clamming up as the silent man nodded. He waited. Still he was not offered directions.

  “Can you tell us?” Avery asked.

  The man remained as still as stone. Asa was struck by a sudden thought. He looked exactly as he had done many years ago when his tutor had tried to teach him to master the Ancient Tongues.

  “Can you understand me?” he asked.

  The man in the cart shook his head, and then nodded. After what seemed like an age, he managed to put words together and speak, in an accented tone.

  “We don’t speak your language here,” he said. “It is not for us to know.”

  “Please take us north,” Asa pleaded.

  “I am not going north,” the man refused.

  “But, sir!”

  “I am going to market,” the man stated. “I’m late.”

  “Take us, please,” Avery persuaded.

  “We need to get to the mountains,” Asa supplied.

  The man did not respond. Asa was about to brush the infuriatingly long hair out of the driver’s eyes, when he drew the horse around in a slow circle, turning to face up the road. He pointed a thumb to the bed of the cart.

  “I can take you to town,” he said dismissively.

  “Oh, thank you, sir!” Asa scrabbled over the sides of the cart and seated himself on the wooden floor. Crates of miscellaneous fruits and vegetables were scattered to every side. Avery pulled himself over as well, leaning back against the side of the cart as he sat.

  “We’re so lucky,” he mouthed disbelievingly at Asa, who smirked, giving him a wink.

  The man shouted a harsh encouragement to the cobby horse, who broke into a jumbly trot as a whip was cracked on its flank.

  The countryside around them was neat with short grasses trimmed cleanly by grazing deer, which scattered as they trundled past. As the man in the front cracked the whip again, the cart began to climb up a steep slope, wheels spinning and sliding beneath them. Asa stared out of their vehicle in awe. The warmth of the sun caressed his back, heating him both inside and out for the first time in the last month. The fruits around him gave off the sweet, cloying scent of summer or early spring, as it should have been on the other side of the wall. Flies bothered them, bumbling dreamily over their heads and landing in their hair.

  The journey took only a fraction of the time they had expected. Within a few whispered words of mounting the hill, the area around them became more developed. Houses sprang up—not normal houses, such as the ones in Salatesh or Brandenbury, but strange dwellings. They were low on the ground, white-washed huts that were cuboid in shape. Instead of windows, they had open gaps in the walls over which people had hung gauzy fabrics in a multitude of shades of brown. The man stopped his beast with an angry hup and the cart jerked before Asa and Avery were able to dismount.

  “Thank you, sir,” Asa told him, shifting on achy feet.

  “Goodbye,” the driver droned as he wheeled the tired animal around. For a moment, Asa could have sworn that he could see something strange as the small man’s long fringe fluttered in the wind, something in the glazed quality of his rather milky eyes.

  “Thanks,” Averett said.

  There was a clacking sound as the cart’s wheels struggled to catch traction on the road surface. Eventually, it was able to get a grip and their driver sped off down the road, as though he was being chased by some invisible foe.

  Asa turned confusedly to Avery, who was examining the world around him with a dreamy sort of curiosity. He tapped his friend bracingly on the small of the back, laughing as Avery blinked and started in surprise.

  “Oh. We going to go through the town?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a plan,” Asa admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Sounds like a good idea, then.” His friend made to walk down the firm road,
but Asa wasn’t certain.

  “What if they don’t want us here?” he asked.

  “Then we’ll leave,” said Avery simply.

  “They don’t speak our language, Avery,” Asa elaborated, fiddling with the somewhat worn hem of his tunic. “What if they don’t understand us? I don’t want to be butchered.”

  “Don’t be so derogatory,” the blond chided him. “Honestly, just because they don’t speak like us, you’ll avoid them? That’s not how the world works, Asa. Brush up on your charm and get some personal awareness about you.”

  Asa sniffed, refusing to refute or acknowledge Avery’s point of view. He hitched his satchel up on his shoulder and walked away from his companion, waiting for the idealistic youth to follow him. He did, eventually, but only after an exasperated sigh and loud footsteps stamping up until they were side by side.

  They entered the small town, shoulder to shoulder. The houses were not close together, and they were so unlike their home in looks that it did not register to either of them that they were walking down a street. There were no doors to the houses on either side but bead curtains swayed with soft clicks in the drafts from the steady footfall of people in the street. Unlike their entry to Jundres, this was muted, relaxed. No one seemed to notice them as they wound their way through the quiet street, looking up to where the sharp peaks of the mountains ahead grew more defined. They were only a short walk from the foothills, and those would take them on their way well enough.

  The people around them were shorter than any they had seen before. Asa was a good few inches taller than even the biggest of the men, though they seemed to make up for it in sheer mass. They were lumpy and stocky with thick arms and legs that seemed to be packed with nothing but muscle. Their gait was mechanical and stilted, as though they were puppets on the end of a master string.

  One of them bumbled into Asa as they weaved through the ordered lines of people. He gazed up at him with a vague sort of anxiety in his eyes, as though he was going to be punished. He mumbled an apology in some lilting, musical tongue. Asa shrugged in response and the man’s head snapped forward, his feet moving back in perfect time with the person’s in front of him. His eyes held the same qualities as the driver from before. Dazed and unfocused. Creepy dolls’ eyes in sculpted faces.

  Asa stiffened involuntarily and Avery’s hand on his back pushed him forwards in a frightened sort of shuffle. Everyone around him, he realised, had that same look on their face. They were moving in time with each other. Together. He glanced to the side to see Avery’s calm, hazel eyes looking perturbed. With a great effort, he heaved his weight forward and supported himself as they moved through the silent crowd. The only sound was the shuffling of many pairs of synchronised feet.

  They weaved forwards, avoiding the fixed stares of the townspeople. The air was close, humidity beading on Asa’s forehead and making the palms of his hands prickle with sweat. The sun was still high in the sky when the two of them rested up against a wall, relaxing in the shade that a tree cast over the ground. Avery withdrew a water skin and took a measured sip before passing it over to Asa, who was careful to drink the exact same amount as his friend. The water was sweet and cool as it ran down his throat. Liquid life.

  “Excuse me.” A man stepped out of the flow into their resting shade. “Why are you not in line?”

  He was taller than anyone else in this town, and that was the most Asa could see as he stood in the dazzling sun. His hands rested on his hips, one swift flick away from grasping the handle of the sword that lay in its scabbard against his leg.

  “We are not from around here,” Avery replied. “We are travellers.”

  “Who said that you could travel here?” the man inquired nastily.

  “No one,” the blond asserted. “We took free passage.”

  “That is unfortunate.” The tall man shrugged. “Nothing is free in these parts, let alone passage. You’ll be coming with me now.”

  “And what if we—” Avery began, but a sack was pulled over Asa’s head before he could finish and his friend’s words were blurred with the sudden darkness. He smelled something strange, sweetly acidic, and his body was pulled into a wretched sort of non-sleep. He let himself be dragged down, eyes finally closing.

  Asa cracked his eyes open drowsily, squinting in the bright light. He blinked for a few moments before the tightness across his wrists and ankles became all too apparent. His stomach lurched in that familiar way that happened when he tripped or missed a step walking downstairs. Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong. There was a strange smell in the air, he couldn’t move, and the light was sharp and clear. Worse of all, there was a ceiling above his head. He hadn’t gone to sleep inside. In fact, he remembered with increasing alarm, he hadn’t gone to sleep at all.

  “Avery?” he called, voice higher than usual. “Avery? Anyone? Where am I?”

  There was a bang to his right. Asa’s head snapped to that side, brown eyes darting around the space. It was all white, the walls, the floors, even the small wooden door was painted matte white. His breathing quickened as the handle began to turn, mind making impossible bargains for his own safety. He kept still, only the flickering of his irises testament to show he was alive. The door opened.

  A tall man entered, taller than Asa had ever thought possible. He was at least a head over Asa’s, with lean muscle and strange, fitted garments. He carried a thin board with paper attached to it. Asa flinched back, straining to get away from his restraints. The man looked at him, gaze curious and somewhat clinical. His eyes were black. They were dangerous, cold, and scientific. He moved some of Asa’s hair out of the way and examined his face shape, cold fingers tracing over Asa’s forehead.

  “Who are you?” Asa stammered, flinching away. “Where’s my friend?”

  The man looked astonished. He wrote something on the paper and squinted at Asa, a small smile creeping onto his face. He opened his mouth and a noise came out, but Asa didn’t understand. It was all one stream of undecipherable gibberish. He tried to move away from the dangerous looking man, muscles aching at the strain. He just wanted to sit up, to back away, just do anything but be forced to lie here.

  The man shrugged. Asa assumed he was some sort of doctor.

  “Where is my friend?” he asked clearly, voice steadier now. “What do you want?”

  The man peered at him again, alight with some sort of repressed excitement. He started spewing the same sounds again, slower this time, making confusing hand gestures. Asa rolled his eyes, tutting. Instead of looking put off, the doctor looked delighted. He moved so that he was standing over Asa, casting a shadow down on him. Asa moved his hands desperately, trying to have something to defend himself with. The bonds held fast. The doctor tightened them, just a bit, but enough to make Asa hiss with pain.

  “No!” He tried to pull his hands free, the skin caught in the ties. “Loosen them!”

  The doctor barked a short laugh, those black eyes glittering behind the glasses that he had slammed onto his nose. These were different to the ones back home, less bulky, with leather straps that tied around his head. His long brown hair was scraped back into a knot at the back of his head. Asa saw the stark difference in colour between their skins. Whilst his was a dirty pale beige colour, the doctor’s was dark tan. Asa blinked back a couple of tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, promising that for Avery’s sake he would be brave. His vision blurred and he let his head fall to the side, biting his lip hard and tasting metal. Immediately, the doctor’s hands were examining his features, curiously probing at his eyes and mouth. Asa grimaced at the gentle wiping sensation across one of his eyelids, forcing saline tears to go down his cheek. What was wrong with the other? Had he never seen tears before?

  Sweaty fingers were stuck inside his mouth, running over his teeth. Asa tasted salt and oil, and all manner of things that he would have rather not known about on those fingers. He resisted the urge to bite, to snap his jaw shut as hard as possible. That would only get him hurt.
This was painless and relatively unobtrusive. He let it be, sighing around the doctor’s clumsy hands.

  The doctor ceased the scrabbling around Asa’s mouth, wiping his hands dismissively on his strange clothes—thin, fitted trousers, in dark brown, a linen shirt, useless for warmth and scooped at the neck, and a snug leather waistcoat over the top. Asa felt dirty, primitive. He frowned at the doctor, stilling for the first time and meeting the man’s eyes. The man spoke to him again, and turned his back on Asa. The door slammed shut as he breezed through it.

  “No,” Asa murmured, alone once more. “No.”

  The bindings around his hands and feet were so tight he could not even twist his joints. He licked his lips, mouth rather dry. Where was he? What had he done wrong? He made an effort to lift his chest up from the surface upon which he was lying, straining as hard as he could. His back cracked. Asa gave up and shed a few bitter tears. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even save himself. He tugged in futility at his wrists again. A small cut opened on his right arm and he growled at it. Useless skin, his body couldn’t even keep his own blood in.

  “Avery?” he called, in a small voice. “Avery? Can you hear me?”

  His ears strained to hear a voice, anything. The room seemed as though it was buzzing. He heard the strange mutters of that same person as before outside the door. He turned his head to look clearly at the doctor as he entered the room, brown eyes hardening in anxiety. A tiny figure followed behind, looking at the floor. By the angle of their back, and their stature, Asa assumed that they were female, but he could not be certain.

  The doctor said something in that strange tongue as his black eyes stared into Asa’s. Asa averted his gaze.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you,” he apologised resignedly.

  The doctor said something in that quick, sharp voice, glancing at the person next to them. They stepped towards Asa. She was a small child. His first impression was of her striking beauty. She was wealthy looking, plump and smooth skinned, with doe-like brown eyes, unclouded but filled with fear. Her skin was that same shade of beautiful brown. Her mouth moved, and the man snarled at whatever comment she made. She looked hurt, and gestured to her wrists.