Storm of Arranon Fire and Ice

by Robynn Sheahan

  Wind whistled and a vent slat banged in the roof. The creak of a hinge in the outer passage was followed by muted footsteps. Cold air swirled inside under the kitchen door and through gaps in the frame until the entrance into the passage beyond slammed shut.

  The mood of the crew was subdued when they entered. One by one, they stomped into the dining area from the cramped kitchen. Their boots left melting snow to puddle in smeared footprints. In silence, gloves were pulled off, and jackets hung on pegs driven into the crumbling insulation. Each nodded at Erynn, taking seats in tattered furniture along one wall or at the rickety chairs around the table.

  The topic of conversation while stowing the supplies on the ship had centered on Erynn’s necessity to get back to her base. This was more than a guess on Erynn’s part. She could sense their single-minded concentration. No one had questioned her reason for this before they left. But it was obvious they had discussed her need.

  What conclusion had they come to?

  Cera strode into the room to the end of the table. She pulled out a chair. The legs rasped against the grated steel floor. She dropped her tall, sturdy frame into a seat that protested with a squeal of stressed metal.

  In the kitchen, drawers opened with a screech. Utensils rattled and cupboards banged shut. The clatter of dishes and the scent of cooking gave the space an almost homey atmosphere.

  Almost.

  A lanky woman with long, faded blonde hair set out bowls and tossed spoons in their general vicinity. Those not already settled at the table took their places.

  Erynn found an empty chair.

  An old man came from the kitchen carrying a deep pot, his big hands swathed in towels. He wore a greasy white apron over his extra-large tan jumpsuit. “You can’t travel Star Point Strait on land this time of year.” He grinned at Erynn. Crooked yellow teeth showed under a long gray mustache blending into an unkempt beard. He set the heavy pot down in the center of the metal table. The legs groaned under the added weight.

  Erynn believed he looked like a friendly giant in a children’s Leannan story. She chuffed quietly.

  I still think of Arranon as a magical place. Well, isn’t it?

  She smiled—partially at her wild imagination and in part to return the big man’s honest emotion. He was protective of her. A concerned sensation surrounded Erynn, drifting up and down her like slow, gentle waves. Emotions of comfort enfolded her in a silken cocoon, a bubble of shelter.

  “You’ll fall through the ice.” He nodded with decisiveness and took the lid off the large pot.

  Steam billowed out, settling in a misty vapor over the table.

  “Braefin stew,” the old man growled.

  The crew responded with loud moans. Some sat back on the folding chairs, their arms crossed, and rolled their eyes.

  “Jeez, Brock. Is that all you know how to cook?”

  “We just brought in supplies.”

  “What about the achcear or the bovie steaks we came back with?”

  “Is there at least fresh bread?”

  Brock stood with his hands on his hips, glaring over the table at the malcontents. Wispy strands of gray-white hair had escaped the leather tie at his neck and fluttered over his face as he breathed. “Everything’s been stowed on the ship. You can eat the fancy stuff when you get off your lazy butts and put in an honest day’s work again.”

  Cera sat at the head of the table watching the exchange, the ever present cidag nowhere to be seen. “There’s the Anaekta Strait.” She pushed up from the chair and stepped to the short wall at the back of the dining space. After flipping through a pile of disks on a ledge below a large monitor, she slid one into the slot on the side. She ran her fingers over the keyscreen that appeared, and a three-dimensional map brightened into view. The added color and light seemed to warm the grim room.

  “Here’s the Anaekta.” Cera tapped a narrow band of ice surrounded by blue-green ocean. She widened the scene. “The Maithlam Mountains are here.” She ran her finger in a downward arc from the Anaekta Strait to the Maithlams. A heavy red line traced her movement. Cera stepped back and studied the map. “It could work.”

  Brock moved to stand in front of the monitor next to Cera. “Safer than Star Point, but not much.” He snorted and shook his head. “If anything went wrong…”

  Cera sighed. “The only alternative is for Erynn to stay here until Star Point Strait freezes again.” She glanced at Erynn and then back to the faces staring at her from the table. “That could be five, six weeks, maybe more.”

  The light attached to the curved ceiling buzzed in the absence of conversation. Snow ticked against the metal roof. The hum of the generators matched the soft sigh of the wind brushing along the sides of the hut. The heaters cycled. The light dimmed.

  Torey, the man rescued from the alien ship, stood up. “I believe time is a factor. Erynn needs to go now. I’ll go with you, Erynn. It would be an honor.” He smiled.

  Cera nodded. “Your share of the profits from the harvest will be waiting for you when you return.”

  Erynn shook her head. “Wait, Cera. You need your crew. Each member is necessary. Even one absent crewmember jeopardizes the safety of the entire ship. I can’t accept. All along, I’ve been forced by circumstance to carry on by myself. Why should this time be different? I’m used to it, really.” Erynn stared at the map. The red line pulsed against the three-dimensional background. “The route doesn’t look so bad.” She took her bowl and ladled in the braefin stew. Tender chunks of white meat and vegetables floated in a thick, rich seasoned stock. She spooned in a mouthful. “This is good, Brock.”

  Brock walked by Erynn, grinning down at her. The others dug in to the braefin stew. A lively discussion regarding the route over the Anaekta Straight to the Maithlams complete with possible hazards, bounced around the table.

  During the meal, a plan was finally agreed upon but not well received. Erynn would take a transport loaded with supplies, alone. In the morning, when the sun dipped to the lowest level on the horizon before beginning another ascent, the Wind Dancer’s whole crew would set out to sea. Erynn would go the opposite direction toward Anaekta Strait, and then down and across to the Maithlam Mountains.

  Home, to Jaer.

  The cidag reappeared between Cera’s teeth unlit. “Erynn, take my quarters. They’re private.” She grinned around at the crew. “I’ll bunk with one of you lucky lot. But I’ll warn you now…” She chuckled low in her throat. “I snore.”

  Cera showed Erynn to her room. “I’m already packed up, and my gear is stowed on the ship.” She flipped on the light, and a soft buzz flitted through the space. A dim glow illuminated the same drab-green walls. “There’s the basics in the washroom, and the bed’s not too hard.” She shrugged, grinned around the cidag, and shut the door.

  Erynn glanced at the small room. She concluded that small wasn’t a fitting description. There was more space in the cargo hold of a Herk. Wind moaned. Ice tapped at the window. Pearly gray light slipped between tattered curtains. She looked forward to a hot shower and getting the smoky, oily remnants of the fires off her.

  In the washroom, a tall, thin stall filled one corner. A tiny mirror hung over the steel sink attached to the shower. Erynn gazed into the glass and gasped. Four thin, raised red lines ran from beneath her left eye, across her cheek, to just under her jaw. Toward the center of the scars, the wounds were still in the process of healing. A yellow crust had formed over the gaping middles. She grimaced and glanced away. “Great. Where’s Syrana’s salve?” Erynn went back to the bed and rummaged through her pack. At the bottom, wrapped in a protective fur, was a jar sealed with a snug-fitting top. She put the jar in the washroom sink so she could use the salve after her shower.

  Erynn stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the stall. Lukewarm water cascaded over her. She tried to adjust the temperature higher with no success. “Warm it is.” She lathered her hair twice, making sure the greasy slime was washed away. The soap had a strong spicy scent.
“Probably cuts the heavy odor of braefin.”

  Teeth chattering, Erynn dressed in her flight suit. Still shivering, she folded the light clothes from her time in the trialath and placed them into the bottom of the pack. In front of the mirror, she applied the salve Syrana made for her. Any sting brought on by soap and water was gone in an instant. She set the pack on the floor at the side of the bed and laid her coat on top. Erynn climbed under the covers and stared up at the ragged insulation hanging loose in spots from the metal ceiling. Air whooshed from her lungs, escaping between pursed lips. “Here I go again.”

  Jaer walked down a wide, brightly lighted corridor. Pale blue walls met the polished white floor. He pushed through a door to a dark room.

  A soft regular beep issued from a bank of screens across the head of a bed outlined in shadows. Soft lights glowed from the system monitoring Roni’s vital signs, washing over her slack, pallid features with a faint white radiance.

  Jaer glanced at the readings. “Too low,” he mumbled. He pulled a chair close to her, crossed his arms on the bed, and stared into her face. Her long brown hair glistened, reflecting a delicate shine, framing her head, and trailing over her shoulders. “Roni. Can you hear me?”

  Her hand rested on her stomach, rising and falling in a shallow, slow rhythm. The regular beep…beep…beep coming from the machines never changed.

  He reached out and took her limp fingers, folding his around her cool, dry skin. “Roni, I am sorry.” He took in a deep breath, dropped his gaze, and held Roni’s hand against his forehead.

  She is so cold—like she is already gone. Are the machines the only thing holding her to this plane of reality?

  “What do you want, Roni? Give me some kind of sign,” Jaer whispered.

  The door opened. Light from the hall spilled ahead of the byan entering the dark room, brightness ushering her in.

  Jaer glanced up but didn’t drop Roni’s hand. “Are there any changes?” His voice remained a low whisper.

  “We’ve done what we can.” She sighed. “It’s up to Roni now.” She slipped from the room, taking the harsh glow of the outer corridor with her.

  Jaer lowered his head, enfolded Roni’s hand in his strong arms, and willed her to feel his presence and understand his prayer for her full recovery.

  Time passed. The constant beeping of the machines and the slow, steady whisper of Roni’s breathing was a background rhythm to Jaer’s repeated appeal for her to wake. He imagined Roni opening her eyes.

  She will sit up and adamantly reject the byan’s prognosis that she may not come back.

  Jaer squeezed her hand. “Show them, Roni. You can do this.” His voice cracked and his jaw tightened. He remained silent for several long moments.

  “Zach has been taken home. He will be laid to rest with the highest respect in a traditional Anbas Ceremony of Honor. Zach would have told me this was too much, that his death was not in accord with the regulations permitting such an elaborate service.” Jaer’s lips turned in a small smile. “I am Fayn. I decide.” He frowned, lowering his head, shoulders slumped.

  “The warriors from Paedrick are all fine.” Jaer’s voice was muffled, being so close to the rumpled covers. “Bumps, bruises, and cuts. The perception of their failure weighs on them. I understand. This is their chief wound.”

  “Jaer. What happened to Roni?” Worry filled Erynn’s voice echoing through the darkness in his mind.

  Jaer’s head snapped up, but he stayed seated, containing his relief at Erynn’s presence. “The byan does not believe Roni will live.”

  Can Erynn hear me this time?

  “No. What? How? Roni. No!” Anger and pain edged Erynn’s voice.

  “Where are you, Erynn?” Jaer remained calm, keeping his breathing steady.

  “Far away. Too far. I’ll come as fast as I can. Oh, Roni, please. You can’t die. Think about Tiar. He loves you. Don’t be stupid like me. Love is precious—a gift to be cherished and protected.”

  Warm blue currents traveled from the center of Jaer’s chest, along his arm, and into the hand holding Roni’s. The tingle from the electric charge wasn’t unpleasant, but it was stronger than the tickle he usually received from Erynn.

  “I can…see? Not just…feel. Erynn. I can see your energy.”

  Strands of Roni’s hair lifted from the pillow. Static snapped and popped as the faint blue tendrils swirled between her and Jaer. Her hand twitched. Fingers tightened around Jaer’s. Her chest rose in a deep respiration.

  The beep…beep…beep of the monitor skipped. The rate increased.

  Roni’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Erynn? How can this be? Roni is…waking up?”

  “I’m sorry, Jaer. I was wrong. I should have listened to what you wanted to tell me. If I could change the way I behaved, I would.”

  “Kipa, no. The fault is mine. I should have told you about Shan, even if I believed she was dead.” Jaer stared at Roni in astonishment, but his heart flew to Erynn.

  The door burst open. Light rushed ahead of the byan and her two assistants. The room brightened.

  The byan tugged at Jaer’s arm. “Jaer, let us check on Roni.”

  Jaer knew if he let go of Roni, he would lose Erynn. He didn’t want to break this connection. Forced away from the bedside, he released Roni’s hand.

  Roni gasped. Her eyes snapped open. “Jaer. Wait.” Her voice was thin, cracked.

  “Erynn?” Jaer whispered. He waited, watching Roni, but no response came from Erynn.

  “Jaer.” Roni’s voice was weak, her gaze wild.

  A man stroked Roni’s head. He spoke softly, his tone soothing. “Relax, Roni. Take this slow. You’ve been through a lot. You’re going to be all right.”

  Roni’s wild gaze searched the room, locking on Jaer. She whispered a warning. “No. Jaer— it’s Erynn. You have to find her. She’s so cold.”

  Chapter 26

  ERYNN LEAPT UP FROM THE narrow bunk. “Roni?” Her throat was tight. What she thought would be a scream rasped in a coarse whisper from her dry mouth.

  A hard knock sounded on the feeble metal door. Cera poked her head in, frowning when she glanced at Erynn. Her gaze dropped to the grated steel floor. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” She stuck the cidag between her teeth and closed the door. “Time to go.” Her voice was muffled from the other side.

  Erynn tugged at blankets that imprisoned her. Warm covers dropped and coiled at her feet. She jerked free of the material that encircled her ankles and raked the wild tangle of hair from her face. “Roni, what happened? You have to be all right. Please be all right.” She pulled in a deep breath, trying to slow her ragged breathing. Erynn folded the blankets and placed them on the bed under the pillow. She collected her pack and hurried from the tiny room.

  A steaming pot of braefin stew graced the smooth metal tabletop. The rich aroma set Erynn’s stomach rumbling. Breakfast became a raucous affair. The diners disapproved yet again of the limited fare.

  Brock grumbled curses to the crew as he walked past Erynn, on her way to the table. He grinned down at her and turned when he reached the kitchen. Brock tossed the thick towels that had protected his hands from the pot’s hot handles onto the narrow counter. “Tonight,” he called in a booming voice, “we’re having bovie steak smothered in sautéed mushrooms, baby vegetables in cream sauce, mashed priute, and for desert—fresh fruit tart.”

  Erynn’s mouth watered just thinking about what he’d described. She would stake a year’s salary that Brock was an accomplished cook.

  The boisterous discontent from the table stopped. The steady clink of utensils in bowls filled the small space.

  Erynn smiled at Brock and returned his wink, glad this daunting man was on her side.

  “Now you understand how to use the NAV?” Cera stood behind Erynn, who was seated in the pilot’s compartment of the transport. Cera had gone over the operating procedure on every portion of the lumbering vehicle. Twice.

  “Yes. The equipment is very similar to an
Interceptor.” Erynn grinned back at Cera. “Trust me. I fly much better than I walk.”

  Cera clapped Erynn’s shoulder and chuckled. “I hope so. Oh, remember the ramp. Make sure nothing living is in the hatch’s path when you open it, or they won’t be alive any longer.” She shook her head. “I gotta get that fixed someday.”

  Erynn’s smile faded. “Thanks, Cera. For all your help.”

  Cera pulled the cidag from her teeth. She reached an arm around Erynn and hugged her.

  Erynn was surprised by this uncharacteristic show of affection and emotion. The gesture happened so fast, Erynn didn’t have a chance to return the hug.

  Cera stood straight and cleared her throat. “Ah, get out of here.” She turned to the hatch, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “Interceptor pilot. Hah. Can’t even stand up on the ice,” she mumbled, disappearing down the ramp.

  The hatch closed.

  Erynn pushed the starter, and the large vehicle rumbled to life with a low growl. She took a deep breath and let the air slip slowly out through pursed lips. “I’m coming, Jaer.”

  Erynn made good time across the flat, open ice fields. Engines hummed. Tracks shrieked. Snow churned and fanned in an arc behind her. The monotonous flow of white against the gray horizon seemed to go on forever. The only indication she had made any progress was when the sky to her right grew dark after the sun set. She was no longer at the top of the world.

  Her stomach growled, and she decided to stop long enough to eat a quick meal. She slowed the transport. Tracks quieted to a ka-chink, ka-chink rhythm. The engine’s high hum became a low drone. She stopped and set the brake. The transport idled, the lights outside shining through increasing darkness. Erynn didn’t want to face silence or the utter dark—not yet. With the engine rumbling and the beams from the transport blazing, it was easier not to think about her isolation.