7 Folds of Winter

by Carolyn McCray

  Traven was startled when Miss Emmert spoke near his shoulder. “I would imagine one of the Caitliff’s raiders is responsible.”

  “Why would they leave the food?”

  “They’re not the most efficient lot.”

  Traven walked the perimeter of the room to be sure there were no surprises waiting in the crevices as Miss Emmert checked the food supplies.

  “Not much, but enough to fill our bellies once over.”

  Nodding, Traven inched up to the bodies and began checking the deceased for any gear. Their bodies were solid ice. This must have been what the people of the Fort looked like. The Hero had seen plenty of dead bodies before, but these disturbed him. The last one especially. Traven did not know why, but the face of this one bothered him. The dead man’s face was ashen white, with frost clinging to his eyebrows and mustache. The look on his face when he died seemed surprised. Like death had startled him.

  Traven jumped back as the body’s eyelids fluttered. Before the Hero could shout a warning, the dead man jerked upright into a sitting position. Traven raised his sword and prepared to cleave the unnatural head from its frozen shoulders.

  “Hold your weapon, Traven!” Miss Emmert shouted.

  The body stood up as the Hero’s arm wavered. Why should he listen to the woman? He should eliminate this threat now. Before he could strike the blow, Ornery tackled the Hero from the side.

  “My mother said ‘no!’”

  Scrambling up, Traven kept his distance from the dead man, but held his sword raised. “What is it?”

  “I do not know,” Miss Emmert said, but must have recognized the look of frustration on Traven’s face for she hurried on. “But I thought it best we find out what miracle walks in front of us before we destroy it.”

  Traven’s cheeks reddened a little. She was right. He had demolished enough this day. Traven needed to learn restraint.

  ***

  Crystalia could wait no longer. She had heard the shouts and commotion inside and took a step towards the kicked-in door. Rage and shame still burned in her chest, but a spark of concern still flickered for the Hero. She had not come all this way only to have him die before he could make amends to her. To think of all she had been through for him. Nearly poisoned, trapped in Quicksnow, and she had given over her petticoats to that insufferable Caitliff.

  All for nothing.

  The Hero did not love her. That was clear upon his face. He had not a single spark of affection when he looked upon her. For that she should have hated him, but she could not. The cold air must have slapped some sense into her, for she felt only sadness and not rage. She could see the leaps of faith she had made and could not fault the Hero for his feelings.

  And a part of her was still driven by an unquenchable desire to be near him. Her palm burned hot the nearer Crystalia got to the Hero. The sexton did not care if there was love in the air. It drove her to be close to Traven. For this reason and the fact she had a natural abundance of curiosity, Crystalia snuck into the shack.

  Stifling a scream, she tried to back out of the room, but the Princess blocked her way.

  “What’s happened?” the beautiful girl asked.

  Crystalia only shook her head as she stared at the walking dead man. Miss Emmert slowly crept up to the stretching figure.

  “What is your name?” Sele asked.

  The body blinked twice then answered. “I cannot remember. Truly.”

  “What are you?”

  “A corpse. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Miss Emmert flashed a look at the Hero, but he only shrugged.

  “Do you mean us any harm?” Traven asked.

  “Now why would I do that? I need your heat if I have any hope of staying animated.” The dead man shook his head and loosened up his wrists. “If you put on a fire, I might be more inclined to speak.”

  Crystalia shrank in horror as the corpse opened his coat to reveal a neck wound deep enough it looked like his head might roll off. The wolf crossed the room and stood guard in front of the two girls. Much to Crystalia’s disconcertion, Pale kept nudging her with his nose and expecting a pet. Absently she stroked the wolf’s head just to keep him quiet.

  Miss Emmert nodded to Ornery, who began building a fire. “What should we call you?”

  “Corpse will do. I doubt if any of you have claimed that name for yourself, so there should be little confusion who you are speaking to.”

  The wind howled savagely through the still open doorway and sputtered the fire Ornery was trying to make.

  Miss Emmert motioned for the girls and horses to enter the enclosure. “Everyone, inside.”

  Crystalia was tentative, but the snow was beginning to fall outside. Leading in the mounts, Crystalia stayed clear of the dead man and circled around behind Miss Emmert.

  “Glacial, have a seat by the fire, I’ll attend those wounds. Crystalia, could you stir up some grub?” the woman asked.

  Crystalia did not think that anyone would be in the mood to eat with dead bodies not only littering the floor but also sitting at their fire, but she held her tongue. Miss Emmert must have noticed her unease, for the woman turned to the Hero.

  “Traven, could you and Pale remove these...” She motioned to the dead bodies. “For us?”

  As the Hero and wolf cleared the room, Crystalia sorted through their meager supplies. Most were moldy, and none were fresh. “Miss Emmert, I’m not even sure if I can make a descent soup, let alone a stew.”

  “Just make do, dear.” Miss Emmert said as she gave Crystalia’s hand a squeeze.

  Crystalia’s eyes teared over again. Nothing really had changed despite the distance she had put between her and Last Hitch. She was still just making do.

  ***

  Traven hauled the last of the bodies out and reentered the room. It was a most uncomfortable assembly. Glacial looked far worse for the wear, as Miss Emmert did her best to nurse the Princess’s wounds. The other girl was still obviously suffering from a broken heart, and the boy, Ornery, looked ready to keel over where he stoked the fire. The only one with any life left in his face was the corpse.

  Pale sent the Hero strong waves of hunger. Traven tried to reassure the wolf that there would be more than enough to go around, but Pale could not be fooled. He could smell every ingredient Crystalia cooked, and there would barely be enough to fill five bowls for the party, let alone for a hearty portion for the wolf. The horses were subsisting on stale hay that had not a kernel of grain in it.

  Why should Pale take any of the humans’ food, when there was so much nicely frozen meat right outside their door? Traven recoiled at the thought. They would not eat human flesh! The wolf corrected the Hero. Pale was not suggesting the rest of the group consume it, only him. Still, Traven was shaken. How could the wolf suggest such a thing? Did he not know cannibalism was forbidden? Pale scoffed in Traven’s head. He was wolf, not human. It would be no different if the wolf ate a dead horse.

  Traven was still not in agreement, but he heard an echo of another thought in Pale’s head. The Hero turned to watch Miss Emmert stare into the wolf’s eyes. In shock, Traven listened as the woman gave her permission.

  “Go. But do so outside and bury the remains.”

  The Hero was appalled, but what could he do? Make a scene in front of everyone else? Traven tried to send his reproach to Pale, but the wolf was already out the door. He was not sure if he was more shaken by Pale’s actions or the fact someone else could speak inside the wolf’s mind. Traven knew Grave had the ability, but the Hero had assumed he was the only human able to do so. Obviously he was wrong.

  “Traven, would you like to do the questioning?”

  “Yes.” He bristled at Miss Emmert’s tone. She was not deferring to his authority, but rather offering him a bone. Traven was not used to being a follower amongst the crowd.

  ***

  Ornery made himself look busy near the fire so that Miss Emmert would not shoo him away. The dead man both repulsed and fascinated him beyond b
elief. With every passing moment, as the fire crackled and snapped to a full roar, the corpse gained more color. His white cheeks were painted a shade pinker and hands moved more smoothly.

  The Hero tripped over the dead man’s name. “Corpse, I am trying to be patient, but we would all like to know how you came to be... be here.”

  “It is a sad tale, really. Not that I would expect you to understand,” Corpse said as he sat so near the flames that Ornery was worried that the dead man’s clothes would catch on fire. The man glanced around the fire at their group. “Or by the looks of you, you might.”

  Traven jumped in before Corpse could go on much further. “Why don’t you try us?”

  The dead man sighed. “Much I do not remember. I was traveling with a party. That much I know. We sought True North, but for what reason escapes me.”

  The man paused as Miss Emmert, Traven, and Glacial shuffled in their seats, looking suddenly uncomfortable. What did they know of True North that Ornery did not?

  Corpse did not rest his tongue long. “All’s I remember was a huge Hallway. It seemed to go on forever, stretching out to the horizon.” The man seemed to lose his focus.

  “Something happened there?” Traven prompted the man.

  “Aye. There was a great ring that hovered above the floor. It was sprinkled with the stuff stars are made of and shimmered with the look of new frost. I could not help myself, it was so very breathtaking. I reached out and touched its surface. It was cold and hot. Icy and burning.” Corpse turned to Ornery. “May I have a sip of that tea you are brewing?”

  Ornery looked first to Miss Emmert, who nodded her head. Pouring some into a cracked cup, Ornery offered the tea to the dead man. He made sure to release the container before Corpse could touch his skin. The man placed the warm liquid to his lips and sucked down the entire contents. The tea gushed from the wound in his neck, drenching the front of his shirt. Ornery cringed but did not flee. It was so grotesque that he could not look away.

  “There. My throat feels much better.” Corpse casually wiped off his doublet and continued. “I remember turning to my companions, but they were under attack by some foul creatures. You could not see them, only the destruction they left in their path.”

  The man stopped again and handed the cup back to Ornery. The boy filled it to the brim. He wanted to see more of it come out the man’s throat. After finishing the tea, Corpse licked the cup.

  The group waited, but the dead man just kept licking and licking. Traven finally stepped in. “It is there that you died?”

  “Uh? Oh, yes. That part. I should have figured you wanted that bit of the story... I turned to run, but a garrote caught me around the throat and tightened.” Corpse opened his collar and showed them all the details of the gnarly wound. “When I awoke next, I was lying on the icy floor, my life’s blood split all around me, but still I was able to rise. At first I thought it was a miracle, but soon I realized I was as dead as my companions.”

  “You do not remember why you went to the Icy Throne?” Miss Emmert asked.

  “Is that where I was? The Winter King’s seat of power? Damnable. I should have known better than to have trusted those other wankers. No wonder I’m in such a state.”

  Ornery could not help but blurt out his question. This story had almost the same appeal as a tavern’s bawdy minstrel. “What happened next?”

  “Back then I wasn’t as wise to my condition, so I set out to head south.” The man shrugged. “Next time I woke up was when these men here found me up on the slopes.”

  Miss Emmert nodded. “A Frost Zombie requires heat to stay functional.”

  “Well, somebody should have left me instructions, because I wasted nearly seven years frozen on that slope. What year is it now?”

  “The year of the Snow Hare,” Traven answered.

  Corpse seemed relieved. “Ah, then I’ve only been down for another four years.”

  Miss Emmert corrected the dead man. “But we are in the Second House of the Moon.”

  “Then another fourteen years have passed.” The man seemed disheartened by this news. “Not that it should matter. I’m sure my wife would be disinclined to have me back. She wasn’t too fond of me alive.”

  Ornery stirred the tea and made room for Crystalia as she came over to start boiling the soup. He flashed her a tentative smile, but the girl did not even notice. Her eyes flicked between the Hero and Corpse.

  “What happened here?” Traven asked. “How did these men meet their fate?”

  “They were nice enough chaps. Dug me from the snow, warmed me up a bit and didn’t skewer me when I arose. I think they had plans to sell me to a traveling gypsy show, but I don’t fault them for it. Winters have gotten hard, or so I have heard.”

  Miss Emmert nodded. “Aye. Was it the same manner of creature that attacked you at the Icy Throne?”

  “No. These had the look of men, but their movements were too quick. Before I could raise a hand to defend myself, they killed the others, extinguished our fire, and stuffed snow down my gullet and into my wound.”

  “Was it Caitliff’s men?” Crystalia asked, fear plain in her voice.

  Miss Emmert shook her head. “Nay. They are a bit soft in the brain. They would never know how to neutralize a Frost Zombie.”

  “Are you saying someone hunted him down?” Traven asked.

  “Yes,” Miss Emmert said, but did not back up her claim.

  Crystalia slipped from the fire’s edge and went back to the cabinets. Glacial took the opportunity to slide in next to Ornery. The boy scooted over on his heels closer to Corpse. He would rather be near the dead man than the painfully beautiful Princess.

  “Would you like to explain, Miss Emmert?” Traven asked, irritation clear in his tone.

  ***

  Glacial ignored the throbbing of her wounds and listened carefully to Miss Emmert’s answer. Their talk of the True North and the Icy Throne had roused her from her fitful rest. Despite her body’s protest, she had risen and joined them by the fire.

  Miss Emmert had several false starts before she finally spoke. “There is so much to discuss. I do not know where to begin.”

  “I find leaping off from the beginning sometimes helps,” Corpse said with a grim smile on his face.

  “That would require us covering over five hundred years of history. Would that sate you?” Miss Emmert snapped at the dead man.

  The Princess had only known the woman for a few scant hours, but she already sensed Miss Emmert’s harsh tone was much unlike her.

  “I would be pleased with just the pertinent facts,” Traven said, trying to placate the agitated woman.

  “Even that is difficult,” Miss Emmert grumbled. Her voice leveled out, and she sighed. “I had hoped to have some food in our belly before we were forced to discuss this.”

  Glacial inched closer to Ornery. For some reason the smell of his thick mane comforted her. She would never admit it out loud, but she was just a bit in awe of the Centaur. They were so revered amongst her people that Glacial had been taught fluent Equis and knew their history as well as she did her own.

  Miss Emmert squirmed and glanced furtively towards Glacial. Whatever the woman was about to share, the Princess was fairly certain she wound not like it one bit. To have the Centaur sitting next to her made the upcoming discussion a tad more bearable.

  “Crystalia, please join us. You are affected by what I have to say.”

  “But —” the girl tried to resist. The only available spot around the fire was directly between Traven and Corpse.

  “Sit,” Miss Emmert said with a finality that cut off any other complaint from the girl.

  Once Crystalia was settled in, Miss Emmert started. “First, we must understand the importance of this meeting. It is not random. It is not by accident we have found all of ourselves in this shack. It was preordained.”

  Glacial felt goose bumps run up and down her limbs. So far prophecies had not been kind to her.

  “Around this f
ire sits The Way.” Miss Emmert indicated to each of them in turn. “The Ice Princess, The Man Who Did Not Know, The Snowy Maiden and...” Miss Emmert paused and let everyone’s eyes linger on Corpse. “The Hanged Man.”

  Traven nearly shouted. “That cannot be true! That cannot —”

  “Hero, think a moment on this before you protest too loudly. You know the fable of the Fire Conclave as well as I.”

  Glacial watched as Traven fell completely silent. Obviously he did remember the story, but she had no idea what Miss Emmert was talking about.

  “What does this mean? Will it hinder my ascent to the Icy Throne?” Glacial asked, flustered by all this talk of prophecies.

  Miss Emmert smoothed her dress, then looked Glacial straight in the eye. “There might be a time, Princess, after the Winter King is calmed, when you join the Icy Court, but for now, you must avoid True North —”

  “Never! It is my destiny to climb the frozen steps and —”

  “You will doom the world if you chose poorly, Glacial.”

  She sputtered before she could answer this insult. Who was this woman to talk to her so? She might have saved Glacial’s life, but Miss Emmert was only a human. Her advice was questionable at best.

  “I am the Ice Princess, and I shall —”

  Miss Emmert interrupted Glacial but directed her words at Traven. “To ascend, the Princess will need to spill her blood upon Winter’s altar.”

  “No!” Traven gasped.

  “Aye. Did you not know that it was you who was supposed to slit her throat for this joyous ascension?”

  It was Traven’s turn to redden and speak hot words. “Princess! Why was I not told of this? I would never have agreed.”

  Glacial raised her chin and looked down upon the humans who had no understanding of the depth of Giant logic. She would not be swayed by their petty arguments.

  “But you did. Back at Thunderhead. You swore a vow. Would you break that oath?”