Frost Burn

by K T Munson

  He pushed himself up as she reached his side. “I’m fine,” he said and got his feet under him. He gathered her up quickly in his arms and hurried up the stairs again toward the watchtowers.

  Darha held onto her brother for dear life, burying her face in his neck. Tamon had exploded. She didn’t need to see it for herself to know what had happened.

  Darha painfully turned her head as Coor entered the northern watchtower. Another violent shake threw him against the wall, but his back went into it, protecting Darha from the brunt of the force. As Coor tried to find his footing, suddenly massive streams of black-gray ash erupted through the small square windows of the tower. Darha’s eyes went wide. It was as if the volcano was spitting its debris directly outside the windows, rather than from ten miles away and across part of the ocean. Coor threw himself and Darha onto the floor, covering her with his body. Amid this horror, Darha was glad he couldn’t be burned by the hot ash.

  The shaking didn’t cease, and the sound of breaking stone and groan of metal around her was almost drowned out by the roar of Tamon’s eruption. Suddenly, with hurricane force, the roof of the watchtower was torn off, and the debris surrounded them both. Darha’s eyes opened wide, even against the dust, as the entire tower began to sway.

  “We have to get out of here!” Coor yelled down at her over the sound of crumbling stone and clay, the screams, and the eruption.

  Darha scrambled to her feet, and both raced back down the stairs with Coor very close on her heels. Cracks covered the walls and steps, and dust filled the air where ash didn’t occupy. Darha and Coor held their hands over their mouths and noses, but started coughing uncontrollably.

  They exited the stairway and stopped in their tracks, stunned, when they saw the left side of the hall was now open to the elements. The entire back half of the palace was reduced to rubble. Ash blew past the opening and completely filled the hallway. Darha was too stunned to even be afraid as she stared outside in horror. Black clouds had begun to fill the sky, blotting out the sun, slowly casting the city into darkness.

  Heavy running steps could be heard coming down the right side of the hallway that was still mostly intact. A large host of black and gold clad soldiers, the Queen’s personal guard, turned the corner and raced toward her. Coor went to them, shouting orders she couldn’t hear, as she continued to stare at the ceaseless ash. Dead. People. So many dead people. She couldn’t imagine it. She didn’t want to.

  “Darha!” Coor screamed.

  Abruptly, her brother took her upper arm and pulled her down the hallway away from the opening. The guards, at least two dozen of them, got into formation around her with their weapons drawn. She didn’t understand why; it wasn’t like they could fight nature.

  “Where are we going?” Darha asked, too softly, too stunned. Where could they possibly go now?

  “What?” Coor shouted, looking down at her as they turned a corner into another ash-and dust-filled hallway.

  “Where are we going?” she yelled, forcing her words past her hands.

  “The Temple basement,” he replied. “It’s the only place we think you’ll be safe.”

  Something rose up in Darha’s chest that moment. She wasn’t completely sure what it was, but it was hard and fearless, which in itself was a little scary. She yanked on Coor’s arm to stop him and the guards in the hallway.

  “What are you—” Coor began.

  “What about the people?” Darha asked him.

  She saw Coor’s eyes go a little wide. “Let me get you safe first!”

  “No!” Darha yelled, surprising herself. “We all need to get out of here.”

  “Darha,” Coor cried, “the entire nation won’t fit in the basement of the Temple!”

  Darha took in a shaky, ash-and dust-thick breath, suddenly nervous to say this to him. But she knew it was the right thing. She knew! “We evacuate to the Frost Nation.”

  His eyes got wide then. “Darha, you can’t—”

  “Coor,” she interrupted him. “Please. I need you to trust me. Please. I know Queen Vesna will help us. I know she will!”

  Coor’s eyes got sad but held hers. “I don’t doubt you, Darha. I don’t even doubt Queen Vesna.” He sighed. “I doubt the willingness of our people, as a whole, to be taken in by their most hated enemies.”

  Darha’s heart clenched as she wondered for an instant if their hatred for the Frost Nation could really trump their willingness to survive. That fearlessness still sat in her chest, though, as she studied her older brother. “That’s what we do,” she said, forcing conviction into her voice. “Anyone who really wants to stay behind here, may.” Darha nearly flinched at her own words. They seemed so heartless and callous. She doubted herself for a moment, and nearly took the words back, but Coor’s confident gaze didn’t waver.

  “All right,” he said. “How do you want to do it?”

  Darha paused, taking a few breaths as she wondered, and weighed, and measured their options with their resources, abilities and time. A million thoughts, and ideas, and scenarios raced through her head about how she could get her people across the River Gora to the Frost Nation. Boats. They needed lots of boats. Magic users. Any forgers left. Food. Water. And lava. That would take time to gather. Everything would take time to gather, but it was the only option she had.

  Darha met Coor’s eyes. “Are there any standing lava pools left?”

  “Just the ones to the southeast.”

  Another rumble violently shook the entire palace. Coor grabbed Darha, pressing her tightly between his body and the wall, as another section of the palace somewhere was reduced to rubble. Darha panted as she looked up at her brother.

  “Walk and talk,” Coor stated as he took her upper arm again, guiding her as they ran down the hall. The soldiers closed in tightly around them once more.

  “Send out a summons to all four corners of the nation,” Darha declared, “to meet at the lava pools to the southeast. Magic users and forgers make haste. We are going to make boats out of whatever scraps of metal can be brought, and out of the stone in the lava pools.”

  “Stone boats won’t float. Lava is useless.”

  “Not if we have skilled enough forgers and magic users. And I believe we do.” Coor regarded his sister. “They can make the stone thin enough, with enough air bubbles, to allow them to float.”

  Coor looked ahead of him again as they rounded the corner into the throne room. “That will take days.”

  Darha realized he wasn’t really arguing, just stating facts, reasoning it out, considering all the angles and possibilities available to them in this situation and making her aware of them. So, this was what it was like to work with her brother, rather than have him make all the decisions. It was sort of nice and oddly exhilarating.

  “Have the army empty out the food and water reserves and bring them to the southeast lava pools. We will make camp there while the boats are being made.”

  Coor smiled down at her, the ash on his skin deepening the lines and creases in his face, and making the pride he was feeling even more evident. “All right,” he said.

  Darha smiled in return. If he was looking at her like that, this must not be as rotten of an idea as she feared. But still, her people would rebel and, at the very least, rage against seeking refuge from the Frost Nation.

  Yet Darha was past caring about that. The Fire Nation was no longer safe for them, and she knew Queen Vesna would not only allow them entry, but provide for them as well.

  Of that, she had no doubt.

  Frost: Chapter Twenty-One

  Aradel held her hands up as Tristra spun silk around the outside of them. Beside her was a spinning wheel already loaded with a spool that was nearly empty. Tristra hummed gently as she spun it around and around Aradel’s hands, preparing it. The lines in the old woman’s face became more apparent the more Aradel stared at her. Her eyes dropped down to Tristra’s fine clothes which indicated that she was wealthy.

  Kirill’s father had been one of
the Providence leaders within the walls before becoming Queen Vesna’s chief advisor. They had a beautiful villa on the outskirts of Axion, with an ice garden that rivaled the one in the palace. Aradel knew this because for part of her life she had lived there.

  “It is so kind of you to take time out of your day, young miss,” Tristra said, softly smiling at her in a motherly way.

  Today was not a day when Tristra remembered who Aradel was. Yet despite her lack of memory, she was in an agreeable mood. Whatever time Tristra thought it was, she was very happy. Her humming was a good sign.

  “You look happy, Lady Tristra,” Aradel replied, hardly noticing as the older woman continued to twist the silk into submission

  “I am,” Tristra replied brightly. “We have just taken in a young girl who the Queen believes will become a candidate when she is old enough. She seemed very suspicious of us, but today I saw her smile for the first time.”

  Aradel remembered that moment. Kirill had fallen off his elk while riding it backwards, and Tristra had scolded him harshly, until she had seen his pants were torn. Both Kirill and his mother had laughed so hard Aradel couldn’t help but smile at them. That was the first time she had smiled in years.

  “That was kind of you to take her in when she was all alone,” Aradel said, trying not to interrupt the memory as she began to spin the silk onto the spool. The spinning wheel’s pedal click-clacked as her foot pushed down and the wheel spun, pulling the thread along Tristra’s guiding finger, before wrapping it around the fist-sized spool.

  “Yes, poor thing was all alone,” Tristra replied with a heavy sigh. “We tried to find her family, but her parents’ neighbors didn’t know where they had gone, and her sister had died some time before that.”

  Aradel froze and then lifted her head slowly. When she was a child, the woman next door had said her sister, Mera, had died, but Aradel didn’t know how. All she knew was that she had been sold, and then died later. For as long as Aradel could remember, she’d imagined her sister had died alone and miserable.

  “How awful,” Aradel managed. She swallowed hard before asking as dispassionately as possible, so as not to upset Trista. “How did her sister die?”

  “Childbirth,” Tristra replied with another heavy sigh as she looked absentmindedly at the wood wheel spinning.

  Aradel’s mind raced, and her blood ran colder. Childbirth? All these years, Tristra had known what had become of her older sister. All these years, Kirill’s mother had known, but had never said anything. Suddenly Tristra shook a little and glanced around. The wheel came to a sudden halt.

  “You should be more careful!” Tristra cried, pulling at the unspun silk.

  Aradel blinked, realizing that she had let her hands fall and ice crystals had formed on the thread.

  “You know how important it is to pay attention, Aradel,” Trista continued. “You are as bad as Kirill today.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aradel said halfheartedly.

  “I know,” Tristra replied, stopping to observe her. Tristra patted Aradel’s cheek. “You look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep at the palace?”

  “Yes,” Aradel replied as Kirill’s mother moved to another time. She began pulling at the thread again until she found the snare. “Tristra, you were telling me about my sister.”

  Tristra immediately started shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “But we just were.” Aradel pressed, leaning forward hopefully.

  Shaking her head more violently Tristra cried, “I don’t want to!” Then she abruptly stood, letting everything on her lap fall onto the ground. It clattered loudly, which made Aradel stand as well, but she held her hands up so she didn’t lose the silk. Before Aradel could get an actual word out, Tristra cried, “I’m tired and wish to retire to my room.” Without hesitation, Tristra left a very stunned Aradel alone.

  Others in the room glanced at her as she broke from her shock. Carefully, she set the unspun silk down on Tristra’s chair, and then left the temple in a contemplative silence. Her legs were numb as she walked back toward the palace, knowing she was going to arrive early.

  Mera had been like the light to Aradel. When they were children, Aradel had had silvery blond hair, but Mera’s had been gold, like captured sunlight, and she had been like the sun. Their parents hadn’t so much been cruel as they were selfish. They hadn’t cared much for their own children, only what leverage their daughter could bring, and the price they could fetch from a wealthy merchant. Mera had been thirteen when she had been sold. The thought of her sister dying in some birth room, with the child of a man she didn’t love, broke Aradel’s heart.

  “Aradel?” Queen Vesna’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What are you doing here?”

  Aradel looked up as the Queen sat among a group of young children. She had a book settled in her lap, and a bewildered expression on her face. On instinct, Aradel had sought out the only woman she thought would understand. Queen Vesna knew where she had come from, knew who and what her parents were, and knew that her sister had died. She knew everything and had never judged. That was who Queen Vesna was.

  “I apologize.” Aradel drew out her words as she tried to think of a reason to interrupt.

  “Come,” Queen Vesna said, gesturing to her. “Come and read for me.”

  She forgot her own worries as she scanned the faces of the children. She walked around them and sat beside Queen Vesna on a pillowed bench. All around them the ice garden remained pristine and untouched, despite the quakes. Aradel wished The Wall had remained unscathed as well. Queen Vesna pointed at a part of the book, and Aradel smiled down at the children as she began to read.

  They listened with intent, and for a time, Aradel forgot about their failing wall. She forgot about Kirill and whether she would ever see him again. She forgot about Queen Vesna’s failing health. She forgot about the mystery surrounding her sister’s death, and all those old painful memories. All she thought about was the book in her hands, and the story for the children, so that they too might forget their worries.

  It was a collection of short stories that counseled children against many things—lessons to be learned, and warnings to be heeded. Although the stories’ themes usually involved the heat of the summer, and avoiding people from the Fire Nation, Aradel artfully skipped over those she remembered being too harsh. Queen Vesna did nothing to stop her as the children listened intently.

  “And because the little girl made the cake herself without the help of any of her friends, she ate it all by herself,” she was reading when the ground began to shake.

  Aradel stood quickly, but nearly fell backward over the bench when the quake became more intense. The children started to cry out. Queen Vesna stood as well and pointed along the path that led out of the palace.

  “Children, hurry!” Queen Vesna called as Aradel linked her arm with her Queen’s and hurried after them.

  The quake slowed for a moment when they were nearly out of the palace, then a second, stronger quake hit. The children screamed as they hurried down the steps into the courtyard below. The second quake was far worse, and Queen Vesna half fell. Aradel held them both upright by clinging to a stone pillar. Ice crystals rained down on their heads as the pillars rubbed against the ceiling.

  A cry came from behind them, and they both looked back to see a young girl on her stomach on the ground.

  Queen Vesna pushed Aradel forward as she fell backward against a pillar. “Save her!” she cried, her voice rising above the rest of the sounds in the room.

  A column by the front gave way, crashing to the ground and blocking their exit. Aradel’s heart seized but, looking around, she realized the garden was empty. The rest of the children had made it to safety in time. For that Aradel was thankful. With a glance back at her Queen, Aradel hurried to the crying child. She half stumbled, half crawled to the girl, whose terrified wails could be heard above the rumbling.

  “I’m here!” Aradel called, gathering her in her arm
s.

  People from different parts of the palace were flooding into the garden to escape, only to realize the exit was blocked. Panic in the room rose as pillars and gigantic trees toppled all around them. Ice shattered and sprayed across the path that should have led to safety, but was blocked by the column. Aradel held the terrified child against her chest and watched as yet another column of stone fell, crushing one of the guards standing by. Aradel looked helplessly at Queen Vesna.

  Suddenly the elder Queen lifted her arms, and the ancient garden of ice fell away to mounds of harmless snow in an instant. The pillars barely holding the ceiling up were suddenly reinforced with ice. Queen Vesna practically glowed with the power of her magic. The moon pearls shone like a full moon at midnight.

  Aradel turned toward the exit, where already many were trying to crawl over the pillar to escape. She held the child tightly to her chest as she ran toward it as fast as she could with the planet still shaking. Focusing her power on it, the pillar of pale blue ice and stone suddenly fell into pieces. With no ice to hold the column together, the stones separated and fell away, making room for an escape. Those who had been trying to crawl over it were startled, but the moment quickly passed as the quake intensified, and they began to push through the rubble in a panic.

  Aradel fell backwards, landing hard on her backside and the child in her arms screamed. She grimaced as she struck the hard stone of the floor. She was just barely able to regain her footing and started to run to the exit. Glancing back, Aradel saw Queen Vesna holding her arms up desperately, straining to heal the fracturing ice. Despite her efforts, the ceiling began to crack.

  Aradel faced forward again. “You!” she called to a nearby woman and thrust the child into her arms. “Get her to safety.” The woman took the child before fleeing from the crumbling palace. Once the girl was safely out the door, Aradel turned back to her Queen. “Queen Vesna!” she yelled.