Frostfire

by Jamie Smith

  “Was it the thieving, or the beatings, that they got him for in the end?” Mihnir asked.

  “I think it was his trying to bribe that frost-cleric to send Yupin to the glacier,” said Sabira’s father. “They weren’t going to choose him otherwise.”

  “Either way, exile’s too good for him,” Taranna said bitterly. Sabira stayed silent. She had the feeling that they’d forgotten she was listening—and she was curious.

  “Well, we’ve seen he’s now an officer in the Ignatian army, and I think he’s been sharing his ideas with his new people.”

  “What do you mean, Rabten?” asked Taranna.

  “Their demands. They wanted a hundred frostslivers,” said Sabira’s father. “Can you imagine? The idea of them being sold at market … it’s just wrong.”

  “They don’t know the glacier like we do,” her mother said. “They think the frostslivers are a tool that they don’t have. It’s no surprise to hear someone say that they want what you’ve got. Some people will pay anything to get even.” Taranna paused, apparently thinking on what she had just said, and then added, “What exactly were they going to pay in anyway?”

  “Muskets,” her husband replied in a flat tone.

  Taranna’s eyes narrowed. “Weapons? They wanted to buy sacred allies with weapons?”

  “It was suggested that they could be hunting aids.”

  Rabten said it with so little emotion that Sabira barely recognized her father in his voice. Her mother had the opposite reaction. Already angry, what she’d heard made Taranna leap to her feet, almost knocking over her chair.

  “Muskets! Skill-less noisemakers to frighten off most every animal on the mountain and bring down snowslides on the rest!” Taranna cried in outrage.

  Muskets: The weapons that destroyed my brother’s life, thought Sabira. But although the thought hung in the air, nobody spoke it.

  Sabira didn’t know whether her parents were really angry at each other or just at the world in general, but she found she didn’t want to listen anymore. She padded outside as quickly as possible, where the meaning of the voices did not carry. Finding a spot on the doorstep to sit, Sabira took a breath of the early evening air. The chill was a refreshing change from the close, smoky room.

  She pulled the ash-cat toy from her pocket and began to play with its now rather battered paws, trying to calm down.

  After barely a minute, footsteps came echoing through the half dark. Sabira recognized the familiar clunking gait. Kyran. Sabira waved to her brother until he looked up, breaking a seemingly intense train of thought. Slowly, he made his way over to her.

  Under his trouser lay a hinged leg assembly of wood and metal pins designed by her father. It was much better than the simple pegs that she had seen some patients managing with, but it was no substitute for the real thing.

  Kyran stopped in front of her, slightly out of breath and holding a small waxed paper package from the butcher. He’d left his cane again; it was propped next to the doorway beside her, useless as always. He always pretended to forget it, though Sabira was certain he just had too much pride to use it. She wished he would look after himself better.

  “You get some good cuts?” Sabira asked, looking at the package.

  Her brother laughed coldly. “Not likely. Barely anything better than average left. You know that the frost-clerics get first pick? Don’t see what they’ve done to earn that.” Bitterness dripped from his words.

  “They just do what they’ve always done,” Sabira said.

  He handed over the small parcel of meat that he had been sent for. “They’ll see their mistake one day. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Sabira heard the confidence in his voice. Did he think they’d allow him to walk the bonding path, even though he’d missed his chance? They never took people after their assigned day on the bonding path had come and gone. It wasn’t fair, but Sabira didn’t think that made any difference.

  “I think … I think maybe they won’t ever change their minds, Kyran,” she said gently.

  “You think so now, little ash-cat, but … ,” he replied, smiling and leaning in, as if whispering a secret. He looked both ways and added more quietly, “I’m going myself. They don’t get to decide I’m not worthy because … because of this.” He nodded down at his leg in disgust.

  “I don’t think your leg being like this is what made them say—” Sabira began, but her brother cut her off.

  “I don’t need their approval. I can do it on my own.”

  Sabira felt her stomach twist in fear. She believed both that he meant it and that it was possible. If anyone could climb the mountain alone with a false leg, Kyran could—but he shouldn’t.

  “I don’t want you to die!” she blurted.

  Sabira knew how dangerous the path could be, particularly without a guide. Even healthy people didn’t come back sometimes. Kyran ignored her, muttering, “I’ve been thinking this through for a while. I’m sure I know how to get past the guards to the path, and once I’m on the stairs no one is going to stop me. Well, we’ll see soon enough.”

  It was only then that Sabira noticed the full bag strapped to her brother’s back, and her worry began to turn to terror. Not only was he going, he intended to leave now. Her breath quickened, sending fog out into the icy air. She was suddenly sure that this conversation was important. The kind she’d remember her whole life.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said, trying to keep her voice in check. “It’s terrible what happened, but you could still be happy, I know you could. Father would like you to be a healer too one day. Isn’t that a good life?”

  Kyran’s gaze was fixed on the ground.

  “What if you don’t come back?” she pleaded. “Mother and Father … and me … you can’t leave us!”

  For a moment, she thought she had reached him, but when he raised his eyes, she saw the resolution there. Sabira didn’t know what else she could say to sway him. Dread built in the pit of her stomach and it got worse as he spoke, etching his intentions into the air.

  “I’m sorry things haven’t been how they should be. When I’ve got my frostsliver, things will be different, you’ll see. I’ll be complete again—maybe it can form me a whole new leg!”

  “Please, Kyran, please don’t go,” she begged.

  “I wanted Father to come back before I went. In case something went wrong. Now he’s here. You’ll be all right. I’ll see everyone soon.”

  Sabira felt panic rising in her. What could she do? Should she call to their parents? They could restrain him for now, but Kyran would never forgive her—and nobody could really stop him in the long run if his mind was made up. There was no time to think.

  “You can’t—”

  “I’m going, Sabira,” he said, cutting her off. “And you’d better not tell Mother and Father. Not before it’s too late for them to do anything. Promise me.”

  Sabira’s breath caught in her throat—but she nodded. If she told them now, he would only make plans to leave another time. He had made his choice. “Take this with you, at least,” she said, grabbing the cane from beside the door and offering it to her brother. He stared at it, and Sabira added hastily, “Lots of people use a stick when on a journey, not just people with injuries.”

  Perhaps it was the pleading expression on her face, or maybe Kyran saw some wisdom in safety, because after a moment he did take it.

  “And … and … take this too,” she added, holding out her ash-cat figurine. “For luck.”

  “But I made it for you,” Kyran said gently.

  “And I love it more than anything. That’s why I want you to have it,” Sabira insisted, pressing it into his hand.

  “All right. Thank you.” He accepted the gift gravely and started to turn away from her. But before he could leave, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  “Don’t … ,” she tried to say, though it came out in a squeak. Sabira wasn’t even sure if Kyran had heard her. He pulled away
and started to walk into the night. Sabira watched and watched, tears filling her eyes.

  “See you soon, little ash-cat!” he said without looking back.

  Sabira stayed there, frozen on the brink of tears as he strode toward the city wall, heading for the base of the bonding path. He turned a corner, waving over his shoulder. Before she knew it, Kyran was gone. Gone to meet his fate on the bonding path. Gone to touch the glacier and take his piece of it, or else be defeated by the mountain.

  Sabira sat on the steps and put her head in her hands.

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  THIS TIME LAST year, Kyran had been alive and well. He had gifted Sabira the ash-cat and been chosen for the honor of bonding a frostsliver. He’d been so happy. Sabira’s world had been strong and stable and complete. Now everything had fallen apart.

  It was six months since Kyran had left her behind and hobbled up the bonding path, leaning on the cane that she had begged him to use, carrying the ash-cat in his pocket.

  They hadn’t found a body—but then, they rarely did.

  The shame of it hadn’t left her. She should’ve stopped him. He was a head taller, but she still should’ve tried. She should’ve run to her parents the moment he told her his plan, ignoring the promise she had made him. She had been so stupid. Aderast didn’t care how strong his courage and will were. Why had she thought that they could be enough?

  She stood beside her mother outside the temple, set into the mountain a little above the city. There was only one red ribbon on her mother’s arm now, for her one remaining child. It was a constant reminder that cut Sabira every time she saw it. She watched as Ignatians snaked their way up the narrow, winding path toward the waiting city council, along with her father. She could almost feel the prickle of heat, the memory of that day in the burning forest, and shuddered in sudden fear.

  “Vermin,” her mother spat, her eyes narrowed. This was supposed to be a diplomatic delegation—but open the gates to evil, her mother had said, and you shouldn’t be surprised to find a knife at your throat.

  “At school they say that there are a thousand men at the bottom of the mountain,” Sabira said, hoping to be told it wasn’t true.

  “A show of force,” her mother confirmed.

  A demonstration of what a siege would look like, Sabira realized. The Ignatians knew that Adranna wouldn’t survive without trade from other mountain villages, and even other nations.

  “Is there going to be a war?” she found herself asking.

  “Your father says the Ignatian High Tribunal won’t be willing to take that kind of risk,” her mother reassured her. “The plains nations are already wary of their neighbor. If we were attacked, it might tip them over into openly opposing Ignata. Try not to worry.”

  Sabira did her best. No enemy had seen inside the walls of the city since they were built at the order of the First Bonded, the legendary founder of Adranna. The only route to the city was steep and narrow, easy to defend. And yet the city council had seen fit to invite the Ignatians into its sanctuary.

  “Come on,” said her mother, drawing Sabira aside. “I don’t want to watch this. Besides, you’re going to be late.”

  * * *

  As she followed her mother past the crowds outside the temple and up the narrow path to the shrine, Sabira had the strange sensation of catching up with Kyran, stepping into his shoes. Every night, her dreams were tinged with the blue light of the glacier, the light of magic, the flame with no heat: frostfire. Today she would learn whether those dreams could ever be real, when the frost-cleric chose her, or didn’t. Sabira wasn’t sure how much it mattered anymore.

  As disturbing as the Ignatian presence was, worries about her own future made their way to the front of her mind. A frostsliver would be a great honor. It would also be a burden, one of responsibility and expectation. Did she want that? She had thought so once. Before the burning forest. Before Kyran. Now she just felt afraid.

  She arrived at the shrine with every part of her wanting to bolt or hide. Her mother hugged her briskly and promised to fetch Father and wait for her outside the temple, once the day’s diplomacy was finished. Sabira sat in the small waiting room with the others who had come of age this year, her heart racing.

  Hours later, having watched a dozen other potential bonded enter and leave the testing room, often in tears, she felt even more nervous.

  Why did she have to be last? The wait was agonizing.

  The testing room door opened and Sabira almost leapt out of her chair as the frost-cleric who would decide Sabira’s worthiness walked in. The blue glow of frostfire showed at her neckline, marking her out as special, as if her flowing scarlet robes were not enough. Sabira watched the woman with something akin to awe. She seemed so poised, so sure of herself in her role. Would Sabira wear robes like that one day? Would she be a teacher, an advisor, a spiritual leader like her? Too many paths, and none of them called to her—not yet anyway.

  She was given no time to guess, as the last person to be tested ran out from behind the woman and made straight for the exit, slamming the door behind him without looking back. Sabira guessed from the half-suppressed sob that he had not been chosen either. She gulped.

  The cleric fixed her gaze on Sabira and quickly stalked across the room, shoes echoing on the smooth stone, speaking over the rhythm.

  “I am Tserah. I will be conducting your Choosing.”

  Sabira gripped the arms of her chair, her anxiety getting to her—Tserah was known to be a strict teacher.

  “I know of you, Sabira,” she said levelly. “You’ve been through a lot these last years.”

  Sabira’s fingers tightened on the wooden armrests. “Will that count against me?”

  “Not directly,” said the frost-cleric. “This way, please.”

  Sabira followed Tserah into the testing room and closed the door. It was only a few paces across and had no furniture. There were two cushioned areas for seating, one next to a grilled window at the rear that the frost-cleric settled onto, cross-legged. The other was surrounded by red candles and sticks of incense emitting heady fumes.

  Nervously, Sabira copied the frost-cleric’s pose, and breathed deeply. Immediately she felt light-headed, the smoke clouding her mind. She noted that over by the window, Tserah had much clearer air. Maybe this was part of the test.

  “All you need do is talk,” Tserah said. “I will show you things, and you will talk a little about them. I may ask questions. Nothing too complicated. Are you ready?”

  Sabira quivered in her place, too nervous even to nod. Tserah’s face softened.

  “You know the tale of Adranna’s founder, the First Bonded?” she asked, speaking in a calming tone. “Well, when they walked down deep into the mountain and cut the first frostsliver right from the very source of the glacier, they had no idea of the danger they were in. The bonding could have killed them, if they’d had the wrong kind of mind for it. The First Bonded was lucky to be a good match. This discussion will simply tell you whether you could be too. There’s no need to worry about failing—not being chosen is not a failure, just a different path.”

  This helped Sabira’s nerves a little, though perhaps that was only because her head was beginning to swim in the room’s close air. She nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  “All right, then. We shall begin,” said Tserah. She placed her hand on the glowing frostsliver at her neck. The ice quivered, turning to a thick liquid, burning with frostfire as the frostsliver flowed out onto the palm of her hand.

  Sabira had seen frostslivers several times during her lessons at the temple. Some of the frost-clerics kept them hidden beneath their robes, but others were less reverent. Some even used the magic of their bonded partners to help teach. Each time the frostslivers’ wondrous, transformative powers had amazed Sabira—but today she was far too anxious to feel a sense of awe.

  The piece of living ice slithered into a glowing blue shape upon Tserah’s palm—a thick vertical line attached to a thin circle.
Sabira guessed what it had to mean.

  “Does that represent a frostsliver?” she questioned.

  “You tell me,” Tserah said, giving nothing away.

  It was a simple start, but Sabira froze for a moment. Her mind hadn’t quite registered that the test had begun, and she was unsure of what was expected. That incense. She couldn’t think right. Tserah opened a small leather-bound book, resting it in her lap. As Sabira spoke, she began writing in it with a charcoal stick.

  “It’s what I’m here for,” Sabira quickly stammered. Ridiculous—the cleric knew that already. “It will change me … if you choose me, I mean.”

  This wasn’t going very well.

  “The mountain provides them, and we join with them—I just wish I knew why it did. It only seems to be causing us trouble lately.”

  Should she have said that? The frost-cleric was still writing. Sabira decided to wait, rather than talk herself into any more trouble.

  When Tserah had finished writing, her frostsliver morphed once again, becoming a wide, upward-pointing arrow, a triangle with no base.

  “Aderast. Home,” Sabira replied instantly. “The place where we all ought to be safe.”

  Sabira stopped and considered, fighting the confusion that had settled into her brain. That was Adranna the city, not Aderast the mountain.

  “It’ll always be a fight with the mountain to keep that, though. We have to respect it, remember how easily it can change our fortunes.”

  “You talk about the mountain as if it has desires and the will to act on them.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Sabira asked, genuinely unsure, and saw Tserah scribble another note.

  More and more symbols and shapes followed, and Sabira did her best to discuss them, not knowing if anything she said was right. Her head kept getting fuzzier, and under the gentle questioning, she felt like her interview was taking a long time. Was that good or bad?

  She sensed her words grow looser as they went on, being more honest than she really wanted to be. There didn’t seem to be any obvious wrong answers—there was no mathematics, or spelling tests, or anything like that. Instead, they spoke of her family, of her life experiences, of her hopes and fears. It was more like Tserah was judging her as a person, weighing her responses and calculating who Sabira really was.