Frostfire

by Jamie Smith

  “All right, we’re done,” Tserah said, after what felt like forever. Sabira’s heart sank. She was sure she’d failed. She was glad of the incense numbing her thoughts—maybe that was what it was truly for. “You’ll want to take some time to say goodbye to your family before you leave in a few days’ time,” Tserah added, standing with deliberate grace. Sabira didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense that she would need to do anything but go and apologize to her parents for letting them down. Then the meaning pried its way in.

  “I … You want me … ,” she said dumbly.

  “You have been chosen to bond with a frostsliver, Sabira,” the frost-cleric clarified. Something between joy and abject terror erupted in Sabira’s belly, an entire world of possibilities opening up. She wasn’t prepared for this—couldn’t really believe it.

  Why had she been chosen? She was no better than anyone else. And surely she had failed too often to deserve a frostsliver? Not just in the test, but generally.

  “There must be others … ,” Sabira said, not knowing quite why she was protesting.

  “And there will be. Aderast knows we may need every frostsliver, if events continue to go badly.”

  Was that why she had been allowed to pass? The city needed extra defenders? She knew the magic could be used to fight, if it came to it.

  “Are there … are there not enough?” Sabira said, voice shaking.

  Tserah’s voice grew firm.

  “We choose people on their merits. Aderast would accept nothing else. Now, stand up.”

  She shepherded Sabira into the shrine’s waiting room, away from the red ritual candles and the incense, and said, “Return to me here when you are ready. You will not need to bring anything but your body, mind, and resolve.”

  Sabira only managed to stand and stare, still bewildered.

  Tserah smiled. “Cheer up—there’s enough unhappiness with those who don’t get chosen. Oh, and you’ll want to get as much fresh air as you can. That incense may be pleasant enough when loosening the tongue, but it can sting a little afterward when you’re not used to it.”

  Sabira did her best to arrange her face into something more appreciative, and then charged from the shrine before the spell over it could break. She shut the heavy door, breathing hard, unsure what to feel. It seemed at any moment Tserah’s voice might call her back to tell her that there had been a mistake, but long seconds passed and nothing changed.

  Outside, the air was crisp and new, the early evening already turning the sky a vivid shade of violet. Sabira felt new too, her head clearing as she breathed in deeply. She walked slowly toward where her mother and father waited for her outside the temple—now empty of the crowds that had gathered earlier. They watched Sabira anxiously as she descended from the shrine.

  “She said yes,” Sabira told them as she drew near, preferring not to keep them in suspense. It felt like she was making it up. Her father grinned and congratulated her warmly, and her mother put a hand to her mouth, covering sudden emotion. Her shining eyes said it all: the joy, and the fear of her daughter venturing onto the mountain.

  “I’ll be safe, Mother,” she reassured her. “They’ll take care of me. It’s afterward that I’m worried about. I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a frost-cleric.”

  At that, Taranna bent to hug her daughter as if it was the last time she would get the chance. It might have been embarrassing in other circumstances, though Sabira was too glad to care—her mother rarely showed this much emotion. Her mother began to gush advice in a voice that sounded like it was holding back tears. Tears that could have been of joy, or sadness, or both.

  “Being a frost-cleric isn’t the only option,” she said. “They may all have frostslivers, but lots of other important people do too, even those who don’t need their magic. They’re great advisors, and that’s often more important than their power. Almost all of the city council have them. So does the chief librarian. Your father was offered one when he was younger.”

  Sabira looked at her mother in surprise. Her eyes then flicked to her father, who looked almost embarrassed by the revelation. He tried to hide it by saying kindly, “You could always refuse too, if you wanted.”

  Sabira hadn’t even known that refusing was allowed. It might be easier. There would be no particular expectations of her without the frostsliver. Down the other path lay danger, the unknown—and her brother’s lost desire.

  “No, I can’t refuse,” Sabira said quietly. “Kyran would never forgive me.”

  Her father’s smile faded a little at the mention of his son, but he told her, “Your brother isn’t here—you don’t have to fight his battle for him.”

  Sabira thought about it. Was this something that she was doing as some kind of penance, some way of making up for her past mistakes? She hoped not. Kyran had wanted the frostsliver to prove that he could get it, but that was not what was in Sabira’s heart. Yes, she would like to think that he would be proud of her, but this meant something else to her too. She wanted her life to make some kind of difference.

  “I’m not doing it for him,” she realized aloud. “I’m going to do this for me … even if I don’t completely know why yet.”

  Sabira knew as she spoke the words that they were true. She was still unsure, but it no longer felt like a weight to be dragged. A small smile made its way onto her features as she looked between her parents’ faces, wanting them to believe in her decision. Each of them reached out a hand for one of her shoulders, and Sabira felt her chest swell, grateful for their understanding.

  “Maybe, with your frostsliver, the way forward will be clearer,” her father offered.

  It didn’t seem likely, but Sabira was ready to accept that. The future would come, no matter what she did, and change was not always bad. She nodded, looking back to Aderast’s great heights. To claim her frostsliver, she’d have to walk the bonding path to the glacier and cut her piece of it. Sabira tried not to let the thought overwhelm her, but she couldn’t help but stare upward to where fate would take her in just a few short days. The stairs of the bonding path looked like they wound on to infinity.

  “You’ll not want to dally up there,” her mother suggested. “You can’t get caught out in the open overnight that high on the mountainside.”

  Her mother didn’t add that it could prove fatal. She didn’t have to—it was already on Sabira’s mind.

  Nothing else would matter until Aderast gave her its bounty, or took her into its embrace.

  But Sabira wasn’t going to let the mountain intimidate her.

  Something caught her eye below, a procession moving through the city streets toward Adranna’s main gate. Black-clothed people, marching in a column. The Ignatians. Sabira felt her stomach turn. They were supposed to be staying for months—they couldn’t be leaving already, could they?

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  Her father tried to calm her, saying, “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Sabira. You should stay focused on—”

  “Please, Father. Tell me.”

  He looked at her mother, who nodded.

  “The talks … they haven’t gone well. Meihu, the judge leading the Ignatian delegation, had some promising things to say about improved ties, trade, and so on. Then Colonel Yupin pushed in. Gave a speech—more of a rant—about how we Aderasti will never change our ways, and people like his mother paid the price. She got some ash-related illness years back and died. He blamed us, and things went downhill from there.”

  “You mean … ?” Sabira questioned.

  “It’s fallen apart,” he admitted. “The delegation is leaving to deliver the news to Ignata. I … I don’t know what we’re going to do next.”

  Sabira gulped, thinking on what that might mean. She looked up at Aderast, worry eating at her once more. It made her all the more nervous to know that her father didn’t have the answers, that he didn’t know what the future might bring.

  And despite the chance she’d just been given, neither di
d she.

  SABIRA FOLLOWED THE winding staircase toward the glacier, glancing nervously back to where she knew Mihnir and Tserah were waiting on the bonding path—but they’d already been swallowed up by the curve of the mountain.

  She carried on down. It felt as if she was walking into a painted landscape, every brushstroke becoming more detailed with each nervous step. The wind had dropped, thank the mountain, and the fog had started to clear. Deeper into the valley she went, losing sight of the other Aderasti peaks. Soon she came to the last string of red prayer flags and the last section of stairs.

  Here, the stone steps were slippery underfoot. Even with her arms held out for balance, the path was treacherous and the wind threatened to tear back her hood and whip out her long raven hair. About halfway down, Sabira felt the ground slide from under her feet and she hit the steps awkwardly, the impact sending a jolt of pain up her side.

  Tears stung her eyes. If she’d been younger, she might’ve let them fall—but she was fourteen now, almost a woman grown. Sabira pulled herself up, ignored her new bruises, and continued until she met the edge of the glacier as it ground past the shore. Up close, the river of ice was even more impressive, its pristine surface casting its pale, otherworldly blue frostfire. As she watched it slide down the mountain, Sabira noticed a number of pits and crevasses dotting the glacier’s surface. She’d have to tread carefully as she searched for her frostsliver.

  Steeling herself, Sabira stepped onto the glacier. She almost overbalanced as it began to carry her away, but after a wobble, she set off across the icy expanse to find her companion for life, her own small sliver of Aderast. If it accepts me, she thought darkly.

  She had to be careful—touching the glacier with exposed skin could be deadly. The frost-clerics chose their candidates carefully, but even so the bonding didn’t always take. She remembered the whispered words of Kyran’s stories: The bonding can kill, or maim, or make something monstrous.

  Sabira very much wanted to prove her brother wrong, but it was all too true that some disappeared on their bonding journey, never to be seen again. That was hardly surprising: Crevasses pitted the glacier’s surface, and the weather this high up was always a threat. Instead of worrying about the bonding itself, she thought, I ought to keep my wits about me, no matter how much reason they have to stray.

  Some distance onto the glacier, Sabira felt the time was right. She crouched down to begin her work. Kneeling on the solid river sent a sneaking chill through her thick trousers and into her blood. Even an Aderasti was not immune to the cold. She had to fight off shivers as she finished retrieving her cutting tool from its sheath—she was going to need steady hands.

  Sabira brushed off a patch of ice that looked relatively smooth and readied the tiny metal coring tube. She held it over the ice, hesitating.

  There would be no going back from this.

  If she did it, she would have to make decisions about her future, big ones, and there would be a second voice in her head—her frostsliver. Things would be expected of her. She would have responsibility—and maybe even a little power.

  The empty necklace that would soon hold the frostsliver suddenly felt heavy around her neck. She could still go back, say that the bonding had not worked. The thought wormed into her, comforting, easy.

  No. She felt a need, deep inside, to succeed where others had not. Despite the danger, Sabira wanted this.

  She put the coring tool to ice and began turning its handle.

  Its bladed teeth bit in, showering up powder. Sabira was half-afraid that the glacier would open and swallow her whole. Instead, it simply carried her slowly downhill to the tune of cracking ice.

  As the cylinder sank deeper, the ice made a slight ring, like a finger on thin glass, barely resisting at all. It was almost like it wanted to be freed. Like it knew what Sabira was going to ask of it.

  Nearly done, she thought as the corer screwed down to its base. The glacier’s hold weakened, and Sabira began to work the cut ice back and forth until she heard a snap. She pulled the ice reverently from its hole, dropped it into her hand, and laid down the tool.

  A handspan in length, the thin cylinder of ice was a cold weight on her gloved palm. The end tapered slightly where it had been snapped off, making it look a little like an icicle, and tiny flecks of frostfire danced inside. The sides were so smooth, so even—far better than her halting technique should have produced. It was perfect, and it was hers.

  She could almost sense its mind on the edge of her thoughts, like a chorus of crystal voices.

  Sabira was sorely tempted to pull off a glove and touch it, to begin the bonding immediately, but she had to get to safe ground first. She stood and saw that the glacier had carried her farther than she had expected. It would take her a little while to navigate her way back. It didn’t matter. Having the frostsliver with her, even unbonded, made her heart sing with success.

  “See you soon,” she whispered to her family, somewhere down below.

  A deafening bang sounded from above, and she almost dropped her frostsliver. A rumble followed, vibrating through the glacier so strongly that Sabira felt it shuddering under her boots.

  She snapped her gaze up to the mountain peak and felt her face drain of blood. The snow farther up was sweeping rapidly down the mountainside in a torrent of searing-cold death, heading directly toward the glacier.

  The end of the world was coming. Armageddon in white.

  For a long, stupid moment, she froze, staring up in horror. Then Sabira felt the weight of the thin cylinder in her glove and resolve beat in her chest. Shelter, she needed shelter. She glanced around desperately.

  Close by, she saw an ice outcropping several times her height and set off for it at a run, the rumble of the avalanche growing. She didn’t have long. Ten seconds? Twenty?

  Sabira skidded on the ice, and her legs came out from under her. She tumbled awkwardly, landing flat on her stomach. The force of it drove the wind from her lungs, but worse, it made her fingers loosen their grip.

  The precious frostsliver shot from her hand and skipped across the glacier surface. Time slowed. End over end it bounced, far out of Sabira’s reach until it spun to a halt, lodged in the ice, and melted away, claimed back by the glacier. Her chance had been stolen.

  She screamed, but forced herself to stagger to her feet and run. The roar of the avalanche chased her and her boots continued to slide as she hurtled toward the outcropping. She skidded to a halt, realizing too late that there was no ground under it, just a deep, dark pit.

  She fell, spinning as she tried for some kind of footing. Her gloves scrabbled for purchase on the slippery surface. She managed to jam her feet between cracks and find something resembling handholds. She clung to the ice as the mountain’s roar swelled and the world fell on her.

  Everything went white, and the thunder of rolling snow blotted out her hearing. The avalanche’s blasting power was deflected by her protective ice wall, but plenty of it got around and under, buffeting at Sabira where she hung on, flowing into the crack below her in great drifts.

  Every hellish second was a lifetime filled with bludgeoning impacts. It felt like the mountain was trying to throw her off. She was slipping.

  Her left foot tore from its position, and then the right, leaving her dangling by the slightest of holds. Sabira clung on with every bit of strength she had, but it was a losing battle.

  You can’t fight the mountain.

  The ice snapped under her glove, and suddenly nothing was holding her. Sabira dropped into the crevasse, a torrent of snow pursuing her. It drenched her, enveloping her in its freezing, choking embrace.

  CLAWS OF PAIN woke Sabira, a steady stabbing pain in her knee. She had only felt such a searing ache once before, when she had fractured her arm playing on Adranna’s walls. Then her parents had been there to take care of her. Now there was no one.

  Blue light surrounded her, frostfire glowing through the snow. The snow itself was pressed in close, packed in all a
round her, paralyzing, suffocating. Disoriented, it took Sabira a moment to recognize where she was—under the avalanche, completely buried in white.

  Instinctively, Sabira had stretched her arms up as she fell and inflated her lungs as far as they would go—that was what you were supposed to do in an avalanche. It had bought her time, but not much.

  Her first impulse now was to panic, to thrash and scream in a futile attempt to break free. She was going to die down here, trapped and immobile under the glacier’s soft light, frozen like some kind of morbid statue. No, no, no. Not like this.

  Sabira closed her eyes and forced herself to be calm. Heavy breathing would only kill her quicker. In and out. Slow it down. In. Out.

  Her head throbbed, and Sabira guessed that, like her knee, she had knocked it on something on the way down.

  It could have been worse. She could have split her head open on the ice. Not dead yet. Not yet.

  Sabira wiggled her right arm, the one closer to her face, trying to shift the snow. To her great relief, it moved. The snow wasn’t densely packed enough to lock her in place, thank the mountain.

  Her fingers worked and wriggled until she had made a larger area around her mouth to breathe in—but her air was already growing stale. No panic. No time to panic.

  Sabira knew how dangerous it would be to try to dig herself out—she could collapse the rest of the avalanche on her or exhaust her air twice as fast. But staying put meant death, so what choice did she have?

  The crevasse must have been partially filled by the avalanche before she fell, or there would be nothing left of her but a smear at the bottom. She couldn’t be too far down, or she wouldn’t have lived through the fall. It was even possible that she was close to the surface.