Frostfire

by Jamie Smith

  She pushed through the fear and, first with one limb and then another, slowly began to wrestle her way upward. Her knee hurt too much to put weight on it, so she worked with only her arms and other leg. Every motion brought more snow down on her, the stuff trying to get into her eyes, her nose, her mouth. It was slow, so slow, and taking even a gasp of breath was hard.

  Horror stories crept into her head, tales of people who were trapped thinking they were the right way up, actually digging downward. Digging their own graves. Before the terrible idea could sink in, she felt the snow in front of her give way, and her upper body flopped through sideways. Gulping in air, she rolled over to look up, a twinge of relief fighting the rest of her emotions. Above, between banks of snow, she saw the lip of the crevasse. Thank the mountain, there wasn’t that far to the surface.

  Still, the creaking and grinding of the glacier reminded Sabira that with every moment, it was carrying her farther down the mountain, away from Tserah, Mihnir, and the bonding path. She listened to her instincts, hobbling to her feet. As she rested weight on her injured leg, her knee twinged painfully. Maybe a torn ligament? That was something she’d seen her father diagnose before. It was the kind of thing that could be permanent, if untreated. Though that would only matter if she could get out of here, so she limped to the wall of the crevasse and heaved herself up onto the first available ledge.

  The experience was agony, and if it weren’t for the cold numbing her leg, she didn’t think she could have done it. She remembered Kyran, his maimed leg, his screams of pain from her father’s surgery. He had survived worse than this. The thought of her brother pushed her on. What would he have done, if this had happened to him? Had it happened to him? Sabira decided that she didn’t want to know.

  Under the frostfire, time stayed frozen in a perpetual twilight. Sabira had no idea how many hours she spent bathed by it as she grew closer to the surface, alternating between painful climbing and slow, careful crawls along ledges. She was more tired than she had ever been. Her limbs ached, and she hadn’t eaten since before they’d set out that morning.

  Finally, she grasped the lip of the hole. Pushing through the pain, Sabira used everything she had, including her injured leg, to propel her up and onto flat ground.

  She flopped flat on her back upon the snow-covered glacier, chest heaving, knee throbbing, vision blurred with pain and exhaustion. It was done. She had made it.

  Except she wasn’t done. Still there was more to overcome, for as she blinked at the sudden light, Sabira saw exactly where she was.

  Alone in an alien landscape.

  THE WORLD HAD changed while Sabira was below.

  Before, the dark crags of the mountain had jutted all around, but there was little trace of them now. The landscape was a uniform white and its contours were rounded off, like a giant carpenter had planed off all the edges. Every small landmark she remembered from before was buried. Long, straight tears in the snow showed where the moving glacier ended and the banks of the mountain began.

  Her relief at escaping her living burial quickly faded—it had been only the first step.

  Survival depended on her staying in control and being rational. No emotion, she told herself, though she felt overwhelmed with fear. She couldn’t help picturing her parents’ faces as they learned the mountain had come for their other child too.

  Sabira shut her eyes, breathed, opened them again. She stood up unsteadily. She had to find her way back to the steps, to Mihnir and Tserah. She hoped they were safe. The avalanche had been large enough to swamp the valley, even high up where they had been waiting for Sabira, and that meant— No, she shook the thought away. All she had to do was stay close to the moving edge of the glacier and follow it back uphill.

  Sabira limped for the nearest bank. Her knee was greater agony with each dragged step, but she tried to ignore it, and when she reached the edge of the glacier, she tumbled off into the drift beyond.

  Sabira rested for a moment, allowing the cold to numb her leg a little. She gazed out on the snowy calm. How had this happened? These days, experienced climbers periodically climbed the mountain and triggered small, controlled snowslides. It was meant to stop more dangerous avalanches from building up. She shook her head. Right now that wasn’t important; she had to concentrate on finding the others.

  She levered herself up and started to climb the slope. The weather had cleared, and Sabira would have found the scene beautiful under other circumstances, with the gentle hills of white flowing past her upon the glacier, and the sky a hard, brilliant blue. Instead, it felt like she was the only one left in the world, limping along with only pain for company.

  The glacier creaked and groaned at her under its snowy burden, and Sabira chose to believe it was encouraging her rather than taunting. As she trudged along, the wind picked up and blew flecks of light snow directly into her face. She narrowed her eyes and pulled her hood down tight.

  “Keep going,” she whispered to herself, then repeated it as a slow mantra.

  But it didn’t stop her mind from racing. What if she really was alone up here? What if she made her injury so bad that it never healed properly? What if she never saw her family again? Had Kyran felt like this? The questions flew past in her head and then twisted around to cycle again.

  Eventually, when her worries had scored grooves in her mind and her limbs felt like lead, the wind began to change. Sabira raised her head and saw that she was almost back to the steps. They had been buffeted in her absence, the base disappearing under the blanket of white, but the rest looked clear enough to ascend. She looked toward the ridgeline anxiously.

  It was as she’d feared: Even up there, Tserah and Mihnir would have been exposed to the force of the avalanche.

  Sabira didn’t want to think about it. Losing her uncle would be bad enough on its own, but without him and Tserah, she didn’t know whether she could make it down the mountain. Uncle Mihnir had all the supplies and emergency equipment—without all that, she was done for. She swallowed and hobbled faster.

  Sabira approached the snow-buried foot of the steps. It was worryingly quiet. Her blood thudded faster in her ears as she stared up, searching, searching, and searching with every pain-filled stumble. “Mihnir! Tserah!” she called, once, twice. Again and again.

  There was no one standing on those steps, though. Not at the base, nor farther up. Sabira knew what that meant—there was no escaping it. They were gone, and soon Sabira would be too.

  She wanted to cry, but tears didn’t come. Instead, she kept on shuffling forward. Her fate didn’t feel real. There was no great event to mark her end. It was almost as if it was happening to someone else. The realization was coming, climbing up her spine. Soon she would break down and give in.

  As the despair swelled, Sabira took one last look over the place that was going to claim her. She was close enough to see detail in the hillside now, not that it mattered. Except something attracted her attention—a flicker high up at the valley top.

  It was just a small thing, barely more than a glint of light. The glint of frostfire. The glint of Tserah’s frostsliver.

  They were alive.

  ONE LAST STEP, she thought, and slid herself up with a stab of pain.

  Sabira had finally climbed to where she had left Mihnir and Tserah several hours earlier, working her way to the place where she’d seen the blue light. The wind was bitter. Sabira defended her eyes with her arm, her back to the glacier as she looked down the mountainside path toward home.

  Except there was no path.

  The steps that had guided Sabira up from Adranna were gone, torn away from the mountainside.

  The weight of the snow had been too much for the ancient carved steps, and the rock had sheared. What was left was slick, smooth, and impassable. They were cut off from Adranna.

  Sabira’s mind spun.

  Climbing teams with every tool at their disposal might be able to manage it, but Sabira couldn’t. That rock wall was like a sheet of ice, with
barely a handhold. The few there were crumbled and spat pebbles even as Sabira watched; the whole area was unstable.

  She turned toward the faint blue light that had brought her to the top of the steps. It was coming from a dip in the rock partially defended from the wind. It was little more than a hollow and couldn’t possibly have protected anyone against the avalanche, yet Sabira knew that if the frostsliver was glowing, there was hope.

  “Uncle! Tserah!” Sabira called, and her spirits rose slightly when she heard an answering voice—a male voice. Uncle Mihnir!

  Yet when Sabira dropped into the hollow, it struck her how quiet it was. There was no cheer or even a happy greeting. Both figures lay slumped on the floor, unmoving and propped up by the rock wall. The last of Sabira’s joy rotted away.

  “You made it,” the larger fur shape of her uncle said gruffly. He sounded so tired, like he had been carrying the mountain around these last hours. Sabira dropped down beside him.

  “What … what happened? Is Tserah …”

  Sabira couldn’t finish the question. Tserah’s pale, unmoving features made her dread the answer. She couldn’t avoid it, though, for the glow around the frost-cleric’s neck knew what she was really asking.

  NO, BUT HER BODY IS FAILING.

  She scrambled over to the cleric, ignoring her leg’s protests. Perhaps something her father had taught her could help Tserah before it was too late.

  “What happened?” she asked again. A healer’s first task was always to understand the injury.

  “She did too much,” said Mihnir. “Saved us, her and that frostsliver. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  Mihnir’s sad words were split by a small smile, as if he was already reminiscing about a friend long passed. Sabira’s hands hovered over the fallen frost-cleric, frozen in hesitation. She knew almost nothing about a frostsliver’s powers. It seemed to sense her confusion.

  WE HELD THE AVALANCHE.

  Sabira’s eyes widened. A frostsliver could do that much?

  POWER LIKE THAT HAS A PRICE, THOUGH. TSERAH KNEW THE CONSEQUENCES. SHE CHOSE THEM. OUR LIVES ARE BOUGHT BY HERS.

  Sabira’s breath caught, and she could feel fear swelling again. It was all she could do to get a few words of false denial out.

  “She can’t …”

  WITHOUT ME, SHE WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I AM ALL THAT’S KEEPING HER HERE NOW.

  The musical voice was hardened to reality. Sabira wanted to believe that there was still a way for the woman to live, some talent she, Sabira, might have that could help the cleric, but what? The frostsliver guessed her thoughts.

  TSERAH WILL DIE, WHATEVER YOU DO. AS WILL I—THE LOSS OF THE BOND KILLS. WHEN A HUMAN DIES, SO DOES THEIR FROSTSLIVER. UNLESS …

  Sabira blinked. “Unless what?”

  UNLESS THE BOND IS TRANSFERRED.

  Sabira’s breathing quickened. What exactly was the frostsliver asking?

  I NEED YOU TO BOND WITH ME.

  Shock seized Sabira. What could Tserah’s frostsliver want with her, someone who couldn’t even hold on to her own frostsliver? Wasn’t the bond deeply personal? How could that be shared?

  “Why me?” she asked. “You must have thought I was dead, and Mihnir was right here.”

  MIHNIR WASN’T CHOSEN. YOU WERE.

  Sabira had thought that she’d lost her chance to bond with a frostsliver forever. Part of her felt a sudden sense of hope—but to do it like this, with Tserah’s companion, and without the dying cleric’s permission? It didn’t feel right.

  “What should I do?” she asked, turning to her uncle.

  “It’s not my decision to make,” Mihnir said guardedly.

  “Would Tserah want me to do it?”

  “Perhaps,” said her uncle. “If you’re successful, it will help keep you and the frostsliver safe. It’s not right, but nothing about this is.” His reserve made Sabira question further.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  It wasn’t Mihnir who answered, but the frostsliver, cutting in with cold truth.

  THE LOSS OF THE BOND KILLS. IF I BOND WITH YOU, SHE’LL DIE.

  Sabira’s breath caught. It would kill Tserah? It seemed wrong—surely when there was still life, there was hope? Except that she had known too many nights when her father had returned from his surgery with the horror of failure about him, worrying over what he could have done differently and finding no answers. Sometimes there was no perfect path to take. Perhaps sensing her hesitancy, the frostsliver added, WE HAVE LITTLE TIME.

  “I … I don’t think I can kill her!”

  THINK HOW I FEEL—I HAVE BEEN WITH TSERAH FOR DECADES! I WAS NOTHING UNTIL I WAS WITH HER—BUT I WILL NOT LOSE THAT. BESIDES, IT WILL BE ME WHO HAS TO DO IT, WHEN I SHIFT THE BOND. IF THIS WORKS AT ALL.

  It sounded angry and frightened, and Sabira realized that it really was a living thing too, not just an extension of Tserah, nor some mindless servant. The frostsliver was dying and afraid.

  “I … I don’t,” she stuttered.

  YOU MUST DECIDE NOW, BEFORE HER BODY GIVES OUT.

  Sabira shook in indecision. How could she do it? She’d never thought about taking another’s life, even when threatened. What should she do? What would her parents do?

  Her father would do it, for he was versed in making the hard surgeon’s choice of saving one patient over another. Her mother would do it. She would have seen the necessity. But Sabira was not her parents, and the idea of killing Tserah, even to save the frostsliver, made her feel sick.

  Finally, she made her choice, hating the logic. When it came down to it, Sabira could save one being and steal the last few minutes of life from another, or let both die.

  “All right. All right, I agree. What do I do?” she asked.

  TOUCH YOUR BARE SKIN TO ME, AS YOU WOULD HAVE BONDED YOUR OWN FROSTSLIVER. I WILL DO THE REST.

  Sabira worried at her glove until it came free, exposing her hand to the dreadful chill. Her fingers, though they felt like they might drop off in the cold, still managed to tremble a little from nerves.

  She remembered Tserah’s instructions on bonding: to clear her mind, remain calm, and let the process work upon her rather than fight it. Fighting the mountain god was like standing against an avalanche, she’d told Sabira. You’d only be consumed.

  The irony was that it had been Tserah who’d taught her, and now Sabira was going to kill her with that knowledge. She opened Tserah’s neckline, hoping that at her touch the woman might stir or give any sign of recovery, but there was nothing from the frost-cleric except shallow, sickly breathing.

  Once the glowing cylinder was exposed, Sabira reached for it slowly, as if the thing might bite her. There was a strange cold shock as her flesh met ice, but Sabira pushed past it, curling her hand around the frostsliver and holding it tightly.

  “What now?” she said, before she was cut off by an explosion in her head, a tidal force of power. A part of her tried to yank her hand away, break the connection, but she found that she could not move. Her entire body was locked in place.

  She watched in terror as ice crystals started to form on her hand where it touched the frostsliver, creeping up her arm with terrifying speed. Her skin felt as if it was burning. She was sure that if she did not hold it back somehow, the sensation would consume her.

  All Sabira knew was the strength of the glacier, flowing through the frostsliver and into her mind. Behind it something stirred, a beast of incredible depth, something old and powerful, knowing and vast, utterly alien—and yet, somehow, now a part of her, and she a part of it. A million or more separate, unified voices stormed through Sabira’s mind. Aderast. The mountain god. More strange and wonderful than she had ever imagined.

  She did the only thing that might possibly save her—she allowed the frostsliver’s power to carry her, as if she was a part of that overwhelming flow herself, not something to be buffeted and smashed by it.

  As her mind came back to her, she was able to sense that of another. Tserah,
Sabira understood, was somewhere in here too. Thoughts flooded Sabira, and not her own. She felt Tserah’s mind for a fraction of a moment, the woman’s dreams and fears sliding into hers.

  Regrets over not having the chance to start a family. Old loss—loved ones long gone. Loneliness, but a fierce optimism. Worries for the present, for the fate of nations, but faith in the future. In the frostslivers, in Aderast, in Sabira, and in her fellow chosen. In the knowledge and devotion the frost-clerics stood for. It came so fast, and all of it was slipping away.

  In the rush it was hard to sense anything distinct, the life behind it dimming. However, in that sliver of consciousness Sabira connected with some echo of Tserah. Though it was disappearing into blackness, it still pushed through the barriers between them to speak in a feeling given form.

  “Live well.”

  Then the connection was severed, and Sabira fell into the abyss.

  “SABIRA!”

  She awoke beside Tserah’s still form with a start, unsure of how long she had been unconscious.

  Then the truth hit her. Tserah was dead. Sabira didn’t have to check to be sure, though she did anyway, listening for breath and pulse and finding none. Only the woman’s body remained, the rest of her gone to Aderast. Gone to tell her story in the sleeping god’s dreams.

  “You’re all right. She’s gone, but it’s all right, Sabira,” her uncle said. “You had to do it.”

  She pulled the cleric’s hood down and cinched it shut to cover Tserah’s pale face, offering what respect she could. Besides, she couldn’t bear to keep looking into her accusing eyes.

  The only thing holding her together was those half-heard words—live well.

  Her head was clearing, and she began to feel the changes the bonding had brought. The most obvious was the glowing icicle hanging solidly in the slot of her leather-bound necklace, the frostsliver resting against her bare skin. She knew that never again would it lose contact, not until the day she died.

  “It’s so … ,” she began, but didn’t have the words.