Curse of the Ice Dragon

by Tara West

  While it pained Markus to watch her go, he had to admit that Ura’s skill and finesse with a pick made Bane’s maneuvers seem clumsy in comparison. She deftly plunged a pick into the ice and hoisted each leg up in what looked like one fluid motion.

  He knew he was gaping, but Markus was too stunned to do anything about it. In what seemed a matter of minutes, Ura had reached the top and was quickly descending, just as smoothly as she had ascended the tusk.

  Markus’s chest ached as he followed her every movement. He could scarcely take a breath until Ura was safely back down. Only after she had passed between them again, and settled her feet back on the ground, did Markus resume the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  “She is out of your reach.”

  Markus looked over at Ryne, who was studying him with a grim expression. Somehow, Markus suspected he wasn’t referring to ice climbing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Markus couldn’t believe he had followed Ryne and Ura to see Odu. Sitting inside the strange chamber that smelled like pungent spices made Markus uneasy. For once, he was grateful for the flea-ridden mutt that sat beside him, as he suspected Tar was the reason the other ice dwellers kept their distance. They sat cross-legged on worn animal pelts against the chamber walls, casting alternating stony glances at Markus and the dog while listening to the prophet.

  Markus wondered whether these people had any intention of leaving. He had heard about followers such as these from his father, who had called them cults. In fact, it was said that Dafuar had such a following until he prognosticated the Great Famine.

  At least this time it was Ryne who was under Odu’s scrutinizing eye. Markus watched him, seated beside the prophet, from a safe distance.

  “So, how fared your trip above the ice?” the prophet asked, before inhaling from his pipe.

  Ryne waved at the raised pool of mist beside them. “Why don’t you ask your mists, prophet?”

  As Odu blew out a puff of air that seemed to fill the whole chamber, Markus’s senses were again accosted by that strange, spicy smell.

  “I would, but at times the mists can be just as stubborn as you.” The prophet leaned over and handed the pipe to Ryne.

  Scowling, he waved the pipe away. “I’m sure your little mites have already reported my findings to you.”

  “They have.” The prophet tapped the ashes from his pipe into a small bowl, which looked to be nothing more than a shell. “But, I wish to hear it from your own mouth. Is it true that you have been to the ocean?”

  Ryne nodded. “I have.”

  “You had no altercations with the witch or her pixies?” the prophet asked.

  Ryne folded his arms across his chest and leveled the old man with a decisive glare. “No, prophet.”

  “What of the forest creatures?”

  The slightest of smiles tugged at one corner of Ryne’s mouth. “There were some strange ones, to be sure.”

  The prophet leaned closer, his white beard dragging the fur beneath his robe. “Were they kind to you?”

  “I did not go above the surface to make friends.” Ryne narrowed his eyes at the old man before turning toward the crowd. “The river is rising. I have seen it, though the Council refuses to believe me.”

  Odu leaned back, took a long drag from his pipe, and exhaled a curtain of smoke. “You must find a way to make them believe you.”

  “How? They are more stubborn than your mists.” There was no mistaking the caustic tone in Ryne’s voice.

  The prophet waved through the cloud of smoke shrouding his face. “Take a party to the top,” he suggested, not meeting Ryne’s gaze as he leaned against the mound of furs behind him.

  Ryne’s face reddened as he clenched his fists by his sides. “The Council will not agree to it. They’ve refused me before.”

  The prophet sunk further into the furs and peered at Ryne through half-lidded eyes. “You do not need their permission if the men volunteer.” He spoke with a sleepy, unaffected drawl.

  “I could not rally volunteers last time,” replied Ryne, his voice rising. “What makes you think I can now?”

  Ryne’s squinting gaze roamed Odu’s chamber. To Markus’s dismay, not one of the prophet’s followers returned his gaze.

  The prophet, seemingly oblivious or unconcerned by the cowardice of his followers, drawled in his sleepy tone, “You must do something, Ryne. Your house was once the strongest in all Ice Kingdom.”

  “I know that,” Ryne spat.

  Odu’s eyes widened for just a moment before he lowered his lids again. “Your grandfather was a great chieftain. Do not dishonor his memory by doing nothing while your kingdom drowns.”

  “I have not been doing nothing!” Ryne jumped to his feet, his limbs shaking as his sun-kissed face reddened. “I risked my life to surface!”

  Tar whined and shifted on his paws. The prophet’s followers gasped and murmured. A few got up and left the chamber, while others scooted further away from Ryne and Odu.

  The prophet merely folded his hands in his lap and smiled. His eyelids were now completely shut. “Not enough.”

  “Not enough? So, what should I do, prophet, even if I convince my people that the ice is melting?” Ryne’s shoulders were rigid as he spoke. “Should I bring them all to the top? I might have escaped the witch’s notice, but I can assure you I cannot lead an entire kingdom to the surface without drawing attention. Then what? For sure, she will send her dragon to freeze us all.”

  “Change is coming,” Odu said as his eyes shot open. Raising one limp hand, he pointed toward the swirling mist beside him. “I have seen that much. The Ice People must learn to adapt or they will all perish.”

  Ryne threw up his hands. “So, what should I do?”

  Odu sighed as he pulled a thick pelt from behind him and draped it over his bony legs. “You must become the man you are destined to be.”

  “This is why I hate coming here. Your parables are confusing. Do me a kindness, prophet, and never summon me again.”

  Ryne slammed his fist into a dangling ice crystal, and it came crashing to the ground just beside Odu’s legs. His followers gasped and hissed, and a few of the men rose to their feet. The prophet did not flinch as he lay beneath his furs with a complacent look upon his wrinkled, worn face, before closing his eyes for a second time.

  Markus narrowed his gaze on the shattered ice. What appeared to be tiny columns of glowing ants marched out of the crystal and began weaving their way under the furs and up the wall. It was one of the strangest sights he had ever seen.

  After Ryne had stomped on what was left of the broken crystal, he stormed out of the prophet’s chamber, with his dog trailing in his wake. Markus was sure the gawking ice dwellers were as shocked as he by Ryne’s violent outburst. Mayhap they were not so surprised by the strange column of glowing bugs, which, oddly enough, had already crossed the jagged ceiling and were now tunneling into another formation.

  So, this was how the ice crystals were able to glow: tiny, bright bugs had carved out their homes inside the ice.

  For a moment, Markus was so in awe of the bugs that he nearly missed Ura’s exit. He struggled to his feet and made haste as well. He had no desire to spend another moment with these ‘cultists,’ but he did plan on asking Ura more about the glowing bugs.

  Markus had a hard time keeping up with Ura as she chased after her brother. Luckily, she was able to corner Ryne in a shallow alcove. Markus was still several paces away, but he suspected half of the kingdom could hear their heated debate.

  “Ryne,” Ura cried, “do not forget that it was the prophet who predicted the melting of the ice in the first place.”

  Her brother paced the small alcove while clenching his fists. “And what has he done about it? Nothing! Yet he expects me to convince our people.”

  “He tried to warn us once, and you know what happened to Grandfather and our uncles.”

  “He’s the one who convinced our family to surface and look where that got them. Don’t you
see?” Ryne thrust his fist in the air. “He’s an old fool! Now I’m a fool for believing in his prophecies as well.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Ryne. Remember what the prophet said–‘You must become the man you are destined to be.’”

  “Great!” Ryne turned his back on Ura and growled. “Even my sister is quoting Odu.”

  Markus was only a few paces away and could not mistake the glossy sheen of tears in Ura’s eyes as she turned from her brother. Markus stepped toward her, but she walked a wide arc around him, avoiding his gaze.

  Markus’s heart lurched as Ura walked away briskly, clutching a hand to her heart. He glared at Ryne, sulking in the corner of the alcove like a wayward child. Markus stormed up to him, determined to berate him for hurting her, but before he had thought of the right words, Ryne launched into a verbal assault of his own.

  “Why are you not trailing after my sister?” he asked, flashing a menacing snarl as he spoke.

  Markus refused to be baited by Ryne’s taunts. Instead, he fired off his own reproach. “She cried for you when you were gone. I wish you could’ve seen the suffering in her eyes when she asked if I’d seen you.”

  Ryne’s mouth fell open, but he made no retort as all color drained from his face. He gawked at Markus for a long moment before his wan face turned a dark shade of red.

  Markus recognized the look in Ryne’s eyes. It was the same look his father gave Alec right before a beating, but he didn’t care. He was tired of playing the coward while watching others suffer at the hands of bullies. Markus had seen enough of that between his father and brother, and he’d be damned if he’d watch Ura suffer the same fate.

  He turned up his chin and matched Ryne’s dark scowl with one of his own. “If Ura was my sister, I would never yell at her.”

  Markus saw a flash of something in Ryne’s eyes. Was it pain? Was it humiliation? Or was it simply another shade of anger?

  Ryne worked a tic in his jaw for a long moment before the slightest of smiles cracked the hard angles of his face. “But she is not your sister, and I can tell your desire for her is anything but brotherly.”

  The accusation caught Markus off guard. Did he desire Ura? Markus did not have to give the question much thought: of course, he wanted the beautiful girl who saved his life. There was a connection when they touched, one that he could not understand. Somehow, he knew Ura was meant for him, but it would never come to pass, not with Madhea’s ire plaguing him. Ura deserved a better fate than to be tied to a cursed boy.

  Markus shook his head. “As you said before, she is out of my reach.” Then he squared his shoulders as he willed the slightest trembling in his limbs to subside. He would not cower to Ryne, even if he was older and braver. “But you are not worthy of her, either. She deserves a better brother—one who loves her.”

  Ryne’s smile vanished into a tight, thin line. The mirth in his eyes extinguished like a gust of wind snuffing out a candle. “Are you finished?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  Markus nodded. “Aye.”

  “Good.”

  Within a few long strides, Ryne was upon him. Markus saw it coming, but he did nothing to deflect the blow. Though his face was nearly frozen and numb from the cold, Markus felt the pain instantly as warm blood seeped from his nose. His gut instinct was to cradle his broken nose in his hand, but he refused to give Ryne the satisfaction of knowing how much he suffered.

  And, by damn, it hurt!

  Markus considered striking back, but knew it would be foolish. Ryne was more sure-footed on the slick ice and he had two good arms. It was a fight Markus was sure to lose. Besides, what would Ura say if her brother came home bloody and bruised? Images of his mother’s haunted eyes flashed through Markus’s mind. He could not bear the look on her face whenever Alec came inside with a new bruise. He knew Ura loved her brother and he refused to put her through the same torture.

  Beside them, Tar barked incessantly, his bushy head bobbing from one to the other, as if warning them to behave.

  Ryne’s face was within a chilled breath of Markus, so close that they were nearly touching, nose to nose. “No one loves my sister more than I,” he growled. “And you can best believe that if the Council continues to refuse to heed my warnings, I will take my sister and my father to the surface, to some place far from here, before the witch unleashes her wrath on this cursed kingdom.”

  After Ryne turned on his heel and strode away, Markus finally gave into the urge to clutch his dripping nose. He was left with no choice but to follow in Ryne’s wake as he could not remember the route back through the maze of ice tunnels. However, Ryne was out of sight as soon as he rounded the next darkened corner.

  Luckily, Tar had waited. He padded up to Markus cautiously and nuzzled his knee before leading the way toward Jon’s home. Markus was grateful for the dog’s assistance as he followed on legs that suddenly felt heavy and weak. He did his best to pinch back the blood that seeped profusely out of his nose, but the break hurt to touch.

  Markus did not know if the sting from his injury awakened his reasoning, but as he followed Tar’s bushy, wagging tail, he realized that not all dogs were useless mongrels. Through the pain-induced haze that wrapped around his skull like a suffocating vice, Markus was able to form one clear thought — he liked that dog.

  BY THE TIME MARKUS finally made it to Jon’s home, the muscles in his legs were screaming in protest and his throbbing nose felt like it had grown three times in size. It took all of his remaining strength to push his way through the flap on the door, throw off his ice soles and stumble toward his cot.

  Jon was standing by the small stove, brewing something pungent over the fire. He turned to Markus with a drawn brow. “What happened?”

  Markus shrugged as he leaned back against the fur-lined wall, holding his nose with one hand. Though the blood flow had slowed, he still didn’t feel it was safe to let go. “I slipped on the ice,” he answered.

  Without invitation, Tar jumped on the cot beside Markus and rested his head on his lap. Markus thought how he’d very much like to pet the dog behind the ears, but with one arm in a sling and the other clutching his nose, he had no free hands.

  Jon sat down on the other side of the cot and gently pried Markus’s hand away. “So, your nose broke your fall?”

  “Aye,” Markus said, not wishing to elaborate. If Jon knew that Ryne had caused this, mayhap he would send Markus away to avoid more strife. With nowhere to go, he couldn’t risk losing his only shelter. He wasn’t ready to leave Ura, either.

  “An unlikely story,” Jon replied, shaking his head. He rose from the cot and dipped a cloth in a steaming bowl of water that sat on the bench beside the stove. Returning to Markus, he pressed the material against his nose. “Let me tend to you.”

  Markus winced at the sharp pain that shot up his nose and then sighed as warmth from the cloth soaked into his bruised flesh.

  “Hold this against your nose,” Jon commanded. “I will make you a brew for the pain.”

  The man returned to the stove and grabbed a vial of dried herbs off a nearby shelf. He poured some into a mug and then ladled a spoonful of water in as well. Jon walked back to Markus and held out the steaming liquid. “Here, drink this, it will ease your pain.”

  Markus pulled his hand away from his nose and dropped the bloody cloth into his lap. Tipping the mug of medicine to his lips, he repressed the urge to gag as he gulped down the warm liquid. Luckily, he’d already had a bit of practice when ingesting the foul dragon-weed broth. That stuff tasted no better, he thought, as he placed the empty mug in Jon’s hand and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Then he returned the warm cloth to his nose.

  “Where is Ura?” Markus asked, grimacing at the nasally tone of his voice. “I do not wish her to see me like this.”

  Jon set down the mug on a small bench beside the cot and turned toward him. The lines of worry framing his pale eyes seemed more pronounced than ever before. “She is in her bedchamber. So is Ryne.” He
arched a knowing brow. “I don’t suspect he will bother you again tonight.”

  Markus swallowed hard as he averted his gaze. Even though he didn’t throw any punches, he feared Jon would try to punish them for fighting.

  “The dog led you home?” Jon asked as he flashed a slight smile. Thankfully, he did not seem angry.

  Markus released a pent-up breath. “Aye, he did.”

  “He is a good friend. Perhaps you will learn to like dogs.”

  “Mayhap I will.”

  Markus looked down at the dog, resting his head quietly on his lap. Tar met his gaze with wide, grey eyes and his bushy tail began to thump against the cot. Markus couldn’t help but smile, although he inwardly berated himself for going soft over a mutt.

  “Is the pain easing?” Jon asked.

  Markus slowly nodded. “A bit.”

  The older man patted him on the shoulder before rising. “We will give the medicine a few more moments.”

  Jon returned to the stove and, with his back to Markus, he stirred the dragon weed.

  Markus’s stomach churned at the thought of swallowing even more green slime and he tried his best not to think of the torture to come. Averting his gaze, his eyes searched the small room. A candle on the table beside Jon’s stove cast a faint glow across the iridescent patches on the walls around them, making the room appear bright and warm. The haze reminded Markus of the glowing bugs he’d seen in the prophet’s chamber.

  “I saw something odd today,” he remarked.

  Jon chuckled as he continued to stir the pot. “I’m sure you’ve seen many an odd thing in Ice Kingdom.”

  Markus agreed, wondering how many other strange sights lay in store for him. “When Ryne knocked over an ice crystal, there were these tiny, bright bugs.”

  “Mites,” Jon explained.

  “Are mites what light up Ice Kingdom?”

  “Yes, and mites warm our fires.”

  Jon turned sideways and rattled the small chamber door beneath the stove. To Markus’s amazement, the stove began to buzz. For the first time, he realized that thousands of hot insects were only a small door away from escape and he wondered if they were the stinging kind.