Witch Flame

by Tara West

  “Her magic cannot harm you?” Markus barely breathed the words.

  “No, boy,” Jon shrugged, “as long as I dwell within the ice, she cannot turn my home against me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The witch uses the energy from the ice to draw forth her magical strength. Just as the ice can harvest magic, it can also repel it.”

  Holding open his arms, Jon pointed all around them. “As long as we live within the fortitude of these walls, she cannot harm us.”

  “Ice walls?” Shaking his head, Markus focused more clearly on his surroundings. The walls did look solid and had a most unusual glow. Indeed, they were made of ice! “I must have bumped my head hard on that fall,” he mumbled to himself.

  Jon’s pale brows rose. “Have you never heard of the Ice People?”

  “Aye.” Markus shrugged. “But those stories were only fables.”

  “No, my boy,” said Jon, looking at Markus with a glow in his eyes and mirth in his smile, “you have fallen into Ice Kingdom.”

  * * *

  The girl worked quietly around him, mayhap thinking he had gone back to sleep. But how could he? It was impossible to sleep when he had so many unanswered questions.

  Ice People? He had thought them only a fantasy, but now he found himself dwelling in a kingdom made of ice. Markus had so many questions to ask Jon, but the kind stranger had left, insisting he rest.

  Watching the girl through cracked eyelids, he considered these people who dwelled beneath the ice. So far, they were kind and Ura was exceptionally pretty, even more so than Dianna. Ura wore a belted tunic and breeches made of ivory fur, so she looked as if she was draped in the pure crystals of winter’s first snow. Unlike Dianna, she had an air of femininity in her walk and manners. Odd how he had difficulty recalling the memory of Dianna’s fair face now.

  But there was one image he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried to purge it from his mind; that of his father’s twisted features the moment when Alec’s blade pierced his back.

  How long it would take his arm to mend, Markus knew not, but he would surely go insane if he was left with naught to do but dwell on his father. That man had been a curse. For as long as he could remember, Markus had wished his father dead. Now he felt no remorse for his passing, only hatred.

  Hatred toward his father for the life of abuse he inflicted on Alec and hatred toward himself for waiting fifteen years to stand up to the monster. What good had it done him in the end? It was Alec who’d saved both of their lives. His feeble brother had always bested him in intelligence and now he was stronger, too. What use was he to his brother now? It had taken less than a day for the mountain to defeat Markus. How could he reach the Goddess with a broken arm? Who would hunt for Alec while he was away?

  “Your thoughts trouble you.”

  Ura’s soft whisper pulled Markus from his dark reverie. In the next moment, he opened his eyes, only to be lost in her silvery gaze and pale skin. She resembled a beautiful flower in full bloom, preserved beneath a sheen of ice.

  Markus could not help but smile. “How did you know I was awake?”

  Seating herself in the seat beside Markus’ bed, she flashed a sideways grin. “I could see movement beneath your eyelids.”

  He pulled himself up until his back was resting against the soft furs padding the frame of his bed. “Sleep eludes me when I have so many unanswered questions.”

  Toying with her fingers, Ura batted pale lashes. “Yes, and I have one for you.”

  “Ask me anything,” he breathed, but Markus was only vaguely aware of what he said, so spellbound was he by her graceful movements. Never before had he met a girl like Ura.

  “Have you seen Ryne?” As her question ended on a sob, the girl turned her gaze down while shaping her hands into fists in her lap.

  Markus’ chest tightened, feeling Ura’s loss as deeply as his own. He remembered that Ryne was her brother. “I do not know. What does he look like?”

  “He looks like me, only he is a boy.” She paused, rolling her eyes while gnawing on her lower lip. “I mean a man, a young man.”

  Markus wondered why Ryne would venture above the ice if Jon had said they were only safe from Madhea’s wrath within these frozen walls.

  “Where did he go?” he asked.

  Ura’s gaze shot upward. “Above the surface, mayhap to your village,” she replied, the sadness in her eyes casting a shadow over her soft smile.

  “I’m sorry, Ura. I have not seen him.”

  Although his fingers were still sore, laced as they were with cuts and bruises from the climb, Markus reached out and gently squeezed the girl’s hand.

  Ura made no effort to pull away, but rather turned her palm upward and clasped her slender fingers in his. “Are you sure?” she asked, blinking back glossy tears.

  Markus was lost in a vortex of emotions. The haunting sorrow reflected in the pools of her eyes was proof that Ura longed for her brother. Markus understood her pain and knew her love for Ryne was strong. He wished he could climb from his bed and hold Ura to soothe her anguish; not only out of empathy for her sorrow, but because thoughts of holding her close made Markus’ heart pound in erratic need.

  Choking back the surge of emotion that welled inside his chest, Markus tightened his grip on her small hand. “Surely I would remember him if I had.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, before pulling away. Abruptly rising, she turned her back to him.

  After they’d broken contact, Markus’ chest felt suddenly hollow and devoid of love. What influence did Ura have over him that her touch would cause him to go mad with emotion in an instant?

  His gaze traced the lines of his empty palm and he curled his tattered fingers inward until his hand made a fist. He tried to recapture the warmth he’d felt from her touch, but he didn’t feel anything. Had the lass used some kind of magic?

  Mayhap he’d just bumped his head too hard on that fall and this was all just in his imagination.

  Sitting back down, Ura wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Now it is your turn to ask me questions.”

  Shifting in his bed, Markus struggled with what to ask her first. He decided the best route was to start at the beginning.

  “How did I get here? I mean, when I fell, what happened?”

  Blinking once, she tilted her head. “Do you not remember?”

  “I only recall falling and hitting something hard.” The dull throb in his skull was a constant reminder of that.

  Exhaling, she brushed slender fingers across her pale brow. “You fell through a thinning ice shield and landed on a dragon’s tooth.”

  Markus wondered at these strange words. His father had not mentioned them on their climb. “Ice shield, dragon’s tooth? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Covering her mouth, Ura muffled a short burst of laughter. “I will explain about dragon teeth first. Rising from the floors of our kingdom are giant, jagged columns of ice, or dragon teeth. Those are what we scale to reach the ice ceilings.” Her voice turned more somber. “You were fortunate in landing on the tallest tooth in Ice Kingdom — and the widest. It was why you were not impaled on that tip, which is nearly two men in width.”

  “Aye,” Markus nodded, feeling a sickening sensation in his gut at the thought of his lifeless body falling on top of a giant, spiky tooth.

  Her gaze turned heavenward. “The ice shields protect our kingdom from the heat of the sun and the magic of the Ice Witch.” Glancing suddenly downward, Ura’s jaw tensed and she began to twist the hem of her pale gown with her fingers.

  Markus read fear in her movements. “If the shields are thinning, how are you protected from Madhea?” he asked.

  Her head jerked and something akin to fire shone in her pale eyes. “We have climbers assigned to repair the ice.”

  Sensing that Ura was sensitive to any criticism of her home, Markus thought it best to cease his questioning, but if they were not safe from Madhea, he had
to know. “So, this ice through which I fell had not been repaired?”

  “Not yet,” she spoke through a thinning smile.

  Clearing his throat, Markus prepared his next question. He would not be daunted; he had to know. “What if the ice is not repaired in time? Can Madhea harm us with her magic?”

  Ura threw up her hands. “Why do you ask so many questions about our ice?” She leveled him with a heated gaze that would melt the thickest glacier.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Markus had pushed Ura too far. He had not meant to upset her, but he did not wish to live in denial. If the ice was not impenetrable, he would be putting all their lives in danger by staying.

  Standing, Ura turned from him, her back rigid and fists clenched. “Some say it is growing unstable,” she said toward the wall in a strong whisper. “That is why Ryne left. The debates have caused much dissension in our kingdom.”

  Markus swallowed. What if Ice Kingdom was not the strong fortress that Jon described? “And, what of your thoughts, Ura?”

  Spinning on her heel, she strode back to his bed, flashing him a warning glare. Gone was sweet Ura. Harsh lines had replaced soft features. She was no longer a girl, but a woman torn.

  “My thoughts are that you must not speak of it again,” she spat. “The hour is late. I must finish father’s supper, land dweller.”

  She marched across the room with rigid steps and lifted the flap to leave.

  “My name is Markus, Ura,” he called, refusing to let their talk end with enmity between them. He knew not how it had happened so quickly, but he needed this girl’s friendship. He did not wish to lose it.

  Exhaling a deep groan, Ura turned, brushing a palm across her forehead. “You must get some rest, Markus.” A slight smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “I will bring your broth soon.”

  * * *

  “Wake up, Markus.”

  Her breath was a brisk rush of air on his cheek. Markus wanted to stay tucked beneath the warm furs, breathing in the spicy scent of her; feeling the cool aura of her lithe form beside his bed. He knew he could not pretend to be asleep for long, tempting as it was to fake slumber while the icy-haired beauty kept vigil by his side.

  Reluctantly, Markus opened his eyes, blinking slowly as his vision adjusted to the pale light. “I am awake.”

  “I know,” said Ura, flashing a sideways grin. “It is time you ate.”

  She sat down on a narrow chair beside him. Her long, sheer tendrils were pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck. Markus wished she would let her hair down, so he could better view the pale sheen of her locks.

  Ura held an ivory colored slab on her lap. It was the same size as the wooden tray his mother had used when she needed to carry Alec’s medicines and broth to his bed. Ura picked up a pale-colored bowl off the slab and blew on its rising vapors.

  Markus’ senses were accosted by a strange odor that was pungent, yet sweet, and his gut reacted swiftly; rumbling and pounding against a hollow drum. Despite the strange smell of the broth, Markus knew he must eat. Licking his lips, he pulled himself into a sitting position.

  Wincing at the dull pain that settled in the back of his skull, Markus slowly lifted his good hand to feel the tender spot and was struck by a wave of dizziness. A hard knot, about the size of a robin’s egg, was the source of his misery. Grimacing, he pulled his hand away, realizing he would not be able to rise from his bed with such an injury.

  Ura leaned toward him with the bowl in her hand, scooping up the liquid with an ivory-colored spoon. It was then that Markus was able to peer into the bowl.

  Green slime! His need for food was replaced by the urge to vomit.

  “What is that?”

  “Broth.” She smiled serenely, unaffected by the long trail of snot dangling from the hovering spoon. “You will like it.”

  Markus knew not what possessed him - mayhap it was the softness in her eyes when she smiled or that he was just a bloody fool - but he opened his mouth and let her feed him.

  He gagged the moment a slimy tendril slid down the back of his throat. Like swallowing the entrails of a squashed slug! The taste was even fouler than the feel of it; a sickly sweet blend of rotten eggs and fermented wine.

  “Blah!” he gasped, reaching for the goblet on the slab. He drank until the water was drained, though he could not drink enough to purge the terrible taste from his mouth. “That is horrible!”

  “What?” Ura’s pale eyes darkened as she jutted the bowl just below his chin, nearly sloshing the contents on his chest. “How dare you insult my food!”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot stomach this slime.” Grasping her slender wrist, Markus eased Ura and the offending broth away.

  “You must eat if you want to get better.” Her pale gaze was steady, unrelenting.

  “If I eat this, I may get worse,” Markus said, and involuntarily belched, nearly choking on the fumes of his bitter breath. “Have you no venison or hare?”

  Her lips turned into a pout, Ura’s gaze fell on the bowl of steaming liquid that she placed on the slab. “I’ve not heard of those plants.”

  “Not plants,” he said, shaking his head, “meat.”

  “Meat?” With one slender brow arched, the girl looked at him with a quizzical expression.

  “Aye.” Markus nodded. “From animals.”

  “Oh!” Her lips formed a perfect ellipse as her eyes flashed with recognition. “We are out. Father and some others have gone to catch lazy-eyed serpents. They will return on the morrow.”

  He shuddered at the image of slurping down slimy, cross-eyed snakes. “Lazy-eyed serpents?”

  Ura nodded, while setting down the slab on a nearby stool. “They are good, soft and sweet.”

  Markus repressed a grimace. How could these Ice People stomach such foul fare - food that did not even require chewing? “Do you have nothing tough and leathery?”

  “Leathery?” Blinking once, Ura tilted her head, her pale lips turned down. “I don’t understand.”

  Groaning, Markus coursed a hand through his hair, clenching a fistful at the roots. How could he make the girl understand what real food should taste like? Then an idea struck him: he had packed some dried meat for his journey. Though not as good as the fresh-salted leg of a roasted boar, surely anything was better than booger broth.

  “Did my satchel survive the fall?” he asked.

  “You mean the heavy brown bladder you wore on your back?”

  Markus repressed a laugh. It was not a bladder, but made from the fine skin of a large buck he had shot the previous winter.

  “Aye,” he answered, in no mood to teach Ura the difference between bladders and buckskins. “Would you fetch it here?”

  Ura walked to the foot of Markus’ bed and lifted a thick white fur, revealing a large, snow-colored box. Markus could tell by the intricate carvings on the top that it was a chest of some kind, but how odd the color and smooth-looking texture, just like the slab and bowl. Perhaps it was made of a pale rock that only formed beneath Tehra’s surface.

  Ura pulled out his satchel and handed it to him. Markus relished the feel of the bag in his hand. He was relieved to see it had survived the fall. Opening it was trying work with one good arm, but he managed to loosen the strings and find what he needed - meat! His mouth watered as he shook the dried venison from the folded parchment. The bundle fell into his lap and he scooped up a large piece, eagerly biting off the end.

  “Mmm, real food,” he sighed as he chewed. “Here, taste this.” He offered Ura the sawed-off end of his dinner.

  Making a face and wrinkling her nose, she took the venison with the tips of her fingers. Turning the meat in her palm, she examined it with a scowl, as if searching for some unforeseen poison. Finally, she ripped off a small piece, placed it on the tip of her tongue and closed her mouth.

  Markus watched her jaw and slender throat while waiting for her reaction.

  “Ugh! This is horrid,” she said, wiping the o
ffending residue off her tongue.

  Markus wondered if she had even tasted his offering. “Have you gone mad?” he asked, trying not to laugh at her comical face.

  Ura grabbed a goblet of water and took several gulps. “Those spicy sticks will not make you well.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Eat your dragon weed!”

  “Dragon weed?” Markus chuckled. “Is that what you call that snot?”

  Hands on hips, the girl scowled at him. “You are a very ungrateful, insulting man.”

  A rush of heat swept through Markus and settled in his face, causing him to turn his gaze down. She had called him a man. Aye, yet he was anything but. A real man protected those he loved.

  “I am not a man, Ura.”

  “Oh, you look a man to me.”

  The burning in his face intensified. Was she in earnest or was she mocking him? Had she seen through his ruse and known him for a coward? Or had she truly been fooled by his size?

  Markus swallowed back a knot in his throat. “I am only five and ten winters.” He spoke with little conviction. He knew age was not all that mattered. Alec had once told him the mark of a man was in the strength of his heart.

  Markus chanced to gaze at Ura’s pale features. She was eyeing him through slitted eyes, her slender arms folded across her chest.

  “Well then,” Ura replied, flashing a complacent smile, “since I am a year your elder, I say you must eat your dragon weed.” Picking up the bowl, she held it beneath his nose.

  At once, Markus was annoyed. Was this just a game to her? Had she not seen how her words troubled him?

  “If you like it so much, you eat it!”

  What happened next was truly by accident. Markus pushed the bowl away without thought or realization of his own strength.

  Ura screamed as she lost her grip on the bowl and it toppled over the bed, splattering goo all over the shimmery wall and floor.

  “Oh, look what you’ve done!”

  The lump in Markus’ throat fell to his stomach with a thud. How could he have acted this way? “I did not mean to spill it.”

  Ura’s gaze swept across the slop. “You’ve made a mess everywhere!”

  “I’m sorry, Ura.”

  Growling, she bent over the spill and scooped the slime into the bowl with a cupped palm. “It is not easy cleaning dragon weed off of ice.”