His Frozen Fingertips

by Charlotte Bowyer

  “Who, Asa?” she demanded. “Who is dead?”

  “Erebus and Gil.” Asa coughed, and then continued. “I don’t know about Parlan.”

  “Gil,” Queen Ria muttered, in shock. “All three. You know about us.”

  “Yes,” Asa said, voice colder than he meant it. “I am sorry, My Queen.”

  Queen Ria did not appear to have heard him, but she pointed to the door. “Take him to the sanatorium.”

  Kean and the healer helped Asa to his feet. He staggered across the room and was half-dragged down another corridor, supported by the two Jundres citizens. The last thing that he remembered was the feeling of bandages wrapping tight across his grimy skin, before he fell into a deep, unconscious state. He did not dream at all that night.

  “What was the point?” he was sitting up in a too-white room, staring down at alabaster sheets beneath his cleaned hands. “If your kind don’t die, if you cannot be killed, then what is the point?”

  Queen Ria stood a pace or two away from the edge of his bed. “The point?”

  “Of our quest,” Asa replied. “I believe that I deserve that much.”

  “The point, Asa, was that you rid Erebus of his physical body. He is weakened now; he cannot use magic and poses no threat to us. He may never retain a solid form, being merely an ill wind that kills some crops or topples a stall in a market square. You saved the world behind the walls, my kingdom. The snow would have frozen us eventually, would have starved us. Your actions broke his magic. They broke the curse. If our luck holds out then there should have been swift enough action to save the harvest. You and your companion saved our world some time, and that is worth everything.”

  “Not everything,” Asa said.

  “His death meant something.” The queen’s lips tightened. “You couldn’t have said that if he had died, as so many have, in the salt mines. There were casualties on both sides of the war, Asa. Would Avery have wanted you to linger upon his death, or to move on?”

  “How do you expect me to do that?” Asa asked.

  “Stay here for today, tomorrow if you wish, then go home. We will give you enough money so that you won’t have to work to maintain a comfortable existence.”

  “I think that you’re forgetting something.”

  He stared into the dark glasses that the queen was wearing, seeing his gaunt face reflected back at him.

  “I don’t think so.” She gave a knowing smile and cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

  The healer came out of an antechamber at the side of the room, wiping stained hands on her protective robes. She did not look altogether surprised to see Asa and the queen talking, the appointment had been settled as Asa slept the previous day, but her shrewd face was blankly confused.

  “Did you mean me, my lady?”

  “Yes.” Queen Ria cleared her throat. “Mr. Hounslow thinks that we are to send him back to his home town in his current state.”

  “That will not be possible.” The healer shook her head. “Not without his medicine.”

  “Medicine?” Asa sat up straighter. “But I was told that there was nothing that could be done.”

  “I am the best in my field,” she chided him, bringing forth a large glass bottle filled to the brim with thousands of tiny herbal tablets. “There are few things that I cannot make. Take one of these each day mixed with boiling water.”

  “What’re in them?” He uncorked the bottle and sniffed it. A pungent aroma came from within. “They smell revolting. Every day?”

  “Yes, every day,” she replied. “Foxglove for your blood, hawthorn for your heart, and willow for the pain.”

  “But will it save me?” Asa asked, hardly believing his ears. “I thought it was too late.”

  His excitement was evidently misplaced, as the healer swallowed, shaking her head.

  “No,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t do that. It will help with the pain, give you a better quality of life, but it won’t save you. I wish that I could, child, but it’s too far gone. Only a miracle could save you now.”

  “A miracle,” he murmured. “Stranger things have happened, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry,” she insisted. “Sometimes there are things that even magic can’t fix.”

  “I want to leave.” Asa sat up in bed, startling both of the women present. “When can I leave? I need to get back home before the roads are flooded by the thaw.”

  “You plan on going north, then?” The queen’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Farther north than Brandenbury?”

  “To Salatesh, if my lady permits it.”

  “That is where your parents lived, is it not?” she probed.

  “Yes.” Asa looked up at her again. “I, too, lived there until I was sixteen.”

  “We will send you on your way, then,” Queen Ria decided. “But first—”

  A distant tolling sounded out. At first, Asa thought that he was listening to a clock somewhere in the palace. But the sound grew louder and clearer, radiating through the walls themselves, fed through the caverns around the underground city of Jundres. A bell chimed like the one that had heralded his and Avery’s departure but faster, joyous. Another joined it, and for a while it was like the whole world was ringing with excitement, the growing realisation that this was the day that had ended their fears. When the last chime fell, Asa was silent. His heart, though not erratic as it had been, was heavy in his chest.

  “I will tell Avery’s parents,” he said, partly to himself. “They should know.”

  “Do you wish to leave?” Queen Ria asked him. “You are not obliged to take part in the celebrations.”

  “I would like that, thank you.” Asa nodded. “But, my lady?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know what happened to my parents?” he asked, hope burning in his chest.

  “I think that you know, Asa.” The queen’s eyes grew sombre. “You can’t have missed the signs.”

  With that enigmatic phrase, she left the room. Asa stared after her in shock, wondering if that would be the last that he would ever see of her again. He shivered. The world seemed too full of goodbyes at that moment, as he prepared to once again start afresh. Kean opened the door, bowing his head so that all that Asa could see was his thin, well-oiled hair.

  “My lord.”

  “Excuse me?” Asa snorted, a brief smile flashing across his face. “What did you call me?”

  “My lord.” Kean lifted his face so that Asa could see him. “That is the standard address for people who have done so much for our country, to protect those of us outside of the walls.”

  Asa frowned at the faith in his voice as Kean held out a hand to help him out of bed.

  “No, I can get out of bed on my own, thank you.”

  As the blankets dropped, he realised with astonishment that he was wearing new clothes, not the worn ones that he had been given when he had truly left the walls. They were plain enough—a grey tunic over black trousers, but of such fine material that Asa found that his hands were drawn to the cloth. Beside his bed stood a pair of soft leather boots. He slipped his feet into them and grabbed the bottle of pills from the short table next to the bed, placing them into a bag that lay across the toes of the boots. Inside the bag was a package of what Asa imagined was food, a heavy bag of coins and a brown box.

  He slipped the strap over his head and withdrew the wooden container curiously. It was only just bigger than a ring box, lined with maroon velvet. He prized the top open with his fingernails and examined the contents curiously. A silver badger on a black ribbon.

  “Is that the badger?” Kean asked, dropping his honorific attitude and staring at the token with an intensity that made Asa feel uncomfortable.

  “What’s the badger?” Asa replied, closing the box with a click and shoving it back in his bag.

  “It’s the highest award of military courage that the country can give.” Kean’s face was lit up. “I wrote an essay on it when I studied our history. They give out only a few each century. It is a great hono
ur.”

  “I’m sure.” Asa rolled his eyes, straightening his tunic. “Are you here to escort me to the carriage?”

  “Yes,” Kean replied. “But no farther. I am needed here. My lady has a lot more to manage now that our enemy has been defeated. Why, we may even be able to reclaim the land inside of the walls!”

  Asa paused, struck with the knowledge that this loyal servant would never know what truly lay within the borders of his own land. All of these people, who seemed so clever, so certain in their convictions, were believing a lie.

  “That sounds exciting.” He nodded, recognising where the battle was lost before it had even begun. “I’ll listen for news of your successes.”

  Kean led him from the room with swift, quiet footsteps. Asa recognised the décor of the corridors from the last time that he had been in the palace. The satchel bounced against his legs, the pills rattling inside. He wondered whether or not he had to take one now, but on remembering the acrid herbal tea that he had been forced to drink with his breakfast, realised that he would not need to.

  The wrought iron gate that divided the corridor was still open, twisted and foreboding. The stairs were now lit with the light of tens of candles, suspended in brackets on the walls. They smelled like his study did in Brandenbury. Kean kept pace with Asa as they climbed the stairs with respectful silence, Asa remembering his previous journey more with each step he took. At long last, they reached the close gap in the sheer wall of rock. Asa’s thin body slipped through as naturally as a native-born Jundres citizen now.

  The stables were busy in the mid-morning sun. Asa breathed in the fresh air with a feeling of quiet content. The ground was soft under his feet, the fields now cloaked in a coat of torn up mud. Small puddles and rivulets of water trickled over the path. As he walked along next to Kean, the stable hands fell quiet. One of them was readying a plainer carriage than the one that he had ridden there in, harnessing a stocky skewbald pony to the front.

  “That can’t be—Freda?” Asa asked, eyes widening in astonishment.

  The horse swung her plain head around and snorted, pawing the ground beneath her large hooves. The stable hand managed to hold her fast, and Asa felt a jolt of recognition. Though he did not know her name, he knew the blond hair and harried look of the woman who had shown them the stables in the first place.

  “You’re alive?” she exclaimed.

  “Apparently so.” Asa walked to the front of the carriage and stroked the pony’s nose, smiling at the recognition in the brown and electric blue eyes. She nudged him with her blocky head, though stood still for the hand to finish tightening her harness.

  “We assumed the worst,” the blond sighed. “When your horse returned, we all thought that it was over again. The only reason that someone new wasn’t sent was because Neasa never came back. We thought that your companion had gone on. But, seeing you here, I guess that that is not the case?”

  “No,” Asa said, not wanting to talk about it. “But why is she now on the carriage? I can assure you, she was a beautifully steady mount.”

  “She was not undamaged by her journey.” Freda adjusted herself as one of her front hooves was lifted. “Her tendons were torn all along her hindquarters. She will never make a competitive riding steed again, but she’ll be good enough for a few more cart journeys yet.”

  Asa gazed lovingly at his horse, plain as she was. He thought of his welcome compared to hers. But didn’t he have money now? His old house in Salatesh, though derelict and in a state of disarray, did have a meadow behind it. He stroked Freda’s neck again. She was warm, healthy, and against all odds alive.

  “I will pay for her,” he declared, withdrawing a handful of gold coins from his bag, a small fraction of what he now owned. “Let her return with me.”

  “This is over twice what she is worth,” the stable hand laughed. “I cannot legally accept this.”

  Asa thought for a moment. “Then let the excess be used to pay you for riding alongside the carriage and driver with another horse to return the carriage with. Take the money, ma’am. I do not want it.”

  “But—” She looked conflicted; however, she took the coins in her hand. “I will accompany you, then.”

  He pulled open the carriage door with a nod to the unfamiliar driver, refusing Kean’s offer of assistance with exasperation. The window was open, and Asa said a simple goodbye to the shallow guide, a smile playing about the edges of his mouth. As the carriage pulled away from the stables and onto the road, Asa looked out at the muddy landscape. Water was dripping from the trees that they drove under, hitting the roof of the carriage with dull plops. Asa thought of the drama of the carriage ride to Jundres with a hollow sensation in his stomach. He closed his eyes, relaxed by the rocking motion of the carriage, the sounds of the two horses and the general atmosphere that the world around him was thawing.

  THIRTEEN

  THE MOONLIGHT WAS SHINING down on Asa’s bed when he awoke. His back was aching again but he merely glared at the starry sky outside of his bedroom window and pulled the blankets back over his head, trying in vain to fall back asleep. He had been having the loveliest dream. However, the dull ache turned into a sharp pain the longer he stayed there. He waited for a few moments more, trapped between his own idleness and the soothing idea of a hot water bottle next to him. Eventually his imagination won over and he pulled the blanket off, climbing unsteadily out of bed.

  His hands shook on the side table, tapping for a flint and steel. He found the necessary tool within a few clumsy movements and lit a small oil lamp that lay on his sideboard. The light startled his blurry vision and he tried to blink the fiery image of a flame out of his eyes for a few moments. The lamp’s light threw the room into sharper relief and Asa clutched it, listening to the sounds of oil lapping at the inside of the well. He was not used to using the new appliance, and he held it with stiffened fingers, aloft, as he used to a candle. His tired eyes caught on to the absolute untidiness of the room. Books littered the floor and the surfaces were covered in half-drawn maps and old pens. On the wall opposite hung a huge completed map, illuminated in coloured ink. A map of their journey. Asa hobbled over to the drawing and caressed it. It had taken him over ten years to complete, so long ago now that even the little pen pricks of ink that he had inflicted upon himself by accident had faded from beneath his skin.

  A mirror was next to it, wooden framed and simple. Asa saw his face with the same uneasy stirring in his stomach that he felt every day. His worn skin was translucent and pale, creased all over like a crumpled sheet of mapping paper. Dark-grey hair, unruly as ever, curled all over his head and fell to his collar. He lifted a veined hand to touch his lips, as dry and as fragile as a spider web. Deep brown eyes, unchanged by the years gone, gazed worriedly back at him. He wondered what had happened. Time had passed without him consciously noticing it.

  “Seventy-one,” he murmured. “Not too bad, I guess.”

  He looked appraisingly down at his body, now more fat than muscle, clad only in a soft, warm nightshirt. He shifted the collar with unsure hands, before leaving the mirror behind him and exiting the room, making for the kitchen with familiar shuffling steps. He was all alone now, no other human lived here. He was always alone.

  There was the clatter of nails on stone in the kitchen, and Asa pushed the door open, hushing the large dog that bounced up to him. The animal sat on her haunches, staring at him with open black eyes. Asa patted her on the head and crossed the room to the cupboards, picking up a ceramic bottle and cork. He stoked the coals of the stove for a minute, waiting for the ever-present kettle to warm up. There was water already in it, flecked with white specks. He ignored the scaly interior and watched as the water in the pot bubbled, not much at first but rising into a full boil. Steam rose into the air like his breath had done so long ago in the cold. No snow had fallen in Salatesh since then. The dog whined and scrabbled at his ankles.

  “Hush, Bramble!” Asa chided the dog in a voice that cracked and wavered in a
way it hadn’t before. “Be quiet, lass.”

  His accent had changed after all this time back home. Asa wasn’t sure if it was his voice growing deeper or the long stay in the little town that did it. On a bad day, like this one, he could swear that he could hear Avery’s tones mixed in with his own. He moved to the window whilst the kettle started to shriek and stared out at the stars.

  Nearly fifty years had passed since their return, but he could not fail to be astounded by their glittering depths. He swung the pane of aging glass open to breathe in the fresh air. It was salty upon his tongue, like the sea air had been, a fine but chilly night.

  Placing the hot water bottle on the table, Asa neglected to fill it. He glanced at the other bottle that lay there. Three tiny, dusty pills rattled at the bottom. He sighed. Deep within his bones was a restless, terrible longing. Asa shifted from side to side on his cold feet, considering. He would be mad to leave the house at this time, at this age. He would get sick. He could die.

  “Well then,” Asa chuckled darkly. “I guess I’m just mad, then.”

  He could smell it, the scent that pervaded through the entire building. Dust. Death. Despair. This did not feel like an occupied house. He didn’t bother to light the candles as he passed them. He’d only have to put them out. Besides, there wasn’t any wax to burn. He carried his lamp as he went over to his coat rack and pulled a thick coat over his nightshirt. As an afterthought, he also put on a pair of loose trousers and thick socks that sat in the washing basket from the previous day. He called Bramble to heel as he fiddled with the old clasp on the simple entrance to his home and tugged on a stout pair of boots.

  The stars were shining above Salatesh as Asa and his dog crept out of the front door and into the deserted street. He could hear the wind whistling through the openings of the mines, the strong weather forcing him to wrap the thick wool coat around his frail frame. He held a stick in one hand, not even sure if he needed it now. The ground was damp under his booted feet, the residual smell of rain still in the air.