Frost

by Robin W Bailey

  A little further along, a second well stood beside the path. Ali ignored it as she had the first, but this time Frost paused to peer over the edge. The trees had thickened, and no moonlight showed the bottom. Snatching a pebble, she dropped it down the well. No splash, but a brittle snapping.

  Whatever was down there, it wasn't water.

  Beyond the second was a third. Here, the trees were thinner and a little light spilled into the well betraying the same dull gleam as the first. She leaned over and dropped another pebble. Pop, crack, silence.

  She sucked her lip and played with the mystery. What else could a well hold but water? She dared not ask Ali for fear of displaying her ignorance. After all, how much was a goddess supposed to know?

  All the while, Ali continued, unnoticing, never looking back. The little girl never looked away from the direction of the peak. Soon the path began to climb, becoming steep and rocky. Loose stones slipped beneath her boots; safe footing was an elusive thing in the dark.

  “Ali, I'll go no farther,” she announced, breaking the silence for the first time since leaving the village. “The ground is too treacherous for Ashur, and I'll not be separated from him."

  It is only a little higher to a place where the earth is flat and secure. We can rest there in Dasur's sacred place. Please, Goddess, urge your demon-creature just a little farther.

  Frost hesitated. Where could there be level ground at this height? The stony trail grew more hazardous with every step. Soon, it would be too narrow, and Ashur would be unable to follow.

  Please, Goddess.

  There was pleading in the small voice. Ali's round eyes looked into her own. “A little farther, then,” she agreed reluctantly.

  Indeed, the path did not go much farther. It ended abruptly at the base of a sheer rock wall. Frost muttered under her breath and cursed, fearing a trap.

  Ali had disappeared.

  Her sword slid quietly from its sheath, while she craned her neck, peering back down the trail. If it was an ambush, someone had planned poorly. The ledge was too narrow for more than one attacker at a time to come at her, and they would have to get past Ashur as well. That made her shiver; a large number of men might press the unicorn over the side. She looked down. Not an abyss, but the steep fall would be as deadly.

  Goddess, why do you not follow?

  She spun. Ali stood beside her again. When the little priestess spied the blade in the woman-warrior's hand, her jaw dropped and she turned wide eyes on Frost.

  Is it my time, Goddess? Am I now chosen?

  The innocent fear in those words made her smile as she sheathed her weapon and drew a deep breath. Then, on impulse she rumpled Ali's long hair. “No, little one,” she laughed. “It's not your time yet; you deserve a long life. But show me where you went."

  A wide crack split the rock face, concealed in shadows, a tunnel wide and high enough even for Ashur. Ali led the way and the unicorn went after, his peculiar eyes casting pools of dim light on the cavern floor. Frost tangled her hand in his mane, for he could see the way where she could not.

  His eyes are the most frightening things about him, confided Ali, for they are not eyes at all. If I were tall enough to touch them, I believe their fire would burn me.

  The cave made a sudden turn, then they emerged into paradise. Sweet fragrances of fruit blossoms filled the air. Gentle, constant winds teased her hair, played in the folds of her cloak. Nearby, she heard the bubbling song of a spring. Tiny, white-headed flowers bloomed abundantly in the thick carpet of grass, and unhampered by obscuring trees, the light of a full moon lent everything a frosty, opalescent glow.

  An unbroken ring of towering walls, jagged as an old man's teeth, loomed over the garden with protective menace, shutting out the world beyond.

  This is the High Place; it is sacred to Dasur, Ali intoned with ritual solemnity. He is here now, dancing on the leaves, making music in the branches. You can feel his breath on your skin, hear him laughing in the water.

  The little priestess opened her arms, threw back her head. Dasur, Father of the People, we greet you.

  At the center of the grove lay a pool of water whose surface sparkled and rippled as the wind blew upon it. Removing her scant clothing, Ali paused on its bank, then waded into the cool depths and immersed herself, disappearing completely from view. Frost had begun to fear some mishap when she finally broke the surface again.

  A strange gleam shone in her eyes.

  Sensuously, shamelessly the little girl began to rub her body. Waist-deep in the pool, she moved like a woman in the arms of her lover. Those small hands caressed tender, childish breasts with a lustful hunger and longing that brought a flush of heat to Frost's cheeks. Ali's bony little hips made gyrating motions that churned the water, and she tossed her head from side to side, emitting low moans of pleasure from moist, glistening lips.

  This is Dasur's place. Ali's voice was a rich melody in her mind. Come, Goddess, and cleanse yourself. Dasur finds you pleasing.

  The wind whirled around Frost, plucked at her clothes, tugged her hair. Sudden, stiff gusts blew against her back, urging her closer to the water's edge. Without knowing why, her heart beat faster. She sucked an uneasy breath.

  Dasur invites you, Goddess. The voice purred inside her head. Small hands beckoned innocently, entreating. Something called her to the water.

  Tremulously, her fingers touched the fastenings of her cloak; weapons fell to the ground, boots, then tunic and breeches. It was foolishness. And yet, the pool called her.

  She moved forward, and the water licked her toes. It rippled over her thighs, around her waist, between her breasts. The pool engulfed her, swallowed her. As she sank into its shadowed, bottomless depths a warm wetness invaded her being, streamed into her soul, filling her with sensations. At first, she resisted them, but the clasping, gently insistent waters dissolved her will until she fought no more. Sensation rose, swelled, too intense for bearing, yet she could not cry out or do anything to prevent the beautiful, bizarre fantasies that swam in her mind. Something touched her thoughts ... and she reached with her own to embrace it.

  When it was over, she opened her eyes and brushed away the droplets that clung to her lashes. She quivered all over, and it was several moments before she trusted herself to move. At last, she waded carefully ashore.

  Ali sat hugging her knees to her chest, smiling. It was so beautiful, she sighed. Dasur, the Breath of Life together that way with a Goddess of Death.

  Frost said nothing. A fog of confused impressions settled upon her. Unsure of what had transpired, she bit her lip and sank to the grass. It felt different—smooth as richest velvet on her bare skin. And the moon seemed brighter than she remembered. Smells were sharper. The wind moaned loud in her ears.

  Was that Dasur's voice? She felt between her thighs and wondered, feared. Sleep came after awhile, laden with queer dreams.

  The sky was still dark when she woke, but the moon perched on the west rim of the cratered walls. Close by, Ali sat cross-legged, watching her, and the little girl smiled as she yawned and sat up, surprisingly refreshed.

  You are so lovely, said Ali. I no longer fear you. Even your demon-creature has an air of tranquillity about him.

  Across the grove the unicorn munched fruit blossoms and jasmine-scented leaves, a figure of pastoral serenity. The fire-eyes were subdued, telling his contentment as he wandered lazily among the trees.

  Ali jumped up and scampered to another tree, seeming more a child than ever before. Her laughter tinkled in the garden stillness as she ran, and when she returned to the pool's edge she carried two plump red fruits. She offered one to Frost.

  The woman-warrior looked strangely at it. She had never seen its like, but Ali bit deeply into hers and swallowed, so she did the same. The soft pulp had a sweet, nectarous flavor, and she ate slowly, savoring every bite. When nothing remained except a large pit, Ali held out her hand for it and pushed both pits into holes dug with her fingers, then covered them with dirt. Goi
ng to the pool, she cupped water in her hands and poured it on the mounds.

  They will grow and bear more fruit for Dasur.

  That name brought a chill as she remembered her experience in the pool. She drew her feet under her, hugging her knees, and looked thoughtfully at the rippling, moonbright surface. For a thousand days she would wonder what truly occurred in that water, and the memory, the fantasies and the sensations would haunt her for a thousand restless nights.

  In the first rays of morning, Frost and Ali put on their clothes and said goodbye to Dasur's garden. Frost gave it a final look before stepping into the cave that led back to the mountain pass and down into the valley. Her time in the grove had been restful—very likely, the last peace she would know for a long while.

  The journey through the cavern was made in silence broken only by Ashur's hooves on the hard stone. As she walked, she laid hands on her weapons, Demonfang on the left hip and her sword on her right. Bitter reminders of her unfinished task. As they emerged once more into the sunlight, she gazed down into the waiting valley.

  A thick, early morning mist hung in the low places. The lush woodland sparkled with fresh dew. Gone were the ominous and frightening shadows of the night before.

  And yet, there was still something, an aura of foreboding that sunlight could not chase away.

  My people will have the man you seek when we arrive, said Ali walking ahead of her. We do not know why you want him or what exactly it is that you require of him, but if you will permit, Dasur's law decrees a ritual punishment for trespassers. We would not cheat you, Goddess. She added, It will effectively hasten him to your realm of the dead.

  Frost shivered that such a request could be couched in so tender a voice. The laughing child who scampered through the moonlit garden was suddenly gone. On this side of the cave Ali was once more a priestess of her people: dignified and cold and very unchild-like.

  An ugly world, she decided, where children moved in the dark limbo between gods and men. She drew a heavy, deep breath.

  “The man has taken something I must have back,” she answered carefully. “When I have it again, he is yours."

  By daylight the trail proved easier going. They descended quickly and headed for the village.

  Not far along she spied one of the strange wells that had so piqued her curiosity in the night. It stood washed in a circle of sunshine at the path's edge, and though she thought at first to pass it by and speed on to the village and young Telric, the memory and mystery of it was too great. A few quick strides brought her peering over the stone rim.

  A cold hand clutched her heart. Not a well—a pit. Skulls with empty eye-sockets glared up at her. Bones gleamed. Human bones, she realized, chewed and gnawed clean. An animal would have cracked them to get the marrow, but these were not. What then?

  It dawned on her with a sickening clarity.

  Flesh-eaters.

  Frost gritted her teeth, struggling to hide her sudden revulsion. Bile rose in her throat, threatened to choke her. She gripped the stone wall so hard that a piece of rock came loose and tumbled with a loud clatter into the pit, splintering a brittle jawbone.

  Trespassers, came the voice in her head. They violated the sanctity of Dasur's mountains and were punished for it. So shall your man be.

  She spun, glaring at the little priestess, nearly striking her, then thought better of it and chewed her lip, letting that pain smother her real emotions. Wordlessly, she turned from the pit and made for the village, careful to avoid the others and their terrible contents that lay along the way.

  The Children of Dasur were true to Ali's word. Telric swung by his wrists between two tall trees, his head lolling on his chest, seeming unconscious. A guard dozed by the dangling feet of the captured noblemen.

  There was no movement in the village.

  My people sleep, Ali said.

  “No matter,” Frost responded, heading for Telric. “My business is with him."

  Ali ran before her and kicked the guard to alertness. He bowed respectfully to Frost and took a step back.

  Telric came awake before she finished patting his garments. A dull light of pain shone in his eyes as he regarded her, and there was a deep rope-burn around his throat. Ali's people had caught him as they promised, but they hadn't been too kind about it.

  Recognition was slow. Telric blinked. “You!” he blurted. “How did..."

  She slapped his mouth hard to shut him up. It wouldn't do to let him talk too much and possibly betray that she was no goddess at all, but a trespasser like himself. The guard, following her example, lashed him with a coil of rope. The young lord gasped, but refused to cry out though his face was screwed with anguish.

  No time though to think about his pain. Telric had something she needed.

  Seizing his hair, she bent his face close to hers. “The Book. I must have it back."

  Telric stared with hate-filled eyes. Weakly, he tried to spit, but managed only to dribble on his chin. “You murdered my brothers!” he croaked through dry lips.

  “They tried to kill me,” she answered in Rholarothan, hoping that Ali would not understand her meaning. “But I was quicker. Now tell me what you've done with the Book."

  Telric shook his head.

  Ali spoke to the guard in the language of the leaves. There was a brief exchange before she turned back to Frost. All his possessions have been taken to my dwelling. Perhaps, you will find what you seek there.

  She gave her back to Lord Rholf's son and indicated with a nod for Ali to lead.

  Ali's dwelling was a crude hut of thatch and mud construction. An animal hide covered the low entrance. As soon as she stepped through the small door she spied the object of her quest. The old Book lay unceremoniously in the dirt of the earthen floor beside a sword and mercy-dagger, a money pouch, saddlebags and bedroll. She recovered it with a relieved sigh.

  It is very important to you, observed Ali.

  She returned the little girl's stare. “Should the wrong hands hold this Book neither you, nor I, nor all the people on the mountain would feel the Breath of Dasur ever again."

  Ali's eyes darted from Frost to the Book and back again. Her little smile faded, and she turned pale as ash and thrust her knuckles into her mouth. For a moment, she was a child again, frightened of something she did not understand. She trembled, and Frost was moved to try to calm her fear.

  She placed a gentle hand on Ali's shoulder, but the young priestess slipped adroitly away and regarded her from the farthest side of the hut.

  There was much celebrating last night when the trespasser was captured. Though her bearing regained its dignity, the fear-light still gleamed in her eyes. The people will sleep late into the day, and we should rest, too. She curled up in a corner on a bed of woven grass and turned her face to the wall. But before she fell asleep she spoke one last time. Now that you have what you came for, no doubt you will soon be leaving. Good night, Goddess.

  Frost settled in another corner, but sleep was far away. Her poor choice of words had scared Ali who was now eager to see her leave. And why not? The Book of the Last Battle was back in her possession, and Kregan was waiting in Chondos, hopefully with an army of sorcerers. The final battle with Zarad-Krul was fast approaching.

  Yet, something else nagged her. Her gaze kept straying to the weapons on the floor, and visions of the bone-pits filled her thoughts. Telric would be punished, Ali said, and when the villagers had feasted on his flesh the bones would be cast into the wells for the spiders to gnaw on. She shut her mind to it, but the images would not be banished.

  Ali's slow, measured breathing was the only sound she heard. A peek beyond the hide flap told her no one stirred outside, either. She lifted Telric's dagger.

  It was foolish. A blood feud stood between them. Saving him now would not end that, and Telric would threaten her again someday. It made no sense. Let Ali and her people finish him.

  She weighed the merits of the idea. Yet, the sight of those pits would not leave her
. The Children of Dasur were flesh-eaters, and the very thought made her stomach churn. Whatever danger the man might be later, he deserved a better fate.

  Curse me for a fool, she thought, sticking the dagger in her belt and rising.

  Silently, she crept from the hut, pleased to see Ashur close by. The camp still slept; not even a cookfire burned. Imperious as the goddess they believed her, she strode through the village to the place where Telric was bound. Flame-eyed, the unicorn walked at her side.

  Awake this time, the guard grinned in welcome and made a slight bow at her approach. She returned his smile, then sank her fist with soundless fury into his soft middle. He folded with a grunt, and her elbow sent him sprawling.

  Telric watched the short fight with interest. When it ended he started to speak, but her hand clamped tightly on his mouth.

  “If you want out of here with your worthless life, then keep it shut.” She cut his ropes with the mercy-dagger, and when he was free he held out a hand to take possession of it. She smacked his knuckles with the flat of the blade.

  “I may be a fool,” she admitted, “but not that big a fool."

  The dagger returned to her belt, and she pointed to Ashur. “Now mount up. I want to be far away when everyone discovers their dinner is missing."

  “What are you mumbling about?"

  “If you're lucky, maybe I won't tell you about it. You'll sleep easier.” She swung up to the unicorn's back. “Now get on."

  “One horse won't carry us both,” he protested. “The mountain trails are too steep, and mine was lost when these damned dwarves captured me."

  So Telric thought Ashur was just a horse. What did it mean? What rules governed who saw a unicorn and who saw a horse? Who saw truth and who saw illusion?

  No time to ponder it now.

  “Get on. We'll manage, unless you prefer to stay."

  Telric accepted her hand-up and settled himself behind her. “And I warn you,” she added, “if you reach for my weapons I'll cut your fingers off and leave you for the dwarves. They have a taste for your company."