by Ellie Cypher
Cody rolled slowly onto his side. I began rummaging around in the bags.
“What are you looking for?” he asked, shifting to see. “Can I help?”
Not really. A light fluttering of snow floated down from the pine boughs as the wind shook them. I wiped a few stray flakes from my eyes and leaned over where Cody rested.
He froze, shoulders tense.
I near to rolled my eyes. “You always this jumpy?”
Cody gave me an embarrassed smile. He ran a hand over the breast pocket of his coat. “Only since I met you.”
Now I did roll my eyes. Southerners. Yanking aside the bearskins, from under my kit bag I pulled out a single black orb. Warm and smooth in my gloved hands. Despite myself I gave a little sigh.
“Hold out your hands.”
“Why?”
I slipped the orb into his upturned palm. Surprise washed over his face, settling into satisfaction. Content, he leaned back, nestling into the basket of the sled. “Cause the stars know why, but apparently I ain’t gonna let you freeze to death.”
“Ready to get out there whenever you are, Jorie,” he sighed.
“Is that right?” I grumbled. For someone near to dead not half an hour past, he certain were pleased with himself.
“Yes,” Cody replied, oblivious to my tone, eyes fixed out on the Flats.
I pulled my scarf up over my face, the warmth of my breath a sweet echo under the wool against my lips.
Ahead, the dogs were clear ready, impatient whines, tiny puffs of misty protest swirling up and out of their throats. You couldn’t let them rest too long out here or believe it or not, they’d get too cold to run.
“Hey, watch it!” I said, just catchin most of the kit from getting pushed out over the sled. A beaching whale is what he put me in mind of. A helpless, beaching baby whale. “Those packs might be soft, but they’re most of the rations and all of our heat, so don’t go knocking ’em off.”
“Sorry,” Cody said.
With maybe a little more force than were strict necessary, I pulled out one of the bearskins and tucked Cody in tight.
“That feels wonderful.” He gave a little a moan, his face naught but a set of bright green eyes above the warmth of the furs. Something in my belly went uncomfortable warm. Out in front Fen gave a yip, the rusted bell on her harness jingling.
“Alright. Alright already, enough crowing. We’re leaving,” I called, pinching the long leather leads in my hand. Securing my hood down tight across my brow, I stepped up onto the slim footboards. Time to go.
With only a slight clumsy, out-of-practice flick of my wrist, the dogs lunged into action, the world around a whirl of cold.
It weren’t long before the stooped, shrouded figures of cold-stunted tree boughs caked heavy in snow and ice became first thin, then near altogether gone. Another few hours and it weren’t nothing but a vast plain stretching out far and fast as your eye could see. A horizon of white. Blindingly cold. The Ice Flats burned with it.
I took care to stop and water the dogs, making sure they were all well enough. Cody too. Successfully avoiding his attempts at conversation. Each time, I checked the dogs over real careful. Even the smallest of injuries could break out catastrophic when you least expected.
Out here, cautious were smart. And smart weren’t dead. I glanced at where Cody, having gotten back in after our last stop of the day, nestled in tight into the furs. A twinge of unease nipped at my spine. I flicked at the reins and pushed the dogs on.
Hours passed. Every once in a while I’d squint up at the position of the sun and count ’em. Marking the hours as they whipped past in sweeps of bitter air as we ran. One turned to three, and then five, and then like nothing at all. I ran the team on.
Here and there slender fingers of land wound their way out under the ice, the last vestige of some long-slumbered volcano. Staying close to these were both a blessing and a curse. Land meant the world were less like to sink unexpectedly under your feet, to swallow you whole. But land also kept hold of what little warmth there were out here. And more warmth meant more melts. Great frozen rivers of shifting glaciers surged next to these tendrils of land, their waters only crusted with ice.
A delicate balance. I gave a shiver and in the dimming light took care to skirt the largest of these underground crystal rivers as I drove us farther and farther out into the cracking heart of the Flats. The world one great, ever-expanding plane of white.
But it weren’t all so flat. Along the western edge of the horizon sheer walls surged from the broken, icy waters like sets of rocky teeth. Vertical faces that served as perilous nesting sites for garrulous kittiwakes and crested puffins. Gray rocks teeming with dark wings as birds darted in and out of climbing mists.
Then there were the Stone Forests. Massive clusters of what had once been evergreens, but that now resembled a true forest about as much as the carcass resembled the deer. Trees stretched for miles gunshot straight out toward the western shore.
Rumor had it that nothing lived inside those forests, nothing grew or moved. That even the storms were afraid to enter. Blizzards died to nothing but a whisper as they hit the petrified trees. But every year desperate trappers would tell you another story.
Tales of trees that rippled with sunlight in the night, branches humming with the echo of lost voices, leaves rattling soundless against the sky. Nothing but nonsense stories born of ice-fevered minds and lips too drunk to know truth from lies. And knowing the difference between myth and reality? Between story and fact?
Out here, that’s what kept you alive.
As the day lurched on, we did indeed pass by the rim of one such grove, no more than a league or two off.
“Can we get closer?” Cody craned his neck, eyes wide.
“Not a chance.”
“But I’ve read about them. The Great Northern Petrified Forests.” He leaned over the edge of the rail to get a better look. “They are supposed to be full of all sorts of interesting animals. Ice foxes. Blistered bark beetles that have adapted to eating stone rather than fiber.”
“Petrified? You mean like scared? Well, one of us certain should be.”
He had spun a bright smile on me at that. A flicker of heat snapped at my throat. I frowned. Didn’t know what were so funny.
“But don’t you think they would be interesting? My uncle, he has this theory about how the trees up here turned to stone. Patches of them, anyways. The ones that didn’t freeze straight away when this land became an everlasting winter. He hypothesized that it has to do with the adaptations of the xylem. A special kind fluid to prevent the ice from bursting the trees. He reasoned it wouldn’t be in the sap itself per se, but a very particular substance that developed from…”
Something massive, ivory body glittering bright as cut glass, darted between the black boughs of the trees.
“Did you see that?” Cody said, awed. “Is that what I think it is? They are real! Can we—” But whatever it were we could do was lost as he leaned out over the rail.
The sled pitched violent to the right. His weight tossing at just the same moment as the rails snagged on a ridge of snow. I’d not even the time to curse as the rails lifted dangerous off the ice and we were thrown to the side. Ahead, the dogs were yanked sudden into the air, startled cries tearing from their throats as limbs caught in the lines.
I slammed into the ice. The world went bright and then dark. Ringing filled my ears. I don’t know how long I lay there, but then hands were yanking me to sitting. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I put my hand to my mouth. The world were a jumble of white. I swayed a little and tried to rise.
A hand fell on my shoulder. “I don’t think you should try and stand.”
I blinked. A face came into focus. “Cody Colburn.”
Cody frowned worried down at me. “Yes. We crashed and you’ve hit your head pretty hard I think.”
The dogs were barking. The dogs. I jolted to my feet. Nausea swept through me. I swallowed it down. Shoving at Cody,
I staggered to the dogs. Limbs and lines were tangled everywhere.
“Please.” I knelt down at the first harness. Boz licked at my face. With shaking hands, I stripped off my gloves and undid the ropes. I ran hands over every furry inch. But Boz were fine. He weren’t even limpin. I looked up. All the dogs lay quiet, tongues lolling, eyes watching me, as if to sayin hurry up, there’s snow to run. Dazed, I freed each one by one. They were all fine. I near to laughed with relief.
Cody were pacing by the sled. He’d already gathered up all the supplies, stacking them neat against the overturned sled.
“Come on then,” I said. “Help me tilt it back up.”
Righted, I steadied myself against it, near to panting from the effort. My head ached something fierce, like there were a spike burning just behind my right temple. But the dogs were fine. Cody were fine. The sled weren’t damaged. It could have been worse. We could’ve been dead.
“I’m sorry, Jorie.” He fussed about my side, putting back all the furs. “I didn’t know the sled would do that. That we would pitch over like that.”
“Which is exactly why I didn’t want to bring you in the first place.” I walked round, putting my gloves back on. “And if you ever do that again, you ain’t never getting back on my sled. You hear me?”
“Yes. Sorry, won’t happen again.” Cody, his green eyes wide, gave me a dip of his head.
“Just get in before my head stops ringing and I smarten up enough to change my mind.”
“No problem.” And quick as shot got himself settled back in the bucket.
I glowered. My head hurt something fierce, my vision still blurred at the edges. Nausea whirled in my gut. Waning as I placed a hand on my temple. A concussion—mild, bad enough to be worrisome, but not the worst I’d ever had. I’d be right in a few hours. Still, I groaned, head throbbing. I knew he would be trouble.
Cody, furs tucked up tight under his chin, offered me a smile.
One I didn’t return as I placed slight, shaky legs onto the sled. Even if them stories weren’t real, this was a not place a girl wanted to get hurt. And fool Southerner didn’t know enough common sense to make sure we stayed safe.
Leagues past the Stone Forests, patches of buildings began to appear. Flaking black bruises along the edges of the Flats, they were places that had once been working farms. Someone’s home. Even as near back as when I were a little kid. I’d memories of this place. But then, like the towns and settlements farther out to the North, they had simply died. Some said they’d moved on. Others spoke of a hungry white curse that had leaked out from the most desolate reaches of the North. Places people had left nothing behind save the memory of their bones.
I’d always thought it were the remnants of folks too poor, too starved to run. Too fearful to leave, who’d just got caught in the ice and storms. Which happened more often than not. Weren’t nothing uncanny about it. And certain no Ice-Witch to blame. Just bad luck.
It were near an hour past dusk, and my head finally ebbed to a low dull ache, when our destination came into focus and we could finally halt. A small outcropping of crumbling rocks and spindled trees making the narrow throat of the once prosperous town. I guided us deftly between them.
This were as far out as I’d ever gone. After this, there weren’t nothing I knew. The shadow of a massive great horned owl passed noiselessly overhead. I drove us into the shelter of the fallen buildings, shaking off the sensation we were being watched. At the end of the widest lane, I spied a like enough refuge for the night.
I pulled us through heavy gates and past what must have been stock pastures. The barn ahead were not much, but unlike near all the other buildings I’d seen, it had a roof. Or least most of one.
As we pulled in, a rustling came from behind. And with it the sensation of rippling cold washed over my skin. I tightened my grip on the reins, hip nudging the rifle at my side. But when I scanned the corrals, weren’t nothing there left to move. Don’t be ridiculous, Jorie. Who’s the jumpy greenhorn now?
Parking at the back of the dilapidated barn, I began unloading the sled.
Cody, restless in his sleep, gave a little moan, sending the few black sulfur orbs about him, like burned-out stars, clinking. I left the bearskin tucked in tight. He’d be right enough in the basket of the sled tonight. I’d no inclination to deal with him any more than exact necessary. And it were best to let him sleep.
To be honest, I were surprised he’d stayed up as long as he had. Cold did that to you, especially if you weren’t used to it. Flats could take the energy out of even the hardest of people. I glanced at him and away. At the very least it’d give me some much-needed quiet.
I saw to the dogs first. Their rations—melted chunks of ice with globs of fat and strips of dried meat—were quick enough to heat before I staked out their chains. Each one a perfect three paces from the last.
Boz finished up the last licks of his dinner. I walked over to my kit by the sled. I’d a tent—a small canvas thing that were gonna be close quarters when we’d need it—but tonight I were just too exhausted to get it out. Taking some of the furs, I trudged over to what had once been some kind of animal stall.
I shuffled the hay with my foot. The rushes were a discomfiting black—which usually meant mold and rot had set in—but they smelled fresh enough, and more important, they were dry.
It’d suit me well enough. Especially when Fen curled up at my side. I ran a hand through her coat, feeling the downy undercoat of her fur. The necklace at my chest warm.
We’d just gotten snugged in when a low brush, like reeds over stones, bristled against the night. Fen sat bolt upright at my side, motionless. I rested a hand on her side.
A few heartbeats later and a cry echoed high and shrill from somewhere outside, springing up the hairs on the back of my neck. My every nerve were on fire as all of the dogs stood up. Perfect and still. All of them waitin.
I were all too aware that the gun were tucked tight against the sled, twenty paces too far away. Shivering, I snuggled in closer to Fen at my side.
The owl’s cries didn’t come again.
CHAPTER 13 A Memory of Ice
There is something about the night. About that lonesome whisper of blackness.
Makes even your best memories into something wrong. Something that wakes you in the dark. Nightmares that don’t leave, even when you open your eyes.
With a head pounding fierce enough to feel in my jawbones, I rubbed at my wind-burned eyes. My limbs and back and everything hurt. By the time I straggled out of my makeshift den, Fen were up and wandering.
Cody, on the other hand, were still sleeping in the sled. And had to be shook awake. He muttered something near to coherent before turning over. Too bad it were time to go. I were therefore entire within my right to yank the bearskin right off him. He began cursing as he rolled himself up from the ground, eyes blinking with unspent sleep. I distinct heard the words intolerable and regrettable. I smiled big. Indeed he were.
After a short meal, we loaded up the sled and I took my place on the rails. Cody back in the bucket.
All these frontier towns, they was laid out the same. Main roads ran east to west to best catch the sun and avoid the worst of the winds, so least I knew in which direction we were starting. Twelve leagues. That were what we had to cover today. We could do it if we were lucky—and fast.
Hours passed. Near to most of ’em in merciful silence. But more than I’d care to admit, I found myself caught staring out at the whiteness of it all—the nothingness—lulled into a hallow calm.
A sudden gust of wind tore at the corner of my collar, slipping down my neck. I swallowed, shivering as I tried and failed to not recall the stories of people who stayed out too here long. The ones that kept you up at night, worrying about the things that could crawl out from under your pallet and gnaw on you in the dark. Like the ones about the god lights. The white glowing eyes of men and women snared by the old magic of the North, by the last whispers of fallen gods. Souls hungry fo
r their stolen lives that stalked you in the mists, following with songs that lured travelers to their deaths.
As we pushed on, my world were consumed by the unending vastness of the Flats. One horizon bled into the next. Till it was hard to tell what was real and what weren’t. Whether we had even made any progress at all. As if… my head drooped and I started, near to dropping the reins.
“Bloody stars,” I cursed, righting myself on the sled’s rails. Had I fallen asleep?
I blinked, focusing on my hands. After another league or so I were doing it again. How close were we to nightfall? In the sky the sun were well past its zenith. Late enough. And as good as time as any to break for a rest. Ahead there were a dip in the landscape. It looked tall enough to give us at least a little break from the winds. I guided us toward it.
When the sled came to a halt, I took stock of the team. They all looked fresher than me. Good. I pulled out the bowls to melt an ice block.
From the basket of the sled, Cody lumbered out and stretched. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and quickly away when he caught me lookin. Ignoring him, I poured out the water for the pack. When they was done, I handed the bowl to Cody. He took it.
“This place.” Cody cleared his throat, his voice raw from cold and disuse.
I grunted. Cody took a long drink before handing me back the water.
“My parents used to tell me these stories about it before they died. They were always some of my favorites.”
“Humph.” I grunted, looking round. “I don’t know what they told you, but this sure as stars ain’t most people’s idea of favorite.”
“They were mine. I believed in them.” Cody looked over my shoulder. I followed his stare. But other than air so cold it burned shimmering on the horizon, there were nothing there. “Stories where the glow of the northern lights never dims and the wilderness is so vast a man could lose himself, shed his deepest fears in it. Of the wild at the top of the world. And”—he turned his attention back to me—“of the monsters that drink the wind. Creatures that hunted in the darkness between stars, and the heroes that rode them. And most of all of the Witch made of winter, in whose veins runs the very unchecked power of that wild North.”
