A Shiver of Snow and Sky

by Lisa Lueddecke

  They couldn’t fit through it, I realized as I grew closer. I just needed to get through before they caught up to me. There wasn’t far to go.

  I kneeled swiftly and began to crawl through the opening. I was so close, so close, but something grabbed hold of my leg, claws sinking through my clothing and into my skin. A scream caught in my throat as I used every bit of my strength to pull away. I kicked and thrashed, bracing myself with a firm grasp on the wall beyond the doorway, and in a sudden snapping movement that sent me hurtling through the door, the creature lost its hold. I collapsed on to my back, their shrieking fainter now that we were separated by a wall.

  I lay there, panting, tears wetting my cheeks. My body trembled, my leg stung. I breathed in and out, but it quickly became too fast, and I was consumed by the sensation of not being able to breathe.

  In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

  It was a few moments before I could stand, my whole body still shaking. As I finally hauled myself to my feet, I ducked to look back into the tunnel I’d just left. It was dark, without our candlelight, but the creatures were nowhere in sight.

  My legs felt foreign beneath me. Weak. Unsteady.

  Despite my shaking, I was reignited with a relief so strong it replenished my rapidly depleting stores of energy. I traversed a low stone room slowly, and it soon gave way to a narrow tunnel leading upward. I could feel the straining in my tired legs as I climbed higher and higher.

  I longed to be able to speak. To ask someone what those creatures were. What that cold, dreadful sense of doom I’d felt earlier was. I knew reaching the Goddess wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t been prepared for just how difficult it would be. The memory of those chilling eyes haunted me. I hoped, with every bit of strength my body had left, that those stone creatures were the last hurdle before I finally reached the Goddess.

  But as the uphill walk ended, and through an archway I caught sight of a vast room partially open to the night and lit by the moon, I knew I was wrong.

  The floor of the room was dotted with hundreds of what looked like torches that stood on the stone, unlit, ready. There was nothing around to light them with, save for my candle – who had placed them there, and why?

  A groaning filled the room, and something moved across the expansive stone before me. I froze, eyes wide, as a creature white and glistening slowly rose to its feet with yawning movements, as though it had been sleeping for centuries. Somewhere, in the corners of my heart that harboured a love for storytelling, excitement and disbelief sparked to life. The beast’s head rose up, up, up, until it nearly rested against the partial roof high overhead. Thin, crystalline wings fanned out beside it, and a long silvery tail uncoiled behind it.

  A dragon. A dragon made of ice.

  I stood for a long moment, facing off with a creature that, until now, had only existed in tales told at bonfires and in runes on cave walls. But here, in this room, in these mountains where nothing made sense, it was real. It was as real as I was. As real as the stone beneath my feet. And that meant something to me. I had always been the storyteller, the one who knew the stories of the stars better than those of her own people. This creature justified all of those frozen nights studying the constellations with Ymir, all of those hours spent spinning tales to wide-eyed children around fires, all that time I’d spent studying rune stories with Ivar. It symbolized so much: that, despite everything I’d heard from my father, my sister, the other villagers, there was a place in this world for the daydreamers and the souls who dared to believe in the things they couldn’t see. For those who believed that stories were more than just words that froze in the air.

  These thoughts felt so simple, so out of place in this strange room filled with torches, before a dragon whose jaws could bring death in mere seconds. Yet, after everything I’d been through, they were the thoughts that gave me just enough strength to keep going.

  I took a few steps towards the torches, ready to cross this room and find a way past the dragon. It heaved in a breath so large it sucked all the air from the room for a head-spinning moment, and then let it back out in a blazing eruption. White-hot fire engulfed the space, so intense it forced me back as far as I could go. A brutal heat seared my face, my body. Sweat broke out on my back, my neck, and I was forced to shut my eyes as I pressed against the stone wall.

  In a few seconds, it was over. Slowly, I opened my eyes. All of the torches were now lit. Hundreds and hundreds of them flaming across the room. That immediate, inescapable heat was gone, but a distinct warmth remained.

  I took a step forward to pass between two of the torches, but their flames suddenly flared up so large and hot that I was forced to run backwards. I tried again, moving to walk between a different set of torches, but with the same result. My heart sank as I stared at the wide distance separating me from the other side of the room – and the dragon, who now stood silently, watching.

  A few paces to my left, I again attempted to pass between two of the torches, but was forced away. I let out a gasp of frustration as I fled from the heat and again returned to the wall.

  “How do I get through?” I said to myself. The dragon didn’t move, only continued to stare with its glistening eyes.

  I glanced up at the roof, where it gave way to the sky. It was a clear night, the stars bright overhead in their silently watchful way. Help me, I said to the sky, because it was the only familiar thing around me. Ivar, my family, everyone I knew was far away. Ri was gone. Everything here was new, different, frightening, but not the stars. The stars I knew. The stars I loved. The stars I could understand. Only part of the Goddess was visible from here, but I wanted to scream at Her, so close to Her and yet so terribly far.

  Something sparked inside me as I looked back to the flaming torches. It was probably nothing, but an idea found its way into my mind, and I couldn’t silence it. I turned to take in the rest of the room.

  I needed to get higher.

  There were a few stalagmites here and there, and part of a naturally-formed pillar that looked like it had broken centuries ago. I didn’t want to imagine what sort of thing had done that, but it would serve my purpose. Pushing my cloak back over my shoulders, I fought against the aching and exhaustion to hike myself up on to the broken pillar. It took a few tries before I was gently teetering on the uneven surface, pulling myself to balance on my feet.

  From my perch, I saw the floor of the room in an entirely new light. The torches weren’t random, nor were they placed in neat and even rows. They all had a place amongst the others, a reason for their positioning – and exactly what they symbolized hit me with a sudden force. They were shapes, pictures. Each torch symbolized a star in the night sky, part of The Five Greats that hung above us around the Goddess. As such, I suspected that all I needed to do was walk between the right torches, take the correct path to Her.

  I smiled in near-delirious relief as I slid down from the pillar, alight with new excitement. I ensured the dragon was still calm and quiet across the room before I walked a few paces to my right and gingerly stepped between two blazing torches.

  Nothing happened.

  No blazing inferno turned me away. I was right. Follow the path between the stars. Do not disrupt the constellations, and I’d make it through. I passed one torch after another, sometimes pausing to look around and remember which star was where, and which course to take.

  I was nearly halfway across the room when I paused for longer than usual, staring at two different sets of torches. Both looked just as right – and wrong – as the other, and try as I might, I couldn’t quite recall which star sat where. I chewed on a fingernail and gazed as them, trying to paint the night sky in my mind. There were so many stars, so many tiny points of light to remember that the harder I tried, the more confused I became. When I looked up to see if the answer was visible overhead, it wasn’t. We were traversing our way between the Horned Horse and the Giant, neither of which I could see from the room.

  The movement and flickering of the torches grate
d on my nerves the longer I stood there.

  I thought for several minutes. Time pressed against me and I was keenly aware of every second I delayed to the point where, at long last, I chose at random and moved between them.

  I felt a rush as the dragon drew in a breath, and turned to run just as it let out an inferno of heat and pain. Just like that, all of that time and concentration was undone in seconds. I was back at the wall where I’d started from, and as the flames from its breath died down, the torches had moved. That meant, I realized with a groan of frustration, that the constellations had shifted and I’d have to approach the Goddess through a new path.

  That frustration gave way to anger, and I flung off my cloak and shoved hair from my eyes. I’d crossed the plain, escaped the jōt and survived the mountains this far. I was going to survive this, as well. I knew the stars. This was my one skill and I’d be damned if I let it get the best of me.

  Again, I climbed on to the stone pillar with shaking limbs and had a good, long look around. This time, it was the Warrior and the Wolf nearest at hand. I stared at the torches, replacing them in my mind with spots of light in the night sky. I knew these constellations, and I knew them well. I could get through this.

  Taking a sharp piece of stone that lay near to the broken pillar, I used it to draw on the floor in scratches. I made a map of tiny spots all around me, drawing the constellations as precisely as I could remember, occasionally stopping to close my eyes and envision the sky. I imagined being back on my favourite rock by the sea, where I’d lie out late at night and watch the sky. I could see it, see everything familiar. Then I returned to drawing furiously on the floor. When I had included every single star I could remember, I traced out a line between them, the pathway to the Goddess. That was my course. I stared at it for a handful of minutes, counting the stars to the left and right of each twist and turn.

  Then I nodded to myself.

  With a renewed spirit, I turned back to the torches and walked between the first set.

  Chapter 29

  I wound through the torches more slowly this time, contemplating each step and often closing my eyes to refer back to the map I’d drawn on the ground. I’d tried to stamp it into my brain, and so far, it was serving me well. Every step was careful, methodical, and though it was a struggle to keep my eyes from the enormous dragon, I kept my head down and my mind focused.

  Halfway through. The dragon remained still, watching, waiting. Two-thirds. No missteps. The torches remained lit, quiet, allowing us to pass through, so long as my steps were correct. Almost there. Metres remained between me and the last of the flames.

  And I hit a wall in my mind. A large handful of torches remained to pass, yet try as I might, I couldn’t recall the pathway for my final steps. I turned in a circle, taking in all of the lights around me, yet no answer presented itself. My skin grew hot with anger, anger at myself for forgetting, at the dragon for barring my way, at the Goddess for making this journey so difficult.

  I gripped my hair with both hands and shut my eyes, imagining I was outside in the wide open night, staring up at the stars. I could see the stars spread above me, but the focus and confusion of the night left some of them blurred, made my mind second guess itself when it was once sure. No matter how long I thought or how hard I concentrated, I couldn’t recall the answer. I couldn’t remember which of the torches to pass through. I hissed a breath of air out through my teeth and opened my eyes. I’d just have to pick. There were two pathways that, in my mind, stood an equal chance of being right. With no obvious answer, I’d have to make the best educated guess I could. If I was wrong, flames would send me running again – or worse, burn me alive – and the whole maze would reset. Time was against me. Anything could be happening back home. They could all have perished for all I knew. I couldn’t afford to have to start again.

  And yet, guessing was my only option.

  With a quick glance at the dragon, who sat with its head still near the roof, gleaming eyes watching my every move, I drew in a steadying breath and stepped between the final set of torches to my left.

  Nothing happened.

  The torches remained as they had been, I fell to my knees and breathed deeply, the relief so sweet it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Finally, something had gone right. I’d accomplished something, and after all of the fear and exhaustion and heartbreak I’d been through, I allowed myself a quiet moment of relief. I wasn’t cut out for these things – at least, I didn’t think I was. I could fish and help in sailing a boat, I could feed sheep and help shear them, I could read the stars and tell stories, but I hadn’t been born to fight. I hadn’t been born to face creatures from myth and fable, to do battle with monsters and outsmart living stone. It was all so much – too much – but this one success offered the sweetest sense of joy I’d ever known.

  When I stood up, the dragon hadn’t moved. I looked around for a door, turning slowly, but if there was one, it was blocking the way. Why hadn’t it moved? I took a step closer, terrified and exhilarated, but it remained in place – and rose to a menacing height until its head touched the ceiling.

  A deep, rumbling growl rose from its throat. Shining, translucent wings fanned out from its arched back and consumed the room around it. I stared, barely able to breathe, as it challenged me to pass by. The shaking relief and exhaustion of mere moments before melted away in the blistering heat of my anger. If my suspicions were right, the Goddess’s peak lay just beyond this dragon. It was the final few steps before I reached Her, before I succeeded in a mission that could mean the difference between life and death for so many.

  This dragon would not stop me. I had a will wrought of stone and ice, and as strong as the sea. I’d been raised by the cold, shaped by an island that traded in death and disaster. This wasn’t the first monster I’d faced and it likely wouldn’t be the last – but let my soul be damned to whatever hell awaited it if I let this creature stop me from reaching that temple.

  It was likely of no use against such a beast, but I withdrew the small knife Sejer had given me from my belt and held it firmly in one hand.

  “I am getting to that temple,” I said aloud, my voice reverberating through my body. “I am reaching that temple with you dead or alive.”

  Slowly, the dragon tilted its head to one side, as though pondering my words. If I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn it was smiling. I didn’t have a plan, not even a hint of one, but I took three bold steps closer to the dragon before stopping. Claws unfurled from its wings, long, narrow claws that reminded me of the icicles that would hang from roofs and doorways. It would be far too easy for them to slip into my skin, to rip my body to shreds and leave me drowning in blood. If nothing else, I had to avoid those claws.

  This time, it wasn’t a deep, low growl that rose from its throat, it was a thunderous roar that erupted from its core, shaking the room until loose stones rattled on the ground. The terror the sound gave off ignited my spirit and I let out a scream of my own. It sounded small compared to the dragon’s, but it was loud in my ears and energizing in some unexplainable way. When we’d both died down, it took a handful of heavy, rumbling steps towards me. I danced to the side, hyper aware that it would take one breath to incinerate me, and one swipe of those claws to eviscerate me. A creature like that didn’t have to struggle to kill a girl like me.

  There was a whoosh as its tail came sweeping towards me. I flattened myself to the ground in an instant as it whirled by overhead, just grazing my outermost layers. Without waiting for it to try again, I rolled away and leaped to my feet. Another violent whisper cut through the air, and I looked up to see a wing – and a set of shining claws – descending on me. I ran as far and as fast as I could, despite the closeness of the room. There weren’t many places to go. I saw a glimpse of an ornate, arched doorway behind the bulk of the dragon’s body, but it made sure to stay just enough in place that I couldn’t get by it. I’d either have to be larger, smarter, or wait for a miracle.

  I ba
cked up close to the torches to take in the creature, to see if any opportunities presented themselves, but there was nothing. It filled up most of the space in this part of the room, making any thoughts of sneaking around it impossible. My hands fell to my sides as defeat wound its way around my heart and mind. There has to be a way. There has to be a way. I tried once more, summoning all of the courage I had left and gripping my little knife as tightly as I could, and then charged forward with a shout that carried all of my strength behind it.

  At my approach, the dragon lowered its head and roared, flattening its wings and tail to the ground until there was no way around it. I stopped my advance, knife still raised, but my will downtrodden. Unless there was another way to Her temple, I’d never get around this dragon. I could keep trying until I passed out from exhaustion or I could give up now.

  The dragon blinked its eyes and seemed to tilt its head, watching something behind me. Slowly, it raised its head, eyes still fixed on something I couldn’t see. I was afraid to look away, to let those claws and teeth out of my sight, but something held its attention, and I had to know what it was.

  Turning slowly, listening for the sudden whooshing of a tail or wing, I saw Uxi sweeping down from the opening in the roof, a beacon of white light in the darkened room.

  “Uxi,” I said, confused and dazed, blinking.

  He took little notice of me, soaring towards the dragon who sat alert, tense. It was almost laughable, the visceral reaction such a large beast had to one so small. But in some strange way, I could understand it. Both were winged creatures, and at its heart, the dragon was an animal, of sorts. Easily distracted by the new arrival of a living thing.

  Distraction.

  I glanced from the dragon to Uxi, who was diving and circling around the great icy head, moving in close and then spiralling away at the last moment before the jaws clamped down. Uxi was small and agile, unlike the great hulking dragon. He could take care of himself.