Snowfall

by Brandon Cornwell

  Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.

  She slipped, pitching forward, and put her hand out to catch herself. The pack strapped to her bore her flat against the ground, and she had to use both arms to push herself up, snow stinging her cheeks and ears. She sat back on her knees and looked up to the ridge to see Rasul standing in front of her, his hands tucked into his sleeves.

  “Do you require assistance, Your Grace?”

  Despite the cold, she gritted her teeth, a burning determination blossoming in her chest. She forced herself to climb to her feet and stood upright, her gloved hands gripping the straps of her backpack.

  “Thank you, Rasul, but I can manage,” she said, letting the head rush from standing pass before she pushed forward on the trail. Rasul nodded, and she swore she saw the hint of a smile before he turned away, leading her to the ridge in front of them.

  As she crested the top of the slope, she saw a broad snow-covered plain, perhaps half a mile across, surrounded by the rim of what appeared to be a crater. Mostly even and level, the snow was shallower here, with patches of smooth, dark stone revealed where the snow had been swept or blown aside. Though wind howled behind her, sending a cloud of snow into the basin, the inside of the bowl-shaped crater was calm, sunny, and inviting in comparison to the inhospitable environment that she had come from.

  In the center of the crater was a simple stone building, looking as though it had been cut directly from the living rock. The roof was flat, with shallow snow drifts piling up on top and around the base. Tents surrounded the structure, most of them similar to the one she now carried on her back, their openings facing towards it. The snow had been swept away from them, leaving them sitting on the bare rock underneath.

  Ahead of her, the line of people that had beat her to the lower summit forged towards the building, their thick cloaks and clothing making them virtually indistinguishable from each other. Only Rasul seemed unaffected by the cold.

  “Come, Lady Quartz,” said Rasul, using the pseudonym that she had given King Brynjar, calling her attention away from the sight before her. “Warm food and drink await.”

  He led the way down the steep slope and she followed, sliding down the loose gravel at the base of the rim. She nearly fell when she reached the solid ground of the plateau, but managed to keep her footing by stumbling forward. She trod along the path that had been cut by the other Hopefuls and approached the small tent city.

  By the time she got there, the rest of the travelers had begun pitching their tents, sweeping the snow aside to get to the stone underneath. Rasul indicated a space near the structure and beckoned her over.

  “Here is where you will pitch your tent. When you are done, come inside the Temple of the Summit, and you will be fed and given an object that will greatly increase your comfort.”

  Exhausted, Amethyst nodded, pushing the straps of her backpack off her shoulders and letting it drop to the ground. Her back ached and her legs burned from the exertion of the climb, and the thin air kept her senses swimming. Her fingers numb, she fumbled with the knots that held the rolled canvas and sticks in place on top of her pack. Once she got them loose, she glanced around, watching some of the other Hopefuls as they went about setting up their own tents.

  Near her, one of the cloaked figures used his rolled up tent like a sort of broom, shoving the snow into a pile to the west, where the wind was coming from. Looking down, Amethyst mimicked his motions, pushing the snow away from her campsite and piling it up, packing it down with her gloved hands to keep the wind from blowing it back.

  Before long, she had a space cleared out large enough for her to unroll the oiled canvas, dyed in the colors of Lonwick – blue and red with a gold trim. Inside were two thick poles with pins sticking out of one end, some strong cord, four steel stakes, and a mallet.

  She had watched the soldiers setting up their tents, and had a basic understanding of how it worked. The poles sat upright at either end of the canvas, lifting the middle and creating a triangle-shaped shelter. The pins passed through grommets at either end of the peak that was formed, helping to secure them in place, as well as giving points for the cord to be anchored to.

  The cord was then tied to the stakes, which would be hammered into the ground somewhat in front of the tent, pulling the peak of the triangle taut and giving the tension needed to keep it all from collapsing. The biggest problem she was seeing was that she had no idea how she was going to drive the stakes into the solid, unyielding stone that formed the surface of the plateau.

  She glanced over at the traveler she had been watching. He already had his tent spread out, similar in design to her own. He lifted one of the pins and set it in place before looking up at her, meeting her eyes with his own. The figure paused, setting down the stake and pulling back his hood.

  The figure was a young human, no older than sixteen or seventeen. His hair was a deep brownish red, and his tanned face was crossed with a line of freckles that ran across both cheeks and over his nose. His features were strong, with high cheekbones and a cleft chin that bore a thin but even beard the same color as his hair. Though he was young, it was clear that he would be a physically powerful man when he reached his full maturity.

  He would have been quite handsome if it hadn't been for his narrowed eyes, coldly appraising Amethyst as she struggled to set up her tent. He reached back down to pick up his stake, and without breaking eye contact with Amethyst, set the point against the stone and pushed.

  The steel slid into the ground as if it were passing through clay. Amethyst's eyes opened wide, and the young man smirked, lifting another pin and pushing it into the stone. In short order, he had all of the pins set and went about pitching his tent, standing the poles inside the canvas and tying them off to the stakes.

  Amethyst picked up her own pin, looking it over, then back down at the stone. It was impossible. Nevertheless, she set the pin against the ground and pushed.

  Nothing.

  She leaned into it, pushing harder. Still, the stone refused to yield.

  “You look like you could use some help.”

  She looked up to see the young man standing over her. Pushing herself to her feet, she dusted the snow off her knees and looked at her pin.

  “I tried to push it into the ground like you did, but it wouldn't go,” she said. “How did you do that?”

  He took the pin from her hand and bent over, setting the point against the ground, just as she had. With one finger, he pushed it into the stone, which gave way before his effort as if it were as soft as butter.

  The young man shrugged. “It's what I do. It's what most of us do. You do know why you're here, don't you?”

  Amethyst frowned. “Of course I do!”

  He picked up another pin from the ground and tossed it to her. “Then you should be able to do it too.”

  Setting her jaw, she placed the pin against the stone and shoved. The point of the stake slipped across the icy ground, and her knuckled scraped painfully across the rough surface. She dropped the pin and shook her hand, tucking it between her arm and chest to try to dull the pain.

  The young man spread his hands. “I could set up your tent for you, if you like. Or...”

  She looked up at him cautiously. “Or what?”

  He gestured to his tent. “Or you could use my tent with me. We could share our body heat at night and stay warmer.”

  Amethyst almost started at the suggestion. “Ah. No. I'll use my own tent, thank you.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Bending over again, he pulled the first stake out of the stone and dropped it to the ground. Turning his back on her, he walked back over to his own tent and slipped inside, pulling his pack in after him.

  Amethyst watched him go, her surprise at his suggestion fading into anger. How dare he make such a suggestion to her! She was not just some trollop to bed in exchange for a paltry bit of assistance!

  Furiously, she grabbed the stake and mallet and w
ent to work, the iron head of the mallet ringing against the steel of the pin as she slowly drove it into the ground.

  “Can I show you something?”

  She paused mid-swing, looking up at yet another unfamiliar voice, this one female. It was a woman, maybe a bit younger than the man who had just propositioned her. She crouched down, picking up one of the pins and holding her hand out for the mallet.

  “Ah, sure,” said Amethyst, wary after her first encounter with another Hopeful, and handed the mallet to the woman.

  “Make sure that when you hit the pin, you hit it straight and hard,” said the young woman. “Try not to let it wiggle back and forth too much, or it'll be loose in the hole.” She demonstrated by striking the head of the stake several times, holding it steady with her left hand and she pounded it with the mallet in her right. Slowly but surely, the sharpened tip of the stake sank into the hard stone, holding itself upright. The young woman changed her grip to hold the mallet with both hands and drove the stake into the ground with three more blows, then handed it back to Amethyst.

  “Now you try.”

  Amethyst picked up another stake. Setting the tip against the ground, she struck it with the mallet, making a small divot in the surface of the rock. She adjusted her grip on the stake then hit it again, harder, doing her best to keep it from shifting. It took her more blows than it had for the other woman, but eventually, she had the stake driven in far enough that it held itself up. She gripped the mallet tightly in both hands and pounded the stake into the stone until it was firm.

  “There you go! Excellent job!” The young woman beamed at Amethyst, clapping her gloved hands. She reached to her belt, pulling a mallet of her own from a cord loop. “I'll help you set the other ones.”

  Working together, the two made short work of the last stakes, then quickly set the posts and tied the cords. It was a little uneven, but Amethyst's tent was set up. They piled some stones around the edges to hold the canvas down and stepped back to examine their handiwork.

  The young woman dusted the snow off her gloves. “So. First time setting up a tent?”

  Amethyst rubbed the back of her head. “Is it that obvious?”

  The woman laughed and lightly punched Amethyst's arm. “Only to everyone. Don't worry, we all start somewhere.” She held out her hand. “I'm Tika. That pushy ginger over there is Fredrick.”

  Amethyst shook her hand. “You can call me Quartz.” She hugged her arms to her chest, glancing towards the stone building. “Rasul said that there would be food inside? I'm starving.”

  Tika looked her up and down. “Yeah, you're kinda skinny. Let's go get something to eat before the boys take it all.”

  Amethyst scowled, looking down at herself. “I'm not skinny!”

  Tika scoffed. “You're skinnier than me. Come on, let's go.”

  Amethyst followed Tika to the building that Rasul had called the Temple of the Summit. As soon as she stepped inside, she was greeted by warmth, the delicious smells of roast meat, fresh bread, and stew filling the air. The room they were in was wedge-shaped, two walls meeting in the center of the structure to separate this quarter of the building from the rest. The floor, ceiling, and walls were all formed of the same solid gray stone, flecked with black and white inclusions all throughout. There were no decorations on the walls, no rugs on the floor, but several tall iron poles were scattered around the room, their bases flared out wide to keep them from tipping, supporting torches on their tops to light the chamber. On both of the long, straight walls, there were passages cut out, blocked by thick, iron-banded doors of some dark, sturdy wood.

  The rest of the Hopefuls, perhaps twenty of them in all, were already inside, filing along several tables that were loaded with food, filling bowls and plates from platters and cauldrons. There were no proper chairs to sit on, though short stools were scattered around the room.

  Amethyst let Tika go ahead of her in the line, picking up a plate and following the other Hopefuls along the row of tables, taking some sliced pork, fresh bread rolls, and a bowl of brown, steaming hot, savory smelling stew. Chunks of potato, carrots, and beef floated in the thick dish, making Amethyst's mouth water in anticipation.

  As she turned away from the tables, she looked around the chamber to see that there were no more seats available. She stepped through the room, searching for somewhere to sit, but the only place was on the ground. She walked over to Tika and sat down, crossing her legs and setting her plate and bowl on the ground in front of her. The helpful young woman had pushed back her fur lined hood, revealing extremely thick, full black hair, done up in two braids that fell on either side of her head. Her skin was darker even than Rasul's, approaching the color of a light milk chocolate, and was dotted with black freckles on both of her cheeks, following the line of her cheekbones. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown with rings of gold around her pupils, giving her a lovely, exotic look.

  “From what I understand,” Tika said around a mouthful of food as she gestured at the room, “this was done on purpose. The last one in line loses their seat.”

  “Why not just provide enough seats for everyone?” Amethyst asked, furrowing her brow as she dipped one of the rolls into her stew. “What is the purpose of making someone sit on the ground? Is it just to call them out?”

  “It's about drive,” said Fredrick, holding his plate in his lap. “You've got to want to be here bad enough that you're first in line. If you want to be trained in magic by the most powerful mage of Earth that ever walked the surface of Erde, you need to be driven. Driven, skilled...” he paused, looking Amethyst up and down. “... and talented.”

  Tika blew a raspberry at Fredrick. “Just because you can make rocks soft doesn't mean you're the most suited to be here. From what I understand, soft isn't exactly the most desirable trait for a man.”

  There was a chorus of snickers and 'ooh's from the assembled youths, and Fredrick flushed, turning a brighter shade of red than his beard.

  “What the hell would a foreigner slut and an inept elf know about wielding the most powerful force known to man?” he snapped, tearing a bite of meat from the slab on his plate. “When we climb to the top of Stromgard, I'll make sure and take a piss on your frozen bodies on the way back down.”

  Tika scoffed. “Well now, I'll be sure to mark the occasion. No doubt it'll be memorable, being the first time a woman will have witnessed your prick.” She lifted an eyebrow and regarded Fredrick critically. “Though I'm not sure what there will be to witness. My hopes aren't very high, at the moment.”

  Fredrick glared at Tika. “Come by my tent tonight, and I'll show you.”

  Waving her hand dismissively, Tika turned back to her food. “I think I'll keep my own company tonight. Cold is not kind to the egos of men, and I'd have a better chance of impressing myself than you would have of satisfying a foreigner slut.”

  Fredrick was opening his mouth to snap back another reply when Rasul entered the room, closing the wooden door behind himself. He walked through the crowd and stood in the corner of the room farthest from the entrance. He looked out over the seated youths, folding his hands into his sleeves.

  “Welcome to the Temple of the Summit,” he said, his mellow voice carrying well through the room. “As you all know, we are here to see if one among you is suited to be the new apprentice of the Master of Earth. All of you have demonstrated skill or potential in controlling the elemental forces of Earth, enough to attract the attention of our esteemed Master Giriraj. He will not be joining us today, but he is nearby, and he is watching.”

  The dark-skinned man fixed his eyes on Fredrick. “Bearing that in mind, I would recommend that you behave yourselves accordingly. You are here for a serious purpose, and a solemn attitude would not go amiss.”

  Fredrick looked down, scowling into his food as he took another bite.

  Rasul looked around the room again. “This night, you are to take your rest from our long journey up the mountain. Under your seats, you will find a small stone. Keep th
is stone with you in your tents and channel the energies of our element into it, and it will keep you warm as you sleep.”

  Each of the young people who were seated on stools reached underneath them, pulling out identical leather pouches. Inside were polished spheres of obsidian, about the size of a fist. Tika held hers up and stared into it, concentrating, and before long, Amethyst could feel the heat radiating from it, warming her.

  Amethyst did not have a stool, and so had no stone sphere of her own. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the cold night to come, when Rasul stepped over to her.

  “Despite not earning yourself a seat for this meal, you will not be made to suffer.” He removed his hands from his sleeves and extended one of the leather pouches to her.

  “But she was last!” objected Fredrick. “She did not earn the grace of our master!”

  Rasul looked down at the young man, furrowing his brow. “Is not one of the definitions of grace to receive the free and unmerited goodwill of one's master? She has done nothing wrong, and so has earned no punishment.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “You would do well to learn to keep your opinions to yourself, young Fredrick. We have had this discussion before.”

  The young red-headed man closed his mouth, glaring at Amethyst.

  Rasul looked back down at Amethyst. “Use this to warm yourself tonight. Tomorrow, we begin our preparations for the Choosing. The ceremony will be held in twelve days, on the Winter Solstice.”

  He tucked his hands back into his sleeves; it was certainly his default stance. “It will take some of you a few days to acclimate to the altitude, and until then, you may feel weak or dizzy. Rest assured, it will pass.”

  With that, Rasul left the room, going back through the door he had used to enter, leaving the Hopefuls to finish their meal in silence. Thankfully, Tika and Fredrick's back-and-forth didn't resume, and Amethyst was able to finish her meal in peace.

  The only problem was that she had no idea how to use the stone.