Shadow and Ice

by Gena Showalter

  If only time travel were possible...

  Three weeks ago, she and Nola arrived in Jukkasjärvi, Sweden. For five days, adventures abounded. Then they’d road-tripped into Russia and hiked through the Khibiny Mountains with a thirtysomething guide who’d promised a kick-A experience. Temperatures had proved frosty, but there’d been very little snow, and no ice. A plethora of trees had thawed, their leaves plush and green enough to rival freshly polished emeralds, seemingly dusted with diamond powder. Here and there, rivers had babbled happily, and breathtaking waterfalls had cascaded into crystal pools.

  Somehow, their little trio had veered off path between one blink and the next, and ended up in this icy wasteland.

  Backtracking hadn’t helped, the ice stretching on. Eventually, a single set of footprints had led them to a cozy cabin, where Vale and her sister had spent the past two weeks. Day one, the guide had gone off to scout the perimeter and never returned.

  This morning, they were forced to make a difficult choice: remain in the warmth of their lodgings and slowly starve to death, or set out to find help, and possibly (quickly) freeze to death.

  As their foster momma used to say, If you want to experience the miracle of walking on water, you gotta get out of the boat.

  A pang of homesickness cut through her. The world was a sadder place without Carrie, aka Care Bear.

  In extreme need of one of those water-walking miracles, Vale and Nola had strapped on snow gear they’d unearthed in a trunk only a few days before. Oddly enough, the garments had fit perfectly, as if tailor-made for them. The coincidence had roused her suspicions, sure, but in the end she hadn’t cared about how or why, only the end result. She and Nola had set out bright and early this morning, and trudged through mile after mile of snow.

  Now sunset approached. So far, they’d found no hint of life, and Vale was getting worried.

  Getting? Please. She’d been worried every second of every day since the nightmare had started.

  I’m not ready to die.

  She’d put her life on hold for years, working various jobs while going to school full-time. Just when she’d completed a business degree from the University of Oklahoma—Go Sooners!—with zero student debt, she was going to kick the bucket? No! Unacceptable.

  And die knowing she’d caused her sister’s demise? Never.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, guilt overtaking her. Despite a top-of-the-line face mask, her nose and lungs burned when she breathed.

  “The blame is mine, and I never share. You know that.” Nola’s breath no longer misted the air. A bad sign. Very bad. “I was feeling so good, I kept bugging you to add more stops to our itinerary.”

  Her sister suffered from fibromyalgia. On any given day, Nola’s overactive nerves could cause extreme fatigue, total body aches, and swell her joints. A cocktail of medication helped alleviate the symptoms, but couldn’t cure the disease.

  “Sorry, sis, but the hike was my idea.” Apparently, relaxing wasn’t her thing. Anytime she’d had a quiet reprieve, she’d considered the avalanche of responsibility headed her way and panicked. Which made zero sense. She’d dreamed of opening the donut shop for years. And yes, okay, her dreams had revolved around Nola’s happiness rather than her own, but come on! Making Nola happy should make Vale happy. Still, in an effort to hide her panic, she’d made sure she had no quiet moments. “The blame is mine, and that’s final.”

  “Fine. We’ll go halvsies.” Nola pretended to fluff her hair. “If we die, we die, but at least we look cute.”

  “Dude. We do look cute.” They wore sleek coats, downy jackets, thermals, fleece tights, goggles, face masks, hats and gloves, multiple pairs of wool socks and hiking boots with ice cleats. “We could charm the flannel off a snow-biker gang.”

  “Or win the heart of a yeti with a Southern girl fetish.”

  “If he doesn’t want to eat our hearts first...battered and deep-fried, with melted butter on the side.” Her mouth watered. “I wonder what sautéed yeti tastes like.”

  “If you start licking your chompers when you look at me... I won’t feel so guilty for debating whether your liver would pair better with a nice red or a six-pack of cheap beer.”

  “You’ve seen my hangovers. Avoid my liver and go for the rump roast.” She gave her butt a little slap.

  Nola chuckled, only to lapse into silence when a bitter wind nearly knocked them both off their feet. “D-distract me f-from the cold, and I’ll l-l-love you forever.” Her lips were tinted blue, her teeth chattering with more force.

  “You already love me forever.” Just as Vale loved Nola, the greatest person in the world, living or dead, real or fake. Would move heaven and earth for her. “But I’m awesome, probably the awesomest, so I’ll take on this herculean task. Tell me your favorite part of the trip.”

  “Only e-everything.” Nola shifted atop her bag, unable to stifle a whimper of pain. Then she continued as if all was well. “Except f-for the abandonment, starvation and h-hypothermia, of course.”

  “Such trifling matters.” Helplessness pelted Vale’s insides. Tamp down, move on. “We did everything on our BA lists.” BA—before adulting. “We marveled over the northern lights.”

  The teeth chattering slowed, and Nola said, “We went on an overnight dog sled expedition that made me want to adopt a rescue pet as soon as I get home.”

  “We ice sculpted. FYI, my blob was better than your blob.”

  “It’s true. Oh! We also hot-tubbed while drinking champagne.”

  “Lastly, we hiked through the Arctic Circle.”

  “Only one item remains unchecked.”

  “Fall for a handsome local,” they said in unison.

  Nola grinned and added, “I thought I had a connection with our guide, until he left us to die and all. But even then, he was better than my most recent online dates. Would you please explain why so many modern guys like to send complete strangers unsolicited pictures of their genitals, and why they do it with such pride?”

  “Because of course women are catapulted into a foaming-at-the-mouth sexual frenzy the instant we catch sight of some rando’s man-junk. Duh.”

  “You’re right! That’s it. And of course, it’s soooo flattering when the creeper doubles down and asks for a tit pic in return. I’m all, yeah, sure, let me reward you for making me vomit in my mouth.”

  They snickered.

  “But,” Nola added.

  “Oh, no. No buts.” Her sis was a hopeless romantic and optimistic. Nola believed everyone deserved a second, third and fourth chance—which was why she wrote such an excellent How-To column. How to intrigue your crush blah, blah. Vale, however, was a realist.

  She wasn’t closed off to relationships, per se, but she wasn’t open, either. People were intrinsically flawed. At some point, they were going to disappoint you—and they were going to leave you. So she lived by a code. Always be the leaver, never be the leavee. And yes, she knew the code had roots in childhood abandonment issues. So what? Issues were issues for a reason. Intrinsically flawed, remember? Most people sucked a nut.

  Nola and Carrie were exceptions. Her mom, too...until she’d died of a brain aneurysm, forever altering the course of Vale’s life.

  Once, her dad had been an exception. But soon after her mother’s funeral, he’d taken off, leaving Vale to bounce from home to home. He’d never written, or called or visited, leaving her to wonder what was wrong with her, why no one ever wanted to stick around.

  Danger. Avoid! That particular thought train had one station—Depressionville.

  Moving on. Vale had a low tolerance for BS, and believed happily-ever-afters were merely an illusion. The longer families, friends or couples stayed together, the more they got to know each other, the more they glimpsed the garbage heap piled inside their loved one’s heart. In relationships, someone always got hurt.

  Get in, get out.


  Vale had dated around, but she’d never allowed herself to get serious with a guy. And really, no guy had ever wanted to get serious with her. She had to spend an enormous amount of energy pretending to be sweet and gentle, and it stressed her out, which had made her even more prickly, blunt and abrasive.

  There wasn’t a man alive who was willing to put in the work and fight to be with her, and she couldn’t blame them. She wasn’t willing to fight for a guy, either.

  “Lately, my love life has been exactly like a private jet,” Nola said.

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  “I don’t have a private jet.”

  She laughed. Funny girl. “Come on. Let’s travel a little farther before we settle in for the night.” Their bodies needed heat, and movement would add logs to the fire.

  Nola lumbered to her feet, and they helped each other strap on a pack before marching forward. Vale hauled the bulk of supplies while her sis had blankets and medications, but even still, guilt robbed her of breath every time Nola grunted or groaned from exertion.

  Okay. Another distraction, coming up. “I miss Carrie,” she said.

  At thirteen years old, both Vale and Nola were assigned to the woman who handled “difficult” cases—young girls with a disability of some sort. Carrie had done more than open her home and heart; she’d taught her charges how to love themselves, and how to thrive.

  Vale, honey, do you think a twenty-dollar bill is worth any less if it’s dirty and wrinkled? No way in heck! You might be a little rough around the edges, but you are still priceless.

  Carrie and her words of wisdom. She’d loved the adage about the potato, egg and coffee bean most of all.

  In boiling water, the potato softens, the egg hardens, but the mighty coffee bean changes the water. Don’t let difficult times weaken or harden you, girls. Get up and change the situation!

  Eyes gleaming with fondness, Nola nodded. “If she were here, she’d cook up a feast. Snowcakes. Slush omelets. Ice bacon. Hail biscuits and blizzard gravy.”

  Vale grinned, even as hunger gnawed her empty stomach. But the grin was quickly shaken off by a trembling chin. Last year, Carrie had suffered a massive heart attack and never recovered.

  Her death left a hole in Vale’s heart. “I vividly remember the day I moved in. Back then, I lived by prison rules. You know, show them who’s boss on day one. So of course I destroyed Carrie’s living room, toppling furniture and breaking anything glass.”

  “Of course.”

  “When I finished, she calmly asked if I’d like my sweet tea iced or steaming.”

  Mimicking the prim and proper Carrie, Nola said, “Always be a lady, until you need to be a land mine.”

  Carrie had only ever exploded when it came to the protection of her girls.

  Another pang of homesickness. Great! Now she needed a distraction from the distraction.

  As they motored on, she asked, “What are we going to call our donut shop, anyway?”

  They’d toyed with The Donut Bar and Drunkin’ Donuts, since their sweet treats paid homage to alcoholic beverages, but both names were taken.

  “What about Happy Hour Donuts?” Nola asked.

  “Cute, but it doesn’t say gourmet.”

  “Well, frick.”

  Frick—Carrie’s favorite “curse” word. “We could simplify and go with Lee and London,” Vale said.

  “I love it, but no one will know what we’re selling.”

  “Maybe not at first but select ad campaigns can help spread the word.”

  “Well, if we’re going in that direction, why not something like... I don’t know... Lady Carrie’s?”

  “Duuuude. I know we’re high-end and all, but you just gave me a girl-boner. Lady Carrie’s is perfect.”

  “Well, sprinkle sugar on my tush and call me a donut. Did we just name our shop?”

  Vale was just about to reply—when she spotted an ice hill up ahead. There was something about it... Something odd. But what, exactly? Nothing seemed to be out of place.

  “I’m going to scout ahead.” Heart and legs picking up speed in unison, she crossed the distance. A perfect six-foot hole had been carved into the side of the hill, leading to a tunnel with an upward tilt. Definitely man-made. What was inside? Or better yet, who was inside?

  Anticipation shook her. If the tunnel led to a cavern—occupied or unoccupied, it didn’t matter—she could get Nola out of the elements sooner rather than later.

  “Wait here,” she said when her sister reached the hill. “I’ll go inside and—”

  “Nope, sorry. We go in together.”

  “What if there’s a wild animal just waiting for a meal on legs to show up?” Mmm. Meal.

  “You’ll be the main course, and I’ll be dessert.”

  Stubborn girl. “Fine.” Vale withdrew a long coil of rope from her pack, knotted one end around her sister’s waist and the other around her own. No way Nola would fall to her death on her watch. Next, she withdrew ice axes. Two for each of them. “We’ll find a cavern or drop. Whichever comes first.”

  After adjusting her bag, she swung an ax, inched her spiked boots up several jagged steps, then swung the other ax, and inched up a few more steps. Rinse, repeat, slow and steady. Nola did the same.

  The higher they climbed, the darker the enclosure became, and the more her muscles protested.

  Drip, drip. Drip, drip.

  Ironically, the steady chorus of water drops tasted like melted vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day. Like hope. Hope gave her strength. Up, up. Higher still.

  “I’m not sure...I can go...much farther,” Nola said, heaving from exertion.

  When a soft, warm—well, warmer—breeze caressed a patch of exposed skin, she gasped. “You can. You will. Now move that little sugar tush of yours.”

  The tunnel curved to the right and—

  Revealed a small pinprick of light. “There’s something ahead!” She climbed faster, closing in.

  The light expanded as the tunnel leveled out...and opened into a cavern. Into salvation! Massive ice pillars propped up a domed ceiling at least eight feet high. There was enough space between each pillar to stretch out and get comfortable.

  Trembling, Vale dropped her tools and bag, then helped her sister over the ledge.

  As Nola sank to the ground, panting, Vale pulled the logs and kindling from her pack, and used a match to start a fire. Instant heat. Oh, such glorious heat. Smoke billowed, curling upward, and she removed her goggles and face mask.

  “Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.” Nola followed suit, ditching the headgear, revealing a face so perfect she looked airbrushed. Dark eyes, delicate nose and model-plump lips, all surrounded by flawless brown skin and a fall of straight black hair.

  The best part, she was just as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. She deserved better than the tragedy and adversity she’d been dealt. Her parents had died in a car crash when she was a baby. With no other living relatives in her family tree, she’d been placed in the system.

  Using the axes and rope, Vale made a hanging line to dry her hat and coat.

  After hanging her items, Nola frowned and pointed to one of the walls. “Is that...ice graffiti?”

  “Let’s take a look.” She approached the wall.

  Well, hello there, beautiful. Images had been carved throughout, like ancient hieroglyphs or something, depicting some kind of battle. Twenty men and four women holding various types of weapons. A cloaked figure clutching a scythe stood nearby. The grim reaper, maybe?

  A headless body sprawled on the ground, separating the warriors from a crowd of shorter men. She shuddered. A man—beast?—with horns, had a staff lifted high.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  The taste of melted vanilla ice cream intensified, aggravating her hunger. “Someone has to
live here, or at least visit upon occasion. We could be close to civilization. I’m going to have a look around for clues.”

  “Be careful.”

  “How about I be armed and ready for anything instead.” She grabbed an ax before following the artwork around the farthest column...and entering another chamber.

  No one waited within, but she did find more carvings. Impressed by the intricate details, she walked forward—only to draw up short. No way! More pillars littered the new enclosure, forming a perfect square, only these pillars were unlike the others. They glistened, in the process of melting, and they had... They...

  I can’t possibly be seeing what I think I’m seeing.

  Her pulse points thundered, and a cold, clammy sweat slicked over the back of her neck. Each pillar contained a human being. Twenty males, four females.

  At five foot ten, she was used to towering over people. These guys towered over her. They were a range of ethnicities—and species? One of the women had pretty blue skin and pointed ears. One of the men had wings. Another maybe kinda sorta had gills that flared on each side of his neck.

  This was fake, absolutely, positively. It couldn’t be real. Maybe she’d stumbled upon some kind of frozen wax museum intended for people like Vale who read sci-fi and fantasy voraciously and watched any movie or TV show featuring anything magical, futuristic or dystopian.

  Whatever the reason, she’d been right; civilization—and salvation!—were nearby. And gold seal of approval to the company responsible for this masterpiece. Never had Vale encountered such lifelike figurines—and those bodies! Each guy could star in a porno. Not that she ever watched those, cough, cough.

  When tourists came through, they’d definitely get their money’s worth. Come one, come all, see barbarians and their concubines on ice. To be fair, though, the women appeared just as vicious as the men.

  As Vale moved deeper into the cave, different sets of eyes seemed to track her. So creepy. Just beyond the columns, she spotted what looked to be the staff depicted in the carvings. The one the horned man had held.

  Unlike everything else, the rod wasn’t obscured by ice. It stood on its own, no sign of the horned man.