Frost Burn

by K T Munson

  “Help me!” his comrade called as the ice started to settle around him. He was flailing, desperately trying to stay above the ice that was closing in around him, which was as thick as an old tree trunk.

  The first hunter fell to his knees beside his fallen friend and held the ice open with his bare hands as it tried to crash closed. He reached in and took hold of his drowning partner’s arm, but yelled in pain and yanked his arm out of the water. To his horror, he saw his skin was suddenly covered in pale blue cracks.

  It was impossible, but the sea was boiling!

  The ice melted around him as he helplessly watched other man sink below the water, his skin cracking and breaking as the dark depth of the sea swallowed him. The injured hunter quickly backed away from the hole and rushed toward the rest of the hunters, holding his fractured hand to his chest.

  “We need to go,” he yelled.

  There was another great crack behind them, and they stopped to look back. Another whale had broken the surface. As they stood in awe, four more whales floated to the surface, breaking through the ice. The injured hunter glanced back at the others. Not far in the distance, they noticed great chunks of ice melting before their eyes.

  “We need to get back to Axion,” he said before turning back to contemplate the dead whales and melting ice. “Something is wrong.”

  Kirill folded his arms as the newly mended throne room filled with angry voices. People had been flooding in since word of the dead whales had spread. Whales were sacred animals that were revered and used sparingly. They were more than cattle or sheep; they were beloved and admired creatures.

  “What is being done about the Fire Nation?” one older man demanded, his face filled with hatred.

  Although Kirill shared his dislike of the Fire Nation, he didn’t want a war. War meant death, and they needed metal and stone from the Fire Nation. He instinctively glanced at Aradel, who stared forward with a straight and unyielding face.

  “There is no proof they were involved,” Queen Vesna insisted, but she looked tired. Her injury during the quake had set her back. She tired easily lately, and soon the moon pearls would glow for the next queen.

  Kirill could not help but wonder if that next queen would be Aradel. He didn’t put much faith in the moon pearls choosing someone of low birth, but he knew Queen Vesna had come from a normal family that was neither rich nor poor. Why should Aradel be any different? Unlike him, and many of the candidates, she seemed indifferent to the Fire Nation.

  “What about the sulfur in our north-western springs?” another called.

  “There have been reports of many volcanic eruptions,” the Queen replied over all the voices. “Our great priests of the temple have found records in which our water supplies in the Outland have turned sulfuric in the past. This is not uncommon. We have retracted all our people from those areas and harvested what little we could before the sulfuric groundwater ruined the plants. We do not expect it to spread, but most of our people are in Secille, close to the safety of The Wall.”

  “Is it true?” a woman’s voice broke through the crowd, “that The Wall is melting?”

  “Only a section that was disrupted by the quake,” Queen Vesna replied calmly as people started muttering. “We have no other reports of The Wall melting, and we have men working to keep that area contained.”

  “Damage to The Wall I can believe,” the same older man interjected. “Even the sudden sulfuric waters. But I cannot believe we have any record of massive whale deaths!”

  “That is true,” Queen Vesna replied, and the murmurs around the room grew to a buzz. Kirill frowned in annoyance. These people were on the edge of panic.

  “It must be the work of the Fire Nation,” the older man concluded, and the sound in the room grew again.

  The Queen appeared exhausted, so Kirill called, “Silence! The Queen speaks!”

  Silence fell again, and the Queen straightened and turned to her people, taking in each one. Kirill could see her eyes scanning the room.

  “They need the oil for light as badly as we do,” Queen Vesna reminded them. “They have done everything we have asked and more. I do not believe they are working to destroy us. I believe they are as much victims as we are.”

  At this, silence resonated and only her words seemed to fill the room. Queen Vesna was a spiritual leader for the people as much as their actual leader. She had ruled for over three decades, and many had become fiercely loyal to her. She had never voiced hatred for the Fire Nation, but she had never spoken for its people with compassion before. Many people were confused as to where their loyalties should lie.

  Kirill doubted Queen Vesna’s ability to rule any longer, but the moon pearls still glowed softly for her. Until they faded, their winter world would bow to her decision. All of nature and its animals would do nothing to stop her will. The people had their doubts and worries, but Kirill knew that, so long as the Queen kept them safe and nothing showed a direct attack by the Fire Nation, they would continue to follow her.

  Aradel stepped forward. “That concludes today’s audience with the Queen. Please return on the morrow to have your voices heard.”

  People left, many speaking in whispers until at last they were alone. The candidates waited to be ordered away or given a task. Instead, the Queen continued to stare at the closed door. They waited.

  “Has there been any word from Queen Darha?”

  “None,” Kirill replied, as he had overseen the message.

  “We are sure they received it?” Queen Vesna demanded. He did not take her doubt personally. She was tired, and every detail must be considered.

  “The owl returned without the samples.” Kirill confirmed.

  She nodded her head but continued to stare at the door as her fingers tapped on the icy throne. Kirill stared at Aradel, who was watching him closely. When their eyes met, she turned toward the Queen with wide eyes and nodded. He looked at her with confusion before she moved her hands subtly in an upward motion, indicating he should say something else.

  “It will take time for news to return,” Kirill reminded her, sending Aradel an annoyed look. He moved closer to the Queen. “You should rest before dinner.”

  Queen Vesna stopped her tapping and glanced up at him. Then she regarded the candidates with suspicion. None of them reacted to her stare; they all just waited. Without protest, she put up an arm. “Very well.”

  The women swarmed to help her to her feet, then all but carried her out of the door in a flurry of blue dresses. Only Aradel didn’t follow as she came to stand next to Kirill. His arms were still crossed because of his frustration, but he turned to look at her.

  Aradel swallowed before resting her head against his shoulder. It was in these moments that he remembered he was an entire head taller than her, and twice her width. He could snap her in half, but he had not her power or intuition. Were she to become queen, she would be the first from an impoverished family, and one of the most powerful Queens in history.

  “She weakens a little every day,” Aradel whispered sounding frail.

  He uncrossed his arms and put one around her shoulders. He drew her close because she sounded so lost and confused. His frustration at not being able to stop what was happening, didn’t match Aradel’s emotions. That frustration dissipated, though, as he held her small shoulders and fell easily into his role as her surrogate older brother.

  “It is the stress,” Kirill said, confirming that he had seen the same in the Queen. “If we can figure out what is going on, perhaps that will help her.”

  “By the moon, I hope so!” Aradel declared. “May the Fire Nation find something soon.”

  Kirill pursed his lips. “I was surprised they didn’t have scales and breathe fire!”

  “Kirill!” Aradel admonished him for his crude remark and pushed at his side.

  His laughter filled the great throne room as Aradel stalked out. Kirill watched her go and was pleased he could make her forget her worry, even for just a moment.


  He sighed though when she was out of earshot. If things continued as they were, the pressure would bury them all. Something told him that when they did hear from the Fire Nation, the news would not be good.

  Fire: Chapter Twelve

  Darha heard another host of galloping hooves, and whatever feeble strength she had left collapsed inside her. She pressed her hands to her ears and curled up into a tighter ball in the back seat of the royal carriage. It was well into the wee hours of the morning, and Darha was supposed to be asleep. Thea had tried to convince her to go back to the palace to rest, but Darha couldn’t bring herself to leave, so she lay down in the carriage. As she heard muffled talking, Darha squeezed her eyes closed and started crying silently. She couldn’t take anymore bad news. The devastation on the east coast the other morning had sapped everything out of her, so many families, children, just dead or homeless. But the day had just begun.

  After that, reports had come in for two days of livestock dying by the hundreds all over the Fire Nation, from either lack of food over the past six months or, farther north, drinking the poisonous sulfuric water. In the evening, as the sun was going down, reports came in of fish, another source of food, all turning up dead in the ocean. Some larger game fish like tuna and bass had washed up on shore on the north coast, with birds buffeting on their corpses. When the fishermen set out to investigate, there was so much dead floating sea life that they could barely see the water anymore. Large fish like sharks and whales, huge whales fifty feet long, were floating on the surface, half eaten by scavengers. Food was now getting scarce. Samples of the dead animals and sea life had gone to the Derser Rects yesterday.

  After leaving the beach on the east coast, Darha, Thea, and a dozen fire wielders had headed to meet the Frost Nation boats that were coming in over the River Gora, only to find the river had swelled in another half mile. The water now filled the streets of the southern region villages, and it was as high as lower level windows of the houses. Darha had looked around when they arrived yesterday and felt a shiver run through her entire body. It was so cold and quiet and still. After the sun fell, the windows of the houses were as black and lifeless as the night sky. The only light was the cold moon reflecting off the still water filling the streets. The only sound was it gently lapping against houses.

  For the past two days Thea, her scouts, and a few other fire wielders had been melting down the snow and ice the Frost Nation had sent for drinking water. Thea had staggered the melting process in two-hour increments so their magic wouldn’t all run out at once. For two hours, half would melt the snow and ice, while the other half delivered the water to Vlid. When they returned, they would switch. The delivering of the water allowed those fire wielders to replenish their magic so there was no gap in the melting. Vlid was suffering badly, mostly for water. The city was overrun up to Third Gate with refugees from across the entire nation. Half of their food and water supply was gone; the other half was dwindling quickly. Darha feared reserves would be tapped into soon, especially with the reports of dying fish and livestock.

  Along with the snow and ice, the Frost Nation had sent what very well could have been every ounce of oil they had. Eighty barrels had been unloaded to keep fires and lights going in Vlid. The latest death report said that one hundred and five people, mostly children, had been turned to stone because of the cold and lack of firelight during the nighttime hours. With that knowledge, Darha had that oil rushed to Vlid by the army and even ordered the oil be taken out of the four chandeliers in the throne room and distributed to the people.

  Darha had watched the Frost Nation traders help unload the barrels and other goods. A heavy, uncomfortable silence had fallen over the usually bustling activity of a large trade like this. It was almost somber. No one said a word to another, aside from quick, empty directions. The Frost Nation traders regarded her with both hatred and sympathy. They still clearly had their reservations about Darha and her people—the two dozen armed guards that stayed in the boats were proof of that—but they also saw the suffering of her nation. They were now aware of just how far the River Gora had swelled inland. They could see for themselves the dark, dead, quietness of the flooded village in which they were doing business.

  The building stones Darha had prepared for the Frost Nation were packed up in their boats to be used for rebuilding dwellings or constructing safe houses. Darha had nothing more to offer them because seven forges of the Fire Nation were either flooded along the River Gora or permanently damaged from the massive quake several days ago. She felt guiltier as two hours passed and the Frost Nation was still unloading the goods Queen Vesna had sent. Darha had started to cry then, and before she could wipe the tears from her cheeks, one of the armed Frost Nation soldiers waiting in the boats had caught her. He met her eyes and pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile and nodded once. Darha nodded in response. She wished that soldier would have come over and talked to her, maybe eased the tension of the trade, but he didn’t. Should she have she gone over to talk to him? Neither one did, and the Frost Nation shoved off toward their shore without a word of parting.

  Now, lying down in the royal carriage with her hands pressed to her ears while the melting of snow and ice continued, Darha was crying heavily. Even though she knew none of this was her fault, her heart was heavy with the sick feeling that she was failing her people somehow. As Queen, she should be able to protect them, and all she was doing was nipping at the heels of whatever was wrong with the planet and trying to clean up its mess.

  “Darha?” she heard softly through her hands. Darha opened her eyes and saw Thea’s face through the window of the carriage. Thea quickly pulled the door open and climbed in. Closing the door, she shifted the curtains so no one could see inside. “Hey, hey,” Thea said gently and reached for her. Darha started shaking with sobs as Thea lifted her upper body and pulled her into an embrace. “Shh, shh,” Thea said rubbing Darha’s hair. She cried on Thea’s shoulder for a good ten minutes.

  To take her mind off her nation falling to pieces, she thought about Thea and how strong she was. Thea hadn’t slept in two days and she was holding it together. The woman barely even complained. The extent of her complaining was a soft sigh now and again and a rub, or scratch of her forehead before she was back to work doing what needed to be done. Why couldn’t Darha be more like that? The Fire Nation needed a Queen like Thea in these disasters, not Darha.

  “I don’t want to be Queen anymore,” Darha moaned quietly.

  “Shh, shh,” Thea said soothingly as she continued to rub her hair. “Listen to me,” she said gently. “This fight isn’t over yet.”

  “How is it not?”

  Thea gently lifted Darha off her shoulder. “The Derser Rects have finished their analysis.” Her heart started racing as Thea pinched a loose strand of Darha’s hair and tucked it behind her ear. “They know what’s wrong. And if we know what’s wrong…”

  “We might be able to fix it,” Darha said.

  A faint smile came to Thea’s lips, and she closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Leave your orders, and let’s go.”

  “I already have,” Thea replied.

  Darha suddenly felt stronger then she had in months. It was like coming back from the dead. Her heart was beating so fast she felt it in her ears. She practically leapt over Thea’s lap and threw aside the curtain, shooting halfway out the carriage window. “Driver! Get us back to the palace!”

  The driver pulled up to the Temple in eastern Vlid that was miraculously unharmed by the quake. Crowds of refugees naturally took it as a sign of the Sun God’s provenance and surrounded the entire building, completely flooding the steps. Some people were on their knees or their faces, praying or screaming at the Sun God, asking why he’d abandoned them. One woman was weeping over a dead child who had turned to stone. Hundreds of people sought shelter on the top tier of the Temple just outside the main doors, which had a narrow lip of roof overhead that could protect them from the rain should more come.
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br />   Darha and Thea stepped out of the carriage, and an entourage of personal assistance and soldiers, who would escort Darha to the research area in the basement level of the Temple, quickly came forward. At the same time, the terrified civilians rushed to gather around the Queen, reaching for her between the escorts, begging for help. Darha cowered against Thea as the entourage closed ranks around her, keeping the panicked people at bay. Darha had never felt so helpless in her entire life than she did at this moment, seeing the terrified and desperate faces of her people, her nation. Darha could have collapsed easily and given up right then and there if Thea had not suddenly put her arm firmly around Darha’s waist and held her tightly to her side. Darha looked up at her exhausted sister and drew strength from the fierceness she could still muster in her eyes, as she carefully watched the crowd to make sure no one breached the protective detail around them.

  They made it up the gray, wide stone steps, fighting the crowd the entire way, and stepped through the two silver double doors. Walking through these doors was almost like stepping into the palace throne room but, to Darha, it was even better. The main sanctuary was a vastly wide, round room. It didn’t appear to be very much, with empty gray stone walls and floor. Silver, decoratively forged pews filled the room, bowing out in a half circle around the altar at the front where the Dersers preached once a week. There really wasn’t very much to it at first glance, but once you got out from underneath the balcony above, the sanctuary didn’t seem so plain anymore.

  The ceiling was cone shaped and massively tall, but the stunning thing, was the multiple stained glass windows arranged in the roof so that they spiraled upwards into the very tip, looking like the shell of a snail from down below. Each window was a different depiction of artwork, whether it was the face of an ancient hero, or a single rose blossom or flower sitting on a plain background, or one with no definitive picture at all, just multicolored designs or shapes. At the very top, just inside the tip of the cone, was a stained-glass depiction of the sun. Patrons always made a point of gazing up at the ceiling whenever they entered the Temple, no matter how many times they had seen it in their lives, because a sight like that never got old.