Realm of Ice

by Angela J. Ford

  Tor Lir moved, picking a direction at random since there was no path. A faint tremor shook the ground, forcing him to pause and re-adjust his thoughts. Initially, when he'd fallen, it was from an intense desire to get away from the Frost Queen. Her overwhelming lust for vengeance stirred him in ways he did not intend. His thoughts were conflicted and leaned toward violence in her presence. Now that he was free of her, a clarity came to his mind. He stretched out his hands, although the wind beat against them, creating tiny cuts on his clothes and skin.

  He should be dead from exposure, the chill, and the relentless slant of the storm, but an urge drove him on.

  There was a faint pull like a hint of the purest perfume that wafted in the wind. It played with him, a seeker's game, and each step in the right direction brought a warmth to his body. The closer he moved, the warmer it grew, and yet the storm blinded him, forcing him to walk by the pull in his heart.

  Alone. His thoughts flickered back to his years growing up in the green forest of Shimla. The innocence and beauty of nature compelled him to explore its boundaries, and when he visited the arbors of the Jesnidrains, pleasures untold were brought to him. He did not realize the unexpected blessing of being an Iaen then, but as he walked, he considered the desires of mortals, and how sharply they contrasted with his. Mortals longed for treasure, they fought for power; they used work as the measuring stick upon which they attained their goals. They fought and bled and desired and yet were never content with what they had. Their short lives seemed nothing more than an endless quest for something unattainable, something they could not carry into the afterlife when they passed and their souls traveled to the Beyond. Yet in his quest to bring balance to the South World, he'd seen what the mortals sought, what they lived for. After all, he’d had the chance to gain it all when he lived in Shimla.

  Power was his birthright, although he'd tossed it away. The desire to rule the Iaen seemed tedious. How could he rule over a paradise where the pursuit of pleasure was the only goal? It was the sheer complacency of his kind that encouraged him to leave and seek life in the realm of mortals. A place where he did not understand the laws of the land but the distinction between right and wrong were clear in his head.

  Theft. Murder. Trickery. Betrayal. Destruction. Abuse. Slander.

  It was easy to distinguish between right and wrong when it came to those basic things, regardless of intent. But when it came to making judgements and choosing who would suffer the consequences and who would walk free, it become increasingly confusing. After being close to the Frost Queen, he grasped her need for revenge, and the intensity with which she held herself away from the world, her sole focus on repaying those who made her suffer, who killed her children. The Therian. But was it up to her to choose who would suffer? Should she be allowed to enact her revenge? Tor Lir thought not, especially when her revenge affected more than the Therian.

  Briefly he recalled the Ezinck child that he, Citrine, and Elbron had come across on their way to the Frost Queen's lair. What of her tribe? What happened to them when the giant bear unearthed itself? Their camp was likely gone, destroyed in the onslaught. Even if they lived in caves, the mountain could not take much more.

  His thoughts turned to Citrine, likely buried in the depths of Stronghold. He set his jaw as he thought of her. Citrine the Enchantress. He could not lose her. The realization struck him with a small degree of astonishment. He'd promised the green giantess who raised him that he would not destroy the world because of love, but he felt on the brink, and with some annoyance he considered what his true feelings were. It was clear, and he could freely admit he cared about her and what happened to her. Regardless, he'd cared for Hava too, and it brought nothing but death to her. A fate Citrine could not share. She was too important to lose, for she belonged with him.

  A certainty came over him, and he brushed his fingers through the air, seeking something to hold onto as the wind threatened to blow him over. He needed to save her. It was his sole purpose now. Because of the Frost Queen, the mountain folk were doomed. He'd do what he could to save them, but he needed to save Citrine and find out what his purpose was. After he helped her with the Udi, he’d persuade her to go to Daygone with him.

  Threads of clarity drifted to him. He was no longer afraid of who he was, what he was. He wanted to know why he was born and for what purpose; he wanted to know what frightened the green giantess, and why she was always uncomfortable in his presence. And then there was the song, the unending lullaby that whispered through his consciousness, flinging meaningless words at him until it controlled him. He wanted wisdom. He'd seen the world and what the mortals offered, and in the year and half he’d gained no great glories, nor obtained knowledge that encouraged him. He was above them and their ways. It was only the darkness of the mortals that allowed him to see. It was their imperfections and their nobleness that made him realize there was more he could do to shape the world.

  Heat flared up his legs, distracting him from his thoughts. He blinked. White. Black. Nothing else. But he was closer. The numbness faded from his knees down, and the whispery sensation in his chest grew stronger. A deep pull surged through him, like water against a dam, waiting to burst free. His hands sought purchase, and he stamped his feet, seeking a liquid.

  If the Frost Queen had told him the truth, he should find the source of that pool. Orenda. The power of the mountains that filled him. If he consumed it all, the giant bear would slumber again, or die. Uneasiness made him twitch. He did not know how to consume that power, but if he called upon his shadow, if he let down his iron resistance, he could save what life was left in the mountains. He would not shy away from who he was or let his weakness cause such a great calamity again.

  After a time, the wind dropped. Tor Lir was unsure how long he had walked through the storm. Vague humps rose on either side of him. Snowbanks. The wind curled around him, sending snow in gentle circles. The flakes were as big as his hands, allowing him to see the intricate designs, each contrasting with the other yet just as beautiful. The scent of pine trees hung in the air, although there was nothing but all-consuming whiteness.

  Tor Lir took a breath and saw mist curl around him, as though he once again sat in the fire at the home of Novor Tur-Woodberry and smoke curled out of a pipe. He remembered Citrine's tears when Novor Tur-Woodberry's land faded away. Losing the connection to paradise had been devastating for her. To come from nothing and have everything one desired snatched away was a hard burden to bear. But bear it she did, and he had not understood. Not then. Now he only caught glimpses of what mortals must have thought of him. He came across as cold, arrogant. The mortals misunderstood him and his intentions.

  Even now, he walked alone, and he needed something other than his shadow on his side.

  It came to him in a blur. The wind died away, and he stopped on the bank of an impossible pool. Above him rose layers of snow banks and gray rock, as though he'd walked to the bottom of a mountain. There was no sky around him, no ending above or below him, only a vague whiteness that sparkled with an intensity that hurt his eyes. He blinked against the brightness and wondered if he were at the bottom of the world, or somewhere in the vast In-Between where the Truth Tellers dwelt.

  Beneath his feet, the bank sloped down into a riverbed. Shimmering in the brightness with collected motes of white mist was a milk-white pool. The substance in it was thick like clay, and Tor Lir had a strange compulsion to dive in, head first, and drink the liquid until it was gone. If this was the pool of Orenda, it was endless, and he had no way to drain it.

  His thoughts flickered, trying to make sense of the energy wafting from the surface of the pool. Old tales did not mention the pool, nor much of what happened in the mountains. He thought back to the Rulers of the West. It was said they had a power, and he wondered if it had awoken in them when they went to the mountains. According to the Frost Queen, those who had it would not lose it, but he could take it away. If he used his shadow, he could take it all away and ensure no
one else could misuse the power as the Frost Queen had. Would it be enough to kill the giant bear?

  He stretched out his hands as though he would bless the pool. Nothing shimmered in the water, and he took a step down, closer to the surface.

  His step made a soft crunching sound and then over the water, he saw a horned shadow. His shadow. The dark thing walked up out of the pool, as though it dwelled there, and hovered in front of Tor Lir.

  Tor Lir met its eyes, aware that he looked on himself. However, he could not stop a slight sensation of unease. The shadow stood as he did, feet apart, arms folded.

  Animosity hung in the air, a faint hint of the warring between his inner thoughts, reflected in the darkness that took form before him.

  "We must destroy the pool," he said.

  The shadow stared back. "I am you. And you are me. What are you proposing?"

  Tor Lir’s voice went cold. "I am not proposing anything. I am telling you, because you are me, and I am you. We will destroy this pool. Together."

  The shadow took a step toward him, and then another. A terrible premonition came over Tor Lir as the shadow stepped forward until they were almost touching. He closed his eyes and inhaled until his shadow was inseparable from him once more. The stirrings of power awakened in him, and he walked into the pool.

  36

  Buried

  The bull that had once been Nodin grew horns on its head. A snout appeared where its face was, and its eyes turned black. Thick, hairy arms and legs took the place of his flesh, and hooves formed from his feet. His went down on all fours, shook his head back and forth, horns glinting in the low light, and charged the room.

  Citrine’s hands trembled as she backed against the wall, making slow movements toward the exit. Growls fill the air, danger on the outside, danger on the inside. The Therian transformed into massive gray wolves and brown bears. Curved teeth met the bull’s side, and guttural howls filled the air. The scent of blood and fur hung in the air, and among the cries were the snap of bone, the rip of flesh, and the tearing of skin as the Therian fought. Feeling nauseous, Citrine took her chance and slipped from the room out into the dark hall where the wild beasts awaited.

  She lifted her hands and gathered the threads of communication once more. This time she ignored the trepidation in her thoughts, the words her mother had forbidden her to use, and exerted her control over the wild beasts.

  Stay still. Let me walk through you in peace.

  Snarls met her and low growls, but they did not come for her. Turning, she fled into darkness, leaping over broken rock and making her way farther into the underground. Stale air pressed around her, adding to her concerns. She had no idea how deep the path went on, nor how much air was left. If everything above them was trapped, it was only a matter of time until they all expired from lack of air, food, and water—if the inner feud of the Therian did not get them first.

  After a while, the sound of digging rang out loud and clear. Citrine’s shoulders relaxed, and she followed the sound until she came to a wide cavern. It was there the work was at its loudest, sending echoes dancing through the air. She entered the cavern, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the walls, where crystals lay embedded and gave off a faint blue light. Citrine sighed with relief. It was here she needed to bring the Therian. She glanced to the walls, aware that she had lost her way and did not know how to get back. A shriek filled her thoughts.

  Citrine! Where are you?

  Ava. She pressed her lips together. I am buried in the Therian's Stronghold, trying to get out. Where are you?

  Get out of there. We need to leave. A monstrous bear is tearing down the mountain. You will be crushed if we don’t flee now.

  I know that, Ava. Citrine sighed. The Therian are at war and I’m deep underground in a cavern. I think the Fúlishités of the Frost Queen are digging a tunnel this way. Once they come through, I’ll make my way back to her caves, if they aren’t underground, and find you.

  What about the bear? It will destroy everything, Ava shrieked again.

  Citrine went still, taking in the weight of what she was about to do. How big is it, Ava?

  As big as a mountain, its breath stinks, and one of its paws will knock me out of the sky if I get too close. Shall I kill it for you?

  Yes, Ava. Citrine blew out her breath. Forsaking her oath for the first time. Ava. Burn it.

  Before the threads of communication were severed, Citrine heard Ava hiss and then roar. For a moment she was with her beast in the air, arching back her neck to create a fireball. Heat would flare from Ava’s throat and then a liquid of fire would consume the bear. Citrine balled her hands into fists. She would save as many as she could, although from the sounds she heard in a distance, she did not know how many.

  She chewed her lower lip, and her thoughts flew to Tor Lir. Where was he? What was he doing? Tears smarted in her eyes. Why should she care?

  The digging stopped, and it was a moment before Citrine heard a gentle smacking sound. She turned her attention back to the rock just as a hole opened up. Two beady eyes in a heavily bearded face gazed at her. But it was the sight beyond those eyes that made her give a muffled cry. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she stared, quivering with desire.

  37

  Emerald

  Emerald fire exploded across the pool, licking up the slippery surface. Tor Lir watched as though he were not there, merely an impartial observer as the green fire poured from his fingertips.

  So that was what the shimmer had been, a potent power underneath his skin that he carried around with him. He racked his mind, trying to remember if he’d ever seen the green giantess use this strange ability. But try as he might, nothing jolted his memory.

  Another uneasy thought came to mind. He’d seen the green shimmer on the giantess’s skin many times. It seemed to show through when she grew agitated. There were words she spoke, chants in another language, but he could not recall her doing it when he was near. Something was hidden from him. But what was it? And why did she hide it from him? Why did she not take on the responsibility of telling him who he really was and why she’d brought him into the world? Was it because of a mistake she’d made that she did not want him to repeat? Was she trying to ensure he was unmarked by the visions that haunted her? Or was she leaving him to the winds of fate, the call of the Truth Tellers and the tug in his heart. It was up to him to choose his own path and determine whether he would walk a fine line between light and dark or plunge wholeheartedly into good or evil.

  Smoke billowed through the air like an emerald cloud on a clear day. An incandescent shimmer filled his vision, and the raw scent of power imbued the air. He sniffed, unable to describe what it smelled like. The fire raged like a hungry beast, licking up the milky-white pool, and yet it did not spread any farther. It was contained in the circle, a ceaseless fire.

  Tor Lir dropped his arms and his gazed moved skyward. How would he find Citrine? He needed a connection, a trail that would lead directly to her. A thought blinked into his mind so strongly a grin came to his face. He focused his gaze on the sky, took a deep breath and shouted with all his might, “Ava.”

  His voice boomed from the depths of his belly with a surprising resonance. The call echoed off the mountain tops. Cheeks pulled, back the grin stayed on his lips and he shouted again and again. Out of all of Citrine’s beasts, Ava was partial to him. He admired her fearsome beauty and was well aware she could understand him; he just did not have the same ability Citrine had to connect with her beasts with her mind.

  A crack in the pool drew his attention back to the walls of fire he’d created. Flames had consumed the milk-white liquid, leaving a hole in the ground where the pool had once been. Tor Lir stepped back, although the fire still burned. A rushing sound came to his ears like the roar of a wind, only there was no wind, and his fingers twitched in the stillness. Warmth flamed his face, and his eyes grew wide as he realized he needed to stop it.

  He held out his fingers and called out a command.
“Stop.”

  Flames leapt into the air, higher if possible. Tor Lir took a step back. “Stop.”

  The hole in the ground spread like a mouth, opening up wider and wider as though it would swallow the mountain. The ground shook, and fissures opened up. Tor Lir continued to back away, his eyes widening as the rock in front of him dropped away, diving into the black hole. The fire swirled into it and the thunder of the mountain drowned out all sound. Panic furled through Tor Lir, and he shouted repeatedly. “Ava. Ava!”

  38

  Stone

  Light glittered, and there it was. A lemon-yellow stone. The same color of her eyes. Around it other jewels shimmered behind the ice, promising wealth to those who mined the tunnels. Time slowed down for Citrine. The stone she’d originally searched for but gave up after she heard about the Clyear of Revelation. Excitement tingled in her fingertips. It was pure luck the stone was here.

  “Oy. Who are you?” a voice demanded.

  Citrine paused in her tracks, a scowl crossing her face at the interruption. The beady eyes belonged to a four-foot-tall Fúlishité. A mane of silver hair ran from his head past his waist, and his mouth was lost in the bush of his silver beard. He raised frost-covered eyebrows at Citrine, kicked out the last of the rubble, and stepped out of the wall. Once he moved out of the way, another Fúlishité followed him, and another, and another.

  Citrine ignored the question and continued on her path to the stone. It perched at eye level, a few feet away from where the Fúlishités’ tunnel opened up. The stone glimmered behind a sheet of ice. She just needed a knife to dig it out. Her fingers went to her waist, but she was defenseless. A curse left her lips. She’d foolishly lost the knives that Novor Tur-Woodberry—the friendly giant—had given her. Her eyebrows creased, and she chewed her bottom lip.