Chill

Chapter 10

"That was some stunt you pulled up there," Fallow said to Dorstal as they devoured the plentiful refreshments by firelight. It had eventually been decided such a lavish spread should not go to waste and the wedding guests who chose to remain at the Wayfarer Inn following the unexpected interruption of the festivities had gathered hungrily around the great table to toast the bride and curse the Lumos.

"Got the idea from what you said about rephasing a flash rifle," Dorstal responded, mouth full of mutton pie. "From the look on that guy's face, seems it's true. If you know anyone who can do the rephasing, let us know. We'll have a big advantage over them if they come again. Let them try to arrest any of us a second time and see what happens." He followed this forthright statement with a large draught of Vivid.

"That was Agent Master Draevenk," the professor said. He had come to the inn as soon as the power failure was confirmed and found the place unexpectedly full of revellers and no one caring a jot about the matter. "I know him. A determined man, a policy maker on some trade commissions."

"He has no business here, among farmers," Dorstal spat back venomously. "The man's a commodity agent, like his father before him. He is employed by mineral speculators driven by greed. No authority over honest hard working land folk."

"In a manner of speaking he does. The nature of the various Mineral Star ventures requires extended authority for local control," the professor felt obliged to explain. He thought it was important to let everyone know where they stood, what lines might be crossed. "A regularly constituted government is unsuitable for a remote pioneering colony of fifty thousand souls all told," he continued. "The Crystal Lumos Agency was licensed to exploit the Myscenna System by the Resource Directorate based on economic projections. Profit for them meant rich taxes for government. The colonising of Troy was a fortuitous side effect of their... costly failure on Cimmeron." He gulped in the midst of making this statement. "Nearly all the first landers were Lumos employees and their families. Naturally enough many Lumos grandees trace their authority from the Primary Gate event that first brought them here and you can be sure Agent Draevenk has an unbroken line through birth and employment that gives him the right to command others on the soil of Troy as he so wishes. I saw his authority card clearly, a generation card."

"Authority and power to control are two different things, professor," Fallow growled into his mug of Vivid without looking up.

"With respect, in a young world like ours power originates from regard for duly constituted authority. Take the Proctors as an example. Stemming from educational boards set up offworld, university networks and exchange colleges, Proctors wield a degree of civil control far beyond their ability to impose it so long as we allow them that power. We turn to them for wedding licences, not the Crystal Lumos."

"And the price of sheared wool," someone laughed.

"No. Sadly, certain colonial commodities and resources are controlled by the founding power here. The economy of Troy is totally in the hands of sub companies owned by the Crystal Lumos Agency."

"I pay my rent to them. They'd bulldoze this place if I didn't," Lick Sorrell sullenly declared and everyone remained silent after this ominous observation, thinking of their own livelihoods in the grip of various Lumos agents across the district.

Having satisfied himself the loss of electricity at the inn and among the dozen or so scattered cottages would not cause immediate problems for the remaining inhabitants, dwindling by the day though they were, Professor Madrullian stood to take his leave. He needed to check on his granddaughter again, and it was thoughts of her that seemed to rouse the hermit from his favourite place by the fire. He appeared to have nowhere else to go when the chill was at its worst and no one begrudged him the spot.

"I saw what she did, that girl," he whispered, tugging on the professor's sleeve as the bearded offworlder made preparation to leave in the foyer. There appeared a gleam of madness in the old man's eye as he spoke.

"What do you mean?" the professor frowned back, pausing in wrapping thermal layers around his shoulders.

"Like a weather witch, don't you think?" the old man croaked exultantly. "Dragging the great chill down on us at will, laying a curse upon the land as punishment for past deeds. You know that Motar Madrullian, you know that. I saw what she did."

"You dwell too much on things past Afdal Paterion, things you cannot change no matter how much you dream and hope it might have been otherwise. What happened happened. There is no going back."

With that the professor brushed off his grip and departed back to the stone built mansion deep in thought.

"I think you know there is, and that weather witch will give you what you want most, I'm sure of it. Only it will be too late to realise it will be all for nothing, all for nothing..." and the hermit muttered these words repeatedly to himself under his breath as he returned to the light and noise and warmth of the drinking hall.

Paterion's words seemed to touch a nerve with the professor and left the man brooding darkly. His mood was lightened instantly however on seeing his granddaughter awake and animated with her own conflicting emotions.

"I'm sorry for spoiling the wedding. Is Sumira mad at me?" she said on seeing him enter and dismiss Falma with a gesture.

Maena sat propped up in bed, surrounded by big flouncy pillows and cuddly toys. Her grandfather handed the girl a hot steaming drink which she sipped gratefully.

"Mmm, sugar," she said appreciatively.

"They think you're a weather witch," the professor chuckled. "I heard Tessanna say so and there appeared significant agreement among her friends."

"Burn me!" Maena joked.

"Seriously though, you do not remember?"

"No, grandfather," shaking her chestnut locks. "I was so excited about everything, the snow, the ceremony, even the howling wind, and I just blacked out right when Fallow carried the bride. I heard the cheers and the shouts and then felt terribly hot."

"You hugged a tree."

"No, really? I remember being carried home and there were angry shouts. I was terrified I had messed everything up."

"Then you know nothing of the attack and that we are now without electricity here at Upper Maeven?"

Maena glanced at the rosy light by her bed. The silent whisper cube glowed faintly too but it had its own power source. The professor understood her puzzlement.

"Our generators are independent of the power grid of Maeven," he reassured her. "It's the other homes I am more concerned about. More fuel will have to be burnt to cook food and keep the cottages warm but I'm sure they will manage."

"An attack cut off our power supply?" Maena said.

Professor Madrullian went over the details of events during his granddaughter's blind spell and she lay back, her silvery eyes wide with fresh worry.

"Perhaps I did call down the ice demons," she said, staring at the ceiling. "To scatter our enemies. Like a secret weapon." She smiled faintly and the hot drink began to take effect. Her eyes became heavy and she drifted off to sleep again. Falma returned and the professor left to deal with other pressing matters.

Professional contacts in Ithak had warned him there were grave concerns about the rebellious nature of the Upper Maeven populace. The appearance of Agent Draevenk at the moment of the wedding seemed a deliberate provocation, a warning to the settlement that the problems brought by the chill were no excuse for acts of vandalism. He put the case to some elders at Troy Totalis that no one was helping them deal with the unprecedented cold spell. Supplies had reached Pashak and were to be gathered in the sheds at Proctor Bridge, the nearest safe distribution centre, but as was acidly pointed out, those sheds no longer existed. Only limited supplies could be held at Lower Maeven, a place suffering from its own flooding and freezing problems and the Vissoe had burst its banks for the first time in living memory.

"Fly stuff in," the professor suggested. This was greeted with a negative. The cold fogs rolling off the Ridge around High Peaks reduced visibility to zero and the fluctuating magnetic fields so prevalent all across Troy made navigation based solely on instrumentation perilous. Ground based movement was the only option. The professor sighed. "And you wonder why the people here feel abandoned and resentful?" he signed off impatiently.

Maena was up and about the next day and visited the Wayfarer Inn, ostensibly to apologise to Sumira and Fallow, but chiefly to see Tam Sorrell. Everyone she met hugged her in sympathy and this kindness cheered her so that when she was finally confronted by the giant man in the drinking hall she was less nervous about his reaction to the sight of her. His first words turned the whole experience on its head.

"There's our glorious weather witch," the man declared, raising a huge foaming mug of drink in her honour. "She it was who scattered our enemies with but a gesture of her hand!" She flicked her hair like she remembered seeing Sara Manderby do, and walked proudly across the polished wood floor to where some other girls were sat playing cards and chatting as applause followed her. The inn had become a social gathering place for all ages now Lower Maeven was less accessible. There was even a creche for the really young, although most of the preteens had gone with worried families. Surprisingly Tessanna stood as Maena approached and made room for her on the bench, not from fear of what she could do but out of respect. Forsa Bandilor seemed the only one displeased to see her and gave a dark scowl at the hand of cards she held to her face. She slammed them on the table.

"Win!" she declared. Wood chips were gathered to her and others groaned at their losses. When Maena made to touch a card Forsa intervened. "You can't play," she said.

"Why not?" and she blinked.

"How do we know you're not remotely talking to your cube?" Everyone laughed at this accusation and Maena shrugged.

"You don't I guess," she sighed, thinking it best to keep as much mystery around herself as possible. It was a weapon she could use if need be. She knew many secrets and glanced over at Karanie who was sat on Merry Dimsoe's lap hand-feeding him breakfast.

Tessanna appeared more friendly. It was as if the departure of Sara Manderby, a rival popular girl, had resolved the issues the statuesque Tessanna had with others. Coming out from that shadow she appeared nicer, more accommodating. Also more inquisitive.

"Those blackouts you get, do they hurt?" she asked as the other girls fought over the cards.

"Yes," Maena replied shortly. "Headaches," and she briefly touched her temple. She then looked around in search of Tam and Tessanna showed her own mind-reading skills.

"He's out back shovelling snow. I think he only appears in the hall to serve drinks and food in the afternoon or evening," she smiled mischievously. Maena blushed in spite of her best efforts not to. She wanted to ask if being beautiful hurt sometimes but held her tongue. A commotion drew everyone's attention to the centre of the hall. Men were gathering, suited up and armed.

Karanie, who was still sitting on Merry Dimsoe's lap, suddenly jumped up and clapped.

"The bridal hunt!" she squealed in delight.

Maena looked closely at the great padded figures milling in the space near the door to see if Tam were among them and was relieved for once by his absence.

The hunters, headed inevitably by Parthan Fallow with his great bear cape, were fulfilling a tradition the northerner had brought with him from the Frozen Peaks. He would hunt the great elk as a wedding gift for his new bride, and there were no shortage of volunteers to act as the groom's coadjutors in the venture. Lick Sorrell, reading up on such matters, arrived with a cask of Vivid on his shoulder which he slammed to the floor at the feet of the men and broached with a splicer.

"Help yourselves gentlemen," he said. "On the house."

Wooden bowls chased with silver were handed round and the ruddy liquid was scooped up and swallowed quickly by the thirsty hunters, warming their very bones for the task ahead. After experiencing the arctic blast on the wedding day they knew what they were up against. One final speech of thanks by Fallow and everyone wished them luck. The door was unfastened, a blast of cold wind billowed into the hall, making the hermit smile strangely, and the armed men filed out to the sounds of cheers from those happy to remain inside warm and dry.

The contrast could not be more severe. Even the morning light seemed to partake of night time out on the slope beneath the escarpment as Fallow marshalled the several men around him and offered instructions.

"Three tracks crossed the Lammer Field last night," he shouted above the wind as they sheltered at the foot of the escarpment. He had left his bear staff behind and waved a flash rifle as he spoke, its ruby power eye flaming in the twilight. "We'll follow those as far as they go. One's a bull male. Split him from the others and leave him to me."

With that the hunters turned their faces to the upper heights and crouched forward against the howling wind that funnelled through the passes like several distinct tornadoes. They knew higher up it would not be so bad and thus they ploughed ahead confidently with Fallow in the lead.

At greater altitude the light was better and Dorstal and his brother Malten squat by the barely traceable marks in the snow on the very edge of the now deserted Lammer Field where elk had passed some hours previously. Shallow patterns that crossed and mixed and seemed to say nothing to the untrained eye were all that was needed for experienced hunters to act upon.

"That way?" Malten said and Fallow nodded. They were learning quickly.

Lammer Field was a glacial valley scooped out of the high mountainside a million or so years ago, with a soil of fragmented rock softened by meltwater so that in a warming climate it became an expanse once sprinkled with daisies and cornflowers. Now it presented a hollow landscape broken by bare rocky outcrops and copses of birch and evergreen oak that relieved the eye from the tiring glare of whiteness all around.

"Keep your voices low," Fallow said, noting the tracks appeared to spread out, as if the animals had disagreed on something and gone their separate ways. "The females have just passed through to Turnoe Hollow, probably after the dry brush by the cascades, the ice being thinner and easy to break. There!" He suddenly gestured and everyone squat, understanding the sign.

At the edge of a small cluster of dwarf oak a great grey beast with a rack of antlers as wide as Fallow was tall, was picking at some low branches, tugging at the twigs and showering down ice crystals in the process. Everyone held their breaths and flattened behind a rise of snow to make themselves as small as possible. The stalking had begun.

Yet in spite of their best efforts, some supernatural power possessed by the beast alerted him to the danger. His head perked up, dark jewel-like eyes blazing with suspicion. With a snort he was away, ducking behind the mass of oak and snow drifts and out of sight.

Young Eastel cursed, overcome by the excitement of his first real hunt and the men laughed.

"Plenty of time yet boy," his father assured him.

"Did you see? He was magnificent," Eastel sighed.

They approached the trees as a group, rifles at the ready lest the creature make a charge from ambush, fanning out to confuse any point of attack. Fallow paused, noted the droppings and lowered his rifle. A freezing gust of wind brought sparkling ice crystals showering down from above. Dying trees weeping, he thought ruefully. He felt like weeping too, for the meadows and valleys of last summer, now covered deeply in a blanket of killing snow. There was a slim vein of poetic anguish beneath his rocky veneer.

"He's gone upwards. We spooked him for sure," he said to the smaller man next to him.

"You think?" came a muffled reply. Dorstal, not used to such frost, had shrouded his whole face in the heated fabric of the thick shell suit so that only small squinting eyes were visible. It was difficult to breathe thus but easier to stay alive. Fallow, more used to such weather extremes from childhood, let his breath steam around him as he surveyed the whiteness ahead, looking for the elk sign he knew should be there if he was right. His eyes strayed upwards and glanced off black ramparts that in summer would be sprinkled with bushes and shrubs. Withered to blackness and torn from dead roots by screaming winds, only the rock now remained, laced in crack and fissure by bright crystals as hard as diamonds.

"You want to go up there?" Dorstal's voice rose in disbelief as he followed the great northerner's gaze, hinting if it were so then the Frozen Peak man would be going alone.

"Did you not see the beast? A true arctic elk!" Fallow responded eagerly, his blood hot for the chase. "Meat for a dozen families." He knew it had been one of the descendants of primary elks let loose generations ago when the colony was young. Spliced with genes that gave it extraordinary adaptive powers, this bull male's ancestors had clearly strayed through the arctic zones of the upper highlands. The original stock, third generation imprints from the original geotype, were a mild-tempered heavy beast that bred quickly but moved slowly. Fallow had become familiar with the fourth generation breed as they began populating the Frozen Peak districts. They were stocky but swift, fierce and determined, and much better meat, but also much harder to hunt. The few population centres had until now of course only been recorded in polar regions but this new breed had clearly decided to settle in the strangely frozen highlands above the Wilds of Maeven. It would be like paradise to them. Now he felt sure he had one of these fierce creatures cornered.

A brief conference was held. Dorstal and his brother Malten were not happy to let the hunting groom go on. The place where the elk had escaped to was savage terrain in these conditions yet nothing could persuade the northerner from abandoning the beast. Young Eastel wanted to accompany him of course, shouldering his flash rifle eagerly but his uncle forbid this.

"Your mother would never forgive me," he said gruffly, laying a heavy glove on the youthful figure's padded shoulder. The boy made no effort to shrug it off in spite of his disobedient demeanour. He would be a hunter now, not a herder, but there was time enough to learn this dangerous skill. The great snows showed no sign of lifting and the arctic elk would still be there, in growing numbers. If only the first landers had seen fit to introduce cave bears to the Wilds as well, what adventures Eastel could have then!

"Just me, then" growled Fallow, dark eyes surveying the group of men as they wavered on the snow-covered rampart that led beyond the Lammer Field to unknown dangers high above.

"Just you," Dorstal responded softly, respectfully. There was nothing he could say to dissuade the man from going on. The bridal hunt would continue without them. They acknowledged the superior prowess of the northern hunter and knew something of his sad story, a warning to all.

Fallow had lost his father and two brothers in a single incident amid the Frozen Peaks. An avalanche had swept them away as they were doing the very thing he was now attempting, the hunting of an arctic elk. He hated the place since that time so moved away to the more temperate district in the Wilds of Maeven. Now this place too was gripped by cold, as if a malignant spirit had followed him here. The bitterness of the change had inspired him with a desire to conquer these new frozen wastes or die trying. Hunting elk was in his blood, no matter how fierce they may be. He would do it alone if the little men of Maeven were not with him. A curt nod of acceptance and he turned his back on the others. It was a signal for them to depart and the man went on alone, upwards. Dorstal watched him slowly weave his way through withered underbrush that clung to the hillside until cold mists hid the man from view. Then he turned and with the others half-slid down towards the small settlement huddled on the mountain side where a few hardy humans still clung to a life within stone walls heated by fierce ever-burning fires.

The trees that once surrounded the settlement were good for nothing but firewood now and even then only when the sap had thawed enough to take fire. They gave off a pleasant fragrance thanks to that sap which had risen in response to soft spring showers and which was now trapped in the frozen trunks of the blighted trees. Instead of summer, a hard cold winter had descended upon the hills, halting all growth for plant and animal both. The fight for survival was every man's personal battle with the elements, and Dorstal acknowledged Fallow was no different.

Having scaled rivers of ice and treacherous crags, the northerner's heated boots crunched knee deep in the white drifts as he sought tracks in the dull blue twilight that reflected down from the iron mountain peaks surrounding the once lush valley. No human could survive up here now without garments laced with hot meshwork and Fallow felt a bitterness that it was so, remembering the harsh frozen lands he had left behind him so he could enjoy a softer, lush climate and start afresh. It was as if a curse had fallen upon him and his family, a curse that pursued him wherever he might go. He could not fathom what malignant spirit had laid a hand upon him nor why, only that there seemed but one way to break such blighted destiny, and that was to face it head on.

He surveyed the misty landscape a moment, endeavouring to find something familiar amid the obliterated landmarks. What he saw was a confusing mass of whiteness broken here and there by clumps of dark leafless trees, skeleton hands reaching to the grey clouds above. The whole barren valley was bordered by black rock that soared upwards, almost shutting out the sky. He felt utterly alone up here.

With flash rifle poised, Fallow leaned into a smooth drift that swelled before him, noting possible elk sign near a withered oak stump. Disturbances fresh enough not to have been softened or concealed by the ever falling snow.

In the valley below he had lost the track of his intended victim but all signs suggested the bull elk he sought had threaded his way up a narrow crevasse to this higher glacial bowl surrounded by jagged peaks. Fallow knew it was a dead end. He had not gone so high before, not since the great chill had seized upon the hills, and was grateful for the survival suit he wore, for the very air up here seemed to congeal in his lungs. He felt confident too that he had his quarry cornered. His only concern was the flash rifle might misfire in the cold. The old hermit warned him thus and recommended bow and arrow to hunt with, whatever they may be. He smiled grimly.

"I'll kill it with my bare hands if need be," he said to himself.

Losing track of time and space, absorbed in hunting down his intended victim, thinking only of Sumira and the grand trophy he would bring back for her, the man plunged ever deeper into the deadly landscape. No more trees now, just ice and rock. Lungs burning with frozen air, sight dimmed by oxygen starvation, driven to succeed, Fallow halted on an iron ridge. He could almost sense its presence before catching sight of it. There on the rise opposite the beast stood, challenging him with snorts and stamping. It was as aware of him also, hunter and hunted linked through a primitive instinct for survival. Slowly Fallow raised his rifle and the dark eyes of the creature glared defiantly at him. With steady aim amidst the swirling snow flakes the man gently pressed the button. No flash. No sound of a falling body. As the hermit had warned him might happen, the rifle had failed in the incredible cold. Flesh and bone adapted or inured to such conditions might withstand the climate but technology could not.

Undaunted at being weaponless Fallow checked the rugged landscape for dead falls. If he could he would herd the beast over a ledge for there was nowhere else for the elk to go except through him. He pictured the sharp antler tines thrust at him and gripped his rifle tighter, now a mere club against such massive bone and muscle.

"Yah!" he shouted, darting forward, flourishing the great black cape. The smell of bear would aid him in his strategy. Yet the beast would not move. It stood there on all four legs, tramping the snow impatiently. Behind was a wall of frozen ice that prevented retreat. The only way out was past Fallow yet the usually fearless creature seemed terrified of him.

A tingling sensation ran up the man's spine and he halted some yards from the trembling animal. No, he thought. It was not him the beast was scared of. There was something else on the ledge with him that the elk feared more.

Fallow turned slowly, raising his rifle club defensively, expecting a cave bear perhaps that had tracked him just as he had tracked the elk. A growl, deep and drawn out, issued from the misty clouds that rolled off the ledge upon which he and the cornered elk stood. A shadow coalesced within the mist, a great moving figure that was no projection of his own self as he had often seen on the Frozen Peaks. At first he hoped it was merely made of mist but the freezing vapour parted with sudden fury. A thing, man-shaped yet not a man, loomed out of concealment with a blinding swiftness, something large and pale with glittering fur. It leapt over the crouching northerner who for the first time in his life knew stark fear. Yet it was not he the demonic beast was interested in. Before the cornered elk could leap off the cliff ledge to escape the onrushing monster it was seized by the throat. A pitiful cry was cut short as bones were crushed by massive hands. Without thinking, without reasoning, it was Fallow who jumped off the ledge to escape the nightmare scene before him.

He hit an out-jutting rock, heard his rifle explode on impact farther down and briefly lost consciousness. A plunge at speed through a drift woke the man and his fall was halted on a lower ridge. He lay there in a daze, listening to his own rapid beating heart as he tried to gather his wits. He knew he was half-buried in snow and slowly tried to scoop the white powdery mass out of the way but his limbs were too heavy to move. It was as if a terrible tiredness had seized him and he knew to lose consciousness again would be the death of him so he did everything in his power to stay awake. It was a battle he knew he would lose. Then another sound reached his ears that electrified him.

Like soft falling snow flakes words floated through the hazy air in tones of query and concern.

It was the voice of a child. Up here, among the frozen snows and wild beasts. What would a child be doing out in this? His first dazed thoughts were not to ask for help for his injured self but to shout warning for the nightmare creature he had glimpsed could not be far. With failing breath and numbness creeping into his tired limbs, Fallow turned his head towards the sound as the strange melodic words continued to fill his buzzing ears. And that was when he saw her.

A child indeed she seemed, so young and vulnerable. Flakes drifted across his vision as the pale figure moved closer, and then in a moment of brief clarity he saw it was not a child at all, but a girl full grown, a young woman. Tall and slender she was, and dressed in the lightest of garments so that her delicate limbs were bare, exposed to the freezing blast. Tiny naked feet gripped the snowy ledge with sure and leisurely step. No one so clad in such blizzard conditions could survive surely?

She paused to gaze at him. Her large and thoughtful eyes were the blue of ice caves and her long hair, fluttering in the gale, was like the silver gleam of moonlight on water. Anywhere else her skin would be compared to the whitest of marble but against the pure backdrop of snowy drifts he could see there was the faintest tinge of pink. It was a reassuring discovery for somehow he equated this pale flush of colour with a living breathing entity and not some visionary creature brought to life by his terror. Perhaps she had come to save him?

Her musical voice sounded again, calmly, instructive it seemed, but in a language he did not understand, and when he shifted his gaze away from this magnetic vision the terror returned. The ice demon was there too, the same great beast it seemed that had destroyed an elk as a bear would a new born lamb. Fallow wanted to warn the girl but she seemed neither alarmed not concerned at the monster's presence. It moved towards him, casting great purple shadows in its wake, then paused to look at the girl as if awaiting instruction. She nodded her head, glanced at it expectantly and then gestured to the helpless man trapped in an avalanche of his own making. The meaning was clear enough. With a jolt of fear Fallow lost consciousness before the massive clawed hand of the beast reached him.

To be continued...