Ice pt. 1

He stood at the river’s edge more often than his brothers or sisters.  The others tried to stay back, hidden in the trees, but he liked to watch the small forms travel down the distant road. 

The river was still, the rapids frozen in place, white heads of foam suspended in air as they bounced over huge boulders.  It ran on for miles, a long strip of blue-white cutting through the snowy ground.


Deep below the frozen surface water still ran, a slow trickle that caused strange sounds to echo up through the ice. Pops and cracks and moans rang through the open expanse, carried by the rock walls on either side of the snowy field. Those who travel the road could hear it, even from so far away.



He crouched by the river bank, one hand between his feet, resting on the snow, the other forward, touching the frozen head of a rapid.  The figures on the road were so small as to be almost indistinguishable. But he could watch them move, see them come into view, dark stains on an otherwise white landscape. 


“What if they can see you.”


Though he had not expected the voice, he did not jump or start.  There was no one in their world of snow and ice who was a danger to him, there were only his brothers and sisters, and the one who had created them all.  


“Maybe they can,” he looked down at himself, at his pale, icy skin and the few meager furs that adorned him, “but they’d have to have better eyes than mine to see me in all this white.”


“What is out there that is so worth your attention?” His sister knelt beside him, the pale skin of her knees sinking into the snow. 


“Right now I think there is a horse,” he gestured, “The large thing, darker than the others.”


She squinted, “No, the large thing is a cart, the horse is what pulls it along.”


“Really?” He looked again, trying to glean as many details as he could from the tiny speck on the road, “They are not one being?” 


His sister laughed. She was older than he, and has spent many more years in the world beyond the river before joining their family. 


When it became apparent that he would say nothing more she sat in the snow, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees.  Her gaze drifted to his hand, still resting on the river of ice. 


A loud cracking sound rang through the clearing; the siblings knew instantly that it was not one of the normal sounds of their home, not breaking ice, or a branch collapsing under the weight of snow. 


The sound came from the road. The large black form seemed to struggle, then topple to the side. The brother shot his other hand forward, now resting them both on the ice, his legs bent like he was ready to jump over the frozen waves.


The sister’s hand shot out instantly, gripping his arm tightly and yanking him back.


“What are you doing?” She cried. 


He turned to her, his brow wrinkled in confusion. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the blue spheres of their eyes, their black pupils and white irises, watched each other. 


He shook his head slowly, “I wasn’t going to cross it.”


“It looked like you were.” Her face was hard, her eyes full of worry.


He stood and took his sister’s hands in his own, his eyes wide and sincere as he looked down at her, “I know not to cross, you don’t have to worry about me.”


“I think you shouldn’t be out here alone anymore.” She glanced to the side, to the road where men were struggling to right their fallen cart, “I don’t want something to happen to you.”


“Nothing will happen,” he smiled reassuringly, “there is nothing on the other side of the river for me, I just like to watch.” He turned his head back to the road.


“But why?” She pulled lightly at his hands as she asked.


He shrugged slowly, “I think because it is there. It is so close to our home.”


She tugged at his hands again, pulling his gaze back to her, “They have nothing to do with our home.  They will not come here.”


His expression was hard to read, a mixture of acceptance and disappointment. 


“Come,” she stood with him, “He will be leaving today, we must say goodbye.”


She walked away from the river, her hand tight around his arm. He followed reluctantly at first, casting longing looks over his shoulder, back toward the road, then finally hurried his pace. 


“Does He really need to leave again so soon? He just came back with the little one.” He asked his sister, who always seemed to understand their guardian’s motives so much better than the others.


“He says he can hear another child calling to him. You know He cannot leave a call unanswered.” 


He nodded, though he did not truly understand. There had been a time, in the past, when he had been more boy than ice, and he had called for a protector, a guardian, and the Old One had come for him. But those memories, that life, had been so long ago as to almost be a dream. 


The open field, the blanket of white snow, narrowed around them as they approached a thicket of pine trees. The branches drooped down, heavy with white, crusty snow. 


His sister led the way, though he could find the Old One’s cave with his eye closed. He followed absently behind, striking branches occasionally to watch them drop their load onto the ground. The heavy snow would sink into the blanket on the ground, leaving large, uneven dents in the snowy surface. 


His sister moved lithely, dodging branches, roots and stones without effort. Her small feet left almost no mark on the ground. He was capable of such movements, but prefered to see what impact he had on the land, watching his feet sink into the ground with heavy steps.


The ground sloped and the rocks that dotted the land grew larger and more frequent. A quick, bright figure darted past them and musical laughter echoed all around.


The boy smiled and called out, “Brother, slow down, we’ll never catch up to you.”


The laughter rang again, sounding as if it came from all directions at once. 


Their sister smiled, but her eyes stayed focused on moving through the trees. A huge rock face appeared before them and she slowed, letting go of her brother’s hand. They walked forward toward the rock and the boy tilted his head to hear the crisp sound of voices just beyond.


“You’ve come to say goodbye.” The voice was in his ear, loud and close.


He reached out before turning, grabbing at its source. But he was too slow. The tips of his fingers brushed against his brother’s hair, but the other boy was gone by the time he turned to look. A moment later the second boy appeared before them leaning against the stone. 


He was smaller than his siblings, shorter, with narrow limbs and a willowy frame. His thin face was cut in two by his broad smile, and his long white hair hung down below his shoulders. 


“Yes I’ve come to say goodbye,” the boy answered his brother, “sister says He’s leaving again.”


The thin boy nodded, his bright eyes moving rapidly, taking in every detail of his siblings, “That’s what I’ve heard. It seems soon, our newest sister has been here barely three moons.”


“She is ready,” the girl said, “and He hears another in need.”


As they passed their brother he pushed himself off the rock face and walked with them. The voices grew louder. They followed the rock and soon the ground sloped down sharply to a small clearly were the rock opened into a wide cave. 


Below them were gathered about a dozen of their sibling. Some stood, some sat cross legged in the snow, and others hung off nearby branches. At the mouth of the cave stood a tall, hulking figure, wrapped in a countless variety of furrs. 


The three walked down into the clearing, greeting their brothers and sisters. The thin boy moved quickly away, joining those in the trees, jumping from branch to branch before finally settling. 


The boy and girl were among the tallest of their family, each standing a head higher than most of the others. They neared the cave and stopped next to two young girls.


The first stood, watching the figure in the cave, the second was sitting on the ground, gripping tightly to the other girl’s legs. The small girl on the ground had skin unlike the others, it was tinted with color, still slightly pink. Her eyes were also different, still white, with only some small hint of blue leaking in, and her irises were a dark brown. 


She was their newest sibling, and the breath she exhaled still clouded slightly before her face. 


The boy crouched down and smiled at her, seeing fear and dread in her expression. 


“What’s wrong little one?” he asked.


“Father is leaving.” She squeaked, her words forming a small mist that hung between them. 


The new ones often called him Father, though the title never endured. They soon learned he was not a father, not a parent, but a guardian and protector, a sentinel with a duty more sacred than parenthood. 


The boy looked up to the cave, then back to the girl, “He is, but he will come back soon. He always does. He had to leave to find you, didn’t he?” The girl nodded. “And it’s good that he did, because now you’re with us.”


He put his white hand on her cheek. It had been many weeks since she shivered at the touch of one of her siblings. She looked into his eyes and smiled weakly. 


“It does pain me to leave you.” The loud voice sounded through the clearing and each child look up at it, their eyes full of love and devotion. 


The boy still rested his hand on his littlest sister as he watched the Old One speak. 


The children had bright, shining voices like bells or a birdcall, but His voice was deep, resonating. 


“You are my life, my work and my love, to be parted from you is agony. But another is in need, one who belongs here with us. I will find this lost child and return here so our family can grow.”
All around the children listened, some smiling, some frowning. 


The Old One’s face was mostly hidden by furr, only a blue patch of cheek and some stray locks of dark black hair were clear. Hidden deep, covered in shadow, were two black, sharp eyes. 


“I will be gone a half turn of the moon, maybe more,” there was a chorus of murmurs at that, “You will protect each other, guard each other. You will be my eyes and ears and hands while I am gone.” Many nodded now, the tall boy and girl included, their faces stern. The Old One raised a hulking arm, long enough that it reached down his legs almost to his feet, “Our home is safe, the craft that built it is older and more powerful than anything that could mean it harm. Each of you,” he moved his arm around, pointed to each child in turn, “gives it power, gives it strength. You are our home. Guard it well.”


They had heard his speech before, each time he went to find another brother or sister for them, but each of them felt the words, the responsibility of what he said. 


The boy watched the Old One leave, shufflingly slowly across the snow. The icy boy wrapped his arms around his little sister, holding her tightly in his arms.

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