Heart of Winter
Pt. II
Ataya tugged the hood of his winter cloak closer about his ears, the soft inner bristles of its fur lining brushing his cheeks while the outer ones caught the breeze like blades of grass. Beneath him, Rannah carried him on, dutifully trotting through the loose layer of white snow before them. They had had a mild winter, so far. Not one blizzard, and generally only an inch or two every snowfall. On many days, they’d had only icy wet frost and mud to cope with. Today, the sky was similarly bright and clear, a vivid blue, almost too sharp to look directly at, and the snow beneath Rannah’s hooves was crisp, fresh, and clean.
A beautiful day.
Too much so to waste it embarrassing himself with pointless training routines, or even being mad at his father, though to some extent he couldn’t help the latter. Much better overall, though, to go out riding. Enjoy the crisp weather. Calm himself. Think. And hope that by the time he returned, Father would be through with his lessons with his sister and conveniently forget to impose them on Ataya.
Not terribly
likely, but Ataya could hope just the same.
It was a pity that Dysarrin couldn’t join him. His friend — like the baowis whose shape and mannerisms he took after — had a certain habit of disappearing during the coldest months of the year. After six years of knowing him and noting the occurrence reliably after the first snowfall of every new winter, Ataya assumed by this point that Dysarrin either hibernated or at the very least curled up groggily in a cave somewhere and sulked through the season. Probably snapping and hissing wordless, bitter accusations at the snow for making his life difficult.
The corners of Ataya’s lips edged up at the thought. The warmth of amusement was soon tempered, though, by a small clutch in his chest — a tugging
want for something not present — and Ataya frowned at the emotion, trying to pin it down.
He always missed Dysarrin to an extent in winter. At first, in particular, he had worried that the wild boy simply wouldn’t return after the season thawed, and he would be out his only friend. Over the years, though, as every spring reliably brought Dys back to him, that fear had gradually edged back, leaving only a shadow of the former fear in its place. He had his sister, though, to keep him company, and his books to entertain him, and his magic to study with, so it wasn’t as though he was
bored or out of potential things to do. Just…
…lonely?
Ataya huffed, his breath making a small cloud of steam in front of him, and he shoved the thought away, nicking his heels gently against Rannah’s sides to spurn her onwards. He wasn’t lonely. He probably
was just bored. And wherever Dysarrin was, he likely wasn’t having much more fun, regardless. Some dank, wet, cold cave. Doing nothing. Missing Ataya, maybe.
Perhaps he ought to give him a set of boots and a cloak come the spring, so that he could come out the following winter. If he wanted. Not that Ataya cared
particularly much, it would just be…nice. Humming to himself at the thought, Ataya glanced up, squinting at the rising sun and lifting a hand to shield his eyes so as to better judge it. High, but still a good hour or two before midday.
Plenty of time to travel further. He wouldn’t
really need to eat until dinner, anyway.
By noon, the winds around the mountain had picked up to a biting ferocity, the chill nicking into Ataya’s cheeks and the noise of them howling through the surrounding mountains. Over the course of but a few minutes, the sky darkened from bright midday to something which looked more like late evening sinking into night as thick, roiling clouds blotted out the sun. Too far from home to make it back in the case of a storm, Ataya knew better than to play chance with the mountain weather, and began an immediate search for temporary shelter in his current location.
By the time he and Rannah made it into the protective throat of a mountain cave, the snow outside was falling thick enough to blind a man at ten paces. Ataya, generally unusually resistant to the cold, shivered as Rannah’s hooves
clack, clack, clacked over the granite of the cave floor — an eerily sharp sound in comparison to the rest of the cave’s silence and contrasted to the previous deafening howl of the outside storm. Gritting his teeth to still their chattering, he dismounted. His boots crunched atop the thin layer of frost near the entrance as he guided his mount further in, magically summoned light following them like glowing spirits.
“Well,” Ataya murmured to his mount once they had made it deep enough that the sound of the storm was but a distant, moaning backdrop to that of his own breath, “…at least this way, I’ll definitely miss Father’s training session…”
Hours later, the payout did not seem quite so grand as it once had. He had entertained himself at first, playing with magic, musing to himself, and toying with thoughts of what to do once the storm did let up. When it didn’t, however, and the minutes dragged on — and on, and on, and on — until it felt as though
days had passed since he’d last seen the outside, he began to regret travelling quite so far out.
Rannah had taken to laying on the cavern floor, resting her legs and conserving her warmth by curling up. Ataya eventually joined her, tucking against her side and pulling his cloak as tightly about him as he could in an effort to quell his shivering. It seemed, somehow, far less thick than it once had.
“This is…s-stupid,” Ataya quipped at length, when the silence became far too boring — and ominous — to leave be. His breath coiled up from his quivering lips like a ghost, and he pursed his lips together before continuing on. It warmed him, to vent. “This is all Father’s fault, you know. If he hadn’t have gotten cross and tried to force me to do his s-stupid, useless…
training sessions, I wouldn’t have had to leave.”
Nevermind that Father had actually been surprisingly tolerant that morning, and it had been largely Ataya who’d raised his voice.
“If I freeze here, it’s because of him.
And Dysarrin,” Ataya added as an afterthought, brow pinching as he considered it. “If Dysarrin were here, he could make fire. It would be warm, and bright…we could even make it entertaining. Play some stupid game. It would be better than
this. But no. He has to—” Ataya’s teeth chattered with a particularly violent shiver, and he folded tighter in on himself. “He has to be
afraid of snow. And hide. Like a stupid animal in a cave somewhere…”
Nevermind that Ataya was currently shivering, alone, in a cave.
He shut his eyes. “He really is very stupid. And selfish. And
rude. Not coming to see me in winter…”
Ataya opened his eyes just enough to squint as he shaped his mouth into an ‘o’ and blew, trying to see if he could form his breath into ‘smoke’ rings like he’d occasionally seen older men in Taliuma do with their pipes. He wasn’t immediately successful, and soon abandoned the endeavor.
“Do you suppose maybe he really just doesn’t have any proper boots?” he asked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him fully dressed…and if he
didn’t have boots, or a cloak, or proper trousers, I don’t figure it could really be entirely his fault for not coming. But he might of
said something, if that were the case…not that he tends to say much of anything often…” Ataya tilted his head, shifting his position against Rannah’s side. “Can you imagine him, though? All puffed up in furs and winter clothes…scuffling about…” The corner’s of Ataya’s lips edged up, something in his expression warming. “He’d probably hate it. Growl at them, and try to rip them off, hissing and spitting…accuse them of attacking him for clinging that close to his body or some other such nonsense…”
As the thought slid away, though, and another replaced it, a frown shifted into place.
“Did you know he never warns me when he won’t be coming? Not a word even once. No: ‘
Ataya, I’ll be gone now for a couple turns of the moon. See you in spring.’ Not even: ‘
I go. Grunt, grunt, grunt.’ Just gone. And then back again, when it pleases him…” His frown deepened, shoulders sinking a fraction as something else occurred to him. “You know, he also hasn’t been around as much as he used to…even in the summer months. Not like when we were smaller. It’s alright, of course. It’s not as though I want him around
all the time, and I have enough of my own things to do, but…I wonder what he gets up to. He’s older than me, I’m fairly sure…
certainly larger, and he looks half grown, though he can’t be
that much past me. Do you suppose his family has him do things, like Father has me do? Or that he travels places? Or…”
Ataya trailed off, his lashes dipping groggily even as another shiver rippled through him.
“It’s so
cold…”
Ataya’s gaze travelled up the cavern walls and down, deeper into it, beyond the reaches of where his light orbs cast their range. He knew, vaguely, that he wasn’t supposed to sleep when cold, for danger of not waking up, and though he wasn’t
terribly concerned — he’d survived thirteen winters so far, after all — it did seem that keeping himself awake was likely a worthwhile goal, just to be safe. This in mind, he eventually pushed himself upright, giving Rannah — who snorted at his movement and stirred to look at him — a reassuring pat before calling on an extra ball of light.
“Wait here,” he murmured to her. Though she’d not been taught any verbal commands, after having just engaged in an extended one-sided discussion with her about whatever came to mind, it seemed appropriate to continue treating her like a worthwhile conversation partner. “I’ll be back in a moment…”
With that, he started down the tunnel.
Ataya wasn’t sure what, if anything, he expected to find. It wasn’t a terribly deep cave. He’d already walked to the back of it once, earlier, in his boredom, and he didn’t suppose he was likely to uncover anything
new. But the stretch of his legs felt good to rouse his groggy mind and keep his blood flowing, and in any case, he had always enjoyed caves and the quiet sense of mystery, potential, and adventure that came with them. When he reached the back — which looked upon closer inspection to potentially be the result of a cave in itself — he lingered, eyeing the spill of jagged rocks as his light orbs hovered and flit about.
He wondered what his sister was up to, whether his parents had noted his absence yet, or were worried, and what Akara would think if she were here, or…
His thought process trailed off, attention catching on a fragment of something different amidst the rocks. After moving around to see if he could get a glimpse of it, but failing to identify it, Ataya squinted, debated, and eventually took to climbing. It wasn’t particularly difficult, thankfully, given that Ataya wasn’t the most able-bodied of persons to begin with — a nice, steady upwards slope of rocks, fairly convenient for climbing all things considered. When he reached about the midway point, about where the ‘mystery’ item was lodged, it became immediately obvious what it was: an aiskala soul orb, pinched between and tucked beneath several larger boulders of fallen rock.
The dragon itself may well have perished in the original collapse, Ataya mused, and he debated as he eyed it. Best to leave it alone, logically. Despite its value, if he tried to remove it, he might unwittingly jostle the surrounding rocks and, at worst, provide a catalyst for another cave in. Not that it looked
terribly precarious, but caution first and such. At the same time, however…
He reached out, fingertips just grazing over the exposed surface, and a different sort of chill climbed through him, rippling under his skin in a manner similar to that when he had first ever laid his eyes on an orb of this clan. He remembered the moment vividly, his father having returned from hunting out within a great blizzard and bringing back not just meat, but the gleaming, white-blue orbs of the dragons that had attacked him on the hunt. Just looking at it had made his skin prickle with anticipation at the thought of the untapped power within them, and now…
He thought of his own reflection that morning: lavender eyes staring back at him like a challenge. A dare. Mocking him for his indecisiveness. He thought about his sister, having chosen hers years before. He asked himself what
else he might choose, realistically.
Kiandri? Precise, instantaneous, and lethal. The power of a storm at his fingertips — lightning in his veins ready to strike at a moment’s notice — had always appealed to him, especially when he was younger. While once upon a time it might have fit, however, now the thought seemed imperfect. Too unpredictable, despite its precision. Too wild. Too
hot.
Ysali appealed to him on a certain level — for the poison, if nothing else. Poison and rot. But it, too, was too warm in a different way. Too messy, slow, and soft. Fungus got all over everything, and though toxins and venoms fascinated him, he didn’t want to rely on them. Too easy for them to betray him, or fail to do their job quickly enough.
Peisio was his sister’s element, and he knew it would never fit him as it did her. Ayrala was his mother, and as much as he loved her, that would never work, either. Firani was too passionate and hard to control. Gaili bored him, despite how well his uncle wielded it.
Which, when it came down to it, left
only the orb waiting before him.
Aiskala. Precise and lethal as kiandri, but more calculated. More room for
absolute control down to the tiniest fractal of detail. Intricate. Like architecture. Rigid and strong as it was brittle, and capable of being either sharp or smooth, soothing or deadly. He hummed, and reached out again.
This time, he pushed out with his magic, a soft murmur of spellwords mimicking the support of a levitation charm without acutally lifting anything — simply providing a brief hammock of support to keep things from jostling — and he laid his hands on the orb. Push. Push.
Crack.For a moment, Ataya held absolutely still. Then, everything occurred at once. Energy spiderwebbed up from the orb, sinking into his veins like water into his sponge. A
rush of energy undulated through him, crisp, sharp,
cold, and then nearly hot enough to burn before it eased back. The hair at his scalp felt as though it momentarily prickled with the energy before settling back, and when he breathed out, the exhale was white and thick with frost.
Something in the rock cracked, shifting beneath his feet, and immediately, Ataya slammed his hands to the granite, mentally
shoving. Ice clawed outwards, crawling up the rock in six points around a circle from the point of impact and filling in the space after. After the initial panicked shove, Ataya laid off a fraction, but continued to add with his new magic, layering on several more sheets of frozen support before stepping back, and moving down, back to the cavern floor. From there, he eyed his work: the ‘cave in’ point now icy white, solid, and gleaming. Satisfied, he grinned and turned to one of the walls.
Touching his fingers to it and giving a small pulse of focus, he watched, fascinated — and thrilled — as ice built outwards from his touch. Like tiny snowflakes building on each other out, and out, and out into a frosty layer in his wake.
And, he was no longer cold.
Blinking at this abrupt realization — though it shouldn’t have surprised him — he glanced down, wiggling his toes in his boots for a moment of indecision. Seconds later, he stooped. It didn’t take long to remove them, straps, strings, and buckles, then
toes. He bunched his bare feet experimentally after having tugged off his boots, and set them to rest lightly on the rock floor. No pain. No icy burn. A soft sense of pleasant coolness, yes, and an awareness that it
was frigid, but not in a way that interfered with him.
His grin spread like wildfire, and he pushed to a stand. One step. Two. He hopped, pushing out with his magic on the next touch and making ice around his feet. Snickering, and ridiculously pleased, he broke off into a barefoot run back towards his hastar.
“Rannah — Rannah! Guess what I found?”
Word Count: 2,956
Reply
