Ice and Wind

Another brief excerpt of Ice and Wind.

THE CERTAINTY OF UNCERTAINTY

“You’re mad.” Raze said flatly and turned his back to Estan and Endyly.

Their faces were hidden in shadow.

The forest swayed against the northern wind. The bows of the trees full with the days bequeath of new snow. Like a mother's arms heavy with her washing, they creaked and complained against the weight but yet they carried their burden.

No fire light had touched them in the three weeks of travel since they had freed her, Endyly.

It had been a long, cold road since they fled the cages of The Slough. They were numb and bitter from the cold, yet each could feel the others’ scowls in the darkness.

Fire would be a blessing and each yearned for it but it would bring the Half-Son.

https://youtu.be/XLVHJE8ETDM

And this was the discussion of it.

Estan cleared his throat. “Raze, we bring him to us, to our advantage. Better prepared for the attack and defense on our ground."

Raze snorted, “Advantage?! Do you even fathom his power?! Unless you have been holding back on me, you, me and her, we are all kindling for his fire.”

"At least we have the upper hand by choosing our time and place." Even as the words fell from Estan's lips, the three of them heard the hollowness within the promise.

The wind whipped roughly then and reminded them of the lack of warmth. They had been running hard and cold and were exhausted as a result.

And they could not run forever.

Estan looked at the shade of Endyly. Even in the darkness, he saw black within the shadows of her eyes. She reached out with a quiet hand in the night.

He hated the way he coldly reacted to her affection.

Yet, he knew how this would unravel.

Hope was fragile, a new, trembling and impossibly outmatched thought. It very easily would die and he braced his heart to it.

Turning away from her dour countenance and his rising fears, he said, “You’re right and practical as always, friend.”

When Estan called Raze ‘Friend’, it never failed to flatter but Raze was road-weary and keen to the silver of Estan’s tongue. He knew whatever was spoken next would be bold, foolish or impossible.

Estan sat down in the shadow of a slender poplar tree, weary. He on his haunches, the poplar leaning against the wind and toward the moon as if calling for her attention. He looked at his booted feet; those tired and worn things. So many steps, so many stones, so many roads.

So much fire.

So much rain.

So much blood.

Raze felt a grave pronouncement forthcoming and the wind gusted and turned bitter. The crows rustled above them and then took flight in a cacophony of cries and wings. They all watched the procession and then looked everywhere else but at each other. Silence wrapped about them once again in the snow, cold, ice and wind.

And then suddenly, as if obliging, just once for some respite, the wind and even the cold itself, seemed to stop. The air was just…empty. All their deep thoughts and looks cast at the ground were the only denizens in this night.

When their three gazes finally convened, each held sadness but foremost, resolve.

“I will…” Estan began but was cut short by Raze.

“You will. You will watch me weave the most beautiful song yet.” Raze looked at Estan out of the corner of his eye, his only eye, and it twinkled.

Endyly sat next to them, “You will eat the best fired meat on this side of the Forever Sea as you drink the coldest mead man has known.”

When you are weary and frozen through, the little comforts carry you. The idea of comfort will succor your spirit for leagues upon leagues when your body begs for death.

Unfortunately, all three of them understood they were lying.

Silence hung heavy, a blanket that did not warm.

Without a word, they each separately made way to their own space. They carved and rolled and tucked against the harsh.

The clear and crisp night.

The relentless cold and wind punishing like a cracked conscience.

They attempted sleep, just one last time.

None did.