Act Five: Unending Frost
“Kahin…” a weak, catatonic voice called out. The distant dead of winter came with a silence that was broken by the voice of a sweet, yet dull-ringing bell. “Kahin, aren’t you hungry? Kahin, let me help you find food…” innocent yet piercing eyes burning through the back of his older brother’s head.
“I’m still finding the nerve to pull this off Atel, so please shut up!” before he could go back to finding his nerve again, Kahin had realized how he had just raised his voice at Atel. He turned to see his sensitive baby brother shying away from him with beady eyes.
“I distracted you…” he whimpered, holding in tears, pressing those that escaped against the sleeves of his loose blouse. “I’m sorry…”
“On please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell…” Atel’s head, then buried in his arms, found it buried against his big brother’s chest. “we’re never going back, so we’ll have to fend for ourselves from now on, alright?” he told Atel. He nodded towards Atel, who- after a slight delay- nodded back at him.
A stern looks on his face and a last second steeling of his spirit sent him gliding through the snow like fox who had just donned his winter coat. Weaving through the crowd and dodging under fast moving carriages, he concealed himself under the rim of a few stall tables and pilfered them of their bread and vegetables. Atel, seeing his brother’s speed and agility, sought to help in own way by rummaging through cans and finding his own treasures: the end crust of meat pies, ta soup bone, and some rice that hadn’t gone off yet. He placed this all in a cloth pouch.
When Kahin returned, they showed each other their haul and returned to their little hovel. The grandiose ambitions of the city’s leaders to construct an aqueduct over the bath districts of Arkhalinn fell through and were never complete, with nothing but rows of large, useless copper pipes and a net loss for their coffers. Despite this, the pipes provided shelter for the two boys, and the many other unfortunate dregs like them. The boys weren’t from here. Too late had they returned, and their tribe had left them in this unknown city. The winds cut like razors, the cold gripped like vine, and it crushed the breathing of those who sucked the cool air in and exhaled only blood.
“It’s so cold, Kahin…” Atel complained, retreating his legs into his oversized shirt. It was threadbare, like Kahin’s, but it was much bigger. In fact, it was Kahin’s- but it’s Atel’s now. “What’re we going to do when it gets really cold?”
“First of all, we eat...” Kahin said, trying not to look at his brother as he stirred the gruel they made from their haul, stirring the pot with Atel’s soup bone. “Eat as much as you can little brother. Let us stuff ourselves tonight.”
~~~
The cold rends all.
Revered winter lord- of fallowers and reapers.
all green the mortal blade of man misses,
is eaten up by the eternal blade of ice and snow.
Lord Winder is tall, blind, and sickly-
ghoulishly gaunt and near famished-
carrying bushels of trees, wheat, and a basket of heads.
Lord Winter is unchoosing plowsman:
all that is wasted and left upon the ground
by the lavish feasts of Spring and Autumn
are eaten as scraps by him.
One and only Katrugshemnd to no sacrifice need offer: he needs it not.
People, animals, nature- all
all whom refuse to pay tribute to Katrug-waœn
All who not ‘give way to this lord’
and retreat to their homes or hovels offer themselves to Lord Winter-
as sacrifice sufficient…
-a Matar hymn to Katrug-waœn
~~~
At dawn following their evening victory, bedlam was once again sowed. The village was searched with the enthusiasm of inquisition and out of the ruckus that drew the sleepy-eyed townsfolk out their windows and doors, a woman accused of being a sorceress was dragged to the command tent. Bo was not aware of this, and either was Koen. Dok had not authorized such an arrest: the three of them had barely scraped the crust out of their eyes and mustered the strength to rise from their sleeping bags when they saw a possessed Dao Rong barking like a sergeant at the alleged sorceress.
“There is no use in resisting what is true and obvious, witch!” Dao accused. “we, the seers of immortal stars, divine not only the wellsprings of power over this land- but those who drink from it too!”
“You’re mad! You’re absolutely gone. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about…” she resisted, however much in vain, constrained as she was by two large soldiers. “What are you talking about, seer?” Bo demanded to know, sensing a change in the young soothsayer’s demeanor.
“a blight on this kingdom approaches- or something, at least that’s what this blasted spirit who haunted my dreams last night keeps telling me.” He responded brashly, the fearful deference he once showed for Bo clearly no longer there.
“And what do you need the girl for?” Bo asked, annoyed at his tone.
“Girl? No…” Dao Rong protested. The circles around his eyes, a testament to a sleepless night- and his frantic frustration, proof that he was not welcome to the idea of enduring through another. “…this is a sorceress of the striddumattar- powerful snow shamans who have been known to fill gaps within the body eaten away by death and decay with ice to form frost golems…”
“Dao.” A stern voice interjected. It was Dok. “I doubt not what you say is true- that these stridumattars do exist- but how can you be sure this girl is one?” Dao looked at the girl and realized something.
“You’re the same woman who protested against having your husband conscripted a few days before, aren’t you?” the alleged sorceress fell silent. Dao Rong investigated her and then the crowd of villagers slowly forming around them.
He found noticeable differences in her complexion- her skin was paler and with cheeks red while the townsfolk were of a deeper tone. Her hair was dark as night, while the townsfolk sported an array of greying or bleached hair. Her fingers were dainty and gaunt, while the women of the village had hands like that of men- strong, stubbed, and calloused. It was not long before this investigation as cut short by more ruckus. A man fought his way to the crowds and tackled one of the guards restraining the sorceress, causing the other to fall as well.
“What do you want with her?” he said. It was her husband. Dao Rong stood back, and his countenance feel from inquisition to that of resolved and cruel questioning:
“Not much…” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I simply wanted to know where your wife is from…”
“What’s it to you?” the man fired back, grabbing his spouse and shielding her in his arms.
“So, she isn’t from here…” Dao Rong deduced. “Very well, I will let your wife go under one condition.” He proposed.
“State your terms.” he said. Dao Rong merely looked at him as if he was heckled by some common idiot.
“First of all, keep your mouth shut footman or I’ll have it wired shut!” He threatened.
To the townsfolk, the foreigner exuded the kind of unknown, alien authority: he slept within the command tent and worked for and spoke directly to the councilors and General Dok. Had they, and by extension the couple before him, known he was nothing but a prisoner-turned-mercenary, this threat would’ve seen empty. But so close he was to the people in charge, they dared not question.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Your safety will be guaranteed…” he went on, choosing a raw metal bar from a rack to cane the ground with. “…if you can successfully sing this hymn with me: on the verse I shall stop at, you will continue to the next. Falter…” at which point, he gave a quick signal that heralded a row of spears being pointed directly at the couple. “…and I will seek answers buried within your beloved’s skull…” he said, pressing the metal bar against his head.
The men who circled them were told to act as if they were of the elite, and had they rallied in front of rather than behind the couple, it would’ve been clear to them that they were armed merely with bare hazel poles which were sharpened at the end. Dao Rong could not dream of commanding the elite troops, but to the wolves he was a war hero, and so they agreed to this stunt: a performance done to intimidate and coerce, to frighten and inspire obedience. Bo looked upon all this confused, Koen was entertained, and Dok seemed fairly impressed.
“Revered winter lord- of fallowers and reapers” Dao Rong started them off. “Continue…” he commanded, but all he heard was whimpers and sobs. He struck her husband’s shoulder, causing him to grunt painfully: “Continue, damn it!”
“all green the mortal blade of man misses,” she managed to blurt out, half crying and half screaming.
“…is eaten up by the eternal blade of ice and snow” Dao Rong responded. They continued this exchange, Dao Rong reciting longer lines of the hymn to draw out lines of the same length from the sorceress.
“People, animals, nature- all. All whom refuse to pay tribute to Katrug-waœn. All who not ‘give way to this lord’” he said, drawing near towards the hymn’s end.
“and retreat to their homes or hovels offer themselves to Lord Winter- as sacrifice sufficient…” she concluded.
“What is the meaning of this nonsense?” Bo cackled. Dao Rong merely stared daggers at him before revealing.
“That is the Hymn to Lord Winter- the initiation chant of the striduumattor.” Dao Rong revealed. “a simple inquiry into the celestial record of history, and what little left of night I should have slept through used to divine the full hymn, brought it to my knowing…” he continued. “…and with knowledge of this hymn, came the knowledge of the fact that the only one’s privy to this sacred song are the inducted shamans and shamanesses striduumattor: worshippers of the Winter Lord- Katrug-waœn…” was his long drawn out way of saying he hoped this woman was in fact the snow shaman he so desperately needed.
Dao Rong signaled for the wolves to reverse their stance and retract their spears. He threw the bar back to the rack and signaled for the men to take the sorceress into the command tend, where in fifty kilos of carved frozen lake water sat upon insulating hay.
“Where are you taking her?” the husband reached out to retrieve his wife. “What are you going to do to my wife?” he yelled.
“Rest assured, your wife will not be harmed.”
“You told me you’d let her go, you bastard.” He rushed Dao, but was held back by the sheep.
“I believe what I said was her ‘safety’ would be ensured, and I assure you that she shall be safe in the command tent…” Dao Rong looked at the poor fool from the crown of his head to the tip of his feet: “I should’ve known you were this sorceress’ betrothed: bewitched you must truly be, otherwise you would not be as devoted to her as this…”
Dao Rong- though still thin- had the evening before been fortified by stewed meat, egg, mare’s milk and wine- generously provided by his sheep to him as tribute and thanks for leading them out of the marauder’s hands and resigning them from sheep and into wolves- from prey into hunters. With this newly rejuvenated constitution, he dragged the sorceress by the arm into a wicker chair within the command then, where before her lay the corpse of a random combatant felled in battle next thirty pounds of snow dragged from the mountain. Next to her and the four men- Dao, Bo, Koen, and Dok- were three others, sitting down and swigging from canteens of water. They were probably the ones who dragged the snow and body in.
“Who are those four men?” the sorceress asked.
“Four?” Bo interjected, sensing Dao to be right about something. He looked to the three exhausted errand boys and looked back to the sorceress. “What is your name, sorceress?”
“Yukkna…’ she hesistantly muttered. “I go by my husband’s name- Midjdobu- now…”
“Yukkna…” a husky voice repeated. “a foreigner indeed…” Koenjung commented.
“…and a sorceress. A foreigner and a sorceress.” Dao emphasized. He looked at the three exhausted errand boys, and motioned Bo and Koen to them. “Do you see four?” he asked. They only ever looked on in confusion. “…because she does.”
Dao turned to Yukkna and asked her, gently: “do you now see why I brought you here?”
“You’re mad…” she accused him when she realized what he wanted her to do. She sat stiffly upon the chair, upright, and refusing to look Dao Rong in the eye. “Necromancy is heresy…”
“It isn’t necromancy-” Dao immediately interrupted, moving forward to catch her gaze.. “Merely post-mortem possession…”
“Are you not aware of the wrath I might incur from the Winter Father if I do this?” Yukkna hesitated. “He will claim me in the snows, trap my soul in ice…”
“Do the ritual in my name, and I shall deal with your Winter Father myself…” he insisted. “Do this, and your freedom is ensured.”
“What do you plan to do, seer?” Bo demanded to know, stepping in between him and Yukkna do address him directly.
“Something that you have failed to do since Dok’s father was murdered: progress.” He accused the magistrate. “My plan is simple, but it requires sorcery in order to achieve- thus the sorceress.” Bo’s face was deformed by an offended expression as he stepped away from Dao Rong and stationed himself by contented Koenjung, who tendered a face filled with mischievous glee. Dok on the other hand merely observing it all. With a sharp metal nib lifted quietly from Bo’s pocket, he drew from his finger a measure blood for the nib to run.
“Now is not the time to act dumb, sorceress…” Dao Rong inched closer, presenting her the bloodied pen. Her faux clueless gaze returned to a look of certainty when she took the pen along with the shred of her apron and wrote the sigil of unending frost:
“You will regret this, seer…” Yukkna warned. “All who enter into contract with the Father Winter…”
“Agree to all his demands, partake in all his rewards…” he went on. “…surrender to all his deceptions; essentially to offer themselves to Lord Winter- as sacrifice sufficient- I know...” He assured her. “Now finish the sigil, we haven’t much time…” he warned, looking out into the horizon beyond. Yukkna finished the sigil and attached the cloth under the skin of the corpse by an incision made earlier.
“What is… unending frost?” Bo questioned. “I assumed as much its utility, but what of necromancy?”
“Unending frost was a simple kitchen spell- used to keep food cold in the seasons the Matar tribes crossed arid nations during caravan. Blocks of ice would keep cool to the touch, even when dropped upon searing sands and would not reduce to water even on iron pans left out in the sun” Yukkna recalled. “Legend says that the first attempt at necromancy via the sigil of unending frost was a desperate one: towards the very end of that particularly cold winter…”
“…where the winds cut like razors, the cold gripped like vine, and it crushed the breathing of those who sucked the cool air in and exhaled only blood….
… Saddened to madness, some poor young fool cut his beloved open and stuffed him full of snow…”
“I’m hoping the little runt was right…” the corpse thudded as it shouldered a gentle kick from Dao Rong. “do what need be done witch, I haven’t all day…”
“And that is precisely how much time I need, do not rush me.” Yukkna shot back. “have you ever tried to piece together portioned beef back into a living cow- it’s something like that…”
“Portioned beef? Living cow? You’re both mad, I say!” Koen laughed.
“Though I’d hate to agree with Koenjung, he hints to a valid point:” Bo interjected. “Even if you could sow a cow back together, it would still be dead cow.” He went on. “Bereft of essence, of life, of vitality, of, of… of soul!”
“Minister, how many people do you see to the left of you?” Dao asked.
“What kind of question is that?” Bo angrily countered.
“Don’t question the question, merely answer it” Dao said.
“Three…”
“Yukkna and I see four.” And at that moment, Bo was overcome with a horrifying realization. “That there is your ‘essence’, that there is your ‘life’, your vitality- your soul!” he looked to Yukkna as she began the bodily repairs: “sow him up and have him done by the end of the day, the three men who hauled the corpse shall stay to assist you…”
“…and Yukkna…” she looked up to Dao. “take great care to preserve the vocal chords.”