A race to catch the Winter storm

Truth always comes before the dawn.

Though Hawk rode fast, it took him another two days to catch up with Ferrian. The weather deteriorated as he went; somewhere in the haze of wind and rain he was aware of the road to Sel Varence slipping by; a road to warmth, to safety – to Carmine. But then it was gone and he plunged ahead into deserted, lonely territory.

This stretch of the highway had not been used in a very long time. Lichen speckled the cobblestones and weeds strove to claim them, but the road was well built and remained level and solid. Fields turned to scrubby gorse and clumps of ti-trees and ancient, grey boulders. The sea retreated beyond a bend in the coastline and the road began to incline gently as it curved toward the Tentaryl Ranges.

Beyond those mountains lay Arkana: forbidden land of the Angels.

Hawk tried desperately not to dwell on what would happen if Ferrian – if it was indeed Ferrian he was chasing – were to reach Fleetfleer. The destruction he had already witnessed was bad enough, but it certainly could get a whole lot worse.

But most of his concentration was focused on battling the ever worsening Winter. The stones beneath Ardance's hooves became icy, then covered in snow. The wind rose up into a roaring gale, so strong that Mekka could no longer fly. The Angel sat hunched now behind Hawk, on Ardance's back.

Darkness fell, black as night but filled with whirling ice that stung their faces. Ardance slowed to a walk, struggling to push through the blizzard. Hawk could not see anything, let alone where they were going, and was beginning to despair when he caught sight of something glowing ahead of them.

Squinting through the ice lashing his face, he could make out a horse and rider. Both of them were radiating an eerie white glow that lit up the snowflakes around them. But they were not moving very fast: the horse appeared to be just as exhausted as poor Ardance.

He felt Mekka shift position behind him, then the Angel shouted in his ear: “Get us closer!”

Hawk urged Ardance onwards, but the black mare refused to budge, having reached her limit.

Ahead of them, the glowing figure began to fade again.

“Come on Ardance!” Hawk pleaded. “Just a little further!”

We can't lose him now! Hawk thought desperately.

The black mare tossed her head and became skittery, and Hawk was suddenly afraid that she was about to throw them off, but instead she started walking again, grudgingly.

“Yes!” Hawk said. “That's it! Keep going, Ardance!”

They moved forward with painful slowness, but they were gaining on the rider. As they drew closer, Hawk could see that the white horse was indeed utterly spent. He wondered if the magic was the only thing keeping her going.

Then Mekka leaned on his shoulder and Hawk was suddenly aware of an arrow right beside his face.

“Don't move!” Mekka shouted.

He released the arrow.

The wind caught it and threw it into the darkness.

“What are you doing?” Hawk shouted back as Mekka cursed and strung another arrow. “Don't kill him!”

“I am not going to kill him! Just distract him! Break his concentration!”

The Angel leaned on Hawk again, struggling to maintain his aim in the furious wind. The arrow leapt forth.

Again, it missed.

Cursing louder, Mekka stood up on Ardance's back and then, to Hawk's astonishment, leapt off into the wind.

He disappeared instantly.

“Mekka!”

Cursing as well, Hawk coaxed Ardance forward. Relieved of one passenger, the mare went a little faster.

Hawk blinked to clear snow from his vision, and when he looked up again, there was a black-fletched arrow protruding from the rider's left shoulder.

At first, nothing happened. There was no scream of pain from the rider, no reaction at all. The angry blizzard continued to pound Hawk, and he was not sure how much longer he could cling to Ardance's back, or indeed, how much more the horse could endure.

And then the rider turned his head, slowly, to look at the arrow.

The wind lessened, a little, its howl dropping into a quiet moan. Hawk used the opportunity to push forward until he was level with the white horse, which had stopped walking.

Snow continued to whirl around them, but it seemed to have lost its energy. The darkness lifted, seeping away like ink in water, lightening to a dull grey, revealing the snowy landscape around them. The wind pulled back, moving outwards and dying away, leaving the two riders standing in cold silence, snow falling around them.

The white glow faded and vanished.

“Ferrian?” Hawk asked.

The boy turned his head and looked at him.

Hawk caught his breath. Ferrian's skin was as white as the snow around them, glimmering with a fine layer of frost. His eyes were an extraordinary silver colour, like reflective mirrors, sunken in dark hollows. His lips were colourless, like a corpse, and his pale hair fell across his face where it had been tossed by the wind.

“Who… a… are...y...you?” the boy said with great effort, as though he had forgotten how his vocal chords worked.

“I'm Sergeant Hawk of the Freeroamers,” Hawk replied. “Commander Trice sent me to find you,”

“C… co...mman… der Trice?”

Hawk nodded, glancing in concern at the arrow in Ferrian's shoulder. There was no blood, and the boy appeared to have forgotten it was there.

“Look,” Hawk said, “Sorry about the arrow, but… we had to stop you.”

“S… stop m...me?”

Hawk gestured down the road behind them. “Do you remember what happened back there?”

“Now might not be the best moment, Hawk.”

Mekka had landed in front of them. The Angel was ruffled, but unhurt.

Ferrian stared at the black-winged man intently.

“Mekk'Ayan, at your service,” Mekka said, bowing gracefully.

“Friend of Aari's,” Hawk explained.

“Aari...” Ferrian seemed to come back to himself. “Aari!” Eyes widening, he dismounted his white horse. Immediately, his legs crumpled beneath him.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Hawk leapt down quickly and helped Ferrian sit up. “Is he… is he all right?” the boy asked.

Hawk felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He exchanged a look with Mekka, but the Angel just crouched and closed his eye.

Hawk took a deep, steadying breath. No good time to say this…

“He, uh…” he shook his head. “I'm sorry Ferrian, but… Aari died.”

“What?! But...” The life that had just returned to Ferrian's eyes drained out again. He slumped.

A miserable silence followed. “Mekka,” Hawk said quietly, after a moment. “Would you get this arrow out of him?”

The Angel nodded, but before he could move, Ferrian ripped the arrow out of his shoulder and threw it onto the icy ground.

“I'm dead,” he said morbidly.

Hawk stared at him in horrified surprise. Mekka picked up the arrow in a black-gloved hand and frowned at the piece of flesh impaled on the tip. “Interesting.”

The Freeroamer got to his feet, taking another deep breath. “We all need a break,” he declared. He looked around. The landscape here was open and barren and littered with boulders. The trees were stunted and weatherbeaten, and everything was blanketed in snow.

Mekka stood as well. “There is shelter beyond the next ridge,” he said, gesturing ahead. “An old traveller's rest. It is not far.”

Hawk nodded, then knelt by Ferrian again. “Can you walk?”

Ferrian stared at the ground. “Just leave me here.”

Hawk shook his head. “Can't do that. Didn't ride poor Ardance near to death just to give up on you.”

Ferrian said nothing.

Mekka came over quietly and knelt at Ferrian's other side. “Aari believed that you were worth helping,” he said softly. “And so do I, or I would not be here.” He nodded at Hawk. “As do the Freeroamers.”

Ferrian did not reply.

“Ferrian,” Mekka said. “Aari gave his life for you.”

The silver-eyed boy lifted his head and stared at Mekka for a long moment, then at Hawk.

Hawk held out a gauntleted hand.

Ferrian took it.

The shelter that Mekka had spoken of was a spacious, sandy-bottomed cave set underneath an overhang in a cliff, right beside the road. At one time in the past, a wooden wall had covered the wide entrance; now only a few grey, weathered planks remained stubbornly clinging to the rock with rusted bolts. The area outside the cave and partly within was crowded with low, scrubby plants and weeds, but it was dry inside and free of snow. Dusty piles of charcoal indicated the remains of ancient campfires, and there was some timber stacked neatly against the back wall.

The cave was more than big enough for all of them, including the horses.

Mekka went about making a fire at once, while Hawk saw to their mounts, feeding and watering them.

Ferrian, strangely, refused to come into the shelter but instead sat outside in the snow beside the road.

Hawk looked at him pensively, wondering what on Arvanor had happened to the poor kid in that valley. Shaking his head, he went to help Mekka with the fire.

“How'd you know about this place?” he asked the Angel.

“I come this way sometimes,” the winged man replied without looking up. “No people live out here. I like to be alone.”

“You left the firewood?”

Mekka nodded.

“You left any other supplies?”

“Some food, under those rocks in the far corner,” Mekka pointed.

Hawk was grateful. They were running out of provisions, having intended to stop at Tulstan to resupply, but…

Tulstan is destroyed as well…

A chill passed through Hawk, much deeper than the cold air surrounding them. He looked back out at Ferrian and got to his feet, starting towards the cave entrance but Mekka said: “Leave him. Let him be, for now.”

Hawk hesitated a moment, then nodded, and went to retrieve the food instead.

Night had fallen, but Hawk couldn't sleep. Pushing himself up on one arm, he noticed Ferrian still sitting in exactly the same place, out in the falling snow, like a statue. Hawk was troubled. The kid had rejected warmth, food and sleep. What else did living death do to a person?

He got up, wrapped his cloak around himself and went outside.

He crunched through the icy vegetation and sat down beside Ferrian.

With his white skin, shadowed eye sockets and glimmering eyes, the boy looked eerie in the dark, like a ghost. Hawk suppressed a shudder, trying not to look at his shoulder, which was still torn from Mekka's arrow.

“Hey, Ferrian,” he greeted.

Ferrian said nothing, just stared out into the darkness.

“Listen,” Hawk began, then hesitated. There's no good time for this, either… “Do you know what happened back there on the road, while you were riding?”

Ferrian did not respond.

“Your Winter,” Hawk went on, “hit the royal entourage.”

This time, Ferrian turned slowly to look at him, his eyes growing wide. “Oh no...” he whispered.

“The King is alive,” Hawk reassured him. “Er,” he added, “I hope. But,” he shook his head grimly. “It wasn't pretty.”

Ferrian just stared at him in horror.

“And,” Hawk continued, feeling wretched, “at least one town is destroyed, probably more, if you came all the way from the valley.” He waved a hand at the snowy road in front of them. “You've left a trail of destruction from here to the Outlands.”

Ferrian looked away, shaking his own head in disbelief. “I didn't know,” he whispered. “I don't remember any of it! I just… I just remember feeling truly happy… for the first time in my life...”

The boy closed his eyes. “Arzath called me a coward,” he went on. “Called me weak. Said I was running from the Winter because I was too afraid to face up to it.

“So I did. I summoned it and brought it with me, and now look what it has done!” His hands curled into fists.

Hawk stared gloomily into the whirling snow, dancing like tiny wraiths in the cold night. “Can you banish it?” he asked quietly.

“I don't know,” Ferrian replied bitterly. “Maybe. But,” he shook his head in frustration. “I can't! I can't bear any kind of heat! It makes me feel sick, like… like my body is going to fall apart. I need the Winter to keep me alive! Or dead! Or whatever this is!”

They fell into dark silence for awhile. “I don't know anything about magic,” Hawk said finally, “but perhaps you just need to be more focused? Don't run from the Winter, but don't let it overwhelm you, either. Hold it with you, but don't let it take control. Maintain a balance.”

Ferrian sighed in despair. “I wish I knew how! I should have stayed at the castle! Maybe I could have convinced Arzath to teach me more spells. That was supposed to be the plan. But instead, I was stupid. I thought I could save Lord Requar...” his voice started to break, “… even though he is already dead. I know he's dead, I just didn't want to admit it! I ran away from him as well, because I couldn't stand seeing him lying there...”

He began to sob, or tried to. His body no longer contained tears to shed.

Hawk placed his hand gently on Ferrian's shoulder. “Who is Lord Requar?” he asked.

“He… he was supposed to… help me...”

“A sorcerer?” Hawk guessed.

Ferrian nodded.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Ferrian did not reply at once, and Hawk assumed he didn't want to talk about it, but then the boy started talking, relating everything that had happened to him since walking away from the Freeroamers that fateful, stormy day.

When Ferrian had finished, Hawk stared back at him, wide-eyed.

“That's why I'm going this way,” Ferrian finished miserably. “To Arkana. To Grath Ardan. To find a cure for the trigon.”

Hawk looked out into the night, thinking. “Mekka might be able to get us inside the library...”

“He's already been there,” Ferrian told him.

Hawk raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. When he and Aari were young. Aari was too afraid to go into Grath Ardan, so Mekka brought books out for him.”

“Well then!” Hawk said, giving Ferrian a smile, and clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. “There's some hope, eh?”

He got to his feet, jumping and rubbing himself to restore the circulation to his freezing limbs, and went back inside. He looked around for Mekka, only to find that the black-winged Angel was gone. Again.

Hawk let out a loud sigh. “Now where's he–”

“Up there,” Ferrian answered from outside. “On top of the shelter.”

Hawk trudged back outside and squinted up into the darkness, but could see nothing. Looking around, he spotted some boulders on the left side of the cave that seemed climbable. He went up.

A flat shelf of rock formed the roof of the overhang, covered in a thick layer of snow. Peering hard in the dark, he could just make out a shape at the far end, slightly darker than the surrounding boulders. He mistook it as a rock at first as it was so still and covered in snow, like the rest.

“Mekka,” he said, treading carefully across the shelf. “What the hell are you doing up here? I have one companion who's frozen to death already, I'd kind of not like another–”

“Leave me alone!”

There was a suspicious, slurred quality to the words. Hawk had a sudden sinking feeling that Mekka had stashed more than food down there. A dark shape lay in the snow nearby. Hawk knelt beside it and snatched it up.

One sniff told him all he needed to know.

“Dammit!” he sighed angrily. “Not you, too!”

“Leave me… alone!” Mekka got to his feet and immediately staggered backwards against the rocks, snow showering off him.

“Mekka...”

“Go away! Leave me… alone! You found the… boy, you don't… need me any more!”

Hawk sighed. “That's not true. We do need you–”

“No… you don't!” Mekka swiped his hand through the air in denial. “You don't! No one needs me! No one… cares!”

“I care!” Hawk retaliated, scowling. “Carmine–”

“Carmine has you!”

The words were a slash through the icy air. Hawk felt as though Mekka had gutted him.

A terrible silence fell.

There was the wound, lying open in all its gory, painful truth.

“I...” Hawk stammered, feeling weak. “I… don't know why Carmine chose me,” he admitted unhappily. “I'm just a dumb soldier. A stupid oaf. Look at you! You're handsome, clever, knowledgeable. I don't know why she didn't choose–”

“She didn't choose!” Mekka cut him off vehemently. “No one chooses!”

They stared at each other through the darkness and gently falling snow. “I'm never around for her, though,” Hawk said sadly. “You are. Perhaps it would be better if–”

The blow sent a flash of white across his vision, and Hawk suddenly found himself sprawled in the snow. A moment later, a black shape stumbled past him. “You are a stupid oaf,” Mekka muttered. “And don't ever… call me a Muron… again!”

Hawk lay in a daze, listening to the uncharacteristically ungraceful landing as Mekka leapt off the overhang.

He pushed himself up, checking that his nose was still intact. It was. He got up and staggered over to the boulders, and descended.

Ferrian was on his feet as Hawk approached the cave entrance. “Is everything all right?” the boy asked, frowning.

“Yep,” Hawk replied, clapping a hand on Ferrian's shoulder and wiping blood from his nose. “Peachy.”