-Frozen Desert-
The intense cold was at odds with the blazing sun overhead and the sand under her feet, bright red and threatening to burn through the soles of her new boots. If they weren’t made from rowder hide Jordan was convinced she would have been burned already.
Quenchers of all shapes and sizes dotted the never-ending expanse of what she could only call a frozen desert.
If Red and Sareth were still waiting for her to reappear on the cliff face overlooking this mystical dreamscape, they would be disappointed. Jordan couldn’t even find the cliff, much less her two companions.
Every so often she came across a frozen pond, bubbles suspended in the thick ice as though the water underneath was frothing and roiling, hot as the sand she trekked across, shielding her face against the unforgiving sun.
She’d never been in a desert before, had only learned about the landscape from an obscure lesson at the academy. But she knew if she didn’t find water soon, the heat would quickly overwhelm her.
I know they say the south is warmer than up north, but this is ridiculous.
But then there was also the biting cold to deal with. Even though her feet were uncomfortably warm and sweat dripped down her face and dampened her hair, the wind coming from the fog above her head brought goosebumps to her exposed arms. She wrapped her arms around herself to fight off the shivering, her forearms and biceps pink from the harsh cold.
If I ever make it to the Forgotten Trio, I’ll be more than happy to remind them of a couple of things they may have forgotten.
Jordan had no idea how long she’d been trudging forward, walking toward the sun. She had no way of gauging which direction would lead her to the Forgotten Trio. Her map was useless—the entire portion leading up to the doorstep of Deporta Prima, the home of the three ancients, was little more than a swath of clouds called the southern Ruins.
She had yet to see a single ruined building or structure. Nothing but sand, ice, and quenchers as far as the eye could see.
But for some reason, she felt compelled to follow the sun. Maybe it was the sunsword. Maybe it was the prophecy. But she sensed that the Forgotten Trio would be hidden where the sun bedded for the night, a distant speck on the horizon.
Several hours later the weather violently changed. Red sand became a thick, soft blanket of snow that would have instantly soaked through anything other than rowder hide. Jordan silently thanked Lia—she would never make it to the ancients without the boots Lia had provided. The air was now hot and dry, tearing at Jordan’s throat and eyes. She pulled her tunic up over her mouth, coughing. When the heat grew too intense Jordan would drop to her knees and bring her face as close to the snow as possible, wiping off her cheeks and forehead and eating untouched patches from the ground before continuing on her journey.
The sun, which had been sinking down into the ground all day, had finally laid down to rest, bathing the frozen desert in darkness. All Jordan could see were the stars, although like everything else in this surreal landscape, she didn’t recognize the constellations above her. The snow had finally shifted to a vast expanse of ice—a frozen lake that stretched on for miles in every direction. Even though she fought to keep her eyes open from exhaustion, Jordan forced her legs to keep moving.
Where would she wake up in a place like this?
She wasn’t eager to find out.
Surely there had to be more to this trial than trekking through endless miles of sand and snow, but Jordan hadn’t come across another living creature since entering this strange land beside the rowder which had stopped her fall and then vanished like an apparition.
The ice stretching out in every direction around her glistened, reflecting the stars above faintly, distorting the pinpoints of far away light.
She continued to slowly move forward, pushing one foot in front of the other, the weight of her sunsword growing with each hour.
It was with bleary, half-open eyes that Jordan saw the ice under her change from a black-silver to a warm pink as the sun returned, a violent, sudden change that startled her awake.
She continued to look down at her feet, her mind wandering, when she heard a faint cracking noise below her. Shaking her head to focus, she dropped down to one knee and recoiled when it dawned on her. The rising sun was eating through the thick layer of ice over the lake, a lake Jordan couldn’t see the end of.
The panic sent a fresh burst of strength into Jordan’s limbs, and she started jogging, unable to keep her eyes off the ice under her feet. As the sun rose higher, the ice continued to melt until Jordan was kicking through puddles of water.
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She could finally pick out the edge of the lake, which transitioned to bright pink sand and quenchers an odd shade of purple, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the ice wouldn’t hold long enough for her to make it to solid land.
Jordan forced herself to run, although she kept herself from a full-out sprint. It was inevitable at this point—she would have to try to swim to the shore, and sprinting now would only destroy her small chance of reaching the pink sand beyond the lake.
Puddles became the beginning of a pond, and then Jordan was plunging into water that spiked through her veins like daggers, so cold she saw spots. Gasping and shuddering, she fought to keep her head above the deathly water and began kicking her way toward the shore.
As she continued to swim, half in shock, the water began to get warmer until the temperature felt comfortable. Jordan unconsciously began to slow. She would easily make it to shore now. But the sun, as though blind to her plight, only grew larger and higher in the sky, and the water began to shift from a comfortable warmth to a hot on the edge of boiling. Gasping in pain, Jordan kicked harder, fighting to reach the pink sand.
After several horrible moments that stretched on indefinitely, Jordan hurled herself out of the water onto the rosy sand, panting and shaking from the wicked heat. As she looked out at the lake, she saw the water begin to violently bubble, steam wafting off the surface.
And still there was no one. Similar to the red sand from before, the pink sand was just as hot, and Jordan could only rest for a few moments before she was forced to stand, depending on her boots to keep out the raging heat as her teeth violently chattered from the glacial winds.
She forced herself to keep up a brisk walk. Anything to make the journey pass faster. Anything to keep herself from lying down and refusing to get back up. How many hours had passed? Days? If could have been months, and Jordan wouldn’t have been surprised if someone came trotting by and announced that it had been years.
Her stomach was aching in protest, and Jordan stopped by a purple quencher and unsheathed the sunsword just enough to slice several pieces off the fleshy plant. Avoiding the spines on the back, she frantically ate the sweet flesh on the inside. It tasted like nothing, but she could feel her stomach relax and continued marching onward.
As she continued forward, feeling like she was wandering aimlessly toward nothing, thick, pregnant clouds rolled in and icy rain pelted Jordan’s head and shoulders, soaking through her still-damp tunic. She’d left her shadow cloak in Red’s pack and fervently wished she had it now, in this desolate land.
What I wouldn’t give to see people. Anyone.
And then she saw a dark object in the distance, standing in what looked like another long stretch of snow. As she got closer, she recognized the dark shape for what it actually was—a large mass of people, each wielding a sword that looked exactly like hers, although their weapons seemed to radiate darkness instead of light.
She couldn’t see their faces—each person was clad in some ancient armor that hid even their faces from view, but it was clear from their aggressive stances that Jordan was a threat to be taken down and destroyed.
All she had was the sunsword, which she’d sworn she wouldn’t unsheathe, especially not against another person. Even the small knife given to her by Winsom was with Sareth. Jordan considered skirting around the mass of dark warriors, but it soon became clear they knew she was there and wanted to meet her face on.
With ice under her feet and a hot, suffocating wind on her face, Jordan untied her scabbard from her waist and stopped to face the horde, blonde hair flying out limply behind her like a visceral flag of surrender or defiance.
Soon the vast army was standing mere feet from Jordan. They were completely silent, each expertly wielding a dark sword that Jordan couldn’t help but think of as nightblades, the supposed weapons of the creatures of the night. Fairytale weapons, but here in a land where nothing was normal or tame, she wasn’t surprised.
Without a word, the warriors moved in unison, surging forward like the tide, raising their weapons to the sky briefly before charging her head-on. Jordan rushed the closest opponent, beating their sword away with her scabbard before moving just as quickly to the warrior approaching her exposed flank. But for every attacker she pushed back, three or four took their place until Jordan began to itch to pull the sunsword from its sheath.
What good would her promise be if she died defending it?
But even as she contemplated drawing the weapon and evening the odds, she felt her fingers tightening around the hilt of the sword.
She wouldn’t draw the sword. Even now.
If this is what the Forgotten Trio demanded, she would never hear their prophecy. Jordan continued to strike out at the warriors approaching her from every side, but eventually she felt her arms start to give out.
It was when one of her movements had grown too sluggish and a nightblade had slipped through her defenses that a strange silver weapon collided with the dark warrior’s sword, forcefully knocking it away like a thunder clap.
Startled, Jordan spun to face the wielder of the silver blade. At first it looked like just another faceless warrior, but then the face covering was removed and Jordan found herself looking at a pair of piercing gray eyes that seemed to swallow her whole.
The attackers faded into the ice and burning wind, and it was only Jordan and the stranger, facing each other, both holding their swords in a defensive stance.
The moment ended just as quickly as it began. Unspoken understanding passed between them, and Jordan guarded her protector’s back, forcing the dark warriors back. The man’s silver blade beat back the attackers almost effortlessly, but Jordan had looked deeply into his eyes and seen a horrible abyss, rimmed with something almost foreign—hope.
Like the sudden rain and snow, the dark warriors slowly faded into the descending fog until all Jordan could make out was the dim outline of her savior.
She reached for his hand, suddenly desperate not to be left behind, only to feel solid stone.
A door, towering high above her and slowly swinging inward.