“I-” He started, and then sighed. “Eat your cake.” She took an obligatory bite. “Your father, as far as we can tell, isn’t really dead.” he admitted.

“You never said this before. Where is he?” She demanded, voice cold.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on. There’s more to this than you think.” He replied testily. “By the ancestors, this is why I didn’t tell you. Too impatient by half.” He grumbled. “I thought I taught you patience, discipline.” He admonished.

He grit his teeth, and admitted what he didn’t want to admit.

“Your father called down a great blizzard, a storm of ice and snow the likes of which this island has likely ever seen... and will probably never see again. The damage to our city was catastrophic... catastrophic enough to get everyone to stop fighting and work to unite our peoples.” He stopped for a moment and tapped his finger on the table, and pointed at her cake. She obediently took another small bite.

Part of Carlo was still stuck in the past, as frozen as that night had been, still shocked and terrified as that blizzard had blasted across the city, hurling chunks of ice and snow, freezing the air, coating everything in a slick rime of ice. Even above the howling gales, the dull cracks of ice on stone, the rumble of the clouds overhead, the roar of Nolan, the strange proselytizing warrior from a land Carlo had never heard of, could be heard, shouting his zealous prayers to his Goddess.

That night of frigid madness was carved into his soul.

“He entombed himself in a block of ice bigger than our house. That ice has never melted, and it can’t be chipped, broken, or be moved through any means, mechanical, magical, or otherwise.” He continued.

He sat up in his chair. “One of the things he did before uniting our peoples was establish a church to Eisa, the Icy Maiden, the Frozen Goddess. One of the priests back then claimed that he wasn’t dead, that he exists in a dreamless sleep, waiting for the time that his Goddess will have need of him again.”

He pressed his lips together. “It was decided that you should be told that he is dead. He may never wake, or he may wake ten years from now. Or ten thousand.” he shrugged. “Either way, it doesn’t matter- he’s just as unreachable as if he were dead.”

Before Carlo had retired, he’d been an assassin for the previous king. His whole family had been assassins for the kings of this land, stretching back hundreds of years.

Publicly, they owned a bakery and sold all manner of sweet treats for anyone that could afford them. However, it was likely that his family’s service to the crown was over. His eldest had no talent for the killing arts, and his youngest had died from a fever.

Eirawen herself had no problems whatsoever with learning the martial arts that were his family’s staple, but he suspected that sooner or later Eirawen’s mother the Queen would call her home to her side.

It had taken him a great deal of time to accept that his family would no longer be able to serve the crown. Before Nolan’s arrival, everyone on the island venerated their ancestors; something that Carlo still did.

Would his ancestors look down on him in disapproval? Would he be rejected for his choice? He and his wife could still have children, it wasn’t impossible to have another child and begin the process all over again of training another assassin.

But... the unreasonable and indifferent slaughter Nolan had brought to the island was nothing that his family could stand against. As much as he hated to admit it, Nolan’s presence, even entombed in a block of ice, was enough of a deterrent to keep the serious troublemakers from instigating most plots, and those that persisted in spite of it didn’t require the attention of an assassin.

He sighed. Eirawen was a troubled girl, having grown up without a proper mother and father. He’d have to pay the Queen a visit.

He eyed the taller woman in front of him. “Eirawen, if you would like, I may be able to arrange a visit- permission to enter the sacred grove, and the freedom to visit your father’s tomb.”

She nodded. “I would like that.”

He gave her a ghastly, sweaty smile at that.

Nolan had been a catalyst that had brought peace, but it was a peace forged from terror. Even now Carlo held a terrified, frozen dread of what might happen if Nolan strode from his icy tomb to deliver his terrifying, frigid judgement once more.

Eirawen, Nolan’s daughter by the Queen, was equally regarded with that same distrust and distance. She resembled him so much it was uncanny. She was a living reminder of Nolan, of that terrifying night when everything came apart, when all the plots and plans and machinations of two nations came apart and unraveled.

*****

“Hello, daughter.” The voice was low and husky, and called out quietly to her from the night.

Eirawen turned. The older woman stepped out of the shadows, hands clasped at her waist and smiling up at her.

Eirawen knelt before the elven woman, who frowned irritably. “You are my daughter, Eirawen; you should never bow to me. Get up.” She stated, a touch of anger in her voice. Eirawen rose smoothly and towered over the Queen.

“You’re as beautiful as he was handsome.” she remarked. “Not as tall, though.” She appraised. “I wish I could spend more time with you, daughter. I wish I could tell you... so many things. Unfortunately, there is not enough time for either of us.” She reached into her belt pouch and produced a key. “Here is the key to the gardens.” As Eirawen reached for it, her mother stepped closer.

“I... should like to embrace you, daughter.” She said quietly. “As a mother to her child.” Eirawen hesitated, and her brow furrowed.

“I know I haven’t raised you as my own, but you are. Dearest Carlo has written to me often of your progress.” She smiled sadly. “I do wish things were different, dearest.” She said quietly. “Even so, you would have been raised by a veritable army of nannies and governesses anyway as my responsibilities to our kingdoms keep me busy, but...” She sighed again.

Eirawen stepped forward and hesitantly hugged the smaller woman.

“Do you know what your name means, my daughter?” She asked. “It’s not from my kingdom or my husbands’ you know. Nolan taught me some of his language. It means the purest, whitest snow.” She ruffled the girl’s hair. “Just like your hair.”

*****

As Eirawen got closer to the heart of the forest, the heat and humidity increased.

It was tropical and swampy here; the ground was muddy and sucked at her feet with unpleasant noises, water beaded and dripped from tree branches, leaves, ferns, and pooled everywhere. There were no paths, it would be impossible to create them. There was a riot of undergrowth as various plants competed for living space.

In a land of hot, dry, arid deserts, this one place filled with water and growing things had been a point of conflict between two nations for a thousand years before a warrior of legend and terror had taken it hostage and nearly destroyed it in a frozen night of madness.

She topped a small rise and the thick vegetation cleared enough so that she could see into the heart of the forest itself. The heart of the forest was in a concave depression, almost like a crater.

Thousands of years ago, the first well was dug here, and it had rapidly filled a small lake. The forests had grown around the well, creating an oasis that the entire city was built around.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

At the heart of the forest was the lake, and near the heart of the lake was Nolan’s tomb, a spire of ice twenty feet high on a rocky island. A tight swirl of snow constantly fell on the little island; the algid temperatures freezing the moisture out of the air endlessly.

Eirawen moved through the underbrush and around the trees, drawn to that chunk of ice like iron to a magnet, something in her soul drawing her inexorably closer. She had to see him. Had to see his face, had to-

There was a problem, though. How was she to get across the lake?

There were very few people allowed into the forest proper, and even when they were allowed, none approached the lake. There were no boats or bridges she could take to reach his tomb, and she could not swim. In a land of deserts, the concept of swimming didn’t exist.

Perhaps she could wade across?

She approached the water’s edge, and quickly removed her clothes, draping them on a low-hanging branch. She stepped into the water, and began walking slowly and carefully, vaguely repulsed at the silty mud on the bottom of the lake oozing between her toes.

The level of the water grew quickly, first her calves, then her knees, and then her waist. As the water rose over her hips, she began moving her hands in the water to keep herself stable in the uncertain footing, and as the water rose to her shoulders she was talking slow strides as she tread the uncomfortably warm water.

She was only a third of the way to her goal when she lost her footing and plunged deeper with the water over her head.

She scrambled and flailed, feet finally finding the silty bottom. She kicked as hard as she could, and her head broke the surface of the water. She scrambled, legs kicking, arms thrashing against the water, and then her feet found the bottom and she could stand up again.

She breathed deeply, taking great gulps of air, calming herself as she stood in water up to her armpits.

“There’s... There’s no way I can reach you, father.” She said in a low voice. Her frustration rose in her belly and she howled in anger and some indescribable need.

“Father! Help me!” She screamed, and punched the surface of the water angrily. She raged uncontrollably, lashing out in all directions as she vented her indignation. The water churned and seethed as she slapped, punched and kicked. She turned and stormed out of the lake and back to her clothes. Throwing herself to the bank, she wept bitterly for what seemed like ages.

*****

Eirawen had never felt so cold in her life. Her breath came in cloudy puffs in front of her face and her skin was pebbled with gooseflesh. Snow was falling all around her and she was shivering uncontrollably.

The entire lake was covered in a thick slush of falling snow and spreading ice. The wind had picked up, and a thick blizzard of sleet and ice was beginning to churn.

Night had fallen again, the light was failing. She tried to rise to her feet but she was shivering so much that she could barely manage to shift her position.

Suddenly a pale light appeared at the apex of the crystal surrounding Nolan’s tomb. A blast of icy wind roared out, stripping leaves from trees, sheathing branches in a thick rime of ice, and all light winked out except the pale light that flickered fitfully over Nolan’s tomb. The wind stopped, and thick clouds of snow fell slowly, dreamily.

A storm of emotions washed over her, a whirling madness of alien thoughts stampeded across her consciousness.

Too late... I realized too late, and now you’re gone from me.

She comes

Perhaps it is she

Too late

...inheritance...

Can we use her, though?

The thoughts blew into and through her in a heartbeat’s time. A swirl of snow revealed a woman clothed in night’s shadows and whirling ice. Around her, the snow had settled into a thick blanket that covered everything.

“You approach what none have dared for decades, child.” She called to Eirawen. Her voice was low and raspy, brittle hailstones scraping against stone.

“He is my father.” Eirawen replied.

“And what would you do upon reaching him?” The woman asked.

“If possible, I would free him.” Eirawen replied immediately, without thinking.

There was a pause. “There is no longer a way to wake him, child.” the woman replied, a touch of sadness in her voice.

Eirawen’s hands clenched into fists. “I-” she began, but stopped, looking away. Could she find a way?

“Would you take what was his as inheritance?” The woman called to her.

“Inheritance?” Eirawen repeated, confused. The cold was making it hard to concentrate.

“Come to me, child.” The woman announced. “The cold addles your wits. Come to me and embrace me as you did your mother, and I will warm you.” The woman smiled predatorily. “Come to me.”

Eirawen took a hesitant step forward, and then another. Her feet were numb and distant things, her legs stiff and awkward. Carlo had told her about the cold, and she had thought she understood, but she realized that her level of understanding was so far beyond what real cold was, she might as well have had no understanding of it at all.

She took a tottering step forward and fell to her knees. The shock of her hands plowing into snow up to her wrists ran up her arms and she jolted up to her knees, holding her hands to her chest.

She tried to speak and realized she couldn’t. Her jaw was so clenched so tightly it felt like her teeth might shatter in her jaw. She struggled forward on her knees, and realized she was somehow out on the surface of the lake. When she realized this, she faltered, and sank in the water.

The water, which had been very warm, was now shockingly cold. It was so cold it froze her veins to her muscles, her muscles to her bones and chilled her bones to glass.

It was so cold it didn’t register as cold, only pain.

She screamed then, and forced herself to climb out of the hole in the ice and snow and struggle to her feet. She took a tottering step forward, and then another, and then still another, and she realized she was nearly running. This felt much better than moving slowly, so she leaned forward and ran with all her might towards the woman.

The woman embraced her, arms encircling her comfortingly. Eirawen wrapped her arms around the other woman as tightly as she could, seeking warmth and comfort from the bizarre, terrifying, and frigid weather that threatened to freeze her to death.

“Swear yourself to me.” The woman demanded. “Swear and I will fill you with my essence and you will champion my cause.”

“I s-s-swear.” Eirawen chattered through numb lips, and the woman seized Eirawen’s lips with her own, kissing her.

An icy rush flowed through her, cascading from her lips to her head, down her neck to her heart, and flowing throughout her body. Her shivering slowed and stopped.

“I will give you your inheritance, dear.” the woman said silkily. Armor appeared on Eirawen’s form, heavy gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, faulds, greaves, boots, bracers, belt. Eirawen stepped back, frowning, examining her armor, flexing her hands in her new armor and turning her arms.

The woman raised her hands and two heavy swords appeared, one in each hand. “These are my swords, my creation, the gift I award to the only one that earns my favor, Eirawen. They have many blessings.”

Eirawen reached for them, but the woman pulled her hands back. “I gave these to your father, knowing he would champion my cause even here on this island, so far removed from the arboreal wastes with which his people call home, and he rewarded my trust with his own. I give them to you now, so that you too may work wonders in my name.”

She looked down at Eirawen, and touched Eirawen’s face. “I will have faith in you. Pray to me, child, and I will make the swords and gifts yours.”

Eirawen knelt, and looked up into the impassive face of her father’s goddess.

“Eisa.” She breathed. “Please...” She started, and a wave of power flowed through her so mind-bogglingly strong it knocked her out.

Eisa tapped a shadowy finger against snowy lips and looked up at the sky.

“If I only had more time to groom you properly.” she muttered to herself. She placed a hand to her breast. She knelt. She took her hand away from her breast, and motes of glowing power trailed from her fingers.

“Live, girl. Carry my will within you.” She commanded. She placed her hand to Eirawen’s chest, and the motes of power flowed into Eirawen, who frowned, lines drawing on her face. Her body illuminated briefly.

Eisa glanced over her shoulder, at the thing only she could see, at the thing that pursued her relentlessly.

“Unbelievable. To find me here, of all places.” She muttered. She glanced down at Eirawen. “I will send you far to the west, girl.” She said commandingly, and then teleported her away. She waved her hand dismissively at the swords. “Oh, those too.”

She glanced up at the sky again, at the relentless, murderous thing that chased her no matter where she went, and she faded away, leaving a snowy, ice-choked lake behind.

*****

The clouds vanished under the tropical sun, and the snow melted away as if it had never been. The lake thawed, and Nolan’s Tomb melted away until the lake was clear and empty once more. The figure that had remained trapped in the ice since his final stand some twenty years prior was no longer there.

*****

Eight thousand miles away, Eirawen opened her eyes in a wooded forest, a pair of massive swords planted in the dirt near her head.