His Frozen Fingertips Read online

  “I heard you, Asa,” Avery replied. Asa heard him kick his horse forward, and soon they were side by side. Neither spoke for a while. Asa wound the horse’s coarse hair around his fingers, loosening his grip upon the reins. He opened his mouth, took a breath, and then closed it again. He couldn’t quite think of what to say.

  “It’s cold today.” It was inane, so obvious that he wanted to take it right back out of the air.

  “Yeah,” Avery replied, his breath steaming as he spoke. “Quite.”

  The snow was falling, as it had been when they’d set off that morning. However, it was heavier now, denser. Clumps of ice were sticking to Asa’s fringe and frigid water was rolling like slushy tears off the tip of his nose. He could feel the weight on his eyelashes. He glanced over to Avery, who was rearranging his hood with clumsy fingers, nose a delicate shade of pink. They surely could not keep on riding in such tricky weather? But Avery kept going, Asa blindly following. His friend was a miner. He worked outdoors. He would know better than Asa when to stop.

  Avery’s horse had a longer stride than Freda. He pulled ahead and Asa struggled to make the small skewbald keep up. The wind was blowing in his eyes, hardly shielded by the many trees around them. Asa blinked, peering ahead. He could see nothing but white flurries and the orange-stained sky above him.

  “Avery?” he called. No response came. “Avery!”

  He searched the sudden white downfall in increasing desperation, eyes screwed up against the icy cold. The wind was blowing so hard now that it felt like he was alone in the world, just him and the warm animal moving beneath him. The road beneath the horse’s hooves was the only scenery. He couldn’t hear Avery or his horse over the sound of the wind.

  Asa pushed the horse up into a canter, letting the animal choose the way, as if she could see any more than he could. The melting snow settled on his bare hands, chilling them with a vague numbness that was most disconcerting. He shivered.

  His pony was jogging beneath him, tossing her plain head as her vision was obscured. Asa stroked her withers in a way which he hoped was soothing, slicking the white hair to her body. Freda raised her head, ears flat against her skull. He reassured her, winding his fingers into her discoloured mane. She glanced back at him, her one blue eye fixed upon her cold rider. He clucked and she moved forward into the snow more decisively. It came down strangely, unlike rain, in strange flurries that could be blown into their eyes. Freda stalled, refusing to go forward into the wall of unending white.

  “Asa?” It was a whisper, the faintest call on the breeze.

  “Avery!” Asa turned in the saddle but could see nothing but a tree line and blazing snow.

  “Asa!” It was closer now. Though his fingers were like ice on the reins, lips chapped by the loaded wind, Asa felt a sudden surge of warmth in his chest. He was going in the right direction. Freda stalled again, tossing her head back and refusing to move. Asa spoke soothingly to his frightened pony, seeing her withers trembling as he tried to move her forward.

  “It’s okay, girl,” he whispered to her. “We’ve got this.”

  She began to walk forward again, ears flat against her head. Asa clucked her up into a trot. The trees were close on either side, sheltering them from the worst of the snow.

  “Asa.” Asa perked up in the saddle, scanning the ground. It had not been so much a call as a statement. Avery, he was sure, could see him.

  “Avery?”

  “Here.”

  Freda pulled to a gentle halt in front of a large Eldrass tree, surrounded by fallen leaves. Asa looked to the lower branches.

  “Where?” he asked, scanning the stark limbs.

  “Not up there, idiot. Look down.”

  Asa looked, and then saw it. Between the arched roots of the tree was a gap, about as large as a small pantry, where extreme weather had worn the earth away. Inside this hollow was a dishevelled, damp Avery Hardy. He leapt to his feet and grabbed Freda’s bridle, pulling the horse and its rider to a branch some distance away and tying the reins there. After kicking the snow off of a patch of grass to allow her to graze, he held out a hand and helped Asa down.

  “Thank you.” Asa shivered. For the first time, he truly recognised how cold he was. A sharp pain made itself apparent in his extremities. Avery took his frigid hands in his own marginally warmer ones and blew warm air onto the frozen digits.

  “We better set up camp here. It’s getting late.”

  Asa hadn’t noticed. The sky was not black or blue as he was used to, but a dusky orange, like the embers of a dying fire. It was ironic, he pondered, that such a warm colour could indicate the fall of ice from the sky.

  Before he had even been aware of it, Avery led him back to the small hollow under the tree. Asa’s hair brushed the low ceiling as he ducked inside, pulling his legs up to his chest. It was warmer here, sheltered as they were from the snow and wind. Painful pricking warmth returned to his fingertips. He began to think more clearly, shivering slowing to a gentle tremble in his fingers until finally he was able to speak.

  “That wasn’t fun.”

  Avery laughed, opening his saddlebag and bringing out such necessities that they needed to survive the night. Some blankets, a cloth bag of food, several wrapped items, and a water skin filled with liquid. Asa looked at the snow falling outside, it wasn’t as if they would have any shortage of water, wherever they were.

  “It was not,” Avery replied, startling Asa, who had forgotten his previous statement. “You up for some food?”

  “Okay.” Asa held out his hands and sighed at the meagre fare that he was given.

  “Sorry,” his friend apologised. “We can’t waste it.”

  “I know.” Asa’s stomach rumbled. “I understand.”

  His supper did not even fill his cupped hands. A strip of dried meat, a small bread roll, some sort of grain cluster, and a leaf. A single leaf. He poured the food into his lap and started to tear the bread up with his chilled fingers. Maybe if he ate more bites he would feel somehow fuller. Avery sat down next to him, the same in his hands. He took a swig from the water skin and passed it to Asa, who sipped it and ate a tiny mouthful of bread.

  All too soon supper was over. Asa leant against the side of their shelter, watching the snow fall as the sky grew darker. He hoped that Freda was alright. She and Neasa had proved their use a hundred times in the last day alone. Without them they would surely have become lost in the snowstorm.

  “It’s late,” Avery remarked.

  “It is,” Asa responded.

  “Shall we sleep now?” Avery sounded unsure. Asa smiled. Neither of them had ever slept anywhere apart from a bed. He nodded.

  “Better had.”

  They lay down in between the roots of the Eldrass tree, sheltered from the oncoming snow. Asa curled tightly in on himself as he usually did, Avery spreading out next to him. Both of them shivered at the same time, then laughed.

  “Do you want a blanket?” the blond asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Yes, please,” Asa replied, catching the ragged piece of cloth that Avery threw his way. “Thank you.”

  “No worries.” His friend smiled. “Got to keep you warm.”

  “Don’t you have one, too?” Asa inquired, seeing Avery’s face fall.

  “I do, it just got completely soaked in the snow, so—”

  “Share it with me.”

  “What?” Avery squinted at Asa. “You said you’d never willingly—”

  “Avery.” Asa raised an eyebrow. “How reliable has that statement been lately?”

  “Fair.” He shrugged, taking half of the dry blanket. Snow blew into their small shelter, brushing their feet with its sapping coldness. Asa left a courtesy space between them, though it chilled him. “Asa.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t share it like this, it defeats the point of sharing.”

  “Ugh, fine.” Asa moved closer to Avery’s intoxicating warmth. Their arms touched. Avery moved his hand into Asa’s and lin
ked their fingers, as Asa had done the night before. Asa peered at him in the near total darkness. Avery winked.

  “Goodnight,” he said.

  “Goodnight,” Asa replied.

  FIVE

  ASA AWOKE COLD, STIFF, and damp. He stared up for a minute in a sort of bleak daze before sitting up to stretch, cracking his joints. Avery, for once, was still asleep. Asa watched him for a moment. He looked fairly comfortable, blond hair sticking up around his head, arms and legs tangled beneath the blanket.

  “Up you get, then!” Asa shoved Avery’s shoulder into the ground. His friend shot up, earning a snort of laughter from him. The blond searched the hollow under the tree for the source of noise, before the meaning of the situation dawned upon him. He scowled.

  “And good morning to you, too,” he grumbled.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Asa asked. Avery dipped into the saddlebag and withdrew the cotton bag of food. Asa held out his hands.

  “Remember, Asa.” His friend poured a small handful of nuts and dried berries into Asa’s cupped hands. He looked at his portion disappointedly, but did not complain. His stomach growled.

  “I remember.” Asa tried to smile, but all he wanted to do was eat. He counted the nuts— fourteen. The berries were harder to count as some had made their way into his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “We’re tightening our belts so that we don’t die.”

  “Asa, don’t be like that.” Avery had counted out his own portion and repacked the bag before paying attention to his food. “This is the grown-up decision.”

  “I know.” Asa chewed miserably. “I just think this would be more fun if it was warmer.”

  “Well, it isn’t.” Avery smiled, swallowing his breakfast in two rapid gulps. “And don’t count on a sunny spell.”

  As if to affirm his point, a light flurry of snow fluttered into their shelter, covering their legs in white dust. Asa sighed and followed suit and finished his meal.

  “I hope the horses are alright,” he said. Several inches of snow had collected on the ground outside. He stood up and ducked out of the hollow. The sun was shining quite brightly for so early, though the sky remained orange and cloud cover was threatening the light from the east.

  The horses were huddled under the same branch, shivering. Asa could have hit himself. They’d left their tack on overnight. That couldn’t be good. He went over to Freda and checked under her girth. Luckily there was no sign of irritation but they’d have to be a lot more careful about it in the future. Without their horses they would be stuck, the prospects of getting home even from here would be bleak. Besides, he liked Freda.

  “We are a pair of fools, aren’t we?” Avery said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” agreed Asa, untying Freda and clambering stiltedly onto her back. Avery packed his saddlebags and hopped onto Neasa, who shifted under him. He reached forward for his reins, then realised.

  “Asa, be a man and untie my horse?”

  “Seeing as you asked so eloquently.” Asa leant over and handed the reins to Avery. “Though I’m not sure either of us deserve a second chance with these creatures after yesterday.”

  “True.” Avery gave his horse a hearty thump on the neck, which nearly sent the highly strung creature into a panic attack.

  “Watch it,” Asa reminded him, as his friend tried to calm Neasa down. She danced around on her toes for a few moments, before being soothed into a jittery halt.

  Avery winked. “Still got it.”

  “Sure.” Asa stroked Freda. She turned her head towards him and huffed a cloud of warm air onto his knees. He sat back in the saddle and picked up the reins. “Ready.”

  “Yes.” The chestnut drew alongside Asa. Avery let her greet Freda, and then led the way down through the woods, following the sun eastward.

  A light wind had picked up, swirling small dust flurries around the horses’ hooves, but this was small potatoes compared to the snowstorm that had engulfed them yesterday. Asa grimaced as he thought of it, glancing upwards. They would have to be a lot more careful of the weather if they were to make it through unscathed. Their route, though, was simple. They had to ride to the east so that they could get inside the walls. This was the easier part of the journey. He did not know how they would get inside of the walls.

  They soon came onto a path, more by chance than through navigation, long and straight through the trees. Asa decided to take it. It would be safer than hiking through the trees. At least if they were robbed on the road they should meet some aid. The surface was just plain dust, having been cleaned of ice sometime earlier that day. Footprints and hoof marks littered it, but they saw no sign of anyone on that section.

  It was mid-morning when Asa noticed the wagon. Their road was long and fairly straight, so he saw them long before they came within earshot. There was a single dusty traveller wagon trundling towards them, clouds of dirt being scattered by the wheels. Asa cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Hello, there!” he shouted, making several birds flap in panic out of the trees around them. “Hello!”

  There was no difference in the speed of the cart. Asa urged Freda on into a canter, beckoning Avery to follow. His friend did so, and they rushed to meet the strangers on the road, regardless of their intentions towards them. The wagon stopped as they came within two hundred metres, and Avery leapt from Neasa to the ground. Asa followed, bringing his pony to a halt and jumping off. Freda scraped some ice off the roadside with her large muzzle and began to graze on the wilted grass underneath. Her masters approached the stationary vehicle. There seemed to be no driver to it, so Avery knocked on the canopy roof while Asa stroked the cart pony’s neck. It was a small beast, no higher than twelve hands, with large doe eyes and the sweetest little face Asa had ever seen. It was nervous though, eyes darting from side to side as it was forced to stay attached to the weighty cart.

  “Who is it?” said a quivery voice from inside the body of the wagon.

  “Travellers,” Avery said.

  “From where?”

  “Salatesh,” he responded.

  “Never heard of it,” another, female, voice added. “Don’t trust them, Mersin. They could be bandits!”

  “Bandits?” The person sounded old, frail. “Oh, no, no. We don’t consort with bandits. That is a terrible idea.”

  “We’re not bandits,” Avery explained. “We’re travellers, just like you.”

  A pause.

  “That sounds like a “bandit-y” thing to say.” The woman pushed the canopy out where Avery was leaning on it. “Away! Away! Be gone.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Asa asked.

  “Why should we tell you?” the woman snapped.

  “Now, dear,” the man reasoned. “Bandit or not, he asked nicely and as of such we ought to reply. Young man, we’re travelling closer to the capital.”

  “Why?” Asa probed curiously.

  There was a scuffle from inside the wagon and cautiously an elderly couple emerged. They both were tiny, the woman’s high grey bun would have barely scraped Asa’s chin if she had not been standing a good long distance from the two of them. The man was bald, withered, and wore thick glasses, which reverted his eyes to blinking specks.

  “There is trouble brewing at the gates,” he said darkly.

  The woman nodded. “We refuse to be part of such deviation from what is natural and what is right. We’re going to set up somewhere new. Anywhere would be better than there.”

  “Where?” Avery looked at them. They had come so far, but for what?

  “I keep the gates,” the man said. “I am Mersin Hathor. We come from as far as you can go.”

  “Not us,” Asa told him. “We’ll go beyond the walls.”

  “But that’s impossible, my dear boy.”

  “We come from the queen.”

  Mersin Hathor looked startled at this realisation. He took off his glasses, wiped them on a dirty sleeve, and put them back onto his nose. He blinked mole-ishly at them
both, assessing their uniforms.

  “So you do,” he said. “So you do.”

  “Who will be there when we arrive,” Avery asked. “To open the gates?”

  “I have failed.” It seemed as if Mersin had forgotten that they were there. He stared into the middle distance and sighed. “I have failed indeed.”

  “But why, sir?” Asa was intrigued. “What task were you entrusted with?”

  “Two,” the elderly man said. “Every year, my first job is to open the gates. I do this but once every year. It is a one-way journey for most who venture past the walls. I have done it for fifty years now, and my father before I—generations of Hathrows allowed people to travel between in and out. But my second duty, only by leaving my post did I fail that. I have a message that I have told those who passed through every year. I have failed as a gatekeeper. The borders of Eodem rested upon me, but I decided to shift the burden onto someone else. No one shall get through those gates again! For only I have the keys, and I shall do with them what I see fit.”

  “We need passage,” Asa told him.

  “Excuse me?” His little eyes widened behind the spectacles. “Oh, indeed no! That I cannot have upon my conscience. Not again.”

  “You must,” he insisted, drawing closer to the little man. “If, as so you insist, the fate of Eodem rested upon you, then you shall do no more damage by letting us in.”

  “In,” Mersin Hathor scoffed. “Ah, yes. Indeed, being let in would be the worst thing to ever happen to you. Of course. No, you come from the queen, correct? Of course she would tell you to go in.”

  “What in Eodem do you mean by that?” Asa exclaimed. “We mean to gain passage through the walls, and through some means of wit or luck defeat the monster which lurks within. We just require this of you.”

  “I have been too far,” the old man declared, throwing up his hands. “No more I will travel. No more!”

  “Well then, give us the keys.” Avery simplified their request, if somewhat roughly.

  “I cannot entrust you with them.”