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Alixander Fey -> RE: The Cold (12/27/2008 12:14:44)
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The Cold
“I haven’t been this far south in a long time,” Agrathan whispered. “But I don’t think that’s natural.”
Tara MageBorn frowned beneath his darkened cowl, surveying the haunted visage of the town. The wizard tapped his staff against the ground and chanted a string of awkward syllables. “No, it’s not. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”
The town of Rold huddled in a little valley between two mountains, wooden gates and makeshift palisades masked by a thick blue mist. Only one gate touched the main road, but the hinges swung limp and shattered. An empty guardhouse connected to a pair of abandoned towers that flanked the deserted gate.
Agrathan fingered his sword. “Is it magic?”
Tara closed his eyes, searching, sensing. He felt the echo of power. “The fog? Yes, it’s magic. But that doesn’t explain the lack of people.”
“Perhaps they’re hiding,” the ranger said. “I would hide from that.”
“Would the soldiers guarding the gate run from a fog?”
Wisps of smoke curled around buildings, strangling, sucking life. A door slammed, somewhere in the back of the town.
“Sounds like someone’s home.” Agrathan stepped forward, drawing his sword.
Tara didn’t move. He clutched the hems of his cloaks, wrapping them around his frail body. “Where are you going?”
The ranger turned, waving his sword at the gate. “Let’s see what’s going on. Maybe they need our help.”
The wizard grunted. “We have enough provisions to make it to the next town. I say we leave them to their fate and move on.”
“Are you that cold, Tara? You’d let these people die?”
“We don’t know if they’re in danger. They could all be dead. Or, they could be hiding from this fog, a natural phenomenon that will pass at any moment. It’s none of our business either way. We should leave.” Turning away, the wizard staggered down the road, grasping his staff in both hands.
“I thought you said the fog was magic,” Agrathan called after him.
Tara stopped, hesitated, and then kept walking.
Shaking his head, Agrathan cursed. “I’ll see you at DaySpring, then. Wait for me.” The ranger ambled down the gentle slope to the town’s gate. When he reached the broken portal, he glanced over his shoulder. Tara was gone, an ebony specter receding from view. He was alone in the blue mist.
Agrathan kicked the gate. The hinges creaked, opening the way for the ranger. Still, he saw no sign of life. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he entered the town. Within the town’s walls, Agrathan could see that the fog was thickest in the town square. Here, he could barely see a few wisps of white smoke—nothing like the blue mist from before.
He reached the first building without incident. Circling the wooden structure, Agrathan came to the front door, framed by a wide porch and a pair of windows. The darkness radiated from behind the glass planes, reminding him of the black lights he had seen in Tara’s tower.
His fist rapped against the door; once, twice, then a third time. No one answered. And still he had seen no evidence of inhabiting life. Turning away from the door, he stepped to the edge of the porch.
“Hello?” the ranger called. “Is anyone here? Is there danger?”
No one answered. He didn’t call again.
Sheathing his sword, the ranger pulled his cape around him and walked deeper into the town’s heart. A bitter, cold wind fought him, whipping his hair and his cape backwards. Agrathan shivered but kept walking, closing his eyes to shield them from the biting cold.
“You missed something,” a gravelly voice rasped.
The ranger turned to see the black-cloaked figure standing by the side of the house. Green eyes stared back at him, heartless and mocking.
“I didn’t think this was any of your business,” he spat.
Tara sighed, leaned against his staff, and shrugged. “You are my friend. When you threw yourself into the unknown, the unknown became my business.”
Agrathan stared for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Still angry at the sorcerer, he refused to accept the man’s words—as close to an apology as Tara ever came.
The mage recognized Agrathan’s stubbornness and spun on his heels. He marched to the other side of the street, approaching a building identical to the one Agrathan had seen. Mounting the porch steps, he waited. Agrathan followed with a sigh.
When the ranger joined him, Tara slipped around the building, holding up a hand when they reached the corner. “Here,” he said softly.
Just around the corner of the building, they found a boy huddled in the shadows. No older than eight, his body covered in ragged cloths, the child shivered and clutched something in both hands. When he saw Tara, he whimpered and shrank farther into the dark corner.
To Agrathan’s surprise, Tara stepped forward and offered a compassionate hand. “Are you all right?”
The boy’s head rose to meet the wizard’s gaze. He shied away, folding whatever he held closer to his chest. “The cold…” he whispered. “It’s so cold.”
Tara glanced back to Agrathan. Neither of them felt chilled now that the wind had abated. Agrathan dropped his pack and shrugged.
Tara knelt down, gathering his robes around him. “What are you doing?”
The boy shivered. “I’m hiding… I’m hiding from the cold.”
He sifted away from Tara again, this time revealing the object in his hand. It was a knife, blade caked in blood.
The wizard snaked his hand forward slowly, grasping the handle of the knife. The boy didn’t react. Tara snatched the dagger away and tucked it under his robes. “Where are your parents?”
“It’s so cold.” He looked up, gazing beyond Tara and the ranger. “So cold.”
Agrathan placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think he’s truly with us, Tara.”
The wizard nodded and backed away, withdrawing the dagger. “You’re right, of course. We need to find… whoever this belongs to.”
Retreating back around the building, they mounted the porch again and knocked on the front door. No one answered. Agrathan moved to kick the door down, but Tara stopped him. The wizard tapped his staff against the wood.
“Yyr.”
Hinges snapped as the door flew forward. Agrathan sighed and shook his head.
“Always talking to doors,” he mumbled. “You need to learn to talk to trees, make them bear fruit in the winter. You could make enough money to buy a city.”
Hearing the ranger’s complaints with his magically enhanced ears, Tara laughed. “I have, Agrathan. I have.”
The ranger’s eyes widened; he stood in the doorway and gawked at the wizard. Tara stepped into the main room, leading with his gleaming staff. Save for three chairs, a couch, and a table, the camber was empty. The wizard and the ranger moved to the next room.
At first, Tara thought the kitchen was abandoned as well. When they stepped past the tall counter, Agrathan gasped and pointed to the floor. Tara followed his gaze, eyes widening when he saw two dead bodies piled by the kitchen table. With a grim nod, the mage withdrew the boy’s bloody dirk. Kneeling over the bodies, he whispered a spell.
“Vas ker’um ve vas gal’ad kam vir’en!”
The blood on the bodies sparked, glowing with an inner crimson light. The sparkle traveled across the blood until every drop scintillated—then it spread to the knife. The dagger glittered in the darkness.
Agrathan knelt beside his friend. “What did you do?”
“It’s a magical test,” the sorcerer explained. “The blood on this knife belongs to these bodies.”
“You don’t think the boy did this, do you?”
Glancing up, he caught the ranger’s gaze and held it. His glowing eyes did not blink. Agrathan shivered and stepped away. Tara followed him back into the first room.
Whispering the spell for spiritsight, the wizard searched the building for other souls. When his eyes opened to the spirit world, he jerked back. The world was bright, too bright. Chairs, walls, and floors all took on faded grey hues in the spirit world—only souls exuded light. But the entire town seemed to glow with one continuous luminescence, as if one single soul enveloped the city. Tara shook his head. He had seem more anomalies in magic than anyone else he knew—it had become commonplace to see things he could not understand. The glowing, single presence stretched its tendrils into this building, wrapping around a few souls he could sense in next room.
“Is anyone here? Are we alone?”
Agrathan glowed too; his own spirit shone with the dull light of someone with no magical strength. The elfstone blade that Tara had enchanted scintillated at his side. Tara shook his head, trying to focus on the grey ghost of the ranger’s face.
“There are three adults in the other room. More upstairs. Something is… wrong.”
“Wrong? Oh, Tara, I couldn’t figure that out on my own. Thank you for telling me. Really, I was lost without your wise—”
Tara shut the man out and released the spiritsight spell. His eyes once again saw flesh and blood. “They are coming,” he whispered.
Three adults stepped into the room, each wearing a grim expression. They were well-clothed, obviously middle-class, and they were unarmed. The first one, the tallest, looked to Tara. His eyes flashed with surprise, then fear, then anger. He did not speak.
Agrathan drew his sword discretely, hiding the motion behind Tara’s cloak. The wizard stepped forward, dousing the glaring light in his staff. “Greetings,” he said. “I am Tara MageBorn, and this is my companion, Agrathan Thoulurd. We come from ArborVale, and we intend to reach DaySpring to meet a patrol of elves from across the river. How fares the town of Rold?” The wizard’s voice trailed off half-way through as he realized the man didn’t even register his words.
The three adults gazed at him, listless. They exchanged glances, then looked back to the door from which they had come. Agrathan stepped forward, still holding his sword away from their line of sight. “What ails you, brothers? We have a wizard. Can we help you? What is this arcane fog that clouds your city?”
Again, they did not hear him. Their faces changed, morphing into masks of determination. As one, they pulsed forward, grasping for the ranger and the mage. Agrathan raised his sword to defend himself, but Tara held him back.
“They are not their own,” he hissed. Tara thrust his staff forward like a spear.
“Dek’ra!”
Invisible bands of magic chained the attackers in their place. Gasping Agrathan’s hand, Tara dragged him towards the door—when two blank-faced women appeared. Acting on instinct, the mage changed directions and bounded up the stairs, carrying his staff and the ranger behind him. They reached the second level without stopping, and then climbed the stairs to the third and final floor. Tara guided them to a room on the edge of the building. Entering, he closed the door behind them and locked it with a word.
Collapsing on the floor, Agrathan dropped his sword and huffed. “Why did you pull us up here?”
Tara chanted a spell on the door and turned to the ranger. “You’ll understand. More are coming.”
Agrathan nodded. “What was wrong with those people?”
“They are not their own,” the wizard repeated. He gathered his robes and shuffled to the window. “Do you know what they remind me of?”
Agrathan sheathed his sword and joined the wizard by the window. “The LoreMaster’s zombies, when he raised those people from the dead. They were empty shells, just bodies without a true soul.”
Tara nodded. “I agree. I’m nearly certain that—”
A crack sounded on the door. It buckled, but the lock held. Tara spun and raised his staff. “It looks like our friends are here.”
“How many?” Agrathan drew his sword again.
“There were twelve in the building. I don’t know if they’re all after us.” Closing his eyes, he chanted a string of spells. “Don’t attack them. Trust me.”
Another crack against the door. Tara struck the wood with his staff and released the locking spells. The door crumpled, and armed men poured into the room. Tara recognized the tall man from the lower room.
Agrathan spoke the only word of magic he knew, setting his sword aflame. The zombies hesitated, casting glances back and forth as calculated how to defeat the ranger with the burning brand. Tara waited until he counted all twelve adults. Pulling his hand back, he jabbed his staff in the air like a spear, sending a bolt of lightning that struck the door. Green light hazed around the portal, creating a strong wizard lock. Tara whirled, raising a hand and shattering the window behind him with a grunted syllable.
While the wizard worked, Agrathan deflected the weak sword-strikes of the zombie attackers. He stepped back when the mage broke the window, ceding ground to reach Tara. Black robes swirling, the sorcerer pushed all twelve adults back against the wall. Then, grasping the ranger’s collar, he leapt out the broken window.
A quick magic word halted their fall, and the pair dropped to the ground with ease. Tara struck the wall of the building with his staff.
“Venat!”
A translucent emerald barrier materialized over the broken window, completing the magic prison. The black-robed sorcerer turned to his friend. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “We need to ask the boy some questions.”
They rounded the building again until they found the whimpering boy. He still hid in the darkness, clutching the dagger he no longer held. As soon as they came within earshot, Tara and Agrathan heard his soft whispers: “Cold. It’s so… cold.”
The mage knelt beside the boy, placing a gloved hand on his knee. “Can you hear me?”
The boy looked up and met the wizard’s eyes. “You’re not cold.”
Tara scooted closer. “Do you know what is happening here?”
“Cold,” he said. “I’m hiding from the cold.”
The wizard raised the bloodied knife. “Do you remember this knife?”
Reaching out to touch the hilt, the boy shivered. “It’s cold.”
Tara stood and stepped away from the boy. “He’ll be no help to us,” the mage murmured to his friend. Casting the spell of spiritsight, he was again surprised to see the glow that filled the entire town. Wisps of smoky light trailed upwards, twisting around his magic prison. Tendrils of light beat at his spells, trying to worm a way around his enchanted trap. Failing, they turned aside and gathered into a concentrated mass. Tara felt Agrathan’s hand on his shoulder—the ranger must have seen something in the world of flesh. Perhaps the milky mist outside had convalesced in the same way these tendrils of light had.
Looking down at the boy, he saw the same light. The tendrils of glowing smoke were faint, fading. The mist tormented this boy, but it did not control him. Not like it had controlled the others. Reaching out with his mental presence, Tara scooped the mist away. The child perked up instantly, gazing at the wizard with wide-eyed curiosity. He flexed his fingers, then stood, still leaning against the wall.
Agrathan grasped Tara’s arm more tightly. The wizard closed his eyes and breathed a spell, eyes returning to the flesh world. He looked to the ranger, who pointed towards the center of town—no, who pointed towards the thick, blue fog that rolled towards them. Like a miniature storm-cloud, the mist surged across the ground, bringing a foul smell and a gentle hissing noise.
“What is that?” Agrathan asked.
The boy tugged on Tara’s coattails, interrupting the wizard before he could answer. He turned and glanced at the child.
“Mister? That’s the cold. Don’t let it touch you.”
Tara shot a glance back to the approaching fog. “The cold?”
The boy dropped his hand. “We should hide from the cold.”
Before the ranger or the mage could react, two tendrils of smoke shot from the cloud, angling for their hearts. Tara swung his staff in front of the ranger.
“Venat ve fete!”
A shield of fire burst to life, wrapping Tara and his companion in a wreath of flame. The milky fingers burned when they touched the flame. Two more snaked from the mist, exploding in a puff of mist as the fire turned them aside as well. Tara cupped his hand and formed a fireball, launching it towards the smoke. The blazing orb seared a hole through the fog, but did nothing to deter it from advancing.
“The cold,” the boy whimpered. “We should hide from the cold.” He turned to run. Tara reached to stop him, but the same shield that protected him from the mist prevented him from touching the boy. He prepared a spell to catch the child, but then another tendril slithered out from the mist, striking the boy in the chest and knocking him against the wall.
“The cold!” he screamed. Tara opened his mind, ready to sweep the arcane wisps away from the child’s soul—but before he could act, the boy’s face twisted in a mask of cold hatred. Drawing another dagger from his sleeve, he growled, crouched, and leapt forward.
Tara shouted a warning, raising his staff to knock the boy aside with magic, but he was too late. The child charged headlong into the fiery shield, exploding with wave of heat.
Tara cursed, catching the child’s soul before it passed beyond and converting it into a wall of fire. He sent the infernal hedge sailing towards the smoke. When the fire sputtered out, the cold had disappeared.
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