Winterindigo

a story of sire and ice

By

m maldonado

0: Reveal

1: Winter

2: Indigo

3: Hunrim

4: Refuge

5: Shadow

6: Deadly

7: Saprim

8: Cursed

9: Ending

Pronunciation guide

0: Reveal

this is our story of lies

I write this in Happiness, after a time of Weariness, which came prior to the times of Despair and Confusion. I write because I feel I must; otherwise, my love and I will fade from all knowledge and exist no more. We will be forgotten, and lost, and dead. No one will know of us, no one will care of us, no one will think of us. We will be nothing.

Our story is one of error and confusion, in which neither of us knew what we wanted or needed, nor how we could obtain either one. I met her and fell into a one-sided love, the kind that leaves one person hurt and the other unaware of the wounds they've dealt. I loved her the moment I met her truly, but when she came to love, or whether she did at all, is unknown to all but her. I cannot ask her of it now; she cannot answer now. It is beyond her, and she is beyond us.

The story itself is told from the perspective of a simple Human, or Hunrim, or Hunzym, depending on which language you speak; I was that Human, however ashamed I am to admit it. My name was Triol Salk, and I was a Historian, or a Mythologist, whichever you prefer; the lines between to the two have become blurred on the world of Mamined'si. Before I was a Historian I was a Guard, a soldier in the once-great Palek Army. To imagine, in my day and age, that the Palek Army was once the most-feared of all militaries in the World, is almost a joke. Palek is a joke in everyone's eyes. I laugh at Palek. We've known nothing but humiliation at the hands of our neighbors here on the Eastern Shield. We know even less mercy from our enemies across the Sea of Islands; Sero, that blasted country of Peace and Justice, has especially taunted us over the centuries. Most Paleks know to hate Serans on some base level, though I myself harbor less rage than most. I suppose I understand more than the everyman.

As for the story's events, truly I am to blame for all that occurs. I am the root of all evil in a story full of it, and I am more ashamed than ever because of it. I may have been ignorant of my part in the decadence that occurred all around me, but I still hold myself responsible. I am at fault, that is all there is to say. I will not be dissuaded. All know my guilt, including myself. I will not lie to myself anymore. I have had enough of that.

This is all my fault, but those who read this must understand one thing before they pass what judgement they may on me:

I never meant it to end this way.

1: Winter

the cold is what you fear

Cold.

That winter was the winter of blue, the coldest winter of all, the one that killed a thousand people in Lyrialle, the biggest city this side of the Crater. It decimated crops, brought diseases that slaughtered everything in their paths, laid waste to homes and businesses, and brought an end to prosperity in my hometown, Iria.

But I never noticed, because I had her.

She came into my life with the blue winter on her heels, at the end of the fall, dressed in the tatters of an old life, long behind her. A drifter she was, was she a drifter? I didn’t ask, because I didn’t have to. I knew what she was, I just wouldn’t let myself in on the secret.

She was, to all the townspeople, a beggar. To this day I wonder how she was labeled as such; I'd never seen her beg for anything. She wouldn't need to. It was not her. But still they called her such, for the three months that she wandered the streets of Iria. I held my tongue whenever I saw her, and declined any inclusion in the catcalls of the locals.

Ah, the locals, whom I will never associate with again. They were fools, too blinded by stupidity and ignorance to see that she was a person, not a prank.

I was sitting in my living room, reading one of my many books, when I finally met her. She came, walking down the main street, which my living room window faced fully. Jall Innor, Captain of the Sword and overall imbecile, followed her like some salivating beast, hungry for new blood to fill his gullet. His mouth was moving rapidly as I watched, and I knew he was rambling on about "the wrongdoings of vagabonds who loiter within city limits" and how she could spare herself the trouble of being arrested if she’d "accompany" him to his "private interrogation room". There, they’d "discuss the matter". Abuse of power and perversion were just the beginnings of Jall’s faults. He was one of the many unjust that populated the city.

And as Jall was just getting to the really good part, she turned around and, with a simple flicker of her glowing green eyes, shut him up. His jaws just slammed together, his fists clenched, and he stared at her, frozen.

She held him like that for hours, it seemed, then looked over at us.

The locals, being fools, decide to make fun of her.

"Hey, it's Ice-Bitch! How ya' doin'?"

"Ya can freeze me anytime, girly!"

"I'll warm ya up!"

"What's an ice girl like you doin' in a place like this?"

"I'll toast yer buns!"

I could hear them, all of them, even through my window and with my nose in a book. Their words were like knives, cutting through all my barriers to stab at my soul.

Enough was enough. I got out of my chair, stomped through the hall to the door, and stepped outside. I marched right up to the group, who were too immersed in their own stupidity to notice me.

"Wanna—" one of them began.

"Shut up," I said.

Silence. They all turned to stare at me.

Including her.

"What's wrong with you?" someone sneered.

"What's yer problem?"

Esir, the leader of this group and local harasser, leered and said:

"You wanna piece 'o her, too, right?" He looked over his shoulder at her. "We can all share, can't we boys!" He gestured at the rest of the group, who heartily agreed. "Don't be so greedy—"

"Shut up, Esir." I was staring right at her at that point,gaze unshaking, and didn't see Esir’s reaction. "If you're going to talk like that, get out of here."

"But—"

"GO!" I barked, and—miraculously—they were gone.

She was still there. I could feel her, those chilling eyes washing all over me, poking at my very persona. I kept staring at the ground, though, wondering what would happen next.

I didn't even hear her walk up to me; the only clue I had was her shadow, just as terrifying as she herself.

I shivered, and looked up.

And fell in love.

Up close, from my humble position, she lost all her horrific aura. Her face was thin and so pale that I thought she was dying. I might still have thought so, had she not been breathing so deeply, her breath clouding the air. From a distance, her hair was the blackest I'd ever seen, but now I saw the faint blue tinge it harbored. It was straight, brushing her shoulders and framing her face in splendor.

Her eyes…her eyes did glow, definitely, and seemed to always be changing. Over time they would slowly go from a garish lime to the hunter's green and back again, always changing, always some shade of green, never repeating. Never.

She looked at me with those eyes, and nothing mattered. The town, Jall, Eris, my house, they were gone. Only she was there, and only she mattered.

We stared at each other, waiting. Silent.

I stood up suddenly, took her hand, and led her into my house.

As I closed the door, I noticed that it had begun to snow.

***

She stood in my kitchen, minutes later, staring frigidly at the table. I gestured for her to sit, but she seemed not to notice.

"Please, ma'am, sit."

She sat, and continued to stare.

"What's your name?"

No response.

"Where are you from?"

Nothing.

"Are you hungry?"

She shivered at this, and nodded. I allowed myself a small smile, the tiniest celebration for my huge breakthrough, and went to the newly installed oven to prepare the fire.

I set the logs ablaze, thankful to have grown up in this Age of Mamined'si, when things like stoves and matches and firewood were plentiful enough that workless fools like myself could have them. I placed a large black pot on the stovetop and filled it with water from the covered barrel I kept nearby.

"Do you like stew?" I asked.

More of the quiet treatment, but I caught the nod from the corner of my eye. "Too bad. We're having beef and potatoes, whether you like it or not."

I saw her smile, for a precious fleeting second, again out of the corner of my eye. In that moment, all the cold I'd felt that morning died away.

Salted meat and potatoes went in once the water was boiling and, as I waited, I watched her for a while, though I don't know if she saw me doing it. Her eyes were downcast, shy, or maybe just sad. I didn't know, then, just how she felt about being helped by a stranger.

"What's your name?" I asked again, not expecting an answer. I didn't get one, either, for a time, but then her head tilted up a little bit and she said:

"Ocea."

My blood, thawed by her smile, nearly froze up again. There, in her sweet, low voice, was a chord so dark and depressing that, if released in full, could've transformed my flesh to ice. Such sadness! What had happened? What in this girl's short life warranted such despair?

"I'm Triol," I said, and turned back to the oven.

***

It was only as I was about to eat that the question I'd been waiting for was asked.

"Why are you doing this?" she said.

I looked up from my plate and frowned.

"To be helpful. Why else?"

She stared at me. "But I don't need any—"

"Yes you do," I interrupted. "You think I can't see how thin you are under all that?" I gestured at her rags. "Your face is so pale I can almost see the bones beneath the skin. The bones of your fingers and wrist are the same way. Your eyes are bloodshot and your are lips blue." I leaned over the table a bit. "Anyone can see how much you suffer; they wouldn't have to ask."

I returned to my food, and she did, too, after a minute. I didn’t look at her again after that, afraid that I'd alienated her and that she hated me. I can be a very paranoid person at the worst times.

When the meal was over, however, she didn't seem to hate me, and looked a bit better, though that may have been my imagination. It'd only been a meal, after all, not intensive recovery. Still, I could hope.

"If anyone could see my pain," she said suddenly, startling me. "Then why has no one helped me but you?"

Silence. The house creaked around us.

"Because people have gotten so stupid that they’ve forgotten how to do the right thing," I said. "Do you want seconds?"

"…yes please."

***

"Would you like to sleep here tonight?" I asked. Ocea immediately looked nervous. "You can sleep in the guestroom, down here on the first floor. My room's right above yours."

I saw her visibly relax as she nodded shakily. I smiled.

"The door's right behind you. Do you need anything else?"

"No." Very quick. Very nervous.

"Okay."

***

I woke up the next morning, wondering idly if she—Ocea—would still be here, knowing she would not, hoping she would, wondering why I wanted her to stay, why?

I checked the guestroom, and sighed: the bed was empty, the sheets lying haphazardly on the floor beside the nightstand. She was gone. I shook my head and regretfully made the bed.

As I passed through the hall to the kitchen, I caught a flash of blue in the living room, and turned on my heel.

What I saw was, then, inexplicable: there was Ocea, standing with her back to me, looking, it seemed, at the swords I kept hung on the wall. While that was in no way out of the ordinary, the fact that she was glowing softly, a gentle sky blue, was very strange, indeed, as was the fact that her clothes were no longer rags but dark blue robes, voluminous and beautiful. Her arms, hanging by her sides, weren't pale but a nice, mild peach, the hands themselves held captive in tight azure gloves, stretching from the bottom of her second knuckle to just above her elbows. Her hair, freed, hung down to her hips, curly at the bottom and a shade of blue so light and so soft that it seemed to turn into a whitish mist at the edges.

Gaping, I stood frozen in the doorway, wondering if this really was the same girl I'd seen stare down Jall the day before—

—and then I stumbled, cursed, and she turned around, the blue glow fading away and taking her robes and hair and gloves away with it, oh no—

"What're you doing?" I said, a bit sharper than I'd intended, as many people do when their pride is bruised.

She blinked, then looked back at the swords.

"Are you a Guard?" she said.

"Not anymore."

"Why?"

I shifted uneasily, still shocked at what I'd seen. "I gave it up, a couple years ago. C'mon, you wanna have breakfast?"

She didn't answer for a moment, then turned and smiled at me.

"Yes, that would be nice."

***

Shortly after breakfast, I looked out the window for the first time that day. It was snowing.

Now, I'd noticed the snow the day before, but then it had just been a few flakes; now, though, it seemed like a full-blown blizzard was building up outside, the wind blasting against the windows, splashing them with wet-looking snow.

"Is something wrong?" Ocea said from the kitchen. I didn't respond, but heard her slide her chair back and come into the living room, where I was.

Still staring out the window, I murmured, "It hasn't snowed this much, ever, in all the years I've lived here. I wonder what's going on…"

My eyes finally freed themselves from the snow, just in time to see the uncomfortable look on Ocea's face flicker in and out of existence. When I turned my head to look at her fully it had disappeared entirely.

"Are you…" I began.

"I'm fine."

"Fine."

"Yes."

"…good."

I looked back out, and nearly winced: it had gotten worse in the past six seconds, so much so that I could hardly see the people outside. I made a mental note to check what I had in cold-storage downstairs; it didn't look like I'd be going anywhere for a little while.

"What are your plans?" I said.

"What?"

"Where are you going? What are you doing? Where are you from?"

Silence. Then I heard her leave, each step like a blow to the brain with the pommel of a sword.

I sighed. It was going to be a long winter.

***

She came to me, two days after first arriving, looking even lonelier and hurt than ever before. I felt my heart slowly die away as I gazed, transfixed, at her face. We were in the living room.

She spoke.

"I don’t know who I am."

"Didn't you say you were Ocea?"
"That’s only a name." Her words were slow, cold, and filled with fear. "Other than that I do not know who I am."

There was a long pause as I tried to work my brain around this: what should I say? What shouldn't I say? What was there to say?

"Sit down, and we'll try and work this out. No, not over there, here, in this chair." I gently pushed her into my favorite chair, cushioned to an extreme. I sat on the large circular footstool and propped my head up on my fist.

"What's your last name?"

"…I don't know."

"What about your middle name?"

"No."

"Fine. What about, oh, your parents?"

"Parents?"

"Yes."

"No." She looked uncomfortable, nothing unusual in her case.

"Brothers? Sisters? Uncles? Aunts? Grandparents?"

"No."

"Guardians? Foster parents? Caretakers of any sort?"

"…you."

I blinked. "What?"

"You're the only person I can remember whose ever taken care of me."

"No one else?"

"No."

"Alright, moving on: how about friends?"

"Just you. I can't remember anyone else."

"Hmm…"

"What?"
"I see a pattern."
"What?" She looked puzzled.

"Never mind." My eyes traveled around the room, looking for something else, anything.

"…do you know where you are?" I asked.

"Palek, right? The warrior country?"

I laughed. "'Warrior country'? Palek hasn't been called that since the Time of the Shirasa-seal, and that was a long, long time ago! The only warriors left here are in the Army." I laughed again. "Where'd you hear it called that?"

Ocea cocked her head. "I…don't remember."

I sighed. "It figures."

"Weren't you in the Army?"

"…I was in it, but I wasn't really a part of it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was a Guard, but I hated every minute of it. To be part of the Army you must take it wholeheartedly." I frowned, remembering…

"Then why were you in it in the first place?"

"It sounded good at the time." My first lie, to her. It made me feel sick, but some things must be done…

"But that changed."

"Yes."

She smiled a tiny smile. "Shouldn't you be asking the questions? It seems like we've traded places."

"We have gotten off track, haven't we?" I cleared my throat. "Why are you here—never mind that. How did you get here?"

"I've been wandering from place to place."

"For how long?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Which isn't much." Not a question.

"No."

"Can you remember when you started wandering?"

"…sort of. It's kind of fuzzy, but…" She closed her eyes tight, her brow creasing. I watched her, hopeful.

"I think…" she said finally, her eyes still closed. "I think it was about seven months ago, maybe. I was in a town called…Liune, yes, Liune."

I choked on air. I noticed her startled look and quickly formed a cover story. "Liune? That's more than a thousand miles from here! You walked all that way in seven months?"

"I stowed away on a train a couple times, but I got caught before I could get more than twenty miles." Shesighed. "I'm always exhausted."

"Maybe I should let you rest, then." I felt strangely chilled now. Seven months…there’s something about seven months…

She shook her head and smiled at me. "No, thank you. These past couple days have been the most restful ones I can remember."

"That's not saying much, considering how little you can remember at all."

She laughed, then, and, like before, I felt all the cold that had seeped beneath my skin melt away in the face of the great warmth that was racing across my flesh, washing all worry from my heart.

I let her laugh, grinning myself, basking in her delight. When she was done she gave me a great, big, toothy smile that made her look more alive than ever.

"What will you do now?" I asked.

She paused, still smiling, then looked me right in the eyes.

"I’d like to stay here."

"You're more than welcome to."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

***

That was that, for a little while.

Then the wind picked up and the snow, which had been slowly building up to something both glorious and horrible, a great malicious cloud, finally stopped holding back and crushed Iria under wave after wave of thick, wet snow.

Ocea and I watched from the window of my sitting room on the second floor, the fire burning in the hearth the only light fighting the darkness the snow was threatening us with. I couldn’t even see the massive, overbearing Shaking Mountains anymore. It seemed strange, looking out that window without the looming rocky peaks towering over all life.

"Are you okay?" I asked as she shivered. "I have more blankets in the storeroom."

"C-Could you get o-one for me, please?" she chattered, pulling the three blankets she already had tighter across her chest. She was no longer dressed in her old rags: I had supplied her with a sweater and pants from my own wardrobe the day before, at her request.

And still she was freezing.

"I'll get them all," I said, taking off my own blankets and giving them to her. She shuddered and nodded her thanks.

As I headed downstairs I spared a glance out the window on the landing, turned away, turned right back around and stared. Moving closer, I looked again, making sure what I saw had been right.

Something blue and shiny was crawling up the side of the house, and spreading. Looking up, I watched as people ran, screaming, away from a growing pool of what looked like bright blue mud. The stuff jetted wildly from over a dozen spots in the ground, shooting like geysers into the air, splashing everything nearby with the goo. The once-white snow was painted azure in seconds.

My eyes swiveled across the scene, and paused. I watched Jall as he was dragged down into a whirlpool of the stuff, kicking and punching and screaming, spit flying from his mouth, watched as it swallowed him up, his thrashing ceasing after a couple of seconds.

And still the ooze climbed up the wall.

I didn't have to be told twice that whatever this was, it was not a good thing; I turned on my heel and launched myself, three steps at a time, up the stairs and into the sitting room.

Ocea took one look at my face and shot up out of her seat, the blankets still wrapped around her.

"What's wrong?"

"Just come on!" I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room, down the hall onto the stairs just as something blew the glass out of the window in the sitting room. I heard it clatter against the hallway and the doorframe, and sped up, holding Ocea tightly, pushing her along. Faster, faster!

We reached the first floor and turned—

—the window on the landing shattered, then powdered in midair, coating the back of my shirt with white dust. The freezing winter wind slipped inside, blasting across my face and stinging my eyes. Snow whirled in with it, slapping loudly against the walls over and over again.

I paused at the mouth of the hall and looked back. I watched as the blue something crawled over the lip of the window, slid over, and oozed onto the landing, looking like the world's laziest waterfall. It slid to the stairs and cascaded down that, leaving gleaming blue ice in its wake.

Ocea kicked me, breaking me out of my reverie into reality. I shook my head and looked in dismay at the front door, blue ooze seeping around the edges. There was only one place left to go.

We got to the middle of the house just as the ooze burst through the front door, splashing in a great wave across the floor and painting my walls with blue slime. Ocea looked at me with fear, and I could only hope I looked confident. I doubt I did.

The door before us was mostly made of black metal and heavier than I'd remembered. I pulled with all my might on the handle, leaning back on my heels to add my body weight to the mix—

—It groaned, and swung out into the hall, scraping against the wooden floor. I ushered Ocea inside, then edged myself between the wall and the door, trying to squeeze my way to the other side, and saw the ooze, pouring down the hall at speeds that defied its substance. Panicked, I wiggled my way to the other side, grabbed the metal ring in the middle of the back of the door and pulled.

It groaned again, then screamed and shut with a deafening SLAM!, leaving only darkness behind. I reached for the torch I knew was hanging on the wall and lit it with the match wedged in the wood. I saw Ocea, orange in the light of the fire, standing at the bottom of the steps, her breath clouding the air as she gasped.

It was quiet for a time, then the ooze arrived, slamming against the door and shaking dust from around the frame. I pulled a metal bar from the hole in the wall, pulled it across the door, through the metal ring, and stuck it as far as I could into the hole on the other side.

Thuds echoed in my ears, then stopped. The door had not budged. I sighed in relief and joined Ocea at the bottom.

"What was that?" she whispered, glancing back at the door.

"I have no idea," I rasped, coughing. "Ack. Dust in my throat. Anyway, we aren't going anywhere, now are we?" I looked around the room and nodded. "We can hold out here for a while, until we think of a way to get out."

"But what about the—"

"This house was built on top of the remains of a tower," I interrupted. "This whole room—walls, ceiling, floor—are made of stone and some unbending metal. The ooze won't be getting in here." For a while, I thought.

"What about food?"

I grinned. "This is the storeroom; all of the food is kept here, in the crystal-freezer." I pointed at the large white box on the west side of the room. "And I think I still have a box or two of smokeless fire-gems in here, as well as all the blankets we could ever need. And the emergency water storage is here, and a whole medical kit.

"We should be fine," I said, hoping it was true.

***

Ocea and I spent the next hour or so searching the various crates and sacks I had so haphazardly tossed down here. I'd always silently fretted that I was cluttering the storeroom; now I was grateful for my laziness.

"What's this?" Ocea asked, holding up a large black book; dust slid off the edges onto the already dusty floor, swirling into anonymity. I took it from her, wiped away more detritus, and saw this:

Lilwa Frun Tiraf ro lilwa Mamined'si

"What's it say?" Ocea said, looking down at the book from above.

"`Lilwa Frun Tiraf ro lilwa Mamined'si`," I said. "`The Great Myths of the Beautiful Split-World`." I scanned the cover, moving my lips as I translated. "`Volume One: From the Birth of the First to the Rise of the Clouds`." I flipped it open to page one, where the emblem of a great burning animal was stamped onto the paper. "Huh."

"What?"

"This book is old; so old, in fact, that it's all written in, maybe, the Second Translation of Lanierre. And it was printed in Pyraviar." I closed the book and turned it over, peering at it. "I don't remember getting this."

"Can you read it to me?" Ocea said. "I can barely read the Fourth Translation." She looked embarrassed, but I pretended not to notice. "It's not like we have anything better to do."

"Well…" I looked at the book again, somewhat suspicious: where had it come from? Why was it down here, of all places? I kept all my books on the ground floor—

I groaned. Ocea gave me a strange look.

"My books," I explained. "All my history books. They're probably ruined now, all covered in goo and ice." I rubbed my forehead. "Damn!" I looked grudgingly at the book I held. "Well, I guess they're out of my hands, now."

"Can you read it to me?" Ocea repeated.

"…yeah, probably. Why not?"

Ocea smiled.

"After we search the rest of the boxes."

"…you're no fun."

***

About an hour later Ocea asked again, and this time there was no way out. I resigned myself to my fate and once again took the book in my hands. We sat down on our individual dusty mattresses, which we'd found under a pile of even dustier boxes.

"Where should I start?" I said, gesturing at the table of contents.

"How about the beginning?"

I sighed. "Of course. The beginning. Fine." I turned to the first page.

"Here we go…"

***

The World was young when She chose to have children, and lo, what children were they! They were the Saprims, the First-Born, the great ones that have for so long been out of sight.

The World had not been empty before the Saprims; no, the World had indeed populated Herself with a great manner of life, but none of whom had any intelligence, nor could She discern a way for them to speak to Her.

So, lonely as She was, the World molded with such wild abandon a creature of a different kind, one She would have never imagined had She not been so desperate. It looked much like people did today, but so much grander! Its eyes burned with blue flames that did not go out, it could play with the forces of the wild, and learned so much more in so little a time than any person could!

The World loved this first Saprim, and named him Raeiel, the Lanierre word for "Masterpiece". Another fourteen Saprims were made, and were named:

Wynn

Supruor

Asemant

Cerulean

Réjèsa

Pyraviar

Centis

Krakan

Ers

Kagik

Corsh

Cyin

Opanem

Gralvir

Things began to change from the very start:

A finnir watched the birthing, and their glory was such that it died on the spot. When it rose again from its ashes, the Saprim Pyraviar blessed it and all its children. In turn, the finnir became his eternal companion, and the blue flame of Pyraviar's eyes turned forever red.

When Réjèsa opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Raeiel, standing proud on the back of the World. She cried out with glee, and she ran to him, flowers blooming wherever her feet landed. Raeiel took her in his arms and both fell hopelessly in love.

Cerulean wandered away from the others, and came upon a river. Curious, she kneeled closer and dipped her hand in. Beautiful fish the color of the midday light flocked to be touched by her fingers, turning the color of the water as she touched them. She laughed, and blessed the rivers and ponds, where the fishes' brothers and sisters gathered.

A Draz woke near the place of birthing, and was greeted genially by Ers, who blessed it with the ability of thought and speech so it could respond. It returned the greeting, and watched the other Saprims as they began, just minutes after being born, to revolutionize the World. The Draz volunteered to help, and it and Ers became great friends.

***

"The Saprims did not wage war against another, wanting nothing but peace among one another. They founded their own town, building a small civilization near—hey, are you okay?" Ocea was crying. "What's wrong? What—"

She wiped her eyes, then frowned. "You know, I'm not really sure." She looked puzzled.

"Well, it couldn't've been the story, there wasn't anything sad about it! What's wrong?"

"I said, 'I don't know'." She seemed irritated, so I let the matter drop. "I just started crying, that's all." She yawned. "I'm kind of tired. Can we sleep now?"

"I've only read three pages and you're already bored?" I shook my head. "You don't have much of an attention span, do you?"

She hit me and we laughed. I put the book aside, marking the page as I did so. We piled blankets on our mattresses, at least four deep, then wrapped ourselves in another four and went to sleep.

"G'night."

***

The next morning I was awakened, most rudely, when an icicle dropped smack dab on my head.

After I was finished groaning and cursing and rubbing my head, I looked up and gaped.

The ceiling—every inch—was covered in ice, tinted blue. More icicles hung like great crystal blades from this strange frost, some stretching all the way to the floor.

None of that mattered as much as, say, the six-foot long, seven-inch wide spear of bluish ice that was currently hanging less than an inch from my stomach. This caught my attention and held it in a shakeless grip, because I felt very close to my stomach. I needed it.

This was not good.

Carefully, quietly, I slid, blankets and all, across my mattress, over the floor, and rolled to relative safety. I let out my stalled breath and thanked the World for that first icicle.

Quietly, I nudged Ocea awake. She yawned, but stopped when I pressed my finger against her lips. I pointed up, where a cone of ice as big as the one over my mattress hung.

"What—where'd all THAT come from?" she blurted, stunned. Several nearby icicles clattered to the floor. I shushed her again.

"I don't know, but I think it'd be best if you didn't make too much noise." I glanced around the storeroom, which was about a hundred feet square, and pointed at a spot close to the center. "Get your bedding and move it over there." She nodded and began to drag her bed across the floor. I followed suit, constantly watching the ceiling for more eager icicles.

When we'd relocated our beds I gathered some logs into a pile a few feet from our new spot. I placed a bright red crystal on top and tapped it with the tip of a long, pointed piece of white quartz.

The crystal immediately burst into flames, which spread across the logs in the blink of an eye. I smiled reassuringly at Ocea, who had scooted closer to the fire than I had.

"This'll last us about a week," I said. "The logs are made to resist being turned to ash by flames, and the crystal itself doesn’t let the fire go out, not even if the logs themselves are gone for days."

"I love these," Ocea said with a smile. She shivered again, and moved even closer. "So c-convenient." She rubbed her arms repeatedly. "What're we going to do about all the ice?"

"I'll try to melt the bigger icicles and the area right above us, but for some reason I don't think that'll work for long. The ice did take over this whole room in less than ten hours, after all. All I can do, I think, is push it back for a day." I sighed, then listened intently as my stomach growled. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing…"

***

Ten minutes later we were both greedily devouring a bird of some sort, which I'd roasted myself. I couldn't remember what it was called, but whatever it was, it hit the spot.

While Ocea was finishing up, I took the torch, which I'd placed not far from my bed, just in case, and lit it. I thrust it up at the ice right over my head, and watched.

To my surprise, the ice melted away immediately, but instead of dripping down to the floor, effectively drenching my face, it simply slid away from the flickering flames, thickening as it moved…

"…oh boy," I muttered as the blue ooze rolled away from me on the ceiling. I held the torch close to it, and it made a strange squeaking sound and sped up, almost sprinting its way from me.

Looking up, I found more patches of thawed ooze, deep blue stains on the surface of the lighter ice. I brandished my torch at them, too, scattering them. I jumped to the left to head them off, waving the torch wildly. The ooze swung to the right so fast that it took me a few confused seconds to figure out where it'd gotten off to.

When I finally found it I got angry again: it was hovering over Ocea and, as I watched, formed a horrid blue claw. It pulled back to strike—

"NNRAGH!" I bellowed and, with an accuracy that I'd acquired from knife-throwing exercises in the Army, threw the torch at the goo-claw.

It struck the thing right as it was about to decapitate Ocea, knocking the whole pool of ooze off the ceiling. The goo—and the torch—hit the back wall and fell to the ground. The goo-claw writhed and flopped against the floor, trying to loose itself from the torch, or so it seemed; I didn't really care.

I just wanted it dead.

Ocea, who'd gotten the clue that not everything was going as it should, had moved from the fireside to me. She was carrying two burning logs, each the width of my wrist. We shared a momentary glance, then looked away.

The goo-claw had finally stopped fighting and was now turning into a thin liquid that looked more and more like water. The torch continued to burn beside the newly-made puddle, despite being covered in the quickly thinning soup.

Eventually, however, the torch went out, and Ocea and I were left staring at darkness.

Silence.

"I'm gonna go check," I said.

"I'm going with you," Ocea said forcefully.

"I wouldn't've wanted it any other way." I smiled at her, but I couldn't keep it up. She, however, gave me her biggest grin and started off into the darkness, torch held high. I felt myself smile for real and went after her.

When we reached the torch I was surprised to see it was blackened. Squatting down, I rubbed it, and felt some of it fall away.

"Ash," I murmured. "But that's impossible! It's made not to burn, and even if you put it out with water it's supposed to look untouched." I shook my head, and groaned. "My neck hurts."

"What happened to the goo?" Ocea whispered, squatting opposite of me. "What'd it turn into?"

"It looked like water, actually, but I don't know how water could've done this," I gestured with the sable torch. "It doesn't make any sense. It's not supposed to turn to ash, even after weeks of burning!" I squinted down at the floor. "There's a wet spot right here." I pointed a finger at it and, swiftly as I'd found it, it disappeared.

"Where?" Ocea asked, moving to see.

"Nowhere, now: it's gone." I frowned. "Where is this all coming from? I don't remember there being any cracks in the walls, and the door was in fine condition a month ago…" I rubbed my chin and wandered over to a wall. I tapped it, just to hear the sound. Dull.

"Maybe the ooze cracked it?" Ocea mused, gazing at the ceiling. "It's not impossible."

"That's for sure." Frowning, I kicked the wall. "Here, help me look for a crack or something, okay? You check the door, I'll start on the south wall." She nodded, and we went to work.

As I examined every part of the wall for anything even remotely resembling a crack, my mind swung back to Ocea: who was she? I hadn't gotten anywhere with her memory, and what little I did have wasn't what I needed. What had happened to her a year ago, when her memory began?

What now?

By the time I'd finished the south wall Ocea'd come back.

"No cracks," she said. "But there's ice about a foot thick on and around the door, and the stairs are slick. I almost fell just standing!"

"Wonderful," I said with a groan. "Let's check the other walls."

***

We found the crack: it was in the eastern wall, right in the crux of four stones. Ocea and I cleared away the ice around it, burning out the ooze before it could do us any harm.

The crack was about four inches square and opened up into the burrow of a ralin, a sort of rodent that lived underground. Blue-tinted ice blocked up what tunnels we could see, little blobs of ooze caught inside.

After that we just sat and stared at the hole. We couldn't fill it in again, because the ooze would just drill past, and we couldn't leave it open, a massive gap in our armor.

What to do, what to do…

"What about the fire-stones?" Ocea asked.

"What about them—oh!" I grinned at her. "You're brilliant, Ocea!" I gave her a quick hug without thinking and went off to get a stone.

I returned, still grinning, with a fire-stone in one hand and the quartz spike in the other. I wedged the stone as tight as I could in the stone and slammed the spike into the crimson surface. Flames burst from the wall in three-foot trails, nearly scorching my eyebrows off and melting even more nearby ice. The ooze that came from that didn't last long as the fire attacked the surrounding wall, little wisps of steam flashing in the air as it writhed in the hole.

"Well," I said. "There's that solved."

***

By the end of the day there wasn't a single trace of ice in the whole storeroom, and both of us were tired beyond words. Chasing ooze as it runs across the floor and ceiling and walls can be exhausting, take it from me.

We collapsed in our beds, and dropped off into anxious sleep.

***

The ice and the ooze did not return the next day, but we stayed tense anyway: trauma is such a dastardly thing.

In lieu of defending our fort, we entertained one another: I read some from an ancient book of love poems, written by an ancient ruler of Slcion, Lesitio Blaestulse, to an unidentified woman. Then I read a bit of The Finnir-sil, about the shape-shifting fires of Pyraviar and the great Blaise Sakir, and finally Kick the Uytfar, a massive book of ancient jokes. Ocea and I had the most fun with that one, telling one another jokes—some from the book, some from our memories, and some we just made up. The ones we made up were the best, basically story jokes made of little snippets of hundreds of jokes we’d heard before. The whole situation stunned me; I’d never realized I’d had anything resembling a sense of humor. I didn’t even know I could be funny. Ocea brought something out of me that I’d never known was there, and it amazed me. And she herself was an expert at making others laugh, purely by looks or gestures or a couple of well-placed words.

We spent hours with Kick the Uytfar, skimming through it and using it to hit each other with. Eventually, though, we got all joked out and had to put it away.

Then Ocea handed me the black-bound book.

"Are you sure—"

"Yes yes, now read."

"All right, already."

***

The Saprims did not wage war against another, wanting nothing but peace among one another. They founded their own town, building a small civilization near the shore, close to Father Sea yet still in contact with their Mother, the World. Cerulean and Krakan grew closest to Father Sea, while Gralvir and Ynem favored the World. The other eleven Saprims stayed on the good side of both, yet none prospered any more than another. All were rich in their own right, and none could be said to be the most powerful.

The most prominent of them all is Raeiel, namely in his marriage to Réjèsa. Their love was unsurpassed, never failing and forever fervent. Theirs is the ultimate love story, that of undying romance. One could not go anywhere without the other, in thought or in presence, nor could either be tempted to betray the other, not even by the wiliest of creatures.

***

"I hate the way they write these. It’s so corny." I scowled down at the page. "I bet less than half of this is true…"

"I like it," Ocea said. "But this is kinda boring. Skip ahead to something interesting."

I sighed. "Okay…"

***

Eventually the World gave birth again, this time to Humanity. The World had found perfection in Her First-Born, and wondered if She could find it again.

And so She gave birth to the Second-Born, the Hunrims. The Hunrims looked like the Saprims, only they could not tap into the power of the World and draw strength or intelligence. Their only tie to the World Herself was that they lived upon Her; some, however, were born part Saprim, and were able to do many of the things their older siblings could, albeit not nearly as powerfully.

The Hunrims turned out to be more violent and less rational than the Saprims, though the World, like any mother, loved them anyway. They could be horrible at times, murdering one another over things like food and shelter, instead of cooperating. The Saprims were forced, on several occasions, to intervene and right what had gone wrong. Several were deemed to be gods and were worshipped in certain areas.

***

"Do you realize that humans are the Hunrims? The word just mutated into ‘humans’ after thousands of years." I tapped the page, knocking a cloud of dust into the air. "This thing is just so…so…old-fashioned that it sticks to all these archaic terms. I think…" I trailed off.

Ocea was staring off into space, one hand on her chin and the other in her lap. Such a beautiful moment, such a simple moment.

"We aren't the greatest, are we?" she said finally. "We’re almost the exact opposite of the Saprims."

I nodded. "But we weren't the worst. Or so they say."

She perked up, straightening her back. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just listen…"

***

When the World gave birth yet again, the worst of the children was released: the Shirasans. They were a miscarriage, an unfinished monstrosity that burst from the World's womb far earlier than the Saprims or Hunrims. Their strength was rivaled only by the Saprims themselves, but they outnumbered the First-Born so much that they could've easily overtaken them. The only reason they didn't was because the Saprims were pure, unbridled in their sense of justice and still unmatched in their use of the power the World gave them.

It took all the Shirasans, gathered together into a great black and gray cloud, to finally crush the Saprims: they covered the half of the World that was the Saprims' domain, killing all but three: Pyraviar and Centis escaped into the sky, while Gralvir, being made of stone himself, joined with a mountain and slid through the rock to safety. These three were responsible for the reincarnation of the other Saprims, a deed that was supposed to have been done almost immediately after they died.

However, the Shirasans did not allow them to be reincarnated, then, and continued to stall the Three's plans for thousands of years.

***

"Why are you crying again?" I asked, trying not to sound callous. I handed her a piece of white cloth.

"Well, it is sad, you know." She rubbed at her eyes with the cloth. "Maybe I have an allergy…"

"Right…" I rolled my eyes. She grinned, and opened her mouth to say something.

Then her face went slack, and her eyes became unfocused. Her breathing turned from steady to a strange, choking gasp that made her sound like she was dying. Her limbs stiffened and turned white, her mouth hung open like a trapdoor, and she began to twitch.

"Ocea? Ocea? Ocea!" I shook her by the shoulders, hoping to bring her out of it. "OCEA!"

Nothing.

***

I sat there, holding Ocea’s body as tight as I could, for a long time. Sometimes she would snap out it and stare listlessly at the ceiling. Sometimes she would thrash uncontrollably in my arms. And sometimes she would just lay there, rigid and lifeless, while I rocked her back and forth, whispering to the Planet to spare this one person, just spare this person once…

After a while a voice began to speak in my left ear. It was pleasant sounding, but the way it emphasized each and every word with a strange hissing sound completely destroyed that façade of friendliness. I distrusted it immediately.

The voice spoke to me, and I listened without meaning to as I drifted off to sleep.

I will always regret listening.

***

She's still breathing. Finish her off!

Do what now?

Why isn’t she dead yet? What are you waiting for?

She’s the enemy! Kill her!

She isn’t the enemy!

But what if she was?
It doesn't matter!

Doesn't it?
…

See? Kill her.

You care. You shouldn’t care.

KILL HER!

Damn you, do it NOW! You will never have a better chance!

Oh, yes, it does. I'm part of you, after all.

…

Yeah, how do you like it now, huh?

…you will die, fool. I will kill you myself.

Watch me.

***

I rapped on my head sharply, wondering if I'd broken something. What'd just happened? Who had I been talking to?

Where was Ocea?

I whipped my head left and right, then looked down, where Ocea lay on her side on my lap. She looked fine.

Did that…actually happen? I checked her pulse; it was regular, just like her breathing. Relieved, I sat cross-legged next to her on the floor and ran a hand through my hair. Did she really do that? What happened? Who was I talking to?

"What time is it?" I murmured, knowing full well that I couldn't find out; I hadn't kept a clock down here to my knowledge.

I checked Ocea one more time, just to be sure, and decided against waking her up. I wrapped a blanket around her, because it wasn't going to get any warmer in here unless I set the whole place on fire, and got in bed myself. I tried to put what had happened out of mind, but staring at Ocea with my gut full of worry wasn't helping me any.

I fell asleep watching her breathe.

Little did I know that this was the last time I would sleep in my house. Ever.

***