A/N: This is actually Friday’s short story, but a visit home meant I didn’t have time to finish typing it and post it. See my profile for other updates. Hope you enjoy.

Snow Bound

The child lay huddled within the hollow she had found beneath an ancient fir tree. Beyond this meager shelter, the wind howled and icy snow whipped through the air.

The girl shivered, feeling the sharp touch of the ice upon her. It had already been several hours since she had gotten separated from the caravan, and the sluggishness, which meant death in such cold, was creeping upon her. Her limbs were beginning to freeze and her lungs hurt from breathing the icy air. She knew that she did not have long to wait before the cold took her.

She was of the Cassorik, the tribes of the frozen northern forests. She had lived with the dangers of snow and cold all her life, but for the first time she felt the icy touch of fear enter her.

Only a short time ago she had been traveling with her tribe to a neighboring village, where they were to celebrate the coming solstice. But a sudden ice storm, unusual for the season, had swept upon them without warning. Within moments she had lost sight of the others in the devouring whiteness, and had wandered for what seemed an eternity before she’d found the shelter of the tree.

And the storm still raged. Even if it ended soon, it could still be days before her people found her, if they ever did, if they had even survived. She had no way to make a fire, and the clothes she wore, though made for cold, were soaked from her brief time in the storm. She had very little hope.

The girl sniffled and curled into a tight ball, willing the tears away. She had no need to add to the cold water covering her. And if she was to die here, she would not leave the icy tracks on her cheeks; they would only break her grandmother’s heart if she were found.

She stared hopelessly at the patch of whiteness that was the entrance to the hollow, waiting for death to take her. So absorbed was she in her thoughts, that she did not at first notice the shape that approached. It was only when the beast stood at the entrance to the hollow that she saw the sharp, inhuman blue eyes.

The girl yelped and tried to shrink away, but she was so stiff with the cold that it was too painful to move more than a few inches. All she could do was stare in horror at the gigantic snow wolf which stood only a few feet away. Had she accidentally invaded the creatures den?

The animal looked at her, with its cold, pale eyes. It’s sleek, pure white coat gleamed in the dim hollow, giving it the appearance of a shining ghost, and the girl wondered almost hysterically if it really were one of the spirits of the dead, here to collect her.

The animal stepped further into the hollow, bringing itself closer to the child, and she whimpered as she saw a flash of its sharp, ivory teeth.

“I mean you no harm, child,” the wolf said in a cool, deep voice.

The girl looked in wonder at the animal. So she was dying; that was the only explanation. Either she was imagining that there was a talking wolf, or a spirit had truly come to her.

The wolf seemed to smile, as though he guessed her thoughts. “Not a dream, child, nor a spirit of the dead. But truly, I mean you no harm.”

For some reason she believed him. And if she were to believe that he was real and telling the truth, then an instinct for self-preservation made her reach out to him in search of heat. Her fingers brushed against his coat, and with another whimpered she snatched her hand away, cradling it to her chest.

He was colder than the ice that had begun to coat her, and her fingers ached from the touch.

He looked at her solemnly. “You’ll find no warmth from me, child, it is not my nature.” The girl curled up in defeat, and he seemed to take pity on her. “But you hold a great fire inside.”

She spoke, and felt her lips crack open with the effort. It had gotten colder since the wolf’s appearance. “I don’t. I’m so cold.”

He looked at her intently. “Oh, but you do child.” His eyes gleamed, and if she hadn’t been half frozen she would have wondered at it. “I could show you how to find it. If you’d like.”

“Please.” The word came out a gasping rasp.

“If I show you this,” the wolf leaned close and his icy breath made her shiver even more, “will you share it with me for as long as I wish?”

Feeling herself sinking into the blackness that would spell her death, the girl answered in a whisper, “Yes.”

Triumph glowed in the wolf’s eyes and he smiled. “Then what is your name, child?”

“Kallia,” it was the barest of sighs, spoken on the last of her frozen breath.

“Kallia,” he spoke it softly as though it were a precious object, then gazed into her eyes again. “I am Tovron.”

Her sight was fading as he spoke, so she was never quite sure later if what she saw was true or not. The white shape of the snow wolf seemed to grow infinitely bigger, stretching as it did, until its shape resembled a man’s. All the while the whiteness of the creature grew brighter until it was almost blinding. Then abruptly the shape condensed into a gleaming spear of light, which shot toward the girl.

It pierced her chest, just above her heart, and she screamed as a cold greater than any she had ever known burst into her body. She could feel every inch of her being engulfed and devoured by the cold, and thought distantly that he had lied about hurting her. But the next instant she felt the icy spear that had been the wolf pierce through some wall deep inside of her, and with the breach an inferno rushed through her.

It swept the cold from its path, and she screamed again as the feeling of freezing was replaced by that of burning. Distantly she heard a hissing and crackling sound, but this seemed unimportant compared to the fire which raged through her.

And then the cool presence of the wolf was there again, pulling the worst of the fire away from her and wrapping it about himself. His cool voice sounded from somewhere within her, “Peace, Kallia. I am here.” And with these words, she sank at last into unconsciousness.

XXX

“Nemua, you must prepare yourself for the worst. It has been too long.”

“No, Salim,” the old woman snapped sharply to the young warrior beside her. “I will not give up on Kallia so easily. She is a smart girl.” Quietly she added, “And she’s all I have left. I must believe that she is well.”

Salim sighed in resignation. Smart or not, no one could have survived the storm away from the caravan. But he wisely voiced no further doubts; the girl was the last family the old shamaness had. So instead he scanned the surrounding landscape, which was now buried under several feet of snow.

His eyes caught something strange in the distance. “Nemua, look.” He pointed, and the old woman turned to see the smoke curling lazily into the sky.

She stared in consternation for a moment, before the slightest feeling of hope tugged at her. “Come on.”

They trekked across the icy landscape. When at last they came to their destination they stopped in disbelief. Before them stood an ancient tree. It was blackened and smoldering, as though it had been burning for some time, and the ground for some feet around it was cleared of snow and scorched.

“What has happened here?” Salim whispered, making the sign to ward off evil.

“The spirits have been at work, it would seem,” Nemua replied, her wise eyes surveying the impossible marks.

“What is that?” Salim suddenly asked, pointing at the base of the tree.

There, in what appeared to be a hollow, shone a bright splash of white against the blackened ground. The two of them moved carefully into the bare area, and as they came closer the white shape resolved itself. “Kallia,” Nemua gasped rushing forward. The young warrior moved to help the old woman pull her granddaughter from beneath the tree. When at last the child lay upon the bare ground he sat back, his eyes fearful as he looked upon her.

“What happened to her?” he murmured.

The girl’s hair, which had once been as black as any of the Cassorik’s, was now pure white. Her clothes bore scorch streaks upon them, and she felt warm to the touch, as though she had a fever.

“I don’t know,” her grandmother whispered brokenly. “I can not tell if she is hurt or not.” She reached a trembling hand to the girl’s cheek.

Kallia’s eyes flew open, and they both jumped back. The once brown eyes were now a startling pale-blue.

“She is only tired. I have kept her from harm.” The voice was Kallia’s but there was something in the way she spoke which made it clear that it was another who talked.

Nemua’s eyes grew hard. “Who are you? What have you done to my granddaughter?”

“I am Ororazac and she is now mine.” The girl tilted her head and added as if an afterthought, “I saved her.”

Nemua sucked in a sharp breath, and Salim made the warding sign again. Ororazac. The snow demons.

As shaman to their tribe, Nemua knew the lore better than any. She knew what the demon’s words meant. “You have chosen her then.”

The demon nodded. “Yes.”

“Then you have given her a hard life.”

“It is better than a cold death.”

Nemua bowed her head. “True.” She reached again to her granddaughter and smoothed her pale hair away from her face. “Sleep now. Let her rest.”

The Ororazac regarded the old woman for a moment then nodded again. “Very well.” The girl’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When they opened again, one of the eyes had returned to its original color, but the left eye still remained disturbingly pale.

“Grandmother?” the girl murmured.

“Hush, child. Sleep. You are safe.” The girl’s eyes fluttered closed again, and the old woman added in a whispered, “For now.”

The Ororazac were demons of the cold. They craved the heat of the human heart and would seek a host to provide it to them. The bond between human and demon was a mysterious thing, conferring strange powers and appearance on the host. Kallia would have a hard path ahead of her. Though none would dare harm her for fear of the spirit’s wrath, few would ever treat her as they once had. Nemua sighed in sympathy for her granddaughter.

“Kallia Oro,” Salim muttered, and Nemua glared at him before slumping in defeat. It would be the child’s name from now on, the name of those touched by the old beings of the world.

Salim saw the pain on the old woman’s face, and he placed a comforting hand upon her arm. “It will be alright, Nemua. She is strong,” his lips twitched into a slight smile, “and smart. And the stories say the bond of an Oro can be a gift. Let us hope she can make it so.”

Nemua gave him a small, grateful smile in return and nodded.

Salim gathered the girl into his arms, and turned to follow their path back to the caravan. “Come, we must return before nightfall.”

Silently they trudged back to their tribe, while Kallia slept peacefully, unaware that her life had changed forever.

A/N: So this kind of turned into more of a prologue than a short story, but it’s going to stay a short story for a while. Someday I’ll get back to Kallia and Tovron.