Fire and Ice

Atsila shivered as she walked through the snowy landscape. The woods were deep and dark and she was thoroughly lost. The path before her was riddled with sharp sticks and stones. Her feet ached. Her stomach rippled with the pain of a severely empty stomach. She wondered again why she kept walking, but deep inside there was an ache that could not be ignored, not since she found herself in this place of soul deep silence.

Snow flurries slid past her as the wind picked up again. The trees whispered their ancestral language of susurrus leaves and popping branches. A wolf howled in the far distance, sending a spike of cold ice up her spine. Picking up the pace, she rushed along the path.

Rounding a corner, the pressure made from fear suddenly lifted. The night sky was empty except a few remaining wisps of feather light clouds. The stars were bright and twinkling and she could see clearly again. Before her stood a castle of pitch black stone. The spires were sharp and tall, the walls high, and the atmosphere intimidating. Despite it, she approached. The walls were smooth, but clearly aged. There was no obvious entrance. Turning to the right, she walked along the length of its curved exterior.

As she marched, she became aware of the sound of waves crashing somewhere below. The air suddenly smelled of salt and mystery. A few steps more and she became aware of the steep cliffs the castle was built upon. Looking over, she witnessed the dark waves smash against the granite, the edges all craggy and pitted, but sturdy. Looking back to the castle wall, she was startled to see there was a portcullis made of wrought iron standing open, waiting patiently, as though it always knew she would arrive and enter.

Cautiously, Atsila moved close. The sharp spikes of the gate glinted and she swallowed hard. Quickly, anticipating a sudden drop, she passed into the interior of the structure. The wind blew gently at her back and the gate gave a tiny squeak as it shifted slightly. She found herself in a long corridor that led to a large old door made of wood that still remembered the sound of the wind rustling its leaves. To either side, torches burned in dark brackets free from rust or age. In the bouncing light cast, she tested the door. It opened easily at her touch, swinging forward and banging against walls with a boom, like cannon fire.

Inside, the statue of a man sat. Carved from polished marble, the lines on the face were so life-like that, at first, she thought he was a real man. His proportions were too large, however. Even sitting, he was over twice her height. With a thumping heart, she looked around at the rest of the room. The floor was a wondrous mosaic that depicted the whole Earth. The walls, white alabaster with streaks of gold, unlit torches along the length. Nothing else.

As she took a step into the room, the hand of the statue twitched. Startled, she stopped suddenly as the man opened his eyes and took a shuddering gasp through lips suddenly alive, but dry as old parchment. His eyes settle on her like a heavy weight as she attempted to shrink back. As she starts to apologize for the intrusion, he smiled and gestured her to come closer. With shaking legs, fully expecting the worst, the man began to speak as she reluctantly approached.

“Welcome child. It’s been far too long.”

“I’ve never been here before,” she insisted, voice thin and trembling.

With a knowing smile, “Maybe not, but I recognize you nonetheless.” With a gesture, the doors quickly click closed as the torches suddenly ignite along the walls. The mosaic below her feet suddenly sparkle and comes to life as well. It shifted and changed to show the castle on the cliff. “This is a place of past triumphs. Where my family lived and thrived, where our nation gained strength. It is also my prison and my grave.” Atsila’s attention was captured by the wonder of the magic displayed.

With a wave of the hand, the images changed again to show battles and grief, too fast to really comprehend. “They fought each other. They craved power and lusted after material things. Slowly they tore everything apart.” Visibly stricken, the man rests his hands in his lap. “Eventually there were only two left. My daughter trapped me here and abandoned this place. She went out into the world and has not returned.” A tear trickled down the wrinkled edge of an elderly face.

Moved, Atsila drew closer until she was right in front of him. Reaching up and placing a hand on his knee, she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

With a quick smile and warm eyes, he suddenly reaches down and picks her up and places her on his lap. With a yelp of shock, Atsila nearly fell off. With a laugh, he steadies her with one hand. With the other he offers what appeared to be a feather. It was white at the base, but quickly changed to scarlet red at the tips.

“Here, this will help you on your journey. It has the power to protect and to bring clarity.”

With trembling hands, Atsila reaches for it, but before she can touch it, it zips to her and buries itself into her chest. With choked breath, she feels it digging itself down deep to her very core. With a satisfied look and a nod, the man placed her gently back on the floor.

“What just happened? What was that? Where did it go?” her voice broke with emotions not understood, raw and uncontrollable.

“Progress,” his voice, weakened and slow. With that last word, his eyes closed for the final time and he crumbled into dust. With eyes as large as the moon and tears in the corners, she stared at the empty throne that now held only a few wisps of crushed stone.

Behind her, the doors open once again and through the sudden howling of the wind she heard a voice.

“He finally gave up, did he?”

Atsila spun, her breath catching in her throat. The woman before her was impossibly tall, her features sharp and majestic, her clothes rich, and her attitude sultry. Backing away from her, the woman strode past her to the throne. Placing a hand on it, she chuckles. Looking back over her shoulder and eyeing Atsila up and down her eyes settle on the center of Atsila’s chest.

“Who are you?”

“I’m…I was lost and…there was a man…he…” Atsila’s words faded as the woman turned towards her and raised a hand for silence. The woman’s face was a mask of amusement.

“Where is the feather?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” She sashayed towards her as Atsila’s back smacked the wall. She pressed herself against its cold surface, heart hammering as her mind scrambled to make sense of the woman. As she drew close and ran a long well-manicured finger along Atsila’s face, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Her hand came to rest flat against Atsila’s chest. “Here it is.”

With those words, Atsila felt a burning sensation start inside her. With a burst of pressure that she would never be able to describe, fire erupted from her, eagerly reaching for the woman as she dexterously leapt back. For a moment, all Atsila could do was stare, wide-eyed and trembling. Then she looked down to her arms, where the flames still licked, harmless to her.

The air around the woman swirled with power, with something ancient. Atsila’s thoughts flickered between awe and terror. Who was this woman, and what did she want? Laughter, like a crashing waterfall spilled from the woman’s lips. She straightened her posture and smiled warmly.

“I see. This will be interesting.” With a flick of her left wrist, she gestured towards Atsila.

A sudden pain in her head blinded her and, with a scream, Atsila woke from the dream. She was back in her soft bed under her own roof. A sigh ripped itself from deep in her chest as she realized it was all in her head. But, as she laid there looking at the ceiling, something strange appeared in the air above her.

In golden flowing script, a message, “I look forward to meeting again, little sister. -Love Sarilla.”

As the golden lines faded into memory, a hard thump from her heart bumped her ribs. A gentle warmth began to spread throughout her body. It reminded Atsila of the man. A frown crept across her face as she wondered about the final word from the man. What ‘progress’ did he mean? What did Sarilla mean when she said ‘things would be interesting?’ Surely, none of this was actually real.

Yet as she lay there, a faint prickle lingered in her chest, as if something small and bright had taken root, quietly waiting. Atsila closed her eyes, uncertain if she wanted to fall back to sleep. Would it bring her answers or more questions?