2 – The Icemen Approach

The small fishing boat cut its way across the still, grey waters of the bay, beneath the ominous pall of the skies, driven forward by the strong strokes of Pravodin, the fisherman who owned it.  Great unease weighed heavily upon his heart at his actions, an unease at war with the lure of the fire crystal that lay secure in the pouch at his side, casting its welcome warmth.  Each stroke that brought him closer still to the island made him doubt more the wisdom of his choice.  No good could come of crossing the Icemen.  And yet this one trip would be the last he would ever need to make.  The crystal would see to that.  He could at last sell his boat, to depart the cold north and never return, to no longer slave away at oar and sail, rope and net.  The crystal would secure his future in warmer southern lands, there to live out his days in comfort.

The woman, Peregrine, called it a mere bauble.  For her to think of it so, and to offer it for a simple trip on his boat, to his mind spoke of a greater wealth hidden upon the island.  Perhaps there was a way he could share in the bounty of those spoils, or even, if fates played true, all of it.  A future of luxury and respect stretched before his mind’s eye, even as he worked the oars.

A brief glance to the companions in the boat quickly extinguished any such thoughts.  Blade sat at the rear of the boat, upon a rolled up net, and he studied Pravodin through eyes half lidded shut, and yet they pierced him to his core, seeming to read his very thoughts.  Worse still was Peregrine, sitting at the prow, her attention not upon him but wholly fixated upon Ipik-ki-oonook ahead.

The Aedring were not a people to be crossed, even more so than the Icemen, from all he had heard tell of them.  They did not repress their thoughts and emotions behind a civilised mask, but bore them openly, being quick to anger and just as quick to forget.  That she was a woman made little difference.  If an Aedring woman wished to fight alongside the men then none would naysay her, an occurrence almost unheard of down out of the hill country that they lived in.  More so, in battle they proved just as fell as the men, harridans from the hills that none would wish to provoke.

He had seen the way that she moved, gliding with the fluid grace of a stalking snow leopard, and just as silent, yet couched within her frame resided the raw strength of one of the great white bears of the frozen wastes, one that Pravodin was loathe to cross.

No, the best thing to do was to take them where they wished to go, and to take what had been offered.  It might pale into insignificance compared to what might be hidden upon Ipik-ki-oonook, yet it was real and already in his possession, something the mythical treasure was not.

They soon hit the open waters beyond the sheltered calm of the bay, and with it came the swell that rolled in from the cold northern seas, sending them to rocking, cresting one wave to dip down into the next.  The islands that frequented the region broke the waves apart, sending them funnelling through channels and bouncing off of one another, stirring up the seas into a swirling area of cross currents and hidden shoals.  It made for a place rich in fish stocks, but dangerous to navigate in safety except for those with the knowing of the waters.

As Pravodin concentrated on picking his course through the maze that led between the islands, he overheard Peregrine speak.  “You are certain that this is the place?”

“You know that when it comes to dealing with the legends of antiquity that one can never be certain of the facts,” Blade responded.  “Our endeavours have seen us eliminate all other possibilities, and once that is done all that remains would be the logical option.  That is the one before us here.  It does not preclude the possibility that there exists, undiscovered and unknown to any, another option, yet on the face of it this is our goal.”

Peregrine replied with a short laugh, revelling in the trip and the spray of cold salt water on her face from each wave that slapped against the fishing boat.  “A simple yes would have sufficed.”

Pravodin ignored the two of them, returning to his concentration upon his rowing and the course ahead of them.  A distraction could prove disastrous, sending them careening onto hidden rocks that lurked beneath the rolling waves.  They slid on by a small, sandy island, where washed up weeds and driftwood were tangled together.  Crabs scuttled across the sands, darting into the cover of seaweed.  On the far side of the island a rocky outcrop thrust up out of the sea, waves churning white around it.  A small band of birds perched upon the rocks, watching them row on by.

“Ho, Pravodin,” Peregrine called out, breaking him from his concentration, “We appear to have company.”

Pravodin looked back over his shoulder, towards the island that he rowed for, still some distance hence.  Beneath the surface of the sea he could make out dark shapes flashing towards them, the water rippling as they came.  In a spray of water they burst from the sea, a good spear’s cast distant.  Three large, blubbery beasts, with whiskery snouts and a set of giant curving teeth emerged.  Upon each sat a small person, no greater in height than a young child, each wrapped head to toe in white furs and hides so that not a part of them could be seen but for a pair of dark eyes through a narrow strip in their hoods.  In their hands they carried spears, tipped with barbed blades of carved bone.  Water dripped from them, running down in rivulets, yet they appeared unhindered by the chill touch of the sea.

Pravodin’s stroke faltered mid sweep as momentary indecision overcame him, caught between the fear of upsetting the Icemen, and the fear of upsetting his passengers.  Of the two he could not imagine which the worse was.  The boat started to drift sideways, the prow swinging off course as the currents took a hold of it, carrying them towards a shoal of hidden rocks.  The threat overcame his indecision, and he once more leant on the oars, backing water to stabilise their course yet not drawing any closer to the island, or the Icemen.  The walruses of the Icemen drifted in closer though, interposing themselves between the boat and the island.

“They appear unwilling to let us pass,” Peregrine stated, watching the Icemen, seemingly at ease with the situation.  They had made no hostile moves and thus had given her no reason to unleash her fury upon them.  If they did, she was ready to pounce into action, able to transition from calm to combat with the speed of a striking snake.

“I did warn you that this would happen,” Pravodin told them morosely, wishing that he was back ashore.  Second thoughts about his choices came flooding back, but it was too late to do aught about it now that he found himself trapped between the two sides.

“I shall deal with this,” Blade announced from the back of the boat.  Slowly he began to remove the glove from his right hand, peeling it off finger by finger before tucking it into the belt around his waist.  Leaning over the side of the boat he placed his now bare hand face down on the surface of the water, as best that he could with the rolling waves.  Pravodin watched as Blade took a deep breath, all signs of sleepiness sloughing from his face until it bore a look of steely determination not unlike unto Peregrine’s normal appearance.

A tune began to issue form from his lips, one soft and low so that at first Pravodin could barely make it out.  It sounded not dissimilar to a gentle wind that whistled across the waters, a sighing moan.  About his hand sparks of frozen light started to form and the air shimmered with a chill so profound that it radiated outwards.  A film of frost formed across the surface of the sea beneath his hand.  It spread outwards, growing thicker, rippling away from the boat, the waves captured mid swell.  Small flakes coalesced out of the sky, dancing as they drifted down over the boat and the ice.  When at last the whistling ended and Blade withdrew his hand, a solid ice floe sat between the boat and the Icemen on their walruses.  Blade removed the glove from his belt and pulled it back on.

Then, to Pravodin’s astonished sight, Blade stood up and stepped out of the boat, onto the floe of ice he had conjured forth, holding in his hands the carved bone.  Despite the uneven nature of the ice, he strode across it to the waiting Icemen.  One of them rode up to the edge of the ice and leapt lightly onto it from the back of his walrus.  Taking his spear he drove it point first into the floe, leaving it standing there, quivering, while he waited for Blade to reach him.

When he at last did so, the tall men held forth the leg bone towards the Iceman, giving the small creature a good look at it.  The Iceman stretched out a gloved hand to touch the bone.  No words were passed between the pair, and none were forthcoming as the Iceman pulled his spear back out of the ice, vaulting back into his walrus.  Then, along with the other two riders, he slipped silently beneath the waters, disappearing from sight.

After observing them go, Blade returned to the boat, lost in studious thoughts.

“You can go now,” he absently noted, stepping back in and resuming his seat at the back of the boat on the nets.

“What just happened?” Pravodin asked, once more beginning to row forward, pushing the boat through the swell towards the island.

“It is much as I suspected,” Blade answered, “Though could not prove until this moment.  The script upon the bones, the carvings, they were done by the hand of the Icemen, though none would credit the suggestion when I raised it.”

“They can write?” Pravodin asked, both mazed and astonished by the idea.  “Never before have they given indication of it.”

“It may be that it is no longer the case, yet I would hazard that they are more advanced than any give them credit for, and indeed I suspect that we may discover just that when we set foot upon the island.”

“You gamble with long odds there, my friend,” Peregrine stated and laughed.

“Mine are, as ever, calculated odds.  Yours are always cast into the blind lap of luck.”

“Aye, and oft times they still roll true.”

“That fact astonishes me greatly, yet we may need your outlandish luck ere this journey is done.”

On to Chapter Three – The Silent Sentinels