A Heart of Elemental Ice

By: Kiril Posted on: January 29, 2008

The following is a recreation of a story my mother used to tell when I was very young. Naturally the years have taken their toll on my memory, so some of the details may not be quite as she recited them to me long ago. Imagination must suffice where recollection fails.

---

Once, many years ago, long before I was your age even, a brave young Runewarden by the name of Ymalla set out to explore the wilderness far beyond the Northreach forest. She did not have to travel very far beyond the woods before she began to encounter snowdrifts at the southern fringes of the frozen Tundra. Purple, snow-laden clouds hung low in the sky that day. The air was chill and brisk, and the wind strong, portending a storm, but Ymalla was courageous and wouldn't let a little snow and ice get in her way. She covered her mouth with her woollen scarf and travelled on, eager to see what there was to find amidst the frigid drifts.

In short order a blizzard blew up, far more savage than those which periodically beset her Cyrenian home. All around her great snowflakes swirled and dipped, flying in her eyes, stinging her cheeks like vicious insects made of ice. The world turned all to white as the storm grew stronger and stronger. Ymalla became hopelessly disoriented; her attempts to survey the surroundings yielded no useful information. Even if she could have remembered whence she had come, she would not turn back and risk being teased by her friends. Ymalla's travels always brought good fortune, and she was confident that this time would be no exception. She resolved to continue her journey.

As she soldiered on, the dark outline of a great tower rose before her. Hopeful of finding shelter for the night, if not longer, she headed directly for the structure. She made her way painstakingly through the bitter wind and copious snow. With each step, her booted feet sank knee-deep in drifts of white. She could see, as she battled her way through the blizzard, that the tower was built of great grey stones. It appeared to be featureless save for a broad wooden door at ground level and a crenellation encircling its crown.

When at last she reached the base of the tower, she pushed on the great door experimentally, first with one hand, then both. It did not budge even after she gave it a hard shove. At first she assumed it was locked from the other side. She tried knocking, but her gloved hands made little noise against the great expanse of heavy oak. At a loss, she pounded the door with her fist a few times, aware that it was an uncouth thing to do but desperate to get the attention of the tower's inhabitants -- if indeed there were any.

There came no reply. Ymalla's heart felt heavy in her chest. Unsure what else to do, she pounded on the door once again. After this, from beyond the mighty door, she heard a faint voice straining to call out to her. With the wind buffeting her ears, she had to concentrate to make out the words. Eventually she was able to discern what the person inside was calling to her: "Push harder. The door will open."

And so she gathered her strength, placed her palms against the door, and pushed as hard as she could. With a terrible groan from its long-rusted hinges, the door slowly swung inward. Ymalla slipped inside, pressing her back against the door to push it closed again as quickly as possible.

The inner chamber was dark, its gloom entire, unpenetrated by the flame of even a single taper. Ymalla could sense another person inside the room, but she could not see through the blackness surrounding her. She fumbled in her pack for a simple candle which she lit with her silver tinderbox.

For a moment she was blinded by the sudden light. She blinked several times to allow her eyes to adjust. When she caught sight of her new companion, she gasped.

He was a very old human man, impossibly gaunt, clad only in filthy rags. His wiry white hair was wild, and he had an unkempt beard to match. His clouded eyes darted back and forth, unseeing. Ymalla knelt by his side in alarm and took one of his bony, icy hands in hers.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" she asked gently. He turned his face toward her at the sound of her voice.

"My supplies... long depleted..." he replied.

Ymalla pressed one of her vials into the old man's hand. "Use my epidermal salve," she said. The old man turned the vial over and over as if struggling to understand its purpose; then a look of comprehension crossed his face. He uncorked the vial and spread the salve upon the skin of one skinny arm. At once, focus returned to his watery blue eyes. A look of delight lit his countenance as he glanced around the bleak room, taking in his surroundings for the first time in what Ymalla guessed was a very long while. He turned to her with a grateful smile.

"At long last!" he cried. "Praise to the forces that led you here."

Ymalla smiled. "And you, how did you come to be here?"

The man's smile faded, and he seemed to withdraw into himself, paralysed by fear. "He's cruel... drove everyone away..."

Ymalla frowned. "Who?"

"See him for yourself!" the man cried, his eyes gone wide and wild. "He dwells at the top of the tower. But the way is treacherous..."

"Is he the one who left you here with no warm clothing and no supplies?" she asked.

The man was silent for a long while, staring at nothing in particular, and Ymalla assumed at first that he hadn't heard her question; but eventually he said, "Yes... yes," and left it at that.

The young Runewarden glanced around. At the back of the room she could see the start of a spiral staircase climbing along the tower wall.

"Go and meet him if you dare, the hateful man! But please... please leave your taper here. I would not face the darkness again so soon," the man said mournfully.

Ymalla glanced up at the dark staircase, frowning. She could not draw both blades while one hand was occupied with a candle, but she despaired of making it up the stairs safely with no light at all. Neither did she want to disappoint the old man by leaving him alone in the dark once again. She stood and tucked the candle into a dusty holder on a nearby tabletop. She strode to the base of the stairs, peering upwards. It was black enough that she could not see beyond the first few steps. She swallowed hard, turned her back against the tower wall, drew her runeblades from their scabbards, and ever so slowly made her way sidelong up into the gloom.

As she painstakingly ascended one step at a time, her path was occasionally illuminated by dim, bluish light filtering through tiny arrow-slit style windows along the stone wall.

After what seemed like an eternity of creeping up the steps, Ymalla could see before her a landing where the stairs terminated. Wary of danger, she slowed her pace even more. Before she could move into a position that would allow her to view what lay upon the landing, the silence was pierced by a monstrous, howling wail. She barely dared breathe as she strained to see its source.

In the centre of the landing squatted the bestial form of a tremendous ape-like creature covered all in long, snowy hair, limned in the weak blue light filtering through the tower's tiny windows. The monster seemed to be holding its head in its hands, bowed forward as if in terrible pain. She glanced about, taking in the rest of the surroundings; the landing was otherwise empty. The staircase continued up on the far side of the room.

With another anguished roar, the creature threw its head back. Even in the dim light Ymalla could clearly see that its wide, strangely human eyes were bloodshot and sere.

Thinking quickly, Ymalla drew forth her inks and sketched a rune in the shape of a closed eye on the ground. She knew she had to draw the creature's attention to the rune in order for it to be effective, so she tapped the floor with the tip of her blade. The beast swung around to discover the source of the disturbance. Almost at once the rune's somnolent magics acted upon the monster; it swayed heavily back and forth a few times, then collapsed mightily to the floor with a loud, rattling snore.

As Ymalla crept past the sleeping wendigo to reach the stairs at the opposite side of the room, she could swear she saw a smile upon the creature's face.

Ymalla continued her ascent step by careful step, still with her back to the tower wall and her blades at the ready, advancing until once again she saw a landing before her. She recalled what lay on the previous floor and held still for a very long time, waiting for any sound that might indicate what kind of peril lay in wait, but no noise came. She inched forward, craning her neck to see.

Her caution was well-founded. On this landing lay a tremendous ice-bear, sleeping soundly. She could see an iron collar around its neck, anchored to the floor by a long, heavy chain. Nearby lay the half-consumed carcass of a reindeer, its exposed ribcage silhouetted in the dim light. Other bones and detritus were strewn around the periphery of the room. Ymalla could see the fur around the bear's mouth was stained dark, doubtless with the blood of its recent meal.

As she watched, the bear heaved a groaning, animal sigh and shifted its considerable weight in sleep.

Ymalla held very still, afraid that the bear would stir and wake, but it did not. She cast about with her eyes as she pondered how to proceed. As on the floor below, the stairway up continued on the far side of the circular room. She did not think she was strong enough to face down the mighty predator in combat. But she figured that if she could make it anywhere close to the stairway without rousing the animal, she could at least try to run the rest of the way if she must. The bear was on a leash, this was true; but she judged the length of the chain sufficient to allow the bear access to a good stretch of the stairway, and she hoped she would not have to try to outrun it very far.

She took a deep breath and stepped up onto the landing. The bear did not stir. Step after agonizing step, she edged to the opposite stairwell, the noise of her every delicate motion resounding in her ears like the boom of an ogre's war-drum. When at last she reached the far stairs, she allowed herself the tiniest sigh of relief and leaned against the wall for a bare moment.

The ice bear lifted its enormous head and its nostrils flared.

Thinking quickly, Ymalla fell back into the shadows, scrambling for her inks. The bear was on its feet at once, scenting the air for its prey. Ymalla's hands shook terribly as she started to sketch a rune on the ground which faded away as soon as it was drawn. In its place, a stone wall began to take form before her as the bear bounded in her direction; it solidified just as the bear launched itself at her with a savage roar, its jaws wide and slavering. There was a great thud which shook the entire tower as the bear's weight crashed against the wall erected by her rune.

Ymalla scrambled up the steps, her heart pounding. It was pointless to be cautious now, she knew. The noise and commotion of the ice bear's impact against her stone wall would surely have alerted any sentry which might remain in her path. She sank to the floor and struggled to catch her breath. Below her, she could hear the ice bear continuing its assault against the wall for a time, but eventually the racket subsided as the bear tired of its vain pursuit. As soon as all she could hear were occasional growls of dismay, she rose to her feet again and continued up the stone stairs.

She approached the next landing with no small degree of trepidation, knowing that the element of stealth was lost to her by this point. She gripped her runeblades firmly and set her jaw, preparing herself for anything that might lay ahead.

When she crested the final stair and stepped out onto the landing, she saw before her a knight in a suit of full plate armour standing sentry atop a wooden dais. He was armed with a fearsome-looking halberd, which he gripped in both gauntleted hands.

Ymalla would not be intimidated. She stood at the edge of the room and tossed her head back, waiting for the knight's response. When none came, she pressed her lips together impatiently. "Hail," she finally called out.

Still there was no reply, not the slightest hint of movement or acknowledgement from the knight. Ymalla took a few steps into the room, careful to remain outside the range of his polearm.

At last, with a terrible screech of metal against metal, the knight raised his head and stood up a little straighter. He seemed subtly different to Ymalla once he moved, as if her approach caused him to suddenly take on life where none existed before.

"You may not proceed," said the knight, in a strangely resonant, utterly inhuman voice that made Ymalla think of brittle ancient bones being ground into powder.

"By whose order?" she demanded.

There was a slight pause, as if the knight had not expected her to respond. Eventually he said again, "You may not proceed."

"And you will stop me if I try?" she asked.

Again, a pause, and then: "You may not proceed."

Ymalla raised her blades and advanced a single step.

At this, the knight took an awkward step forward, landing heavily on one armoured boot as he lurched down off the platform. His movements seemed stiff and highly unnatural to Ymalla. She wondered if she was facing some sort of artificial creature.

She had no time to mull this over, however, as the knight continued to advance on her in its inexorable, ungainly way. Ymalla used her inks to quickly sketch a rune in the shape of a butterfly on the ground. The knight froze in its tracks so suddenly that it became unbalanced and toppled to the floor with a terrible clattering crash. Ymalla had to lightly sidestep the blade of its halberd as it fell.

She thanked the Gods for her good fortune as she slipped across the room and continued up the stairwell, hoping her ordeal was near its end.

Once again as she ascended she approached a landing. This time, she could see the golden glow of candlelight beckoning from the room ahead. She crested the stairs without looking back, ready for anything -- or so she fancied.

In the chamber before her stood a young human man, fiercely beautiful, with hair glossy and black as ravens' wings, watching her with glittering bright blue eyes. He wore extravagant robes of gemstone colours: ruby red, emerald green, topaz yellow, sapphire blue. The room around him was comfortably appointed with a small bed, a well-stocked bookshelf, a cushioned bench, and a table upon which stood a candelabra, an open book, and several scrolls.

The man regarded her with a level, emotionless gaze as she stepped into the chamber.

Undaunted, Ymalla forged ahead. "You are the one responsible for leaving that poor old man alone and defenceless at the base of this tower?"

The corners of his lips curled up in a humourless smile. "He brought it upon himself," was his reply.

Ymalla narrowed her eyes at him. He made no response.

"I will see justice done," she said finally.

He lifted his chin subtly, studying her. "As you wish," he replied, not ungently.

Confused by this sudden meekness in his demeanour, Ymalla hung back and watched him. He turned his back to her and gestured to the bench, bidding her to take a seat. Wary of trickery, she edged along the room, refusing to take her eyes off him for even a moment. Finally she sat and stared at him suspiciously.

He took a seat next to her on the bench, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on his lap in a docile way. He looked at her askance, almost shyly, and said, "Tell me where you are from."

She blinked at him in exasperation. "I haven't come here to take tea with you," she snapped.

"Please humour me," he said quietly.

Sighing, at a loss, Ymalla grunted, "Cyrene."

"Never heard of it," he said. "Where is that, and what is it like?"

She stared at him in disbelief.

He pressed his lips together and looked away from her. "Please," he said.

She heard in his voice a frail, vulnerable quality that pulled at her heart; and so she started at the beginning, telling him how the city of Cyrene was originally founded in secret, hidden deep within the Southern Vashnar mountains; how it fell to the dragon Ainghael, how it was re-founded in the name of respect and peace. The strange man listened raptly as if he truly was hearing this tale for the first time. Ymalla found this highly unlikely but continued on regardless.

He asked her many questions about her home, and later about her family and herself. Patiently, she answered him. They spoke together for hours and settled into an easy manner with each other like old friends. But after a while, he ran low on questions to ask. Long pauses began to overtake their conversation. Ymalla opened her mouth in a tremendous yawn and stretched.

"We have been here a long while," she said, breaking the silence. In response, he frowned.

"I still do not understand why you left that man downstairs," she said.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing.

She glanced at the candelabra, thinking to judge the amount of time that had passed by what length of the tapers had been consumed. An icy finger of terror slid down her spine as she realized that although the candles had been merrily burning away since she stepped into the room, they still stood at exactly the same height as they had hours before.

Her eyes wide, she shifted her gaze back to him. "There's something you can't tell me," she said.

He merely looked back at her, his eyes dull with remorse.

Moved by pity now, she removed her gloves and took his hand in hers. She was shocked to feel it was ice-cold.

He gave her a look of such abject gratitude at this simple gesture that her good sense flew from her. As if bespelled, she leaned forward and left a kiss upon his cheek, which was startlingly just as cold as his hand.

Then Ymalla felt herself tumbling down and down into darkness, and for a time she knew no more.

When she woke, the tower room was lit only by wan fingers of sunlight which reached feebly in through the tower's tiny windows. She sat up, blinking, looking around to gain her bearings and struggling to remember the events that occurred before she fell asleep. Her memory came back bit by bit, and a feeling of dull horror settled over her as she observed how her surroundings differed from her recollection.

The furniture around her, which had been sumptuous and fresh, was now threadbare and covered by a thick layer of dust. Heavy cobwebs sagged in the corners of the room. The candelabra was tarnished and covered by a patina of rust; no tapers stood in it, but ancient puddles of wax clung to the surface of the table beneath. There was no sign of the strange man who had been her companion.

Ymalla scrambled to her feet and set about inspecting the scrolls on the table. The first scroll crumbled to dust in her fingers. She cursed her haste and picked up the next scroll gingerly, unrolling the brittle parchment with great care. Upon it she read these words:

"You shall have what you have given, a thousandfold; so your heart seems as immutable as elemental ice, so it shall be. I curse you to be as truly unattainable as you fancy yourself. May you rot alone and never again know the kindness of others."

Ymalla set the scroll aside, her heart gone icy with fright.

She rushed down the stairs, illuminated here and there by scraps of wintry sunshine. On the landing below, the knight's suit of armour lay strewn about in pieces. She ran past it, down and down the stairs, to the place where her stone wall had long since faded. In the room beyond, the iron collar lay upon the floor. The ice bear was nowhere to be seen, but the gruesome remains of its meal were still there. Down and down the stairs she flew, to the room below, where only a few stray white hairs gave any indication that a tortured wendigo had once been there.

Ymalla gulped and rushed down to the tower's entryway, too terrified to contemplate what she might find.

The old man was still there, huddled on the floor in his filthy, tattered raiment. She knelt next to him and reached out to take his hand; but to her horror, his limb would not budge, overtaken by the immobility that strikes the mortal body once the soul has passed through Maya's halls for the final time and gone to Lord Thoth's realm forever.

Ymalla laid her hand upon his bony shoulder and turned him over so she could see his face, frozen in death. Though the life was gone from behind his pale blue eyes, she saw now that they were the very same that gazed into her own the night before.

She drew his eyelids down, wondering how many centuries had passed while he was trapped in the tower, waiting for a single display of kindness in order to be released.