Cold Burn

[wangxiuming]

“I thought you died.”

“That’s the thing, Aly … the things buried in the snow, sometimes they’re not so easily covered up and left behind. Sometimes they survive.”

The Distant Past

“How is it you are never cold, Aly?”

The question caught Alyrian by surprise, though it really should not have.

The cold had never been much of an issue for anyone in the valley proper. Here, in the Spine of the World, the land was a canvas of snow as far as the eye could see, ready to be painted. Even now, white particles continued to fall all around him, chill to the touch. His open mouth gave fleeting breath to visible heat in the air. It took him aback. He had forgotten that not all shared his indifference to the frost.

As it was, he stood out like a sore thumb amongst his fellow travellers. Most had huddled themselves around a makeshift campfire fire, wrapped in layers of thick hides and abundant furs to shield themselves from the growing cold and snow that came down in layers all around them. In contrast, Alyrian stood nonchalantly in the light set of leathers he had fallen asleep in on the previous night.

He hurried to find a place by the fire, teeth chattering to feign a desire for warmth he did not truly possess. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he offered half-heartedly.

Alyrian glanced at the source of the question; the half-elf Garth stared blankly back at him, incredulity unhidden. He and his father and sister were one of the few half-elven families traveling with the caravan. Garth himself was just as bundled up in furs and coats as the rest of the travelers, so snugly that no trace of his hair or his curved ears could be seen. He could pass for human, Alyrian thought. Others might've seen that as an insult, but Alyrian had spent enough time in the valley to put aside such prejudices.

The pace of the falling snow quickened. Alyrian and his wagonful of companions were the last in a small train of three more, each pulled by a pair of pale and shivering oxen. He watched as the sky seemed to grow darker, signaling the strengthening of

A call from the caravan master interrupted what might have been another question from his half-cousin. “We’re moving out in ten. Get ready or get left behind.”

Alyrian watched as a few of the travelers groaned. Others protested, shouting their displeasure. “We barely just stopped. Can’t we get a few more moments to rest?” asked Garth’s weary father, Thom. “My children are tired.” Thom beckoned to Garth’s and his young daughter Elastria, barely two winters old.

“You wanna travel with me and mine, you travel on my schedule. Got it?” The caravan master did not bother waiting for a response before kicking his horse forward through the snow, towards the tail section of the caravan train, shouting instructions muffled by the growing storm.

Alyrian might have been the only one who cared not one whit for their pace of travel, so long as it was away from the valley to the south. A little cold and discomfort were nothing compared to what awaited him back there: enemies at all sides, friends that could not be relied upon. He headed back to his spot on the wagon, eager to get moving. One by one, the wagon was filled with exhausted men and women, mostly human, some with children. Most looked as forlorn and desperate as he felt, but he had no sympathy to offer them. He watched as Elastria struggled into a cart with Garth’s help, hugging her knees for warmth on the wagon floor.

Minutes passed and finally the caravan began to push forward into the snow when he heard Garth call out for him. “Aly.” The name grated on his ears; it was not one he was fond of, not anymore, but he had offered it out of reflex; he had not the foresight to come up with something different.

He turned back to find Garth still struggling to get his father up from the ground. “It’s his leg, he tripped and I think he might’ve broken something. Can you help?”

The storm was howling now, snow blasting at them furiously. Alyrian hesitated; the caravan had already begun to move. He did not know why Garth insisted on asking him for help. He had been a lukewarm traveling companion at best, answering questions only when asked and in the fewest number of words possible. He did not want to know these people, not Garth nor his Family. All he wanted was to leave his old home behind.

Garth waited anxiously for his answer. The boy was desperate; Alyrian felt sympathy rise in spite of himself.

“Yeah. Okay,” he finally said before getting off the wagon - watching as the two men that had been sitting beside him moved to make themselves more comfortable with his space - and lowered himself down to help Thom up. “Rider, hold! There’s still someone who has to get on!” he cried at the rider in front.

Teeth chattering, the caravaneer snapped as he turned back to the commotion. “I’m moving! You three can catch up, I’m not waitin’ any longer!”

“Wait, you can’t! We paid for passage!” yelled Garth. Elastria began to cry.

“I don’t care, the storm’s coming and I ain’t waitin’ to be swallowed up in it.” The rider urged his beasts forward and the procession lurched further into the storm ever so slowly. Alyrian knew he didn’t have much time to act. If the caravan left without them and it took them too long to set Thom’s leg, they would never be able to find their way through the approaching storm and rejoin the rest of the group. Then, he would be stranded out in the hostile winter with Garth and a wounded Thom.

Alyrian dashed up to the front of his wagon, blocking its path. “Look, wait! I’ll pay you the rest of my coin to just wait. Let us get the man’s father up on the wagon, we’ll be quick. Please.” He hesitated again as his hand reached his coin purse. Almost a hundred stags - it was all he had on his person, meant to last a week, maybe two if he got lucky.

He couldn’t exactly afford to stop and count out coins now, though. Tossing the satchel to the driver, he raced back towards Garth and Thom, offering silent gratitude as he confirmed the wagon had stopped in its tracks.

“Here. Together now,” he said, helping Garth with his father. The young half-elf looked relieved and grateful all at once. The other travelers eagerly assisted, though Alyrian suspected it had more to do with not wanting to be caught in the storm than anything else. Finally, they were all on the wagon.

The caravaneer urged his beasts of burden forward, and slowly, they continued their journey deeper into the Spine.

It was not until later, on the precipice between night and morning, that his guest spoke. No sound broke the silence, none of the others in his wagon stirred from their slumber; and yet it drove Alyrian from his reverie all the same.

Is this what you intend to do from now on? Hide yourself from reality?

“If you find it distasteful, you are welcome to leave,” Alyrian whispered.

No, my good Host. I am curious to see how long you will maintain this charade. After all … there is something very curious about you.

… I can’t wait to unravel its mysteries.