Lindsay Buroker: Ice Cracker II

“Oh? Feeling guilty about something?” Amaranthe smiled to make the question feel casual.

“I don’t know, maybe. I’ve had a lot of success with my business. Most people don’t become so successful so young. I used to assume it was just determination, hard work and talent, but I don’t know. You had all those traits back in school, and look at you now.”

“Thanks,” Amaranthe said dryly.

“I just mean…a lot of people who deserve success never achieve it. I’ve had a lot of luck. Maybe my luck has changed.” Claws scratched at the door, and Nelli jerked. “I wish they’d leave us alone. Tomorrow, when it clears up, I’ll show you everything else that’s been going on around camp. I know you’ll find the answers to the problem in something out there.” She stood and patted Amaranthe’s shoulder before crossing the cabin to join her father.

“The problem isn’t out there,” Amaranthe said softly. “It’s in here.”

As if in response to her thought, the screams outside ceased. Whatever had been worrying the roof stopped. The thuds at the door ended. Even the wind abated.

People lifted their heads. No one spoke, but their hope felt palpable.

The eye of the storm, Amaranthe thought.

She walked to the door and listened, sublimating the urge to unlock it and peek outside.

Sicarius glided out of the shadows, wearing all his weapons again.

“Going somewhere?” she asked.

“You know something,” he said.

Amaranthe turned her back on the room and spoke softly. “It sounds like events have been escalating for days. Even since we arrived, we’ve seen it.” She looked at a clock on a shelf. “It’s after midnight, so I don’t think that’s the deadline, but-”

“Deadline for what?”

Wind screeched, wood splintered, and iron warped. The door blew open.

Sicarius leaped before the entrance, pushing Amaranthe out of the way. He landed with daggers in hands. A step behind him, she drew her sword and dropped into a ready stance.

Snow and wind rushed in, and the kerosene lamps blew out. Shouts collided with one another, and scuffles and clanks sounded in the darkness.

A yellow light glowed outside.

Squinting into the snow, Amaranthe tried to relax. She would be better prepared to face whatever lurked out there without tense muscles slowing her reflexes.

Footsteps pounded up behind her. Sergeant Tollen. Behind him came Nelli.

A snow-free dome cleared around the cabin. Though flakes still swirled in the sky above, some force kept the air still and clear before the door.

Amaranthe blew out a long breath, then led the way outside. Sicarius, Tollen, and Nelli followed.

The snow’s absence revealed dozens of dark humanoid shapes ringing the yard, cloaks wavering in the breeze, cowls pulled low over dark holes where faces should have been. Each entity bore a two-headed axe, the blades and long handles black.

In front of the door, a giant muscular creature, also humanoid but larger than the others, stood bare-chested and bare-legged. Flames licked its skin and danced about its crimson hair. Two silver horns rose from its temples and curved down its back.

“Ifrit,” Sicarius said. “And its army of death fixers.”

Amaranthe was glad he recognized them because she had never seen nor heard of them. Before she could ask for details, the creature spoke, though not in a language she understood.

“Kendorian,” Sicarius said.

“What’s it saying?” Without turning her back to the ifrit, she looked at Tollen and Nelli. Nelli’s mouth hung open, and the whites of her eyes circled her irises. Tollen just looked grim. He wasn’t surprised.

“The warnings have not been heeded,” Sicarius translated. “The hour is-”

Tollen lunged and grabbed Amaranthe’s sword. Startled, she let him have it.

Weapon raised, blade gleaming with a fiery reflection, Tollen charged the ifrit. His target did not move, nor did the dozens of black wraiths ringing the cabin.

The sword swished through the creature as if through air. The ifrit tossed back its red-maned head and laughed at the night sky.

A spark of hope stirred in Amaranthe’s breast. Was this all an illusion?

Howling in frustration, Tollen spun on the nearest death fixer. This time, the sword struck something solid. It thudded against the figure’s arm, but did not penetrate. The blade might as well have hit steel.

The cowled figure turned its faceless head toward Tollen, who backed away.

“Our blades will not kill them,” Sicarius said. “They are not from the mortal realm.”

Tollen whipped out one of his pistols and fired at the hooded head. The ball clanged off and thudded into one of logs on the front of the cabin.

“Nor firearms, apparently,” Amaranthe said, her mouth dry.

“Attack me!” Tollen cried.

The creatures hovered motionless.

“Da!” Nelli raced up and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

Sicarius looked at Amaranthe.

“The rest of the translation?” she asked him. “What else did the ifrit say?”

“At dawn, the death fixers will kill everyone in camp if the terms of the trade have not been met. If anyone tries to leave before then, they will not allow it.”

“Trade?” Nelli demanded. “What trade?”

Tollen stood, chest heaving, head drooped. He dropped the sword.

“Nelli, Tollen, perhaps we should discuss it privately.” Amaranthe nodded at the people gathering in the doorway.

“We can talk in the loft.” After a long wary look at the invaders, Nelli steered her father inside.

Before going in, Amaranthe collected her sword and walked halfway around the cabin. Death fixers did indeed surround the entire structure. Snow flitted off the roof, and she looked up. The three remaining mare-cats paced above.

“We can kill them but not the ifrit or the death fixers,” Sicarius said when she returned to the door. “We’ll have no more luck escaping than these people.”

“I know.”

Before Amaranthe could pass through, he clasped her elbow.

“You weren’t surprised at the translation,” Sicarius said. “You know what’s going on. Tell me what the trade is; we have to make sure it’s honored.”

“I will. In a minute.” She looked over her shoulder at the fiery ifrit, who waited, a smile playing about its lips. Then she met Sicarius’s eyes. “Trust me.”

Several silent heartbeats passed. Finally, he released her arm.

“Wait downstairs.” Amaranthe climbed the ladder to the loft. Though he looked like he wanted to follow, Sicarius closed the front door and waited there.

She joined Nelli and Tollen around the table in the loft.

“The fiftieth birthday is the deadline, I assume,” Amaranth said to Tollen.

“Yes,” he said woodenly.

“Deadline?” Nelli asked. “Deadline for what?”

“Your soul, that’s the price?” Amaranthe asked. “You traded your soul for a good life for your daughter?”

“The ifrit was supposed to take it when I died,” Tollen said. “I was a soldier on the border-skirmishes every month. The promise of war ever present. I never thought I’d live the twenty-five years the deal gave me. I wanted to make sure Nell was taken care of-always.”

“Da?” Tears pooled in Nelli’s eyes. “Your soul ?”

“It was worth it. I always thought I’d die long before this, serving the empire, a warrior’s death. Yet the day approached, and I lived still. As soon as the unearthly started happening around here, I knew what was behind it. I tried to shoot myself and hang myself, but I couldn’t. Some invisible force grabbed my hand and stopped me.”

“If the soul dies with a suicide, there’d be nothing left to give the ifrit,” Amaranthe reasoned.