T Lain - Plague of Ice

“Most of the men I meet are just a little too tall for me,” she said. “Really, they couldn’t even kiss me without making themselves look ridiculous. But if you should happen to know any available men of any race who happen to be under four feet tall…”

Their laughter echoed across the stark white landscape.

Across the camp in the other tent, Regdar awoke from the magically induced sleep Sonja had placed on him. His eyes crept open and beheld the face of an angelic being of light. The wind outside howled threateningly, but Regdar felt safe and sheltered from the storm. Sonja’s once-immaculate white robes were splattered with bloodstains, but this did little to diminish the feeling of peace she inspired in Regdar. Her smooth, white features, her smile, open yet mysterious… he was enraptured. Never, not even at their tenderest moment, had he seen Naull the way he was seeing Sonja now—healer, druid, warrior, angel.

“Welcome back, Regdar,” she said. “That was some fight.”

“Yes, it was,” the fighter replied. “Is everyone all right? How’s Lidda?”

“Safe. Uninjured. Hennet took a few thumps from the gnoll priest’s magical morning star, but he’s fine now, too.”

Regdar ran his hand over his neck and shoulder. The pain was nearly gone. “My sword?” he asked.

“We have it. You know, Regdar, if you keep fighting like that, you might find yourself beyond all my spells next time.”

“They would have killed Lidda,” he explained. “She was helpless. I did what needed to be done.”

“I know, Regdar, I know, but in the future, please, an ounce of caution.” She smiled down at him, and he gave up all resistance.

Her hand was on his chest. Regdar felt close to her indeed.

This was the first time they’d been together away from Hennet. He felt a warm rush of embarrassment. When Jozan healed him all those times, it was a quick, dutiful thing, then it was back to the fray. Now, supine and incapacitated under Sonja’s tender care, he felt his cheeks burn red.

Part of him liked it quite a lot.

When Sonja healed his leg at the bridge, Regdar thought that it felt different from ordinary healing, more personal somehow. Now he was sure of it. In a way that was hard to express, he felt Sonja must have put something of herself into him. The closeness of it touched him deeply.

“We should get going,” Regdar said, reaching for his armor only to cringe at a lingering pain in his shoulder.

“No you don’t,” said Sonja, gently pushing him down. “It’s getting dark. We’re here for the night. The Fell Forest isn’t far off, if Hennet reads the maps right. Tomorrow we should reach what I think is the center of this cold zone. There we should find whatever brought on this ‘plague of ice,’ as the gnoll called it. I like its turn of phrase. It suggests contagion.”

Something sank inside Regdar, and he felt a profound insignificance amid the scope of this crisis.

“Sonja, let me ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Before we met on Berron Bridge, Lidda asked me about something she called an ice age. Sages say that this whole world was covered in ice in ancient times. She wondered if this was the same thing happening all over again. I didn’t think so at the time, but now I’m starting to wonder. I don’t know what to think. Is this some sort of replay of the distant past? The beginning of a new ice age?”

“I’m not a sage,” Sonja responded, “and I don’t know much more about ancient times than you. Maybe the world was covered in ice during some forgotten era. If it was, I promise you, it was a natural phenomenon. I do know that nature is a pendulum. Sometimes it swings toward chaos and evil, sometimes toward order and goodness. It could just as easily fluctuate between heat and cold. But what’s beyond these tent walls is not natural. It offends nature, and it offends me.

The druid reflected for a few moments before continuing. “Can I share something with you? It’s something I haven’t shown the others yet. I’m afraid it might unnerve them. I don’t want to alarm them with something that I don’t entirely understand myself.”

Regdar nodded eagerly.

“I discovered this earlier.” She reached beneath her robe and pulled out a small, delicate flower, cold violet in color.

“What is it?” asked Regdar.

“Cryotallis. When I was a little girl I called them ‘snowblooms’ and never picked them. I found it poking its sad head over the layer of snow, just as snowblooms always do.”

“What’s the problem?” the warrior asked.

“Snowbloom grows where I came from, in the glacial lands of the far north. It does not grow here. It cannot. Furthermore—” she looked at the little blossom—“this flower shows weeks of growth. The cold zone was not at this extent weeks ago. This flower should not be here.”

A chill passed between the druid and the fighter. He did not have to ask her the implications of this. He understood them all too well.

Truly, foul magic was at work.

The wind came up in the night, howling across the snowy plains, a mournful noise like the earth itself crying out in pain. The thin felt of the tents proved woefully inadequate against the snow, so the travelers abandoned them. They turned the tents into a windbreak and huddled around the fire for warmth, keeping a watch while trying desperately to get some sleep. Adventurers learned to sleep through such distractions, but this night, it proved nearly impossible. The snow piled so thick that it threatened to bury them. Only Regdar slept well, probably owing to Sonja’s spells. He lay still the entire night, neither tossing nor turning, though Lidda was sure that at one point he uttered the name “Naull.”

“If we died out here,” Hennet whispered to whoever else might still be awake, “do you think anybody would ever find our corpses?”

“Maybe someday they’ll thaw our bodies out of a block of solid ice,” said Lidda. “The sages of the future will put us on display in their studies. We’ll be their only proof of life before the ‘big freeze’.”

“Is that’s what happening here?” Hennet asked. “The freezing of the entire world? The death of mankind?”

“And halfling kind,” added Lidda. “Not to mention gnomes and elves. Dwarves might he all right, what with…”

“No.” The interjection came from Sonja. “Life will survive, even if civilization dies.”

“Sure,” joked Hennet. “We can all become mammoth herders.”

“Believe it,” said Sonja. “Humans can adapt to living in almost anything, including this kind of cold. My parents did it. Others can do it.”

“Untold thousands will die,” protested Lidda.

“And their offspring will never know a world hut this. They will he hardened stock, and they will endure. When I visited the druid circle to which my parents once belonged in the great southern forests, I met some druids who prayed for just such a disaster to come along to remove the blight of civilization and return mankind to the level of nature.”

“Good to know somebody’s happy about this,” Hennet said, his voice thick with disgust.

“Not this,” answered Sonja. “This is not nature.”

“So you keep saying,” asked Lidda, “but how can you know?”

“Yes,” asked Hennet. “Not that I don’t trust your instincts in this matter, but how can you tell this is some magical abomination and not some cruel quirk of nature?”

“I can’t explain how I know,” said Sonja, “but I do know.”

This she said with such conviction nobody questioned her further.

The three of them tried fruitlessly to get back to sleep.

At length, Lidda spoke again. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the cold sun was creeping over the horizon, and the fire was burned down to coals.