Daniel Cohen - Coldmaker - Those who control Cold hold the power

I thrust the Staff in one last time, all the way up to my knuckles, my wrist straining to pull it through the pile. The exhausted muscles in my arm groaned until at last the orb gave a shout, long and high.

I frowned, not recognizing the sound.

It took a few pulls for the teeth to clamp around the mystery object, and with careful speed, up came a miracle.

Or a disaster.

Breath caught in my throat, and my knees went weak as I picked up the Shiver with shaky hands.

It was more Cold than I was rationed in a month.

My brow prickled with sweat. I often came into contact with Shivers, but never like this. Never one that I could keep for myself. Smuggling bits and pieces home was one thing, but if anyone found a Shiver in my possession, my body would be the first to be hurled by the dead-carts into the dunes.

I brought the beautiful round of Cold closer to my face, entranced by its lovely sheen.

A part of me knew I might get away with keeping it. I could shave off pieces and share them with the rest of the Jadans in my barracks. I could tinker with it for hours.

Maybe even use it for my Idea.

My fingers trembled as I weighed my options. This was a once in a lifetime find. Once in a hundred lifetimes. My vision went light, my body swaying beneath me as my balance faltered. Taskmasters were out there, and I had to decide quickly.

My forehead beaded with more of my namesake sweat, my heart throbbing with the terrible decision.

I tossed the Shiver back on the pile, seething with frustration.

I’d heard enough warnings throughout my life about us Jadans trying to keep any Cold for ourselves. Often these stories ended in curses that melted our eyes, and angry spirits rising up from the deepest cracks of the Great Divide to carry us back into the darkness. I had never seen anything like this happen in real life, but I didn’t want to chance it. The World Crier had taken Cold away from Jadankind for a reason, and who were we to go against eight hundred years of punishment?

I turned away from the Shiver to avoid any further temptation, when, for the second time that evening, my heart nearly stopped.

A figure was watching me from the rooftops. Her braided hair framed a Jadan face hardened by thought, and I could tell she had been watching me for some time, her focus directed on my Claw Staff rather than on the Shiver.

I froze, guilty about my temptation. But before I could say anything, she moved, darting off into the night.

I climbed back to the nearest ledge to get another glimpse of her. But what I saw next made my jaw drop even more than finding the Cold.

The girl was running, proud, high, and fast, her back completely straight for all the taskmasters in Paphos to see.

Jadans didn’t run like that, ever. We were inferior, and we were supposed to show it at all times. Her posture was an outright scandal, and my back ached just watching her move.

By the time I caught my footing she was half a dozen rooftops away, her spine as straight and rigid as a plank of wood. Surely she’d be spotted. Surely this would be her last night racing along the rooftops. I sighed, praying that her death might be quick.

I crouched down once again and started crawling home. I’d gathered enough materials for the night anyway.

I tiptoed around Gramble’s guardhouse, making sure the sound of crunching sand under my toes was minimal. My Barracksmaster turned a blind eye to my night runs, but that was all he could do. If he caught me in the act, the Khat’s law required punishment for both of us.

I inched towards the loose panel in the wall of my barracks. Taking one last look up at the sky, my eyes searched for Sister Gale within the flurry of stars. She was bright and shining, blowing tonight’s air cooler than most nights, and I gave Her a quick nod of thanks.

The panel into my barracks came away easily, and I slipped inside mine and my father’s private room. The cracks in the ceiling let in just enough starlight for me to make my way to bed.

Abb, my father, was already lying on top of his blanket, dreaming. I hovered over him for a moment, noting the terrible new angle in his nose. The side of his face was puffy, and in the morning, I knew his eyes would be ringed in crusty purple bruises.

Most nights when I chanced sneaking into the heart of Paphos, I’d come home to find him waiting up for me, ready to eagerly appraise each new piece of treasure and ask what I planned to use it for. I couldn’t wait for the morning, as I was dying to tell him about both Shiver and the girl.

I reached out and placed the almonds I’d found beside his bed. Then, I reached into my bag to sort through my treasure. My new metal links rattled as I filed them away, but Abb didn’t stir. He must have had a long shift over at the Pyramid.

Having tidied my treasures into their respective holes in the ground, I settled onto my blanket and closed my eyes. My remaining few hours were spent dreaming of Cold.

I awoke with a start to my father hovering over me, smiling as he crunched the almonds.

‘You didn’t wake me,’ he said reproachfully, wincing as he chewed.

I sat up, blinking away the images of long hair and an unseemly posture. I stretched from side to side as I drank in the morning light which filtered through the slats in the roof. I could already tell the Sun wouldn’t be taking it easy on us today. The air inside the room was already stifling, thick with the sky’s hatred.

‘You were asleep,’ I said.

‘Well, that happens every night,’ replied Abb, swallowing the last almond. ‘Not a good excuse.’

I raised an eyebrow. As I’d guessed, the bruises now marked his face. ‘Looked like you needed it.’

He ignored my comment, changing the subject instead. ‘So, what did you find?’ he asked, poking me gently in the chest.

The memory of the Shiver shot back into my mind. ‘I—’

He held up a hand. ‘On second thoughts, I believe I can figure it out by myself.’

‘You’re not going to guess—’

He held a finger up to his lips, a playful look in his eyes. ‘I said I can figure it out. You certainly didn’t learn your listening skills from me, Little Builder.’

The name was one of my father’s continuous jokes, referring both to my inventing and the fact that I still had many years to go before I was assigned to become a Builder like himself. I liked it a lot better than my other nickname.

I shrugged, blinking the sleep away from my mind. My body pleaded for more, but there was nothing I could do until later. Thinking about my new finds, I assured myself the sluggishness was a worthy price.

Abb walked over to my tinker-wall, bearing down upon the stores of materials. I’d dug different ditches for each type, and his fingers swept along the space above the piles.

‘Ah, a new chisel,’ he remarked, pointing to the tool pile. ‘Good find.’

I nodded, my mouth dry and dusty. I tried to dredge up the sweet taste of candy dust, but crawling around all night had given thirst control over my cheeks. I was eager for the bells to ring so we could start our rations, as my head was throbbing from lack of water.

‘Lusty metal,’ Abb said humorously, staring down at the chains. ‘One day you’ll be old enough to understand that joke.’

‘Links,’ I corrected, rolling my eyes. ‘And I understand it just fine.’

He winked, giving me a knowing smile before bending over the pile of jars, fingers snatching something off the top. ‘Where’d you get this?’

He turned around, something foreign in his grip.

At first glance I didn’t recognize what he was holding up. The golden-hued vial was unblemished, and I didn’t remember picking up anything like it. The jars in my stash were usually empty and broken, and I turned the decent ones into medicine vials for Abb. This one, however, looked as if it belonged on the display shelves of an apothecary. The sleep was still thick in my brain and I couldn’t come up with an answer.