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Authors: Jack Massa
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the brilliance of sunlight and snow. Karrol and Brinda had already skated out to sea. Lonn peered for a moment before spotting them, tiny specks receding in the glimmering distance.
Eben volunteered to go inland, to apprise the village elders of what had happened and to ask them to take the windbringers if his klarn did not return. He bid his mates good hunting and marched over the rise toward the center of the isle. Lonn and Draven stepped and skidded down the slope to where the dojuk had been moored.
The witchlight made the sea ice gleam even more brightly than the snow-covered land. Lonn and Draven sat at the edge of the trench and took the skates from their belts. The double blades of ivory fit snugly against the soles of their boots, but Lonn's fingers were stiff, their movements inept. He was still fumbling with the straps when Draven stood, muttered his farewell and skated off. He would circle the island to the east, leaving Lonn the western leg.
Alone in the huge silence, Lonn fought down a rising surge of futility and despair. He swore and tugged at the leather straps and finally got them tied. He rose clumsily and started off, skating inside the trench. The vapory sealight hovered about his ankles. Momentarily, the effortless gliding made him feel a little better.
The snow that fell during the squall had been transformed by the glowing enchantment of the sea into hard, skateable ice. This change took time, the radiant power seeping up, melting and then refreezing the snowfall. The trench could only have been formed by an interruption of this change, the layer of new snow cleared away so the dojuk could ride the solid ice beneath.
How strong a wind would be needed to move so much snow? Lonn shook his head. How could he and his mates hope to fight an enemy with such power?
A hundred yards from shore he stopped and turned. Ilga was a white hump rising from the pale blue luminescence of the sea-ice. Here and there dark details could be discerned, a wall of rock too steep for the snow to cling to, the two brown domes of the lodge house, only partly covered in white. Farther inland, columns of gray smoke drifted up from the chimneys of the village.
Skating east, Draven had already circled out of sight. Lonn stepped from the trench and started west.
The orange sun was past the top of the sky when Lonn and Draven skated back to the shore in front of the lodge house. They had met on the far side of the island, then circled back together. Eben stood on the beach waiting for them.
"No boats," Lonn told him. "We follow Karrol and Brinda on skates."
"And hope for the best," Draven added.
As soon as Eben had his skates on they headed out to sea. The trench ran straight and level, the smooth ice within perfect for skating. The Iruks lengthened their strides. Bent low, they swung their arms, gaining speed with every stroke. A gust of wind blew up behind them, moaning in their ears.
After a while Lonn glanced back and saw that Ilga was gone, lost in the shimmering blue-white veil that hung upon the world. There were other islands off to his right, but none could be made out in the brilliance. It was like a dream, he thought, this mad flight on skates out to sea, in an icy trench that could not have been made by nature, with the same maddening vista everywhere. It was much like the weird, incomprehensible dreams that haunted him sometimes.
His empty belly rumbled with hunger. His legs in their fur leggings were drenched in sweat. He wished he could discard the heavy cape at least, but he knew he would need it later, in the freezing night.
The cold breeze remained steady in the south. This at least was fortunate. So long as a southerly blew there was little chance of a meltwind.
The mates kept skating, pushing the measured strides into their legs. In Second Winter, when ice was constant and there was often little wind for sailing, the Iruks were accustomed to skating long hauls from island to island, or making a circuit
Eben volunteered to go inland, to apprise the village elders of what had happened and to ask them to take the windbringers if his klarn did not return. He bid his mates good hunting and marched over the rise toward the center of the isle. Lonn and Draven stepped and skidded down the slope to where the dojuk had been moored.
The witchlight made the sea ice gleam even more brightly than the snow-covered land. Lonn and Draven sat at the edge of the trench and took the skates from their belts. The double blades of ivory fit snugly against the soles of their boots, but Lonn's fingers were stiff, their movements inept. He was still fumbling with the straps when Draven stood, muttered his farewell and skated off. He would circle the island to the east, leaving Lonn the western leg.
Alone in the huge silence, Lonn fought down a rising surge of futility and despair. He swore and tugged at the leather straps and finally got them tied. He rose clumsily and started off, skating inside the trench. The vapory sealight hovered about his ankles. Momentarily, the effortless gliding made him feel a little better.
The snow that fell during the squall had been transformed by the glowing enchantment of the sea into hard, skateable ice. This change took time, the radiant power seeping up, melting and then refreezing the snowfall. The trench could only have been formed by an interruption of this change, the layer of new snow cleared away so the dojuk could ride the solid ice beneath.
How strong a wind would be needed to move so much snow? Lonn shook his head. How could he and his mates hope to fight an enemy with such power?
A hundred yards from shore he stopped and turned. Ilga was a white hump rising from the pale blue luminescence of the sea-ice. Here and there dark details could be discerned, a wall of rock too steep for the snow to cling to, the two brown domes of the lodge house, only partly covered in white. Farther inland, columns of gray smoke drifted up from the chimneys of the village.
Skating east, Draven had already circled out of sight. Lonn stepped from the trench and started west.
The orange sun was past the top of the sky when Lonn and Draven skated back to the shore in front of the lodge house. They had met on the far side of the island, then circled back together. Eben stood on the beach waiting for them.
"No boats," Lonn told him. "We follow Karrol and Brinda on skates."
"And hope for the best," Draven added.
As soon as Eben had his skates on they headed out to sea. The trench ran straight and level, the smooth ice within perfect for skating. The Iruks lengthened their strides. Bent low, they swung their arms, gaining speed with every stroke. A gust of wind blew up behind them, moaning in their ears.
After a while Lonn glanced back and saw that Ilga was gone, lost in the shimmering blue-white veil that hung upon the world. There were other islands off to his right, but none could be made out in the brilliance. It was like a dream, he thought, this mad flight on skates out to sea, in an icy trench that could not have been made by nature, with the same maddening vista everywhere. It was much like the weird, incomprehensible dreams that haunted him sometimes.
His empty belly rumbled with hunger. His legs in their fur leggings were drenched in sweat. He wished he could discard the heavy cape at least, but he knew he would need it later, in the freezing night.
The cold breeze remained steady in the south. This at least was fortunate. So long as a southerly blew there was little chance of a meltwind.
The mates kept skating, pushing the measured strides into their legs. In Second Winter, when ice was constant and there was often little wind for sailing, the Iruks were accustomed to skating long hauls from island to island, or making a circuit
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