Herald of Winter's Chill

Eira Astair, a bard by trade, stood outside the Alabaster Arrow, pouting. Her performance had not gone as planned, but it was far from the worst she had ever given. She took solace in that, breathing deep the chill night air. Drifts of fresh-fallen snow blew gently in the light wind. Eira was at home in the icy chill of newly fallen snow. A winter spirit, the cold did not bother her like other mortals. Holding her hand to catch a few flakes, they didn’t melt. The cold was why she ventured to Illux City in the first place. It was mesmerizing this time of year, with its towers covered in glittering frost and ice. Walking with her lute in hand, she begins plucking a few strings.

Just as she likes it, citizens have abandoned the streets, the chill and winds discomforting everyone else. Her plucking turns to melody as she crosses the bridge in the center of town. It is just loud enough to mask the crunch of footsteps behind her. She begins adding words, weaving the two together in a viable way for her next performance. Dropping her lute so it would hang by its strap, she removed a simple journal and a piece of charcoal from her belt. She began writing notes and bars, lyrics with the tune and melody. Eira momentarily tweaked it until satisfied, singing the words in her soft, melodic voice.

Unknown to her, a man follows in the shadows, just far enough behind her not to draw attention. As she moves on, drawing nearer to the city’s edge, she pauses again. This time, she looks up at the stars. Here is his opportunity. Like an owl hunting at night, the little snow mouse won’t make a peep as he captures her if he does his job well. Sneaking up behind her, he wraps his trunk-like arms around her and begins to squeeze. Her light frame is no match for such a vise; the air flees from her lungs and will not return. He feels it as her hands uselessly claw at his skin. Then, her mind spins, and her body slacks.

Her captor’s giant hands quickly bind her hands and feet before slinging her over his shoulders like a felled doe. When her mind jolted back to attention, they were far within the wood. Her mind reeled for anything that would help her escape, scanning the surrounding snow-shrouded evergreens, but found none. The brute who bore her did not seem like the talkative type. Her lute was gone, and her belongings were at the inn. Eira had never once felt unsafe in Illux city, though she supposed there was a first time for everything.

Her heart beat rapidly within her breast like a hare caught in a trap, but she kept her voice calm and even, “You don’t have to keep carrying me. I can walk.”

“No,” He grunted without hesitation or explanation; he only carried her further into the forest upon a path known only to him.

“Please, I have companions back in the city who will worry about me. I have a performance in a couple of hours.”

The man chuckled, jostling her upon his broad shoulder, “How long you think you’ve been out? Quiet.”

Eira obeyed, clearing her throat, but her silence only lasted so long. She began to hum a comforting tune beneath her breath. Worrying her lip, she wonders if a song might soothe the brute bearing her away and lull him into a stupor. But, before she can act, something zooms by her cheek and embeds itself in the brute’s shoulder. He howls and drops Eira onto a fresh bed of snow. Another arrow and another seem to hurl from the black beyond the trees. As far as Eira can discern, they are glimmering bolts of silver ice.

A statuesque woman, almost as well as the evergreens next to her, slips from the shadows, shimmering as if carved from pure ice. She knocks another arrow and trains it upon Eira’s captor. The large man fell as quickly as a hunter might slay a deer. The moonlight glimmers off the woman’s skin of living ice as she appreciates the splashes of crimson against the fresh snow. Then, her empty eyes of frosted ice fall upon Eira.

A chill deeper than Eira might have felt before shoots through her body. Her muscles seize and harden, and a dull ache emanates from her bones. Eira felt ice shards within her very marrow. Unable to avert her eyes, she met the woman’s gaze, who slid silently toward her. Only then did Eira glimpse the majesty with which she held herself and clad in frigid luxury. She must have been the queen of the winter’s chill, the lady of ice, and Eira was suddenly unsure if she was her executioner or savior.

“You are a pretty thing, winter spirit; who are you?” The woman commanded, but her voice was little more than a whisper of chill wind across Eira’s ear.

Eira could not answer; her tongue felt frozen to the roof of her mouth. All she managed was a trembling exhale, and the woman seemed pleased as what appeared to be the vapor of Eira’s last warmth.

“What a pretty thing,” The woman of ice stated, reaching down with a hand of living ice. She tilted Eira’s chin up to scrutinize it, “Surely you did not wish to die today. Make a deal with me,” Her voice whispered again, her angular face breaking into a cordial smile, “I have saved your life, and you owe me a debt. I propose your life for your beauty and unwavering obedience. Do you accept?”

Eira might have squirmed uncomfortably beneath her frigid gaze, but the bitter cold occupied her mind with shards of ice as they tore through her veins. Of course, Eira did not want to die. Her self-preservations screamed for her to run, to get as far away from this woman as possible, but where would she run? How would she run? Eira could no longer feel her legs or her arms. Danger had not yet passed. She yearned to be comforted but would receive none.

“Little winter spirit, it is a good deal. I am the Maiden of Frost, Winter’s Chill Bite, and the last embrace of frozen demise. I alone have the power to save you now, as you have found yourself in my embrace.” Winter’s Chill stood and looked around the clearing, “But you will have to work for it. Prove to me you want to live. Fight against my ice and stand. Accept my deal, and I will protect you until the time comes for me to collect my bounty.”

Eira knew the stakes, but her body would shatter if she tried to stand. She could not feel her body, but she had to try. Summoning her courage and strength, she willed herself to move forward and found she could. Every motion was agony as the biting cold became worse. The parts of her body she could not feel did not stretch or support her like she needed them to, but eventually, she got onto her knees. Her back was trembling as she straightened it.

“Look at that,” The Winter’s Chill mocked, “I offer you your life, and you offer me a half measure of obedience. I said stand.”

Eira felt herself shoot up, outside her power, to her feet as she stood before the Winter’s Chill.

“Excellent, now curtsy,” Winter’s Chill commanded, and Eira’s body had no option other than compliance. She curtsied, “Beautfiul, littel winter spirit, my little doll.” She sounded delighted, and Eira felt wights of shackles upon her.

Whether Eira said it aloud or not, she was this woman’s thrall, her little plaything for so long as it amused her. Eira still found she could not speak before Winter’s chill. The bindings slackened slightly. Would she take everything she wanted from Eira immediately?

As if the Lady of Winter’s Chill knew Eira’s question, she tutted and walked forward, “No, little doll, I will not take what you owe just yet. I have plans for you,” she said. She came behind Eira and stroked her hair, whispering, “You will leave this clearing, go about your life as you had planned, but you will be my herald. Spread warni9ngs far and wide of my coming so that I may taste their anticipatory fear when I arrive.”

Eira nodded as the woman put her hands on Eira’s shoulders, “I also bestow upon you my boon of protection. I cannot have my herald put in danger again. Leave this place. When next we meet, I will come to you.”

Within a blast of wind, Eira felt like the chill might tear the flesh from her bones. She found herself standing before her lute in a pool of moonlight. I was where she had dropped it. The only proof of Eira’s obduction was the oversized boot prints, snow accumulation, and a cold within Eira that would not retreat no matter how close she sat to the fire. Eira would spend many subsequent nights meditating on the knowledge that her life, as she knew it, had ended.

Wandering on from Illux City, she found herself on the road to another city, abandoning her companions to follow the melodic whisper of the bitter winter winds. The Winter's Chill was coming, and Illux City would be the first crystalized in her embrace. So began the age of Ice that would soon swallow the world.