Frost

Naamah ran. She saw the forest ahead and knew that, if she made it to the border, she would be safe. She heard the hounds behind her and the shout of a man. Her father. With tears streaming down her face, Naamah ran even faster, ignoring the bushes that scraped her skin as she fled past them. When the noise quieted to the fall of her own feet and her own sobbing, she slowed down. She then began to navigate the forest with care, searching for a little waterfall.

With the black of night over the world, the shaded forest should have been pitch black. It was glowing. Many types of fungi and lichen emitted a radiance that could only be described as magical. Almost immediately she came across a little forest path. Naamah let her feet tread it while her mind wandered. Her mother and two sisters were dead. Her father had killed them. Her brother had left home years ago. She was all that was left, and she was alone.

As she contemplated this, Naamah came to the waterfall. Its clamor hid her sobbing. Rolling up her leggings and removing her soft shoes Naamah waded into the frigid water. Her toes gripped the slick stones as she slowly made her way to the waterfall’s base. Taking in a huge gulp of air, she dove through the pounding water. She burst through into a cave, lit with glowing moss.

Naamah had discovered the cave while swimming at the base of the waterfall. She had never told anyone else about it. Shivering, she reached behind a large boulder and grabbed the towel she had stashed there. As she dried off, she began to feel sleepy and trudged down one of the long natural corridors to a small cave, grabbing an unlit torch from its makeshift holder as she went. In this cave were many things that even a peasant could not gather.

A soft pallet covered in furs was against the far wall. Next to this was a small table that held a singular dining set. A large cleft in the rocks provided a keeping place for the clothes and the flint and steel that she had boughten. The two streams, one hot, one cold, would provide Naamah with drinking and washing water. A rich carpet adorned the rough floor.

Her father was rich and had given her an allowance. She had spent most of it on furnishings for her cave, and the rest for candy. She hadn’t intended to use this shelter to run away, just to play in. Her father never suspected, never guessed she bought anything but candy. How wrong he was.

Naamah walked over to the cooler stream and bent down. Blindly, she plunged her hand in and came up with a water-tight container. Food. As she pried open the jar, Naamah felt the weight of the bag of coins that she had stolen from her father. As she ate cold mush and meat, Naamah reflected that she would hardly be able to walk into the town market to buy food. She would have to venture across the forest to buy provisions. That meant a whole day. A whole day with nothing but what she carried.

After pondering these things, Naamah closed the container with only half the food eaten. She placed it in the river and crawled over to her pallet. Almost as soon as she lay down, she fell asleep.

The days that followed were mundane. Eat, wash, sleep. Eat, wash, sleep. Not the Naamah could complain. She was alive and she was healthy. Had she stayed at home just one day longer, she would be dead. Yes, being alive was definitely preferable to being dead. She had much to be thankful for.

When market day came, Naamah trudged through the silent forest. The bag of coins jingled at her waist. The forest was cool and damp, untouched by the scorching sun. For hours she walked, taking a small sip of water as she needed it. In the evening she reached the small village. She found an old tree and curled up at its roots. Sleep came.

When the sun rose, so did Naamah. Soon the village people woke and began a new day. They did not notice the strange figure with dark hair, standing at the eves of the forest. Naamah, plucking up her courage, stepped out of the shadows and entered the busy streets. She soon located the market.

After buying everything she needed, Naamah coerced a friendly family to let her sleep on their floor. When morning came she thanked them for their hospitality and started back through the forest. As she was weighted down with her purchases, Naamah’s progress was slower. Still, she reached her cave by the end of the day. What she saw there gave her quite a surprise.

An old woman, covered in rags, was sitting by a well-tended fire, over which was a pot. In the pot was stew. Naamah had not had warm stew in the many months since she had run away from her father. Warm, delicious, vegetable stew. The old woman looked up. “You look quite famished, dearie. Would you like some stew?” she inquired. “Yes! Yes, please!” Naamah replied.

After eating two bowls of the warm liquid, Naamah felt sleepy, right down to her toes. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, dearie. I wanted to draw a picture of you,” the old woman crooned. “You see, I used to be an artist, but famine came and no one would hire me. So I walk from my country to yours, doing odd jobs to earn my food. I would love to try my hand at it after all these years.” Naamah’s heart filled with pity for the wretched creature and quietly said, “ If it makes you happy, please, draw me. But let me change into a dress so that your drawing will look nice.” The old woman smiled, said, “ Take all the time you need,” and turned around.

Naamah sluggishly changed into a nice dress and combed her hair. She then called to the old woman, “You can turn around now.” Upon seeing Naamah, the old woman’s eyes glistened and she began to cry. “I haven’t seen such a beautiful subject in all my life. You will be a pleasure to draw.”

With that, the woman withdrew from her pocket a battered notebook and a piece of charcoal. “Now, just the right position. Hmm.” She then poked in her pocket and brought out a small, crystalline ovoid, tapered to a point at both the top and the bottom. This she handed to Naamah. “Hold your arm high above you and to the front,” she ordered. Naamah complied. “Peer upwards, like this glass in emitting light,” she again commanded. Naamah looked upwards toward her hand. “Perfect!” the old woman screeched. With that, she sat down and began to draw. As soon as the charcoal touched the paper, Naamah’s legs felt cold. As the old woman kept drawing the chill crept upwards until it touched her face. Naamah tried to yawn. She couldn’t. The old woman got up and cackled. “Soon you will join my collection! My real art is in ice, you know.”

Then Naamah breathed no more. She didn’t need to. Naamah was ice. Before her eyes, Naamah watched the old woman transform into a young woman. The woman crooned, “Soon, soon I will wake you up in a new world. Until then, meet my other works of art.”

A swirl of mist enveloped Naamah. When it cleared, she was in a large, dimly light cave. Her statue had changed. Her dress was shorter, her hair was longer, and around her ankle was a chain. She was chained to a rock.

The woman appeared suddenly next to Naamah. “You will have a new life,” she said, “as the guardian of the abyss.” As she spoke, a cleft appeared in the rock. It grew deeper and deeper. A bridge formed. “When the time comes, you will wake and you will guard this bridge. Forever.” After she said these things, the woman disappeared. Naamah was left alone with a body of frost at the edge of the great abyss.