Neth 10, 4712 (night, Iqaliat)

Ameiko and I spent a little time in the village square this afternoon, generally taking a break from the caravan preparations. Most of them had been done before we left for Unaimo, anyway, and we were about to spend two months—possibly more—in complete isolation. No matter my feelings about Iqaliat, I wanted some time around people before leaving in the morning. We sat and talked as the villagers went about their business in the glow of the torches both magical and mundane that dotted its perimeter, and protected from the cold by the spells on the sashimonos which stood guard at opposite ends. Most of them made a point to look at us and smile as they walked by, and a few spoke to us either in greeting or in thanks.

We were talking about nothing of consequence when she unexpectedly switched to Tien and said, casually, “You have an admirer.

The sudden change in topic and language caught me off guard, and I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “Excuse me?”

“An admirer. You have one.”

“Please.”

“I’m serious. He’s been watching you from across the square for a while now. Don’t look right at him, silly! Be discreet.” She admonished me when I turned my head to see who she was talking about. A little more nonchalantly, I looked around as if taking in the village. There was a young Erutaki man sitting on the other side of the square that looked away as my gaze swept across him, but in my peripheral vision I could see him turn back.

“He’s probably looking at you,” I said.

She smirked at me. “Ooohhh, no. It’s you he’s trying to work up the courage to talk to.”

“Pfft. How can you be sure?”

Smiling mischievously, she stood up abruptly and said, “Let’s find out, shall we?” And before I could object, she walked across the square to where he was sitting, spoke to him briefly, then strode off into the darkness towards the front gate. She had not gone more than a half dozen paces before he got up and approached me. I am going to kill her, I remember thinking. I am pretty sure Suishen will understand.

“Unnusakkut, Kali. I am Anerk. It is an honor to meet you,” he said, kneeling at my feet. My face suddenly felt very hot; I must have turned beet red. Somewhere out there, Ameiko was probably watching this scene and laughing. Death is too good for her.

He was just a kid, probably only a couple of years older than Ivan. He limped slightly on his left leg as he walked. I didn’t ask. I probably already knew the answer, anyway.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Anerk,” I replied. I gave him a smile that I hoped was friendly but not encouraging.

“I want to thank you for saving our village.”

I bowed my head slightly. “You’re welcome. It’s terrible what happened here. We knew we had to help.”

He looked down at the ground for a moment, long enough that the silence was awkward. Finally, he said, “I wanted to thank you during the celebration, but Ivan did not know where I could find—”

“It’s OK,” I said, cutting him off. I really didn’t want to know what “thanking me” would have entailed that night. He looked up again, looking right at me. He had that sort of nervousness that comes from talking to someone that you have a crush on. Way, way too good. 

“Ivan says you stood face to face with the dragon. You were very brave to confront her with no armor.”

Personally, I could think of a few other words for that and none of them were as flattering. Still, I felt like I was being placed on a pedestal or something here and I was not comfortable with it, or where this might be headed.

“I am not defenseless, Anerk.”

He winced slightly at that. It must have come out harsher than I’d intended.

“I did not mean to offend. Of course you have magic.” He stopped there, suddenly reminded of Tunuak, I am sure. Another awkward silence followed.

Then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Is it true what they say? That he smashed her eggs?”

“Yes, he did.”

His expression turned somber. “I can understand her rage.”

“Yes. But…it was not going to stop. She didn’t care about justice; only wrath. She was going to level this village, then move on to the next. And then the next.”

He nodded. “And—”

“Kali! Sandru needs you!” Ameiko was crossing the square, coming to my rescue with perfect timing. The kind of timing that is manufactured. Sandru absolutely did not need me.

“I’m sorry, Anerk. It was a pleasure to speak with you, but I must go.”

“Tavvaujutit, Kali. Naammaktsiarit.”

Later, I learned from Ivan that his family was killed in the first attack on the village. So, naturally, now I feel like a heel.

Neth 11, 4712 (night, the ice)

Ulf is confident he can get us to this Storm Tower. It sounds so easy when you just say it like that, but it’s just one structure standing alone in thousands of square miles of frozen nothingness. Sonavut says it’s closer to the Alabastrine Peaks, which you would think would be hard to miss, but day and night are one and the same now, and under overcast skies the landscape is an ink so black we’d never see them on the horizon.

But, as I said, Ulf is confident he can get us there. I don’t know how, but this right here is why we hired a guide and if he says he can do it then he can do it. Who am I to argue?

What are we going to find there? The paintings in Tunuak’s makeshift altar are vague, even the one of the woman Katiyana. He depicted her as essentially human, only blue-skinned with black wings, and I don’t know what this means. The only blue-skinned beings I have seen that could otherwise pass as human are the yamah that occasionally visit Magnimar, and something about Tunuak’s depiction of her (and, of course, the whole connection to Sithhud) just doesn’t say “azata” to me. A tiefling, perhaps? Geniekin? (Aasimar? But what are the odds of there being two Nualias in my lifetime?) Not that it matters; I am just curious. Whatever she is, if the elders of Iqaliat are right, we are likely to encounter either her or her sway.

The Nameless Spires are supposedly the ruins of an ancient civilization, one that even predates Thassilon (which is as far back as my knowledge of history goes). The Storm Tower is rumored to be much like the spires of that place, only off by itself because…because otherwise, it’d not have a name, I guess. If Katiyana really is responsible for the growing ferocity of the storms, then it stands to reason that the tower, itself, figures into her plans. Perhaps she is harnessing some ancient magic or power that was once dormant inside, or maybe the purpose of the tower was to influence the weather and she has merely appropriated it for her scheme with Sithhud.

Sithhud. Not much is written about him. Legend says his domain was taken from him by another demon lord. Clashes among the ranks of the Lords and the Gods are rare, but decisive ones are even more so.

I imagine he did not take it well.

Neth 14, 4712 (evening, the High Ice)

We have reached the High Ice. Honestly, it mostly looks the same as the regular ice (the low ice?) except of course that it’s higher, and the only reason I know we’re here now is because Skygni said he’d accompany us this far and today is the day he took his leave.

The air has been getting thinner as we climb in altitude. The whole ice shelf slopes upwards towards the north, and every day it is a little harder to breathe than it was the day before, and we are a little quicker to tire. Ulf says it takes about a month to adjust to the conditions, and we’ll have to decide soon how we want to progress: stop and camp, travel slowly, or just push on. Strictly speaking there is nothing wrong with doing the last one—we are just as vulnerable spending that month traveling as we are sitting still—except for that part where we’d reach the Storm Tower still short of breath and easily exhausted.

Our progress has been slow thanks to the storm that rolled through on our way to the dragon’s lair and buried the ice road in several inches of snow. Of course snow doesn’t melt in subzero weather, but eventually the wind blows it off the shelf into warmer zones. “Eventually” just hasn’t happened yet.

Neth 19, 4712 (evening, the High Ice)

I am really feeling the effects of the altitude now, along with everyone else. We’ve chosen the “slow travel” option, and will be moving the caravan one or two days out of every week for the next month. This will keep us from going stir crazy without running the risk of pushing ourselves and the animals to the point of exhaustion. It’s not ideal as no one wants to spend this much time just camped in the middle of nowhere, but we are all too aware of our physical limits and know it’s the right thing to do.

It’s beautiful up here in it’s own way.

Nihali is less impressed. The magical devices I made keep us warm most days, but the spell that powers them has limits and every so often it is cold or windy enough to exceed them. She is forced to stay wrapped up in one of the covered wagons until these cold snaps pass.

Neth 25, 4712 (afternoon? evening? daytime? who can tell?)

A wagon axle broke today. The constant buildup of ice had made it brittle and that was that. Fortunately, we have plenty of wainwrights among us and their knowledge plus a few spells had us back up and moving in short order.

It’s not enough to mend broken objects with spells. This is something I learned long ago watching the occasional repairs in mom and dad’s warehouse. An axle, for example, is but one piece in a system of moving parts, and there is more to the repair than just making the spindle whole again: the surrounding pieces must inspected for secondary damage and the whole unit properly reassembled. It takes skilled hands and a skilled eye. It also takes time. Spells just accelerate some of the steps.

It’s been three months since I sent my last message home. Do they worry about me? I think they must, even though they know not to expect to hear from me again for several more weeks. I purchased a scroll in Kalsgard for a spell that, if I understand it correctly, I can use to see them and even exchange whispered messages, but it’s still beyond my ability. Every few days I give it another try—I want to learn it, not cast it—but progress has been agonizingly slow.

Kuthona 6, 4712 (night, the High Ice)

A couple of nights ago we were attacked by one of those glowing lizard things Skygni had warned us about. We’ve seen a couple of them from a distance since reaching the Crown, but this was our first close-up encounter. Qatana and I were on watch when we saw it streaking across the sky, only instead of circling in the distance it made a turn in our direction. We had just gotten everyone woken up as it passed overhead.

Skygni said that they were dangerous, but not precisely how so we had to learn the hard way. Olmas, once again, was critically hurt. After the fight was over, we determined that it probably sensed the world entirely through sound much as a bat does, only it could also send out sonic pulses in far greater strength and intensity than needed for navigation. This is what struck Olmas. And a few others. And our encampment.

It stands to reason that some of the creatures that live up here have adapted to the long winter night by not needing to see at all. We’ll have to be mindful of this.

Kuthona 12, 4712 (night, the High Ice)

I am not tiring as quickly and as easily as I used to which probably means were are close to having adjusted to the altitude, if not there already. As soon as Sandru and Ulf give the word, we’ll head to the Storm Tower at our full speed.

When skies are clear, we can just make out the Alabastrine peaks under the stars, far on the horizon. It shouldn’t be much longer.

Sparna presented me with a gift. It was one of the nicest, most thoughtful things anyone outside of my family has ever done for me. He said it was in thanks for a spell I’ve been casting for him every few days, but this goes far beyond that.

Some time ago he asked to borrow my crossbow, which I hardly ever use—I think the last time was in Brinewall—and when he returned it, it had been enchanted in a way that I had not thought possible. Bolts shot from it no longer draw blood. When he explained this to me I thought I was going to start crying right in front of him. Few people understand. I mean really understand. Ameiko, Qatana and Koya, for sure, but Sparna?

I actually thought he didn’t like me all that much. You just get that sense, you know? But as I get older the more I am coming to understand that I’m just not any good at reading people. I’ve also come to terms with the fact that I was not a particularly pleasant person to be around when I was a child. I was quick to anger, easy to offend, and prone to small outbursts. I still have shades of all three. I am my own worst enemy at times.

Crystalhue, 4712 (evening, Alabastrine Peaks)

Sandru took the caravan to within a few miles of the Storm Tower and then brought us to a halt. I don’t blame him. The first priority is to keep Ameiko safe, and that means keeping the caravan safe. We will set out on foot early in the morning.

There’s no question we are at the right place. A strange, blue glow emanates from the top of the tower and it was this light that guided us in. As Sonavut and Iqaliat’s chief had told us, storms swirl about its spire even when the weather is clear around us. The tower seemingly gives birth to each morozoku, feeds it until it is weaned, then sends into the perpetually night sky. The blue light from the tower illuminates the cycle for us to see, reflecting off the snow on the ground and the peaks on the mountains, and bathing everything in a soft, violet light.

Today is Crystalhue. There is no sunlight to shine through my prisms and no community festival to attend, but there is the central fire where the caravan is encamped, the magically-enhanced lanterns that provide our light, and of course my friends. I took out the small, glass and crystal bead sun catcher that I purchased in Kalsgard before we left, and hung it from the covered wagon so that I could watch the fire sparkle through it as the others ate. In memory of Asvig and in honor of Helva.

It is somewhat apropos that we have come here on the winter solstice.

Kuthona 22, 4712 (morning, the Storm Tower)

The Storm Tower rises some three hundred feet into the air, a hexagonal column of basalt cut like glass growing out of a pool of black slush. A ball of blue light crackles at its apex, feeding a budding storm overhead.

We’ve seen the slush before. According to Ulf, it’s a common sight around the Crown of the World and is one of the region’s more deadly hazards: a highly toxic, poisonous sludge that flows out of cracks in the ice. Its source seems to be the Nameless Spires, but what created it is a mystery.

We weren’t really sure what we’d find here; I reserved some of the mental energy I use for learning spells so that I could adapt to the situation at hand. Just a couple of months ago, I couldn’t afford to do this because I needed every spell I could possibly learn each morning, but as my abilities grow I find that each one takes less effort to commit to memory. I spent some time preparing for the assault on the third level now that we know what it is that we don’t know.

While I did this, the others began the tedious task of pulling gems out of the walls. This room is filled with them, the stones connected by an intricate network of wire. The crystalline entities that were inside seemed to be operating or maintaining this bizarre display as though it were some sort of machinery, but of course there is no mechanism. Just the gemstones, wire and magic of a type that I could not identify or even make sense of. How long have they been here? What were they doing? What was the room’s purpose? We have no answers, but this could very well date back to when the tower was created; the crystalline beings eternally performing a duty that has not been relevant for thousands of years.

The remorhaz were more recent occupants. Both bore the mark of Sithhud, each etched into one of their scales. Someone (Katiyana?) purposely brought them here, almost certainly to serve as guards for what lies above us. It was a lovely trap that produced a tense moment for Ivan.

We keep getting tripped up by the unexpected.

Much like the ground floor. A giant, carnivorous flower had taken root. How it manages to survive here with, I assume, no source of food is a mystery (another reason why I miss Etayne). Qatana got “swallowed” whole (do carnivorous flowers swallow? Is that even the right term?) and ejected in a constricting, digestive pod. I’ve never seen anything so alien. We had to literally cut her out of it to save her life.

The others are almost done collecting gems. It is time to move.