《Umbra》


 Prologue

    To the kid, June was a monster. Half swallowed by darkness, she was a strange chimeric combination of beauty and horror. Her sparkling leotard, specially made to flash and sparkle in the spotlight as she flew above stunned audiences, now seemed as if was holding her together. From the waist down, and from one elbow to wrist, she still boasted the tanned skin and lean muscle that had made her a spectacle all her life. But the rest of her looked as if someone had somehow draped clothes onto an artist''s sculpture of a beautiful woman rendered in pitch black clay.


    The sun was setting, night coming on like a stalker as boy and monster faced off. June flexed and relaxed one gloved hand around the wooden stock of her gun. It would be so easy. The kid wasn''t even 10 yards off. She raised the gun, earning a shriek from the child, and took aim at his chest. The heady rush of anticipation filled her with confidence even as he bolted. One squeeze of the trigger was all it would take, and she would be free and clear.


    June, a voice echoed from her memory.Please, end this.


    Her hand suddenly wasn''t so steady. It wobbled as the wind gusted, pushing the barrel off course. The same gust had knocked the kid off his feet. He scrambled to all fours in the snow, still not more than 15 yards out, and turned to look back at his attacker.


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    Wide, blue eyes regarded her with terror.


    "Fuck," June muttered to herself, correcting her aim to account for the wind. "They just had to be blue."


    Memories of another pair of blue eyes filled her vision. Of how they had begged her, in the end, to change. Blue eyes and blood in the darkness, and the flush of strength she had felt when this had all began. A strength that had now run out.


    With a wailing sob, June dropped the gun and fell to her knees. Guilt tore through her in an agonizing wave, and she raised her hands in surrender. The boy, having gained his feet again, was fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him.


    The patches of shadow cast across the snow by the waning sunlight stretched longer. June felt almost relieved when pain took hold of her bare feet. A shadow crawled up her leg, and the animalistic panic that would have sent her screaming in years prior did not come. The urge to survive had simply gone out of her, like a candle snuffed in the breeze. She stared down at her leotard - she had spent so long embellishing it this year - as her legs blurred into darkness.


    The pain was exquisite until the very end.

 One Week Til Dusk

    The ringmaster fastened the final golden button on his collar, just over his throat. He could hear the motley chorus of pre-show sounds echoing from the stage, a cacophony of shouts and discordant snatches of music that were as familiar to him as his own hands. He smiled. His crew always put their full effort into every performance, of course, but this evening there was no denying the extra buzz of excitement. A peal of laughter cut through the noise, reminding him of something that needed doing. With one final adjustment to his collar to ensure it was perfect, he left the dressing room.


    The dazzling, showman¡¯s grin he wore at every public appearance settled onto his features automatically as he picked his way through the chaotic backstage corridor, tipping his hat at anyone who acknowledged him (most were, thankfully, too busy).


    The main tent was massive, a point of pride belonging to the circus for at least two hundred years. It was set up non-traditionally, with the stage a half-moon shape on one end and the house seating in rows of risers arranged more like a theatre auditorium than anything else. Behind the stage a wide corridor ran all the way around, dotted with doors that led to various storage rooms, costume closets, dressing rooms, and a wider one that led to the animal staging area.


    Where the back corridor ended on each side of the stage, there were hallways that ran out like spokes from a wheel, leading to a cluster of smaller, satellite tents. It was towards one such tent that the Ringmaster headed, breathing deep as the scents of fried foods and butter replaced the sweat, paint, and booze perfume of the backstage corridor.


    Briefly, the sound of the waiting crowd could be heard drifting out of the main tent. Overlapping conversations as the audience waited for the show to begin. It was a sound that called to the Ringmaster like siren-song, but he made himself ignore it. There would be plenty of time for schmoozing later.


    Now at the door of a smaller tent, two security guard brutes with faces only a mother could love nodded The Ringmaster through. One of them growled his stage-name, Zephyr, by way of greeting.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Zephyr responded with a bow. The guards were not people he interacted with enough to know well. He thought one of their names started with a G. Luckily, they neither knew nor cared that their boss didn¡¯t know who they were.


    Warm, smoky air rushed out of the door as it opened. This tent was kept intentionally warm and dimly lit. He had gotten the idea from the casino in town. Keep the people comfortably confused about the time, and they stay and drink and ¨C most importantly ¨C spend.


    The private parlor was exclusive; the kind of place you had to be on a list to get into. While the patrons that frequented it were not the sophisticated upper class you might find in cities south of the wastes, these people were just as accustomed to a higher standard. They were typically the children of generational wealth, bored by the lack of risk in their day-to-day lives.


    They likely had woken up one morning and decided to make the pilgrimage North, suiting up with an expedition and more often than not paying some sad sap to do all the actual work of frontiering. To most of them, the carnival Kaamos was just a badge of achievement. Something to brag about to their friends later. They wanted to see it, but they did not want to hobnob with the common man. They wanted, needed something better.


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    The private parlor, typically referred to as just The Parlor, was borne from that need. Everything inside was ornate and expensive. There were secluded tables tucked into nooks along one wall, each hung with velvet drapes for privacy. A bar served as the centerpiece of the room, though, its mahogany surface polished to a high sheen so that it reflected the massive, glittering chandelier overhead.


    Only a few people sat at the bar at this hour, their nights just getting started. They would be well drunk by the time the show started. Zephyr spotted one of his performers lounging in a cloud of smoke near the back of the room, where a scattering of sofas, plush chairs, and caf¨¦ tables comprised the rest of the Parlor¡¯s seating. He felt a flash of irritation at the sight of his performer¡¯s arm slung around an unconscious woman.


    Shrill laughter pulled his attention to the right, and Zephyr¡¯s smile grew even wider. If the laugh was unmistakable, it was nothing compared to the woman it belonged to. She sat on a sofa against the far wall, where doors to private rooms alternated with cushioned smoking areas. Isa was, as ever, surrounded by a cluster of men with more blood in their loins than in their brain.


    She sat among them like an obscene idol being worshipped. Her enormous pale legs cascaded over the edge of the sofa, the skin of one nearly indistinguishable from the other. She seemed impossibly large; a rolled and dimpled white mound bursting in every direction. The pink bustier she wore strained at every seam against folds of thick flesh. Her arms were the width of most women''s entire bodies.


    She looked up as Zephyr approached. That round face, grotesque and seductive all at once, turned his stomach. Her plump lips parted in a smile that set her chins wobbling.


    ¡°Sir!¡± She exclaimed in that shrill, girly voice. ¡°Did you miss us?¡± One of her fat fingers found the lace top of her bustier, then traced its way down to where he could only guess her nipple must be smashed there between pounds of fat and thin cloth.


    ¡°Isa¡­¡± Zephyr filled his voice with feigned affection. ¡°You know you torture me with these temptations.¡± He leaned down towards her proffered hand, kissing one plump finger. Her skin was hot, and when he pulled back he could see a flush crawling up her neck.


    Movement in his peripheral nearly made him jump. A snake¡¯s head had appeared from Isa¡¯s curls, sliding with hypnotic slowness over the shelf formed by her ample breasts. Zephyr watched it for a moment, marveling at the indecency of it: that long serpentine body pressing against mound after mound of sweaty flesh. It wound its way down her side and down over a mountainous thigh, coiling there like a garter.


    More obscene, more tantalizing than the image of snake and skin was the erotic moan that left her lips as Zephyr reached out to stroke the snake¡¯s angular head. He suppressed the urge to recoil and instead winked at her, earning another trill of laughter.


    ¡°What¡¯s all this, sister?¡± A new voice, huskier than Isa¡¯s, heralded the arrival of the circus¡¯s second fat lady. She emerged from one of the nearby doorways wearing only a skirt, looking like the mirror image of her twin sister. It was hard to imagine there was enough flesh in the world to make two of them.


    ¡°Ah, there you are, Liv,¡± Zephyr cajoled, turning with a flourish towards Isa¡¯s twin. ¡°I was wondering.¡±


    Liv moved like a force of nature, her grace uninhibited by her size. The way her generous folds and bulges rippled with each step was entrancing. Sweat shone on her belly, beading on her chest and dripping down the massive globe of each breast. She was clutching an empty wineglass in one fat fist, and had her own snake draped around that same forearm.


    Her breath heaved with effort as she swung herself around to settle on the couch beside Isa. Both of them, blue eyes shining in the dim light, looked at him expectantly. Zephyr felt filthy standing there under their combined salacious stares.


    ¡°Ladies,¡± he said. ¡°I must humbly ask a favor of you.¡±


    Isa and Liv leaned in, indecent excitement lighting their faces. Even their snakes perked up, as if they too were listening. Zephyr¡¯s smile became something sinister as he allowed his mask to slip just enough to get their undivided attention. When he spoke again, his voice was a quiet growl.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be messy.¡±

 An Unexpected Storm

    Joanna reined her horse hard, stopping them just at the front of the building. The snow was coming down in earnest now, lowering visibility enough that she could hardly make out her companion on his horse no more than six paces back. There was no hitching post here; they had grown more and more rare as they¡¯d entered the wastes.


    Back at Far Point, where they were supposed to be, the main source of transportation was still horse and horse-carriage. Out here, though, oxen and even the occasional motorized vehicle seemed to be what people relied on. It was just another thing about the wastes that made Jo feel uneasy.


    Nate brought his mount to a stop beside her, squinting up through the snow. He wore a thick scarf wrapped around his neck, and the hood of a fur-lined coat pulled over his brown hair. A gust of wind¡ª mild yet, but seeming to hint at the coming wrath of the blizzard¡ª forced his face down. Both of them squeezed their eyes closed against the bitter cold of the breeze.


    When it passed, Jo looked at her partner imploringly. ¡°Please, Nate. Let¡¯s just head back. We can still beat the storm if we keep at a lope.¡±


    Nate frowned. His face was windburned, red tinting his normally tanned cheeks. He was wearing a familiar expression of stubbornness that drove Jo crazy. He was a good man, but when he dug his heels in he could be absolutely maddening. Judging by the set of his mouth, this was not a fight he was going to give up.


    ¡°Jo,¡± he said, matching her pleading tone. ¡°It¡¯s a matter of principle. Not to mention money. The sheer cost of those supplies-¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Jo cut him off. Too annoyed to argue, she swung her leg out of the stirrup and slid to the ground. Tumble, her baldfaced paint, whickered at her. Snow had begun to collect in his mane. Jo brushed it off, murmuring reassurances into his ear. She slipped the reins over his head and led him closer to the building. Nate sighed behind her. He knew he would hear about this later.


    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll find you somewhere warm. And the thickest blanket I can,¡± Jo told her horse. Talking to him like a person was a bad habit, according to most everyone back home, but it soothed her. Especially when she didn¡¯t feel like talking to Nate.


    Tumble just blew air through his nose and stood there serenely while she tied him to one of the building¡¯s deck posts. The snow wasn¡¯t thick enough yet to entirely muffle the sound of hooves, so she heard Nate come up behind her before she saw him. He had pulled his hood down and was looking at her cautiously.


    ¡°Are you upset?¡±


    Jo, sighing, turned to face him. His green eyes, so lovely and gentle in that rugged face, softened her mood as they always did. She rubbed the back of her neck with one gloved hand. It was going to be a lifetime of this man getting his way, with that look.


    ¡°I just don¡¯t think this is a good idea,¡± she told him, trying to regain some dignity by sounding stern. He didn¡¯t buy it, of course, and visibly relaxed.


    ¡°The wastes aren¡¯t as bad as the tales, Jo.¡± He grinned at her as he dismounted. ¡°Plus, you¡¯ve got me! I¡¯ll protect you.¡±


    She made a face at him. The big tough gunslinger act would have been pathetic had he not been so damned earnest. He laughed, more at himself than at her face, and she couldn¡¯t help grinning along with him.


    He made quick work of tying his horse, a huge, borrowed Shire named Sentinel, and slung his arm around her shoulders as they entered the building. Jo nervously checked her hip for her knife, then the stock of her sidearm. Nate had only his hunting rifle, slung over his back, as he was confident none of this would come to a firefight.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± A woman asked them before their eyes even had a chance to adjust. She didn¡¯t look like an innkeeper or a barmaid. She was dressed in snow gear tip to toe, with a long coat and snow goggles pulled up onto her blonde head.


    ¡°Hello, Ma¡¯am,¡± Nate said politely. ¡°We¡¯ve been blown off course, I¡¯m afraid, and when we stopped a little farther down the road for directions it seems somebody may have accidentally confused our cart with their own.¡±


    The woman raised an eyebrow. ¡°You were robbed?¡±


    Nate held up his hands and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not saying that. We don¡¯t really know what happened. I just know that last we saw of our cart it was headed towards this town.¡±


    ¡°What was in it?¡± She asked. She didn¡¯t sound concerned for them at all. Jo clocked the shift in tone from polite to greedy and took an automatic step back, her hand itching for a weapon.


    ¡°Supplies,¡± Nate answered truthfully. ¡°But rather expensive amounts of supplies. And our people at Far Point are really counting on us to bring all of the supplies that they ordered. Not just some of it.¡± He looked at her plainly, clearly unworried. The woman looked at both of them. It seemed a look of assessment.


    ¡°Well, I can ask my boss if he¡¯s seen it,¡± she said after a moment. Nate smiled at her warmly.


    ¡°That would be excellent,¡± he told her.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± she ordered. Jo watched her disappear into another room. Though the sign had indicated this was an inn, the interior didn¡¯t look much like one. There were a couple tables, sure, but no counter to speak of, and the whole back of the room had shelf after shelf of various goods for purchase. A tiny woodstove and a hanging rack of pots and pans stood in the corner, the stove heating the space to a stifling degree.


    ¡°I promise, Jo,¡± Nate said quietly. He probably could read the nervousness on her face like a book. ¡°After this we check the outfitters across the road, and if nobody there knows anything either then I promise we¡¯ll head right back to camp.¡±


    Jo nodded. A surly looking man with a limp entered the room from another door, eyeing them warily. He poured something from the kettle on the stove and limped back the way he came. Two revolvers and a pickaxe hung at his belt, which he wore over bare underclothes.


    ¡°Frontiersman, do you think?¡± Nate whispered. Jo only shrugged. The people out here were notoriously tough, a trait rivaled only by their reputation for eccentricities. They had seen it firsthand over the past couple days of travel.


    A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, startling them both. Then there was an odd snapping sound and then a louder smack of impact. Jo whirled towards the noise. An arrow¡¯s shaft stuck out of Nate¡¯s shoulder. He stared at it in confused dismay.


    Jo, reacting faster because she had been expecting something to happen, found the source of the shot crouched on the top of a small stairwell in the corner. She drew and fired off three rounds. The bowman fell forward, dead.


    ¡°Nate let¡¯s go!¡± She shouted, grabbing Nate¡¯s elbow and running for the door. She threw it open, letting in a flurry of snow, and gasped. A man was standing there, gun pointed directly at her. She risked a glance back and saw that two more had set themselves up on the stairs, armed with rifles instead of bows. They were trapped.


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    ¡°Put down the gun, girlie,¡± One of the men on the stairs ordered. The man in the doorway cocked his for emphasis. Seeing no way out, Jo gingerly placed her pistol on the ground and stood, arms raised. Nate¡¯s face shone with pain but he still tried to bargain.


    ¡°Alright, alright gentlemen. You can keep the cart, it¡¯s alright. I didn¡¯t realize how¡­ How important it was to you.¡± He raised the arm that didn¡¯t have an arrow sticking out of it. ¡°Just take it easy and let us go.¡±


    All three men closed in, pushing them back towards the tables. The wind slammed the door shut with such force that it bounced open again, letting in a swirl of snow. One of the men behind them laughed.


    ¡°We might take you up on that, to save the energy,¡± he drawled. ¡°But your woman here is so pretty¡­ I think we could put her to use instead.¡±


    Nate¡¯s normally friendly face darkened. He turned to face the man who had spoken, and as if there weren¡¯t an arrow protruding from him he lunged, kicking the rifle out of one pair of arms before the other could react. Jo, seeing her opening, rushed at the man in front of them, slipping her knife out and driving it hard into his crotch. He howled in pain, but didn¡¯t drop his gun.


    No matter. Nate got one shot off before the third man had him at gunpoint once more, and it hit its target. Jo risked a glance back as the man she had stabbed clutched his bleeding, broken and ¨C most importantly ¨C gunless hand. Nate was in a chokehold, with the barrel of a gun aimed at his heart. He spoke volumes with a single look at her, and she bolted.


    The wind was fierce now, biting into her bare skin as soon as she broke cover. She blindly fumbled at Tumble¡¯s reins but the blowing snow made it impossible to see the knot. There was a scream from inside the building, and two more shots fired.


    ¡°Fuck this,¡± Jo mumbled. She unclipped reins from bridle and leapt awkwardly onto her horse, who needed no spurring to sense her urgency. He wheeled around and took off at a gallop before she even had her seat. Everything was a blur of white that stung at her nose, her eyes, her skin.


    She had never seen a storm like this. The sound of it was like a freight train roaring. Once in the saddle she wrapped her hands in Tumble¡¯s mane and held on, praying he could see better than she could. The land was all white now, and trees were few in the wastes. She could have steered, but she had no idea which direction was which in this weather. All the could do was try to put distance between themselves and that Inn.


    Eventually, Tumble slowed to a lope that could be more easily maintained over distance. Jo buried her burned face into his neck and whispered encouragement and thanks. He radiated heat as horses always seemed to do, and it felt good on her frozen nose. All they could do was run.


    The cold put Jo in a sort of stupor after awhile, and she found that she felt intensely drowsy. Curled in against Tumble¡¯s warmth, with that ceaselessly howling wind and white in every direction, she fought sleep.


    At one point, she became aware that Tumble had slowed to a trot, and she had nearly fallen asleep. She was slipping to the right. The horse felt his rider¡¯s shift in weight and grunted his distress. It snapped her back awake.


    ¡°Shit, shit!¡± She exclaimed through numb lips. Tumble¡¯s white face was turned slightly to look back at her. ¡°I¡¯m okay, I¡¯m awake.¡± He whinnied and looked ahead again.


    A memory from the beginning of their journey, when they were still riding in familiar landscape, surfaced in Jo¡¯s exhausted and freezing brain. It was something like a hallucination, perhaps. Or maybe she had fallen asleep again.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen snow before, Nate,¡± Jo chided, rolling her eyes. Nate laughed. He was leaning in his sadle, reins forgotten on his mare Cricket¡¯s neck, showing off a bit by steering with his legs.


    ¡°I know you have, Joanna.¡± He laid the sarcasm on thick.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± Jo said. ¡°If we¡¯re going to get married you have got to stop calling me that.¡±


    Nate lit up like she had known he would. He straightened up. ¡°I still get a little thrill every time you mention it. I can¡¯t wait. How about, instead, I call you fianc¨¦?¡±


    Jo wrinkled her nose. ¡°Nah, that¡¯s even worse.¡± She glanced down at the ring on her finger, feeling her own thrill despite the feigned nonchalance.


    ¡°Ha! Alright. Fine, Jo, babe¡­ Anyways, this isn¡¯t like the soft mountain snow when we run the passes in winter. This is harsh, unforgiving. It¡¯ll freeze you to death.¡±


    ¡°I reckon any sort of snow will do that.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so, but it happens fast in the wastes. Hypothermia can creep up on you.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯d notice if I was freezing to death.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d think so, but this type of cold does it quick. And you get confused before you feel anything else. The confusion makes it harder to recognize what¡¯s going on. Suddenly you¡¯re dizzy, a little nauseated perhaps. Then tired. You just want to fall asleep. You¡¯re confused as to what¡¯s even going on, so you maybe think to take a little nap.¡±


    ¡°A nap in the snow?¡± Jo guessed.


    ¡°A nap you never wake up from,¡± he countered, serious now. ¡°Wake up, Jo.¡±


    WAKE UP!


    His shout dissolved into the sound of Tumble screaming in distress. Jo felt her reaction happen at half speed. It was like trying to wade through sand to move at all. They had hit a snowbank at speed, and the horse was going down. Tucking her chin and using every bit of strength she could, Jo rolled as she hit the ground.


    Tumble couldn¡¯t even try to break his fall. He fell hard, his head slamming against the ground with such force that Jo found herself suddenly thankful for the snow. His legs pawed at the air for balance, hooves flashing. She crouched where she landed, feeling the tug of sleep again. It would be so comfortable to just close her eyes here, and nap for a second. Just while she waited for Tumble to get up.


    She forced her eyes open, fear sending her heart pounding. This was what Nate had been talking about. She couldn¡¯t go to sleep. The wind picked up even more, as if angry at having been outsmarted.


    Tumble was still scrambling to get up, but the frozen ground offered no purchase. His eyes were wide and white rimmed. He snorted in fear, rocking to the side once more to get legs under but sliding back down. Jo crawled towards him on numb limbs.


    By the time she made her painfully slow way to him, he had stopped trying to stand. His flanks heaved and shined with sweat. His eyes rolled. She laid one hand on his nose and he steadied a bit, looking at her through the wind-whipped mess of his forelock. How long had they ridden?


    Guilt gripped her. She had been so out of it, she had no idea how far they¡¯d come. It was nearly dark now. They had run nearly the entire day. She must have fallen asleep, she realized, because she hadn¡¯t even let him rest. He had run himself out of strength.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she whispered. Her eyes stung with tears, and stung again as those same tears froze on her lashes. She pulled off one glove with her teeth, gasping at the bruise-colored tips of her fingers, and ran her hand down his side. He stared at her with his wide blue eye, trusting her completely even as he laid stuck in the snow. ¡°I¡¯ll get you out of this,¡± she told him. He snorted at her, eyes calmer now.


    Jo unlatched his bridle and slipped the bit from his mouth. All that cold metal couldn¡¯t feel good in this. He huffed his thanks. Thinking as quickly as her sluggish brain would allow, she put her glove back on and started digging in the snow. The snowbank itself sheltered Tumble¡¯s head for the most part, but she scooped it around him in a half-circle and packed it down so that the wind couldn¡¯t get to him from that side. She then worked on the other side, til he was surrounded in a horse-shaped pit of packed snow.


    Jo¡¯s tears flowed faster now. She stood at last, trying desperately not to think of this snowy cocoon as Tumble¡¯s tomb. He had closed his eyes, but his breathing was steady. The wind was quiet when Jo was crouched behind the shelter of the banks she had made, which gave her hope.


    Then, the hardest part of all. The wind whipped at her hair, punishing every inch of exposed skin. It was like razors. The desire for sleep was nearly overwhelming but she gathered an armful of fresh snow and dropped it onto Tumble¡¯s legs. Her eyes closed again and again, and she continued to force them back open.


    Step by step, scoop by scoop, every grueling movement costing her energy she didn¡¯t know she had, until all that was showing beneath the white was Tumble¡¯s head. She had punched a couple holes in the side of her makeshift shelter, but with the rate the snow was falling he would suffocate soon anyways.


    Jo wasn¡¯t even aware that night had fallen. Everything seemed bright and white. She knelt beside her beloved horse¡¯s head and leaned down to kiss his nose. The warm, hay-scented breath that brushed her face felt weak. But at least he was still warm.


    A nauseating wave of dizziness nearly knocked her back down when she straightened. She was sweating despite the cold. Her nose had run, her snot frozen on her burned and numb skin, and she figured she was as good as done for. She might as well just curl up next to Tumble and fall asleep. Blissfully, wonderfully asleep.


    But then he would die, too. She took one last, lingering look at his head sticking out of the snow, memorizing it and using it to steel her will. She took a purposeful step forward. Then another. And collapsed.


    She made an attempt to get up, but her hands slid from under her, pushing easily through the now elbow-deep fresh coat of snow. Beneath it was a layer of frozen gravel. It looked as if it had been shoveled and recovered.


    Vaguely, half asleep already, she wondered if it was a road.

 Dark, Cold

    ¡°But it¡¯s a good horse!¡± Someone hissed. The wind, still howling, nearly swallowed the voice entirely.


    ¡°It¡¯s nearly dead!¡± A second voice responded at a half-shout.


    Something tickled at the back of Joanna¡¯s thoughts. It seemed important, but her mind was so sluggish she couldn¡¯t fully recall what it was. The roar of the storm and the cold paralyzing her entire body almost lulled her back to sleep.


    ¡°He¡¯s breathing still.¡± A whiney note in that first voice now. Jo¡¯s eyes snapped open. There was a more urgent note now to the memory she could feel struggling to the surface.


    ¡°Len I swear to the dark prince himself if you make me drag that fucking hor¡ª Oh shit!¡±


    There was the sound of crunching footsteps in the snow. Jo efforted herself to gather her wits, but it was like herding cats. Everything in her brain felt slippery. She tried to push herself up, thinking that seeing past the pile of snow that had collected around her might jog her memory, but none of the muscles in her frozen body wanted to comply. The footsteps sounded inches away from her head now and she sensed rather than saw the two people that crouched over her.


    ¡°Shit, she¡¯s still breathing, too!¡± That first voice again. It was bright, feminine, and musical. Jo could imagine the pretty face it belonged to. She tried to speak, but it turned to a slurred yelp as a hand suddenly gripped the roots of her hair to force her face up.


    The sky was the same black-blurred-with white mess as it had been when she¡¯d been thrown off of Tumble. Snow still flew almost horizontally, and that punishing wind still howled like a thing on fire. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.


    ¡°Huh, you¡¯re right.¡± Jo rolled her eyes to the right to see who had spoken. They were so thickly bundled in clothing that it was impossible to make anything out. Goggles hid their eyes. ¡°Oh well.¡± The bundled stranger shook Jo¡¯s head playfully, driving another helpless whimper from her numb lips.


    ¡°Oh let her go, Lane!¡± The pretty voice, coming from somewhere farther off, yelled over a fresh gust of wind. Jo¡¯s head was released back to the snow with a thump. Sounds were lost for a few moments as the storm kicked up.


    ¡°¡ªDown that way,¡± The meaner voice became audible again. There were a few confused sounds of movement, a loud thump of something hitting the snow, and then- worst of all- a pained whinny.


    ¡°Tum-ul!¡± Jo grunted. Her lips barely formed the word, but she remembered at last. She knew exactly what horse these people had been referring to, and she welcomed the surge of adrenaline at the thought of Tumble being stolen.


    Her muscles seized and cramped as she found some movement again and squirmed in the snow. Her limbs were leaden, but she managed to roll over. It was a start. She strained to hear the voices as they spoke again.


    ¡°Loop it under the strap there. Yeah, I got his legs.¡±


    Adrenaline surged again, flushing her skin with much-needed warmth. She got one elbow under her, then the other. Almost sitting up now, and just able to see over the snow. The effort of moving made her feel so warm that she wondered distantly if she had a fever.


    Dizziness made the world totter confusingly. She blinked away snowflakes and turned towards where the voices had been. Through the snow, what she saw was too confusing to make sense of. Two vaguely human shapes and a larger one on the ground beside them, and two stocky shapes larger than both of the humans but lower to the ground. Piles of snow muddled the scene even further.


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    One of the people straightened and turned back towards where Jo sat propped unsteadily on her elbows. The other one seemed to be busy with a length of rope, then leaned away towards the two other shapes.


    Jo squinted through a break in the snow and thought they might be oxen. She was maddeningly warm now, and shakily peeled off her coat. It offered little relief. Both of the people were standing, now, and looking at her. The taller one turned away and stepped around the prone horse-shape.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± The taller person shouted. They were the mean-voice.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± the prettier voice¡ª the shorter person¡ª called back. She picked her way across the snow, shrugging a layer of outerwear off as she approached. ¡°Here.¡± She tossed it Jo¡¯s direction. It was a bulky, rubber-lined coat, and it landed over Jo¡¯s head like a shroud. There was a thunk of something else hitting the ground, too.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like killing.¡± She stated simply. ¡°And put that on, even if you feel hot. You¡¯re already stripped half naked. That¡¯s how we usually find bodies in the snow.¡± A pause broken only by the hiss of snowfall. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    Her footsteps squeaked in the snow as she turned, and then receded. Jo struggled with the coat draped on her head, trying to shake its bulk off with uncooperative arms. By the time she succeeded, the two strangers were gone. And so was Tumble.


    She looked around for some kind of landmark, but in every direction there was only dark and snow; a swirling sky above an endlessly monochromatic waste. There was no light, no trees, nothing to guide her back towards civilization.


    Despair bore her slowly to her feet. She didn¡¯t feel cold anymore, but she got into the big, dry coat that the stranger had thrown at her anyways. It took three tries just to get her arms in the sleeves. Her skin still felt like it was burning, but fear of what that woman had said kept her in the coat.


    A particularly bitter gale forced her eyes closed for a few moments. When she opened them again, she was looking down at something small and silver resting in the snow. It must have been whatever else that woman had thrown. She groped at it for a minute before managing to pick it up, eventually having to squeeze it between her palms since none of her fingers wanted to work.


    It was a dull metal canteen, and it was warm. A delirious giggle bubbled out of her. She hugged the thing against her chest, ignoring the pain that the sudden heat brought into her fingers.


    Inside it turned out to be some kind of tea she didn¡¯t recognize. It smelled a little like pine sap mixed with mint. She took cautious sips, delighting in each one as the it gave precious heat back to her body. Her head began to clear a little, and she started shivering. That, she remembered from Nate¡¯s lecture, was a good sign.


    Buoyed by the hot drink and the dry coat, she turned a slow circle again, scanning the unbroken snow for anything familiar. Except, she realized, it wasn¡¯t entirely unbroken; the people who had taken Tumble had left an enormous trail behind them. It was fading fast as new snow piled down over it, but she reckoned it might be visible long enough to get somewhere.


    She tucked the half-full canteen into one of the coat¡¯s pockets, pulled the collar tight around her neck, and took up the twin ruts that the thieves had left behind. It was almost like a wagon trail, except thicker and with smoother curves on the turns.


    The cold didn¡¯t begin to seep in again until about an hour later, when the trail had gone from a distinct print to a subtle divot in the otherwise flat blanket of white. Jo had drank the tea down to the last few sips by then. It was still warm, but just barely.


    The trail had taken her to a place where the land suddenly dropped out into a deep ravine. There was light, now, coming from the below. Jo squinted through the slurry of wind-borne snow and could just barely make out a neat row of lampposts at the bottom of the valley. The yellow-orange lamps topping each one were barely above the snow.


    From that high point the trail made a sharp left and followed a steep ledge downwards. Jo, afraid of heights at the best of times, pressed her back into the cliffside the whole way down. The wind stilled to a softer drone once the top of the ravine was above her, and the air no longer seemed to bite at her exposed skin.


    By the time she made it to the bottom she felt the first stirrings of real hope at survival. The high cliffs offered protection from not only the wind but the worst of the snow as well. It was wetter and slushier down here, and the trail wasn¡¯t fading as fast. It continued down the belly of the valley, and she continued to follow it.