Magnus Frostbeard's Arc

Chapter 15 of 15

Magnus climbed back down to his crew and led them along the descent he had marked. The route dropped through frost-glazed trees into the green bowl. He kept his eyes on the great ice butterfly below. It sat on a winterberry bush, wings folded, crown catching the light. He did not know if it would strike when they reached the floor. He tightened his grip on his staff and stepped down first. The air warmed as they descended. Magnus's beard thawed and dripped. Greta came behind, one hand on the rope, watching the butterfly. Winterchase pressed her palm to the rock and frowned. "It has not moved," she said. "It knows we are here. It waits." They reached the valley floor. Grass bent under Magnus's boots. The butterfly lifted from the bush and rose into the air. Its wings threw cold light across the hollow. Magnus stopped and raised his empty hand. "We only want to pass," he said. "We came far. We are hungry." He did not reach for his staff. He held still and let the creature choose. The butterfly circled him once. Its wings brushed the air near his face, and he felt no attack, only cold breath. Then it drifted to the stream and settled on the water's edge. It dipped its crown to drink. Magnus let out his breath. It had let them pass. The valley woke around them. Small mice with bright wings darted from the grass and chased each other between the bushes. A cluster of glowing bats hung under a frosted branch, their wings soft with blue light. A blue-furred dog with delicate wings trotted from the reeds and sniffed Greta's boot. She knelt and let it press its nose to her palm. "They are not afraid of us," she said. "Nothing here has learned to run." Magnus walked to the winterberry bushes. He picked the red fruit and ate. It was sweet and full of juice. His crew ate beside him, saying nothing, filling their hands. Bees of clear ice drifted among the flowers, their frosted wings sparkling. Across the stream, a great elk raised its head. Ice horns branched from its skull, and pale scales ran along its flank. It watched the strangers, then bent again to graze. Magnus sat on the warm grass and pulled out his chart. He had drawn every step from the tavern to this bowl. He looked at the blank space beyond the valley's far rim, where the green ended and the map ran out. The warm valley was real. He had found its heart and lived. But the far side he had not yet seen. Winterchase sat beside him. She looked back the way they had come, toward the ridge and the ice beyond. "They are still out there," she said. "The ones who follow me." Magnus marked the valley on his chart and did not answer. He had reached the warmth. Now he had to hold it.