The Silence of Snow

[En1gma]

“Where is he? Where is my husband?!” Cried the woman who was trying to ply her way through the crush of people who had flocked to the gates of Gholla Outlook. But nobody was moving for her, they only stood and whispered amongst themselves. “By the Nine Faithful, let me see my husband!! Why won’t you let me through?” A man wearing a roughly spun tunic took pity on her and moved aside just in time for her to see what was left of her husband’s hunting party shambling their way through the siegeworks. She could just make out the face of her husband, frostbitten and blue, eyes frozen open in death. He was borne on his shield, carried by two beaten and bloody soldiers. “By the All-Father, no! Jerod!! What happened to him?” She broke from the crowd and joined the soldiers in the street, throwing herself at their feet in the process. “What happened?! Will you not speak?” The soldiers were too exhausted and injured to answer, but they looked at her with weary eyes, shaking their heads in sorrow.

                “Lady Halma,” spoke a familiar voice from beside her. It was Baron Tazzer, and he reached out his hand to lift her from the dirt. She couldn’t take it, she was still staring at the face of her husband as he was carried off to the Temple by the soldiers. “Please, come with me to the Temple, this kind of grief is best spent in private.” She looked at him through her tears, then took his hand. As they walked up the hill to the Temple, she held to the Baron’s arm, crying her heart out. The people of Gholla Outlook looked on and their hearts cried with her. Not even a month ago, she had buried their son, Johan, who had been born still.

                She arrived at the Temple with the Barron Tazzer, and he brought her aside to an old bench by the altar to Hagathrun. Her husband was set on linens before the altar. It was there they sat in candlelight and talked, about Jerod and his heroics, about how the city owed him their lives and honor, and she cried, and he comforted her as best he could, but she was inconsolable. Hours passed and as the evening fell, she could no longer bear his company, nor the sight of her fallen husband, and she left the Temple, ever in tears. She ran through the streets, past the inn and into her house. There was a fire lit, and her sister Celia was waiting for her by the hearth. Halma ignored her and threw herself on her late husband’s war chest that they kept at the foot of their bed. Her fingers clawed at the latch, and she threw it open. Below the clothes and linens lay her husband’s second set of armor, and she removed the heavy breastplate from where it had sat since he had last used it in defense of the city against the Orcin and their siege of the previous year. Her husband had helped Baron Tazzer in his defense of the Orcin that had dug their way behind the walls, while the four saviors of Gholla Outlook held the battlements and the gate.

                As she removed the greaves and gauntlets from the chest, Celia came to her and said “Halma, you must stop this madness,” but Halma wasn’t listening to her. She was gathering up clothing, food, and water and stuffing them all into the pack that had hung on the wall unneeded for years. Celia grabbed her arm earnestly almost shouting, but before she could speak two words, Halma straightened up and struck her hard against the face. Celia cried out and fell, her face instantly bleeding with the force of the blow. As she fell, Halma realized what she had done, and she threw herself at Celia’s side, crying now for forgiveness.

                “My sister, forgive me, but nothing will turn me from this- I saw the bite marks on him, I saw the deep wounds inflicted by axe and tooth.” The fire flared as a dry portion of the log burned bright, and Celia could see her face in the light. “These Wolf Lords have taken everything from me, and now I’ll make sure they meet their ends. Every last one of them. I’m going, Celia, in the morning, I leave. My husband will not have died in vain.”

                “But will you, sister? Will you die in vain?” asked Celia, who had sat up and was holding a dampened cloth to her face.

                “I have nothing here, nothing. My life is in vain. I leave in the morning, after I bury my husband next to my child.”

[En1gma]

             Halma spent the night in a fitful state of unrest. Plots of revenge worked themselves through her head, filling her with rage and hate, and such a sense of loss that she could no longer take it. Her husband’s death mask haunted her, and when she would close her eyes it was all that she could see.
             She brought the old set of armor to the hearth and began to oil it, the mundane task occupying her mind, calming her somewhat. She began with the breastplate, rubbing the tallow into the strapping first, the rendered fat making the old leather supple again. She then began buffing the old Bonesteel plates until they shined in the firelight. Once she could see her tear streaked face in it, she set it aside and grabbed the greaves, again rubbing oil into the leather. She worked the gauntlets in the same manner, and once it was finished she placed the entire set on the table her and Jerod had eaten on for years.
            She went and laid in their bed, and covered herself with the blankets. She cried and cried, unable to sleep. Hours passed in fitful desolation, and out of desperation she opened her soul in fervent prayer. She prayed to any of the Faithful who would listen, begging them for guidance, for vengeance, for anything that could possibly aid her in her suffering. She told them of her husband, of their lost child and the pain that accompanied that day. She bared her life to anyone or anything that would listen. Once she had finished her plea, she could no longer keep herself awake, and she finally fell into a deep sleep, strangely at peace. Her prayer had been heard.

***********

           “Such anguish.... Such unbearable pain....” whispered Cortias from within his meditation. It had been decades since he had heard such a soul-crushed prayer with such clarity. Usually all he would hear were faded murmurs, but he could hear this woman, Halma, as if she were crying at his feet. Jaded as he had become to the suffering of mankind, he could not help but be moved. He closed his eyes and spoke aloud, so that she might hear him through her pain. “I have heard you. Be at peace, poor wretch.... Halma, you have my blessing. Your husband’s armor will be my aegis, his sword my wrath. His helmet will grant you clarity.... Go forth and seek your vengeance.” His head bowed again in meditation, the holy light around him fading as his blessing was finalized.

[En1gma]

       When Halma awoke, it was before the rest of the town of Gholla Outlook had even stirred. As she sat up, she could tell that her pillow had been soaked through by her tears as she slept. She was completely drained, physically and emotionally, but she rose anyway. She walked to the hearth and stirred the embers into life again, stacking what wood she had left onto them. As the wood flared on the embers, her soul felt warmed by the glow that it spread throughout the room. Walking to the table, she thought she saw a faint shimmer about her husband’s armor, but she told herself that it was just a trick of the firelight glinting off the newly polished suit. She shook her head. Couldn’t be. There it was again. A faint blurring of the air above it, as if it was emanating heat.
    She went to the breastplate and picked it up, examining it closely. It felt lighter than she remembered from the evening before. She held it up to her chest and saw that it was now a perfect fit for her. Her husband was a few inches taller and broader than she was, but she had been willing to deal with the difference in size in order to seek her vengeance. She shook her head again, not willing to believe it. Each piece of armor that she had set on the table was now perfectly sized for her, and was warm to the touch. “What sorcery is this?” She wondered aloud, her mind trying so hard to rationalize what had happened, when suddenly she remembered her desperate prayer of the night before. “Could it be? By the Faithful, my prayers have been answered!” Not wanting to question her blessing, she bowed her head, fervently whispered thanks to whoever it was who had helped her in her time of need.
    She began to don the armor over a set of padded clothing she kept in her closet. It was difficult strapping the heavy breastplate by herself, but she managed to secure it about herself nonetheless. She marveled in the perfect fit, and the persistent warmth that it granted her. Eagerly, she secured the greaves about her legs, then the gauntlets over her forearms and hands. The weight of the armor was heavy, but not so much that it bothered her: it was an easier weight to bear than her sorrow, and she was glad for that. She went to the mirror and looked at herself again. It was as if a stranger had taken her place in the glass before her. She knew not if it was the armor, or just a change in her countenance brought about by a nearly sleepless night and a harrowing sorrow that pained her like a twisting knife. Whatever the reason, a different person than the one she had seen a thousand times was looking back at her.
    There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” Halma said, and as the door opened she turned to see Celia, and behind her was Tazzer Raimus himself. The Baron was also in full wargear, his attire befitting the burial of one so decorated as her fallen husband Jerod. Celia gasped at the sight of her sister in such brutal attire, but Baron Tazzer hardly seemed to notice. He just smiled and said that it was time, and he held his arm for to take, but she declined by stepping past him and down the steps from house. They followed behind her slowly, and Celia was desperately searching for an explanation from the Baron as to what was going to happen to her sister, but Halma could only hear the Baron say that she had chosen her own path. Lining the streets were many residents of Gholla, some stood on their front steps weeping for her, and others came to her, throwing wild flowers at her feet, whispering condolences before returning to their homes.
    At the top of the hill, she could see the assembled forces that had been brought from the surrounding areas, waiting for her and the Baron to arrive. As they approached, the soldiers stood at stiff attention, but had their helmets in their hands in respect for Halma. She looked at the men and women gathered before her and felt the tears welling up again, but she fought them back with sheer determination, refusing to shed another tear. Her pace slowed, however, and the Baron took the lead and ushered her to her husband’s pyre. At Baron Tazzer’s behest, one of the ceremonial guards came to her, carrying a shield. She took it from him, and set it on the ground before her carefully. The shield was battered, and she remembered the stories her husband had told when he came home on the eve of battle, how the shield laid now before her had saved his life over and again. Another guard came to her, and handed her husband’s helm to her. It had been cleaned and polished for her, and she set it upon the shield slowly. A final guard approached and knelt before her, holding Jerod’s sword and scabbard up for her. This she took, and tied it to herself immediately. She could hear Celia weeping behind her, but she did not care to listen.
    It was now that Baron Tazzer stepped forward, speaking to those who had gathered on the hill. “Jerod was a warrior, he was loyal to every one of us, and he gave his life in service of his family and us all. I cannot speak enough to the heroics of this most noble warrior. I owe him my life- he saved me from the Orcin onslaught by stopping short a blow that would have killed me, and it is because of him that this city still stands today. Jerod was a friend to us all, and a loyal husband to Lady Halma. We should remember him in his life, laughing and loving. Remove your sorrow from your heart, though he is not here to comfort you himself. He sits alongside the most honorable and noble men and women who have ever graced creation now, we shall all eagerly await the day that we will see him again and shake his hand, and hear him laughing once again.” Tazzer Raimus stood aside, and let Lady Halma have a moment with Jerod.
    She went to one knee at his side, and whispered her love to him sweetly. She rose to her feet and brushed his hair one last time. She adjusted the lapel of his linens like she had a hundred times before, then she kissed her hand and brushed it tenderly over his cheek. “I love you, husband.” She whispered again, then she took the torch from Baron Tazzer’s hand. She walked around his funeral pyre slowly, lighting the bundles of kindling one by one. Kindling caught quickly, and then tinder lit in earnest. Once the flames had reached the oil soaked logs, her husband’s final fire burned bright and hot. The image of him being surrounded in flames seared itself into her brain, and she stood there, tears coming unbidden, but she did not move. The fire was so hot that it dried her tears before they reached her chin, but still she couldn’t move, not until she could no longer see his face through the flames.

[En1gma]

        A hand brushed her arm, and Baron Tazzer spoke softly to her, so that none but her could hear him. “I must speak with you before you leave, there is something you need to know.” She looked at him, nodded, then she turned and followed him as he led her to the Temple of Law again. The soldiery had begun to disperse, each of them silently returning to their posts along the battlements and to their families, who they held all the tighter that day. Celia walked back to her sister’s house, waiting for her return and weeping over what was to come.
        As Halma and Tazzer Raimus entered the temple, he barred the door to the outside, ensuring their privacy. “Halma, I cannot fathom the burden you bear, and I did not bring you here to dissuade you from your quest.” She looked at him, not understanding why he had brought her here.
        “Then why did you bring me here, Baron?” Tazzer walked to the greathelm she had set beside her on the stone floor and picked it up, holding it to the candlelight. As he studied it, he spoke to her.
        “I know the suit you wear quite well, it was the one Jerod wore the day he helped me hold the city against the orcin.” She nodded again, not knowing what to say. “But the armor is different; it shimmers almost, and even in this cold temple his helm is warm in my hands. Halma, this armor has been blessed by none other than Cortias himself.” She shook her head, not wanting to believe it. “I need not any explanation, nor do I wish to know your prayers, but know that they have been heard.” He lifted the shield from where it rested against the bench, and handed it to her. She took it, and slipped her left greave through the first loop, grasping the sturdy handle that seemed made for her hand. It was a large shield, her husband had always preferred the kite shields, and this one was exceptional. Quite large, it protected her from neck to about mid-thigh.
        Tazzer held out Jerod’s helm to her and she tucked it below her sword arm, speaking to him gratefully. “Lord Tazzer, I had felt that my prayers had been heard, but hearing it from you I am sure. Jerod always spoke well of you, and considered you a friend above all others, and I see why. You and I haven’t spoken as oft as I would have liked, and I am glad to have had your arm to lift me, and your shoulder to cry upon this last day. My words alone cannot express the gratitude I hold for you and your company, and how you have helped me through this darkest time.” He bowed his head to her, allowing her to continue. “I know from my husband’s stories of battle where these vile Wolf-Lords hunt, and I mean to forever rid the Outlook of their pestilence. Someday I will return, Cortias willing.”
        “I’m sure you will, Halma. Everything Jerod had ever spoke of you had been about how strong willed you are, and of your loyalty. If any could fulfil this oath, it would be you, of this I am sure.” She turned then to leave, and they both exited the temple. Baron Tazzer went to the lodge to meet with his officers and discuss border patrol duties and troop movements throughout the region. Halma went home to retrieve her things and see her sister one last time. She opened the door and went in, her sister was sitting by the hearth, staring into the fire. Halma lifted the bag of food and clothing from beside the table and turned to Celia.
        “Sister, it is time.” Celia didn’t turn from the fire, she only drew her shroud around her tighter. “Celia? Will you not speak to me? Is it so torturous to you that I go? So much so that you cannot even speak to me?!” Celia still did not speak, she just sat there. Finally her shoulders slumped and she turned slightly.
        “Halma, I just don’t understand why you must go and forfeit your life, as if it means nothing. Why not stay here and begin anew, why must I lose you?” Halma spun wildly, her voice almost rising to a shriek,
        “How dare you speak to me of loss?? After all this, sister, you dare to speak of your pain?! What pain do you feel, tell me? TELL ME! You sit there quietly judging me, yet you know nothing of pain, nothing of loss. How dare you! I go, and it seems that I have lost even my own sister, in the midst of my pain. Keep the house. Keep what you want, I don’t care anymore- goodbye, sister.” Celia sat there in pain, but couldn’t say anything, not out of spite, but in sudden realization of her sisters suffering. Halma slung the bag over her shoulder, walked out and slammed the door behind her. Damn her, she would never understand, not that Halma would ever wish her to. As she walked down the hill to the barricades, her head was spinning. Memories of Jerod and their home ran through her memories, each stone having its own moment in her thoughts it seemed. So many hours spent walking these streets, and it pained her to be walking for them for perhaps the last time.
        The guards at the gates stood aside for her without question, and as she walked through, she was stabbed by a sudden shock of uncertainty. But it was too late. The gates closed behind her, the heavy bolt thrown back in place to lock it. Voices of doubt and second-guessing shouted in her head, tempered by the terror of what lay ahead of her, and the crushing pain she still felt having just set her husband’s pyre ablaze. There was nothing to be done but to move on, there were wolves to hunt, she thought amongst the voices in her head. She raised Jerod’s helm and put it over her head, and as it was set in place, the voices completely died away. Not a murmur of doubt, or pain, or fear was left, all she could hear was the silence of the snow that fell around her.

[En1gma]

        “What sorcery is this?” she wondered aloud, removing the helm again slowly. As she did so, the voices returned as quickly as they had left, shattering the silence the helm had granted her. She tried to shake the voices and the pain, but she could not subdue them. By the time she could get the helmet back on her head, tears were once again streaming down her face. Silence, blessed silence returned to her as the weight of the greathelm settled once more upon her.
        Although her mind was no longer in chaos, she was still left with pain, and it was crushing her slowly. She could remember everything, every moment of her time with Jerod, the joy of their loves first realization, she remembered everything up to the day he left on his final hunting trip. Memories, precious memories.
        She could recall his stories of finding the tracks of the wolves leading away from fresh kills, and how they were accompanied by the tracks of a single person, the Wolf Lord, the alpha of the pack. He had told her of coming across the scene of a bloody battle, between a single wolf and a single man, Jerod could tell by the size of the footprint and its strides. He spoke of seeing a bloody battle in the tracks, raging over a wide area, between the trees and over rocks. He had followed the tracks until he came across the carcass of a massive wolf, beaten and bloody, with many old scars on its neck and head. The wolf had fought its last battle, and Jerod had seen the human bite marks on its neck, this wolf had been beaten by fist and by tooth, this brutish man killing the wolf. He had followed this man’s tracks until they came to the rest of the pack, who had been following the battle. There was no more bloodshed, and the tracks had moved deep into the woods, leaving the scene behind.
        She knew where to go to find them, it was just the process of getting there that daunted her. It was at least a day’s trek to the wolves’ hunting grounds and she had some rough terrain to cover.
        It was so quiet in the pass. She paused and looked up to the vaulted ceiling of the earth and glacier above her. Light filtered down through the familiar jagged cracks and gaps in the ceiling, as did sparse flakes of snow. In this moment she was glad for the odd warmth emanating from her armor, anyone else would be freezing to death out here, but she was comfortable. She must keep on, she thought, though she left mid-day, the gloom was beginning to deepen and she would need to find cover soon. She continued walking, but she began heading at an angle to the cavern walls to the north, hoping to reach them by nightfall. She didn’t want to be in the open without cover, as the wolves would surely find her. She shifted her pack nervously as she walked quickly but quietly through the snow, it was becoming dark faster and faster around her.
        She froze, every hair on the back of her neck standing on end. In the distance, but seeming to be all around her, arose a bone chilling howl, and it echoed off the surrounding vault walls. She resisted the urge to run, instead she looked around herself franticly for any cover to be had. There, a stand of glacial boulders, thirty feet tall and arranged perfectly so that there was only one way into them. She broke into a jog, willing her armor to be silent as she moved. Again there was a howl, this time closer, and moving, and she could tell that they were trying to flank her. She ran now, moving with as much speed as she could considering the weight of the steel she was carrying.
        She was almost to the stand now and she risked a glance over her shoulder. She turned and ducked into the stand, almost tripping on the debris within them. Her sword drawn and at the ready, she whirled around, crouching behind her shield. As she did, two shadows passed by the mouth of her boulders. She could hear their panting, the footfalls of the beasts quick and confident. She threw her pack from her shoulder to the rear of the stand, not leaving the narrow opening where her shield would provide the most protection. They were circling her, she could hear their every move in the silence. She had to look behind her, she couldn’t risk stepping backwards and tripping when the wolves came for her. In the dimming light, she could see a pile of wood stacked neatly against the wall, a circle of rocks, and a few bundles of cloth. Then she remembered- the soldiers would make these semi-permanent camps so that if needed, they, or passing travelers could use them for protection. Halma could have wept at the welcoming sight, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.

[En1gma]

        The panting of the wolves had quickened, and she could hear the pair of them advancing slowly at her from either side of the opening. She knew exactly how they could come, this helmet had sharpened her hearing beyond anything she had thought possible. She backed up a pace, forcing them to come into the opening and make the first move. When they saw her, they began growling and baring their teeth, moving as one to overtake her. When they turned in for the attack, one leaped at her head, the other lunging low to attack her feet. She stepped into the attack, blunting their assault. As she did so, she brought her shield straight up and with great force, the top smashing into the bottom jaw of the leaping wolf. At the same time, she whipped the sword down from her right, catching the other mid bite, the blade cleaving into the beast’s snout, badly wounding it.
        Caught by the force of the shield blow, the wolf that had jumped at her was almost spun backwards, and it crashed down on top of the other. Its head came within biting range as it tried to right itself, so she brought the shield back down on top of its head, stunning the beast.
The wounded and bleeding wolf she had struck with her sword was trying to claw its way out from under its packmate, but Halma would have none of it. Advancing, she bashed the other again, sending it reeling off the wounded wolf, allowing it to recover. Growling through its pain. It made a lunge at her, meaning to knock her off balance, but as it lunged, she stepped to her shield side, using the momentum to catch the desperate wolf between the jaws with her sword, cleaving the wolf’s head almost through and killing it instantly.
        Now alone, the other wolf came at her again, nimbly dodging her sword as it flashed at her in the darkness. She tried to bash the wolf again, but it ducked the blow, lunging at her feet. It managed to bite at her legs and she gasped as the teeth struck harmlessly against the greaves she wore. Now angry, the wolf lunged forward again, threatening to knock her off balance. Turning her sword to the side lest she strike herself in the darkness, she brought the side of the blade down in the same motion she had used to cut the other. There was a sickening smack and a corresponding yelp of pain as the steel came against the wolf’s ear. As it reeled from the blow, Halma stepped forward, dropped her sword below the wolf, then raised it up and away from the beast, slicing its neck and ending the fight.
        Once more, silence fell around her, and she listened intently to it, hearing nothing to indicate further danger. She wiped her sword on the cloth she kept tied to her waist, then sheathed it. Grabbing the hind leg of one of the wolves, she dragged it several yards away from her shelter, then did the same with the other. It was almost completely dark at this point and she hurried back to camp, setting her shield down by the mouth of the stand. In the waning light, she went to the bundles in the rear of the shelter and unfurled them. Inside each of them were kindling, and several smaller dry sticks to be used as tinder. Quickly arranging them in the fire pit, she set them alight with the flint she kept in her knapsack. They caught eagerly, and she was able to light a few of the smaller logs that had been stacked against the wall. Light filled the shelter, and though it had no roof, the heat reflected off the tall rocks around her, warming the space. She set to work making a mat to lay on for the night, fortunately the furs left behind were thick, and looked comfortable to her after a long day’s hike across the crevasse.
        She finally finished preparing her shelter, and became warm working in her armor. So she sat on the logs stacked against the wall and began removing the heavy plate, starting with the greaves. As she removed the armor, the enchanted warmth left her, and she had only the fire to warm her. She stripped herself of all but the helm, dreading its removal. As she took it from her head, the voices and pain returned to her, her shoulders hunching with grief. She stacked more logs on the fire, arranging the hardwood so that it would burn through the night. Then she took the helmet with her to the bed roll and laid down on the thickest furs, covered herself with the blanket she had brought with her, then covered herself with the furs that remained. She curled up facing the fire and wept, missing Jerod deeply, missing the warmth of her own home and the comfort of her bed. She cried and cried, until finally she slept, fitfully at best. She would wake up in the midst of nameless nightmares of her fight with the wolves, and of the horrors Jerod must have endured in his final hour. But lulled by the fire, and sheer exhaustion, she slept through until morning.