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Sorano did not like being cold. She liked things that were white, like feathers, clouds, and yes, even the sight of snow. But the cold made her teeth chatter and her skin turn to goose flesh, her hands numb and her nose red. She much preferred summer sunshine, warm and drowsy, husky and radiant.
She stamped her feet hard to move her frozen blood through their veins.
“Of all the places you could’ve broken down, why did you have to pick here?” Sorano snapped, her deep blue Crime Sorciere cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Snowflakes swirled about her, settling in a fine layer on her clothes, camouflaged in the white of her hair.
“I didn’t choose this!” Sawyer retorted indignantly. The infamous speed wizard, with a mouth as fast as his legs, was currently in the process of wrestling a wheel off their magi-mobile, the spokes splintered beyond repair from the vehicle’s encounter with a snow buried rock. “It’s this piece-of-junk rust bucket! You’d think in all those years selling their services, those two might have actually saved enough for a decent motor!”
“We’re not mercenaries!” Meredy said, as she rolled the spare wheel over to side of the vehicle, having to wrestle it at times through deeper snow drifts. “We only accept payment when we have to to survive.”
“That’s all well and good when there were only three of you!” Sawyer said, waving a spanner around theatrically as if to emphasise his point. “What are you gonna do now that there’s all of us? We can’t live off air and morals.”
“Oh, just get back to fixing the car would you?” Sorano griped, hopping tiny steps on the spot to persuade her stiff limbs to loosen up. “Some of us are about to freeze to death.”
“You could help, y’know,” Erik grunted in retort. The snake-wizard and their blue-haired leader, Jellal, were currently straining their arms, and their backs, as they held up the vehicle for Sawyer while he switched out the broken wheel for the new one.
“You know I don’t know anything about magi-mobiles,” Sorano said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, my hands are too numb to feel anything.”
“Why don’t you see if Richard and Macbeth are back yet?” Jellal suggested, tactfully fending off the squabble he could feel was coming. “With any luck they may have found the village we’ve been looking for.”
Sorano sighed and trudged through the snow to the other side of the vehicle, and peered in the direction that their two guild mates had ventured about half an hour ago. Nothing but snow, gusting and blowing like a wild thing, all around them. The wizard could barely see a few paces in any direction. She walked back around to rejoin the rest of her guild, where Sawyer was tugging on the new wheel to test its strength, and Erik and Jellal were rubbing the life back into their arms.
“Anything?” Jellal asked. Sorano shook her head.
“I can barely see out there,” she said, raising a hand to her eyes to shield them from the vicious blasts of frigid air. It was mesmerising, really. A vast expanse of white, all around her, pure and magical. Maybe angels were made of snow? A shiver racked her body, and Sorano’s teeth clattered painfully. No, maybe not.
“Sorano,” Jellal called, and she turned to see the others climbing back into the repaired magi-mobile. The wizard ploughed through the ever deepening drifts to reach the door, and didn’t even grumble when Jellal offered her his arm to help her inside. She was so cold it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.
The magic vehicle they had acquired was a decent size, on account of the number of people it had to carry, but it definitely wasn’t spacious. The members of Crime Sorciere huddled together inside, shoulder to shoulder, each of them looking as cold as Sorano felt. Meredy was blowing warm air into her hands, Erik had all but disappeared into the bundled up cloak wrapped around him, and Sawyer in his ridiculous body suit was almost shaking the entire vehicle with the amount he was shivering.
Jellal entered last, in a flurry of snow, and pulled the door shut behind him. He sank down onto the bench opposite Sorano, shaking the white powder out of his hair.
“I’ve placed a long lasting flare on the roof,” he told them. “In this storm it’s not safe to send anyone else out to look for them.”
Meredy hesitantly spoke up. “But, won’t they… will they be alright out there? What if they get lost?”
“Why’d you think we sent them?” Erik said, voice muffled under his cloak. “In this wind, Richard’s eyes work better than my ears, and Macbeth can cut through the snow no problem.”
“But still,” Meredy trailed off, looking out the window as the blizzard continued to howl around them.
“They’ll be alright, Meredy,” Jellal said gently. “And if they don’t return in another half hour, I’ll go out myself.”
Having reassured the youngest member of his guild, Jellal got to work tending to the rest of them. In one hand he summoned flames, keeping the fire timid to avoid scorching them all. The firelight shadows danced along the wooden frame of the magi vehicle, and everyone started to relax and emerge from their cloaks as the warmth permeated the frosty air.
“Brrr,” Sawyer said, and stretched out is hands to the fire, flexing his fingers. “Man, haven’t seen a whiteout like that in a while.”
“It is unseasonal,” Jellal agreed, as he fumbled around under his bench with his free hand. He pulled out a battered basket, and flipped open the lid. Inside was a loaf of dark rye bread, hard cheeses and dried fruit; emergency supplies he always kept stocked for just these situations.
“Here,” he said, passing around the food to his teammates.
“Thank you,” Sorano said quietly, accepting a chunk of bread and cheese, and a dried apple. She nibbled the apple first, sweet and fruity, as she gazed out the window. Snow spun and twirled in the cold outdoors, an elemental dance that her eyes could barely follow. The whistling wind was its own eerie sort of voice, Sorano mused.
Before the tower, snow storms had always been a source of joy and childish delight. Sorano and her sister would wake up early in the morning to a carpet of white, and spend hours building snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other until they couldn’t feel their fingers. In the tower, though, snow only meant one thing. More hardship, as the slave masters whipped them from their beds and they stumbled numbly through their day’s work, slipping on the icy floors. At night, anyone who didn’t join the huddle wouldn’t wake up the next morning. But through all that, Sorano would gaze up through her cell window and watch the flakes float down from the sky, envying their freedom and their joy.
Suddenly, Erik’s head whipped up from his half devoured bread, and he stared into the middle distance, head cocked to one side as he listened carefully.
“They’re back,” he said curtly, and in a flurry of his cloak the dragon slayer was on his feet and pushing his way through to the door of the magi mobile. He ignored Sawyer’s squawks after stepping on his foot and pushed the door open, a blast of icy air sending goose flesh along Sorano’s skin. “Something’s wrong,” Erik said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the white.
“Wait, Erik,” Jellal called as he followed the slayer outside, using an arm to shield his face from the sudden blast of frozen air that nearly knocked him off his feet. “Stay within earshot!”
But the man was already a faint shadow in the impossible conditions, and then he vanished from sight completely. Jellal cursed under his breath as he walked a few steps in the now knee-deep snow and reignited the flames in his hand, letting them burn bright and hot.
“Erik!” he shouted, the howling wind stealing his words the moment they left his mouth. “Erik!”
Jellal made to step forward again, but a grip on his arm stopped him, and he turned to see Meredy tugging him back towards the vehicle, which was little more than a blur now.
“No Jellal!” she pleaded, barely able to keep her eyes open as her hair was whipped this way and that. “This storm’s only getting worse!”
Jellal grit his teeth, and allowed Meredy to pull him back to the vehicle, where Sorano and Sawyer waited, clung to its side.
“Any sign of them?” Sawyer yelled through the wind.
Jellal shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on the spot he saw Erik vanish. Peering carefully, there! He saw something. A faint movement in the swirling vortex, a shadow that slowly grew and morphed, until out of the blizzard came three figures. It was Richard in the centre, Macbeth and Erik on either side of him. They were supporting him, one of Richard’s arms over each of their shoulders, an uncomfortable position for a man of Richard’s height.
Jellal reached out a hand and Erik grabbed hold, while Sorano took Macbeth’s, and together they pulled the three of them toward the magic vehicle, Macbeth using red ribbons of his magic to carve a pathway through the dense drifts. When they were all bundled through the doorway, Jellal slammed the door closed behind them, shutting the raging wind and snow outside. Richard was deposited on a bench, breathing hard and with his eyes tightly shut. Erik examined him, carefully peeling back each of his lids and grimaced.
“Snow blindness,” he explained. “He’s damaged his eyes on the light reflected from all that snow.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Richard gasped, though Jellal could tell his eyes were hurting him. “I spotted the village… too far to walk in this weather, but once it clears…”.
Jellal patted his shoulder. “We’ll sit tight and let this storm pass through, but as soon as we’re able to move we’ll get you to a doctor.”
“I’m fine,” Richard insisted again. “The cold doesn’t bother me too much, but…”. He trailed off, and waved his hand in Macbeth’s direction.
Jellal turned and saw the reflector mage had collapsed on a bench right by the door. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and he was shaking violently. Sorano had removed her cloak and placed it around Macbeth’s shoulders, but the mage’s face was still deathly pale. Jellal left Erik and Sawyer to attend Richard and bandage his eyes, while he joined Sorano by Macbeth’s side. He removed his own cloak and lay it over his front, and summoned more fire, holding the flickering flames close to Macbeth’s icy skin. Macbeth hunched forward toward the heat, and Jellal had to hold him before he tipped face first into the fire.
“Easy, Macbeth, we’ll get you warmed up,” he said.
“Y’know, they say skin to skin contact is the best way to restore body heat,” Sorano said slyly.
“Don’t,” Macbeth muttered through his shivering, “don’t you dare.”
“Sorano,” Jellal warned. Now was not the time. The woman only smirked and readjusted the cloak on Macbeth’s shoulders.
“Here,” said Meredy from over Jellal’s shoulder. “I brewed some tea for everyone.”
Jellal quickly accepted a cup and handed it to Macbeth, who shakily brought it to his lips and sipped, wincing as the hot liquid burned his tongue, but grateful for he warmth it brought.
“Ah,” the reflector mage breathed, his shivering starting to abate. “Thank you.”
Jellal nodded and sat back, assessing their situation. Richard would need medical attention as soon as possible, but with this whiteout they couldn’t risk trying to navigate their way to the village. On foot they could easily be turned around on themselves or catch a nasty dose of frostbite, and the magi vehicle would be quickly snowed under. He sighed.
“We’ll have to wait it out,” he declared. “We’ve got plenty of food, water and magic, so we’ll be quite safe until this storm blows through.”
“Great”, Sorano grumbled. “I get to spend the next several hours cramped inside a car with five men who haven’t bathed in who knows how long.”
“You’re not exactly clean either!” Sawyer retorted. “If anyone smells here, it’s…”
“Ok,” Jellal said, raising a hand to forestall the oncoming argument. “Why don’t we find a way to entertain ourselves? We’ve got a while to wait.”
“I Spy?” Sawyer immediately suggested, bright yellow eyebrows twitching in excitement. “Charades? Twenty Questions?” Everyone groaned.
“No way,” Erik said. “You just shout out the answers before anyone else gets a chance. Sometimes to your own questions.”
“Yeah, says Mister Fair-Play with his frickin’ mind reading!” Sawyer said. Erik only smirked behind the rim of his mug.
“How about a story?” Richard suggested quietly. “Whenever it snowed at our farm, my brother and I would stay up late by the fire and tell stories to each other. Whoever told the best story got an extra piece of potato. My little brother always told the best.” The big man smiled to himself, fond memories of times long past playing before his blindfolded eyes.
“That would be lovely, Richard,” Meredy said, and everyone nodded in agreement. A soft snore came from Macbeth, and Jellal gently took the cup from his hands before the reflector mage dropped it. Macbeth shifted in his sleep, nestling his head against Richard’s arm. Richard smiled, and began his tale.
“There was a time, before kingdoms and guilds and even magic, when the world was a strange and chaotic place. The lands reshaped themselves at will, oceans spilled over or drained wherever they pleased, and wild spirits ran rampant. Earth built herself great thrones of stone that towered into the heavens, Water filled her lakes and rivers to bursting, while Fire lit the world alight wherever he stepped.
“Though there was one spirit who was even more wild than the others. The spirit of Air was arrogant and impetuous, who saw the homelands of his fellows as his playground. He nipped and chipped at the mountains, eroding away their magnificent beauty. He stirred the waters and sent great waves rolling and crashing in destruction. He fanned the flames into burning maelstroms, driving them forth in great walls of fire. In his impulsivity he did whatever he wished, laughing as he twirled through the sky, without a care for those beneath him.
“Over time the other spirits grew angry. They were tired of their hard work being disrupted by this juvenile pretender, so they decided to be rid of him. Earth offered minerals from deep underground, and Fire heated them hotter and hotter, until they glowed white and softened. Water took the material, and in her cool depths, shaped them into a perfect bowl of tempered crystal. The trap was set.
“One day the three gathered together, and while Fire and Water hid, Earth crafted a sculpture so beautiful it would be bound to attract Air’s attention. She lifted her art high into the sky, turning in around to display its finesse. A cool breeze stirred, and the Air spirit soared down from the sky. With a great laugh, he blew the sculpture from Earth’s hands where it shattered on the ground. Feigning upset, Earth hid her face in her hands and wept, while Air circled about her, mocking and jeering.
“With the Air spirit distracted, Fire seized his chance. He leapt forth from his hiding spot, burning bright hot. His heat blew Air off balance, and he twirled around in confusion. Water reared up and batted him with her waves, knocking Air straight out of the sky. With a cry the spirit of the air fell to Earth, who held the bowl of crystal in her hand. With the other she grabbed at Air’s wispy body, but he was not solid enough to hold, and began to slip through her grip. Fire and Water came to help, and together they burned and flooded Air into submission, forcing their kin inside the bowl. Fire grasped the bowl’s surface, and with his heat melded the opening together, until Air was trapped inside a perfect crystal sphere.
“The three spirits stood back in satisfaction, watching Air spin and squirm in his glass prison, and they ignored his cries and pleas. After congratulating themselves, Water took up the sphere and brought it down with her to her home, to a place so deep and dark that Air would never be able to escape. There she left him, alone in the dark and the cold, to be forgotten.
“The spirits then went back to their lives, much pleased that they could live in peace again. Time passed, and they no longer thought about the spirit of the Air. Earth built her monuments, Water journeyed around the world, and Fire lit and warmed the cold nights. All was well, for a time. But one day, Earth gazed upon her latest creation, and was dismayed. It was rough and ugly, nowhere near as beautiful as it should have been. She examined her more recent pieces of art, and was shocked. Where were the intricate patterns, the bold shapes and structures that were the essence of her skill? Water and Fire fared little better. Water’s travels were slow and sluggish, and where before she would visit far flung places, taken up into the heavens in cloud form, now she wallowed and writhed in stagnant pools. Fire grew concerned at his own feeble attempts. His wildfires would not spread, not a single black burn scar could be seen anywhere. Even small camp flames barely flickered enough to give any heat to their cold users.
“Angered by this new turn of events, the spirits gathered together once more. What is happening to their powers, why are their gifts of creation and wonder not working? All around them, life struggled. There were no caves or crevices in the rock to shelter in, sludge and dead creatures choked the waterways, weeds grew unchecked while beings froze before their cold hearths. Why are you not carving properly, Earth was asked, but she insisted she did nothing different. Where is the rain, they demanded of Water, but she claimed she had been unable to traverse the heavens of late. Why are you letting the world grow cold, they said to Fire, but he told them the air was too still for his flames to move.
“All three spirits fell silent. What do you mean, Fire? asked the Earth. Aren’t you the one who moves the flames? demanded Water. Fire sputtered in confusion. I don’t know, he admitted. I never considered it before, but now thinking of it, my flames were always strongest when Air was around. He would fan them and play with them, and I would be angry because he pushed them the opposite direction I wanted them to go. But afterwards, when the smoke cleared, fresh green shoots would push through the ash along the path he chose. Fire cocked his head, sending sparks scattering. He always played with the campfires as well. They would flare up and burn bright. Sometimes Air played too rough and he would blow them out, but when he was gentle, the beings would be warm and content.
“Earth looked thoughtfully at her hands. My fingers are far too big for such delicate work, she mused. I can shatter and crush my rocks, raise my mountains high into the heavens, but when I try to carve them, my great strength either shatters my artworks to fragments, or creates ugly and unsubtle gashes. She drew her great knees to her chin in a rumble of thunder and quakes. Air used to whistle through while I worked, whipping up the dust and blowing my fragile sculptures over. He would scratch and pick at my pieces until they looked nothing like how I envisioned them. And yet when I gaze at my collection, the ones he damaged are the most striking.
“Water chimed in. Fewer minerals fall into my courses from your stones and your ash. Currents no longer race through my depths, or dash great waves against the cliffs. No more do I fall from the sky in bountiful rain. Water laughed then, her voice the rushing of oceans, the patter of raindrops, the cracking of melting bergs. In truth I even tried to throw myself into the heavens, and my weight drew me back down splashing. But before we banished him, Air would grab my hand and pull me easily aloft. He would throw me about the sky, twisting and turning me in a mad and dizzying rush, until at last he let me go, to fall and smash against the ground. Though at times, he was gentle, tender even, and danced with me through the heavens. He would guide me down slowly, and I would settle as soft dew on the sweet green leaves.
“The spirits all fell silent then, each lost in their own deliberations. Their troubles had started soon after the banishment of Air. Was his absence really the cause of their worries, or an unfortunate fluke of time? Ultimately they decided they must question their upstart kin, and so Water was bade to fetch him from her depths. Down she traversed, beyond light and heat, to the crushing black abyss where she had left him. Collecting up his crystal prison, Water expected Air to be still howling his fury at this insult, but he was silent and sullen, and spoke not a word on their journey skyward.
“When Water deposited the spirit of the Air, contained in his sphere, in front of their gathering, he merely curled in a ball, and said nothing. Well? Fire demanded impatiently, spitting sparks. Is it true you fanned my flames, so they would burn away the scrub and allow the fresh shoots to break through? Earth joined in. Are you really the one who carved such intricate beauty into my great towers of stone? Water finished. And was it your winds who stirred my currents, and lifted me high into the heavens, to traverse the globe and bring the rains?
“Air twisted a slow circle inside his crystal cage. So what if I did all those things for you? he said bitterly. You did not want me. You trapped me and drowned me, in the dark and the cold. All alone. Air curled around himself, hiding his face in his wispy body. His voice was barely the whisper of a breeze. I only wanted to play.
“We see that now! They all cried together, Earth, Water and Fire. We are sorry. You were no malicious devil, wreaking havoc with mischief or foolishness. You were one of us, a spirit, a part of the great cycle of this world. Without you Air, our kin, our flames will die, our rocks grow barren, and our waters stagnate. Come and join us again, as it should be, and let us revel in your play!
“Water came forward, and picked up the crystal prison. Air’s ghostly hands pressed against its walls, his face uncertain, but hopeful. You will set me free? he whispered. You will let me fly and soar through the heavens once more? In answer, Water smiled, lifted the great sphere high over her head, and dashed it hard upon the ground. Crystal shattered, and a rush of wind engulfed them. Air wheeled and leapt, somersaulting for pure joy, his laughter peeling, and his kin all looked on in gladness as he pranced through the sky, revelling in his freedom.
“All at once, Fire felt his flames leap higher, burning through the scrubby brush and leaving great scorches on the earth, to fertilise and warm a new generation of life. Earth listened to the wind whipping her mountains once more, delicate hands hewing where she could not reach, to carve and sculpt such wondrous patterns. And Water felt a tug on her hand, and turned to see Air waiting, a mischievous smirk on his wispy face. With a joyous laugh, she leapt with him, and they spiralled up and up into the sky, throwing rain showers in every direction. They flew high above the world, and watched as life flourished below them. On and on they span, until at last they danced over the oceans, and Air gracefully lowered Water back down to the churning waves, so he could take her up again another day.
“And so the cycle was made whole, Fire, Earth, Water and Air in synchrony once more. They have danced their dance for many generations of men and more, and have witnessed continents, kingdoms, guilds and all come and go. Even long after the last wizard has disappeared from Ishgar, this dance will go on. And sometimes, if you are quiet, very quiet, you may just hear laughter echoing faintly, as the spirit of the air goes about his play.”
Richard finished his story with a sigh, and settled back against the wall of the magi mobile. His guild mates all gazed at him in silence, lost for words after hearing his beautiful tale. Macbeth snored lightly where he slept curled against the big man’s arm.
“Damn,” said Sawyer, quietly, as if afraid to break the spell. “That was really something man.”
Erik and Jellal nodded in agreement, and Meredy clasped her hands together, eyes shining.
“Richard, that was, that was-“.
“Beautiful,” Sorano finished for her. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Where’d you hear that from? You can’t have just made that up on the spot.”
Richard smiled gently. “My brother and I had a lot of time to tell tales while we worked our farm. I remember many of them. And don’t forget, I’m one of Earth’s own wizards. Stories of Earth and her kin always fill my heart with joy and love.”
Sorano turned to gaze out of the window, at the snow storm that still howled and danced around their vehicle, air whistling past in mad flurries. Was it just her imagination, or did figures eddy and swirl through the snowfall, dancing around and around in great circles? She thought about the final part of Richard’s story, how Air had borne Water up into the sky, to fly through the heavens, just like an angel. Sorano sighed. Would she ever find out what that was like? True, her rescue from the Tower, and subsequent salvation from Brain’s control had dulled her desire to escape from this mortal plane, but still she dreamed. She dreamed of soft, white angel wings, bearing her up, up and away, away from the pain and cruelty of this world, lifting her to the heavens, where she could disappear into the pure, silent white.
Sorano sighed again, and buried herself deeper into her coat, though Jellal’s hot fire pushed out the worst of the chill. She turned back to her guild mates, where Erik was carefully rubbing salve around Richard’s snow-blind eyes, while Sawyer badgered the poor man for more details on his story. Meredy had curled up against Jellal, who laid an awkward but gentle arm around her shoulders, his other hand holding steady their warming flame. The sleeping Macbeth had slid further down into his mass of blankets, so that only his two-toned hair poked out from the top.
The angel wizard smiled to herself. She’d been dreadfully annoyed when they had broken down, and would much rather have been tucked up in proper, well heated lodgings, but she couldn’t deny the warmth she now felt here, surrounded by her friends, loved and cared for. That was worth all the dreams in the world. Shuffling forward, she cleared her throat.
“Well, we’ve heard Richard’s story, now it’s time for one of mine,” she said, allowing a smirk to play about her lips. Erik’s ears immediately pricked, and he glared at her in warning. Now smiling savagely, Sorano said, “Who wants to hear the time I walked into Erik and Sawyer in the bath tub together?”
A cacophony of shouts, exclamations and threats of death exploded from the magi vehicle after that, joining the roaring of the wind outside as the snow storm continued to howl on. Flurries and flakes danced through the air, from the stranded car to the nearby village, hidden by the blizzard and blanketed in snow. Adults and children alike circled around their own fires to keep out the cold, and spun their own tales of mischievous spirits, majestic elementals, and ancient magic. And high above them, twirling and prancing through the heavens, a wispy figure flew along, joyous laughter trailing in his wake.