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Ice began to board up the windows, crawling along the glass to create the veins of cracks that whispered the first buds of winter. The winds howled beyond, rattling every window and wall it could sneak through the cracks in, beckoning snow from the sky that would cast the earth in a quiet, gentle slumber where only the most resilient of plants could break through winter’s shroud, curved and bent to take shape around the trees, stones, and bricks that sought to keep them underfoot. Unfortunately, humans were not gifted with the same persistence as these hardy plants, not when it came to the cold, anyway — a simple chill could inspire illness, the lessening of body heat could cause one’s body to slowly succumb to the ice of nothingness, and eventually, the chill would creep into their bones, beckoning them to a dark world of peaceless oblivion. Such a thing sparked many inventions to stave off the bitter violence of winter: woollen blankets to trap heat, kettles for warm water to dispel a chill, and even kindling itself to keep a fire burning — even pyreballs themselves were used to invite warmth and chase away the chill of the encroaching dark.
The soft light of the pyreball illuminated the stone of the atelier around them, casting a gentle glow against the ice of the window that caused it to retreat slightly. The girls gathered around the flame, warming their cool hands, exhaling in relief as the biting chill was chased away. Silence gathered them in its embrace, the only sound the crackle of the fire, the occasional flip of a page, and the wind that gently portended the arrival of the season of death. Qifrey pulled the blanket resting on his thighs around him a little more as the wind howled louder, forcing the trees beyond to sway slightly, their leaves whispering against each other, too much like an invitation; like a reminder. He pulled it up to his shoulders, hoping its weight would ground him underneath.
The wind’s final call drifted through the open door as Olruggio stepped forward, shrugging the evidence of winter from his cloak, unbothered by the flakes of ice and snow as only someone whose spent their entire life around such a thing could be, except the irritation of standing in it, the chill of ice and snow meeting warm skin and melting around it, would forever be an irritant; nothing those link rings of his couldn’t solve, but the soft groan of irritation at the uncomfortability arrived all the same.
“Master Olruggio!” Tetia sing-songed, jumping up from where she was sitting to bounce her way in front of the man blinking down at her. “Come sit by the fire with us!”
Taking his hand gently, Tetia led him to the room with a smile, his gaze lifting to the soft pyreball that burned beyond the five of them, casting gentle light across the stone walls. Finally, Tetia let go of his hand, rejoining the rest of her fellow apprentices where they were surrounded by blankets and half-empty teacups.
“Bit soft for me.” The girls’ head snapped up to him immediately, watching with curiosity as he settled himself to sit amongst them, allowing the fire to warm him. “But it’ll ‘ave to do, I s’pose.”
“Fire isn’t really my speciality,” Qifrey stated smilingly, the tip of his thumb pressing against the teacup in his hand.
“Not really what I meant,” Olruggio replied. “It’s a bit weaker than how I’m used to, that’s all.”
He leaned further back against the chair. The girls’ eyes never left him, hoping he would elaborate further to enlighten them on the secrets he knew of fire magic, and when he did not, it was Coco who finally spoke up and asked:
“How would you have done it, Master Olruggio?”
“Hm?” Olruggio peeked one eye open to look at down her, lips pursed in thought as he lifted his gaze to the ice on the window, slowly retreating from the heat of the weak fire.
Qifrey smiled at nothing, drawing his own eye away to stare ahead at that slowly-exhausting flame, the feeling of his fingernails forming welts into his palm a dull ache compared to the way his breath felt like it had been carried off with the howling winds from the mere glow of the fire casting Olruggio’s ponderous expression in a radiance of warm light.
“There are a few ways. Some of which are only ‘alf magical. There’s this rather ancient method of gathering enough kindling to light a large fire that’s supposed to provide enough light and warmth to keep ‘armful spirits away.”
“Wow…” Tetia said softly.
“That sounds like it would be fun,” Richeh voiced quietly next to her.
“It is!” Coco exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at her, her enthusiasm for something as simple as gathering kindling captivating everyone’s attention. “I used to do it with…” Coco cleared her throat, trailing off, but it was not hard for any of them to finish the thought in their minds: my mother — but the way her expression twitched slightly, her lips turning down into a guilty grimace; all too familiar and all too disheartening. “Uh… in my village all the time! Finding the right kindling can be a challenge, but it’s really fun when you make it a game with the other kids in the village of how many you can gather before the adults call you back.”
“There’s a right type of kindling? Wouldn’t it all just be… wood?” Agott inquired thoughtfully, and no sooner had the words passed her lips did Coco’s eyes sparkle with the bud of an idea, spinning quickly on her heel to face the man who unwittingly encouraged the idea:
“Please can we doo that, Master Olruggio? Please, please!”
Olruggio sat stunned for a moment, clearly wondering if he should regret regaling the girls with such knowledge of Northern customs or if he should have expected this from such eager young girls when the other three looked at him hopefully.
“It shouldn’t be me you should be askin’,” he eventually settled on, turning his face towards the pyreball that looked a little sad now after his description of such a grand bonfire.
All four of them faced Qifrey now, their determined and hopeful faces crushing him easily beneath the weight of their childlike innocence, the excitement of the very idea clearing the constricting ropes of contrition from Coco, even if momentarily. If it were anyone else asking, if it were solely up to his own whims and desires, he would rather not step out into that solemn blanket of white solitude to feel its cool wetness seep beneath his clothes only for it to crawl beneath his skin, burrowing deep into his already stolen veins and stiffened bones — but perhaps it would be fine, when the snow eventually stopped, as it would fail to last, blending to mostly ice beneath a thin blanket. And there were precautions that needed to be taken before venturing into such a frigid land anyway.
“It would be educational,” Qifrey acquiesced.
At his words, the girls turned to stare up at Olruggio, the dim light of the pyre ball in the fireplace reflecting from the ice of the window making it seem as though their eyes sparkled with hope and wonder; something Olruggio clearly noticed for himself from the way his shoulders slumped, unable for a second to extinguish the flame of childlike curiosity in their expressions, holding their breaths in anticipation at the same time. Qifrey touched a finger to his lips to hold back the snicker that threatened to escape.
“Seriously…” Olruggio exhaled gruffly, staring up at the ceiling as though there was a puppetteer beyond the comfortable walls of the atelier that pulled at his strings, and it not simply being his own warm heart that caused him to concede so readily. “Fine. Tomorrow morning.”
After finally convincing the girls to turn in for the night with all four of them unable to contain their excitement at the concept of such a novel idea, with the exception of Coco whose ebullience was born of sharing her own kind of knowledge, morning came like a gentle brush of the cheek when the rising sun was blocked by the plume of clouds that gather beyond the window, yet the bright whiteness of everything still pierced through his skull like a precise knife; laid on a chopping board for the light to cut through him until either the darkness came to relieve him or he was split in half.
Yet, despite the pounding headache that threatened to arrive through the niggling pain at the back of his head, and the dull anxiety over the thought of spending time among the whispering trees, Qifrey still dragged himself out of bed before anyone else, ignoring the pain until it eventually lessened to something more bearable; until it felt like it had disappeared completely. Breakfast came and went in a hurried spell, with a gentle reminder from him that the girls were not to forget their winter cloaks if they wanted to spend time outside, and in the flash of a quickly passing clock mark, the four of them were rushing out to greet the forest beyond.
“Slow down, girls!” Olruggio called after them. The four of them stopped sheepishly, calling back apologies as they waited for the two adults to catch up.
When Qifrey stepped out to follow them, it was the winter air that embraced him first, like a cool whisper of breath on his cheek, followed by the frozen blanket of monochrome white that lay beyond. On its own, without the reflection of a window or objects for the illumination to cast itself around him unpleasantly, it seemed duller; endurable. Still, the dull throb at the back of his head suddenly sharpened, a hand flying up to push his fingers against his head gently, as if the pressure was supposed to stop the ache.
“Sure you want to come?” Olruggio asked beside him.
“Yes, just… give me a moment.”
With some effort, Qifrey finally opened his eye again, to the sight of Olruggio studying him, as though trying to decide if he was lying or not. It’s truly fascinating how accustomed one can become to something that once gave them trouble once given enough practice; what seemed so impossible now eventually comes to feel natural — as easy as breathing, and so when Qifrey smiles that same bright smile that no longer feels like something tugging at his lips, but now comes with the immensity of guilt that only adding more lies, no matter how small, to a soul already stained with thousands of them can — each one a fresh cut that heals quicker than should be allowed.
“Besides, I can’t leave you all alone with the girls when they’re like this,” he continued, stepping outside to walk ahead of him, ice crunching softly beneath his heel.
“I wouldn’t say I’m that inexperienced at looking after them,” Olruggio responded gruffly, falling into a step beside him. The relief that ebbed the anxiety from his bones like retreating vines fell into the mixture of warring emotions he kept inside himself; a promise kept, but an empty feeling added — and when that same anxiety arrived again seconds after it fled, gratitude and shame filled that already overflowing bowl all the same.
Thankfully, the girls had not wandered far, and watching them gather firewood to present to Coco and Olruggio who either accepted or rejected the little sticks was somewhat distracting enough to find himself worrying less about the trees whispering overhead, the leaves that clung to some of them, desperate to hold on for life, reaching for the others, almost in hope that they could cling to each other before their inevitable demise to join their brethren below.
“Haw, you,” Olruggio yelled at Coco up in a tree, surveying from below. Coco froze on the spot, clearly not expecting to have been caught. “Whit ye daein?”
Confusion coloured her expression. Upon realising the words that had fallen between them, Olruggio cleared his throat. How odd it is that simple wood-gathering and the cold bite of the snow could have him easily speaking his mother’s tongue; from speaking the further Northern tongue of those high beyond Ghodrey, the memories of his childhood from before the Great Hall enveloping him completely that he fell into speaking it easily. It had been a long time since Qifrey wondered if such roots existed for him; something that connected him to the earth beneath his feet — something beyond his entire personhood being stolen from him. Instead, he exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders fall as Olly corrected his language, smiling softly at the small mistake —
— when the branch behind him brushed his back, its soft leaf caressing the skin that peeked out from beneath his cloak, causing him to violently recoil, a hand reaching for where his skin still felt the rotten caress. Nothing but skin beneath; warm flesh — the cool wetness of the ice clinging to the leaf melts against his trembling skin, a vicious reminder of what is to come if he lets his thoughts wander to the warmth for even the smallest of seconds.
“Master Qifrey?” Tetia addressed tentatively. Qifrey looked down at the bundles of sticks in her hands, clutched tightly to her person as if searching for something to soothe her worries. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Tetia,” he responded quickly, smiling brightly at her as he lowered himself to her level. “Just startled me, that’s all.”
“Hmm…” Tetia’s lips twisted in a thoughtful pout, watching as she studied him up and down, her tone tentative and slightly disbelieving when she next spoke. “Okay…”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about, I promise,” Qifrey continued, squeezing her shoulder gently in a further attempt at reassurance. Thankfully, the concern slowly drained from her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as Qifrey’s continued, journeying ahead of him after giving a slight nod. Once she was ahead, he exhaled, dropping his hand to the ground to promptly rub the wetness at his back until the skin turned an angry red.
“Hey, wait,” Tetia chirped, causing Qifrey to freeze as she spun on her heel quickly, dropping his hand by his side, “how come you’re not collecting any wood, Master Qifrey?”
Relief overcame him in a slow wave, the tension dripping from his entire person as he exhaled into a slow smile that stretched his lips into sheepishness, fingers brushing along his hair as he rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie — but not exactly the truth, either. The feeling of the cold wetness beneath his fingertips is enough to cause a shiver crawling up his spine, enveloping him like a shadow, coming to whisper in his ear about the time he has borrowed; stolen, from the memories and love of others, like a tight vice around his heart and lungs that make it difficult to even exist, let alone breathe, but who in their right mind would ever burden a child with such a strain?
“We’ve got enough now anyway, so it’s no trouble,” Olruggio chimes in from behind Tetia, plucking the firewood from her arms.
“Ah.” The way his shoulders fall in relief makes him feel sick. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Olruggio calls over his shoulder.
Once they find a clearing free of anything too flammable that they can’t be accused of deforestation, the little sticks they’ve found are piled high upon each other into a tower of dried wood. The girls stand around, waiting, watching, as Coco places the finishing touches at the top. The fire Olruggio lights inspires awed coos as the flames lick up the side of each piece of kindling until it becomes a blaze, smoke emanating into the stars that kiss the night sky gently, the plumes of smoke covering their usual brilliant light in slight darkness.
It’s not lost on him; the way each piece of kindling was lit on fire until it was beginning to burn down to nothing but ash — the way it was a tree yesterday, a twig today, and would be drifting as ash in the wind tomorrow, eventually settling against some other plant to fertilise it until it met the same end eventually. His eye lifts from the bottom of the fire to the heavens above where the smoke continued to rise, its destination determined by the wind — like a rolling seed destined to germinate in fertile soil. The thought makes him shiver. He pulls his cloak tighter around him with one hand, as if it will help, clutching on to the fabric of the ribbon that adorns his hat with the other, exhaling as he closes his eye from the view beyond.
Eventually, a shoulder knocking against his own breaks him out of his musing.
“What’s that look for?” Olruggio asks, good-naturedly, but still with that edge of concern that lets Qifrey know he’s noticed more than he thought he was showing.
“What look?”
“The one that looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“It’s nothing, really,” he lies, again, as always. “The girls look like they’re having fun.”
“Mm, yeah, I guess so,” Olruggio agrees, half-convinced.
Qifrey turns to smile at him. “Truly, it’s nothing.”
“Uh huh,” Olruggio replied. Without saying much else, from his tone alone, Qifrey knew he wasn’t going to take it as an answer.
“If you must know,” Qifrey replies, sighing as he drops his hands to his sides, drawing his cloak further around himself to hide the way his fingers danced around each other, fists clenching and unclenching, eye trained on the way the kindling continues to burn and burn and burn; to waste away until there will, eventually, be nothing left; no proof that it existed but their memories alone — and memory was such an odd and fickle thing… “I was thinking about how fragile life is. One moment this wood was part of something bigger than itself… and by morning, it will all be ash.”
It’s silent for a moment. Nothing but the sounds of the girls chatting and giggling softly echo among the night, of the wind rushing past his ears remain — then a hand pats his back gently.
“They’re just twigs, Qifrey,” Olruggio responded softly. “You don’t need to be so worried about it.”
“Mm,” Qifrey responds half-heartedly, his shoulder burning with Olruggio's lingering touch. He looks down at his hands, the way they clench and unclench; shake and rattle in the cold — tremble with the knowledge, the burden, of a promise that one of the two people underneath these same stars that same night doesn’t remember him making. “Yeah.”