Black Ice: The Rings of Belzantra

Rebirth

Dark and warm. Soft? My eyes flew open, and my arms pushed against the...--soft coverlet?-- enveloping me. I tried to sit up, but the pain which ripped through my abdomen left me breathless. I rested; I was in an actual bed. I flexed my fingers against the sheets beneath me. I could feel the feathers of the mattress; my hands could press into them as if they were the stomach of a fat man. I doubted whether I’d ever lain anywhere so fine.

But there was no way I could sit. I didn’t loan a seconds thought to even pondering standing. Each breath I pulled inwards tore something inside my ribs. I tried to breathe as little as possible. It wasn’t all that difficult; I wasn’t moving, exerting.

Time passed too slowly.  I was an imposter lying in this fancy bed.

“Is any...one there?” My voice was harsh, strained. I coughed against a hitch in my throat, cringing as a fresh wave of pain emanated from my neck. A memory of a boot greeting my windpipe less than kindly graced my mind. I grimaced against the blanket covering my face.

A scuff across the room caught my attention. The slightest sound --a book being closed?-- followed by the screech of wooden chair legs over rough floor planks met my ears. Padded footsteps drew closer.

I heard a shutter open. Golden light filtered through the blanket into my eyes, my lashes brushing the coverlets soft underside.  It was morning? The light was so yellow; I could feel its warm heat. How old was I the last time I had felt warm sun on my skin?

The blanket pulled away from my face. Scratchy hair fell into my face. I raised a hand to brush it from my face, but my arm caught in the blanket.

“Oh, apologies!”

The hair left my face, tickling as it retreated. I opened my eyes against the warm sunlight, squinting into its brilliance, but before I adjusted, a dark shape blotted out the light.

“I will close the shutter again, as soon as I have a good look at you.” The dark shape moved about, making small clinking sounds.

Wariness crawled up my spine. This bed was just another trap. I felt for the ring on my finger; the warm, smooth metal was still on my hand, snug and fit as if smelted specifically for my little finger. Knowing I still had the ring put some of my apprehension at bay. I strained to crane my neck forward, see more than just the blinding light and white, painted board ceiling.

The hair belonged to a hunched old man, bent over a spindly table near the foot of my bed. Methodically, he picked up bottle after bottle, scrutinized each label, then shook his head, replacing each vial on the table.  With a small sound of self-approval, he found the jar he wanted, straightened his spine, and shuffled towards me.

“Let’s see, shall we?” A gnarled hand reached towards the blanket under my chin. I hissed in a breath, moved my hands to hold the blanket.

“Shush, stop that now.” His knotted fingers gripped the blanket lightly, and tugged it down my body. I was wearing a white shift, probably one of the old man’s own night dresses.

“Yes, I changed you.” He shimmied the shift up around my waist. I felt a foreign heat spread over my cheeks and nose.

“I’m an old man. I’ve not even the working parts, or interest to care that you are female.”

My ribs and stomach were mottled with bruises, fresh and mean looking. I did not recognize my flesh. Bandages wound around my ribs. I remembered the knife, and shivered.  Strangely though, I felt more comfortable than I could remember feeling, bared to the chest in front of this strange old man. I was in a bed, a very soft bed. And he had taken great care to treat my wounds. And the sunlight on the top of my head felt so warm.

“My name is Gregor, child.”

He carefully unwound the bandages from my lower rib cage, gently pulling the strips of cloth out from underneath me.  The slice was a narrow red pucker; the stab was surprisingly small. I had seen the blade disappear into my flesh.

Gregor tipped the small vial onto two of his fingers. An orange liquid dripped out, and he spread it over my ruined skin. A breeze blew in through the window, cool against the salve.

“How did I get here?” I asked after a few minutes of silence. Gregor’s hair was comprised of thin grey wires; they swayed back and forth in the intermittent breeze as he methodically worked his medicines into my belly.

“I brought you here.”

“From Reyzeck?” The mine. Suffocating darkness.

“Reyzeck, really?” Gregor appeared to ponder for a moment. “Oh, but no, child. From my front yard.”

I couldn’t think of a response. It was the sunlight, the blissfully warm sunlight which confused me.

“Where am I?”

“In Belzantra. A few miles outside of the northern holdings.”

Belzantra. My head swam in a wave of dizziness.

“I was in Reyzeck.” I felt as if made of stone. Nothing made sense, including my own flesh.

Gregors fingers prodded my stomach. I cringed, whimpered slightly despite efforts not to.

“Cry out if need be. I will not hold it against you.”

I closed my eyes, and relished in the chance to lie prone. Sleep engulfed me as I fought to keep my mind from dissolving into confusion. Belzantra?