Snow Fields - Book Two of The Fields of Mendhavai Trilogy

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

We stumbled tiredly through the snow in Bashiir’s wake for what I guessed to be three candlemarks, before the first waves of the snow-laden wind that heralded the ice-storm began whipping us in the faces. I pulled my scarf up higher around my cheeks and tightened the draw strings on my fur-lined hood. The light had dimmed as the wall of snowflakes, thousands of feet high, blocked out the sun and sky. Though I no longer needed the mask against the snow-glare, I left it on, if only to keep the wind off of the upper part of my face. I glanced over my shoulder to be sure everyone was still following. Poor Taphille was holding his mask in place with one mittened hand; the other, naked, was thrust deeply into the pocket of his parka to protect it as he trudged behind me. Having the use of neither hand, his balance was hindered and he was stumbling about drunkenly as his feet slipped this way and that in the snow.

Hold on a moment, Bashiir, I requested mind to mind, knowing the wind would sweep my voice away. When I noticed the dragon had stopped, I turned to Taphille and shrugged out of my pack. I pulled one hand free of my mitten, and scrounged around inside the bag until I found of the things I was searching for.

“Let me see your mask!” I shouted to the boy over the wailing wind.

He squinted his eyes and pulled the mask away, handing it to me wordlessly. I pulled a length of thick sinew from the small sewing kit I knew I would find in the pack, and tied two pieces onto the short lengths of leather left after I had cut the mask free. I motioned him to turn around before I put the mask over his face and tied it behind his ears. He reached up and wiggled it experimentally as he turned to face me again.

“Thank you,” he mouthed. I nodded as I stuck my hand back into my bag and pulled out the roll of a wool bandage. I motioned at his hidden hand and he drew it hesitantly out of the pocket, holding it before me. Quickly, my exposed fingers already getting stiff with cold, I wrapped his hand, fingertips to wrist, with the bandage and tied it off - a makeshift mitten. He grinned at me, flexing his fingers, and I turned back to Bashiir.

Alright, let’s get going.

We struggled through the blowing snow, each step taking us deeper into the ice-storm, and the wind strengthened into a howl. I could hear nothing more than the sound of blood pulsing through my ears and the whisper of tiny frozen crystals sliding against the hood of my parka. The wind was quickly filling in the path that Bashiir was plowing.

I looked up toward the sky in an attempt to gauge the time of day and how long we had yet to go before we reached the safety of where ever Bashiir was leading us. There was no suggestion at all that the sun remained above us; only a monotonous expanse of swirling snow as far as I could see in any direction, which was not far.

Taphille bumped into me from behind and, startled, I looked back to the path before me - what there was left of it anyway. I hadn’t realized I had stopped while searching for a sign of the sun. I couldn’t lose track of the commander, and I hoped he was still following Bashiir, despite the large creature’s ease at blending into this environment. Fear gripped my throat and I looked ahead to where I thought Smythe should be. I could barely discern his figure, which seemed to be floating through the thickening snow, slowly fading from sight. I picked up my pace with Taphille on my heels.

Just as I caught up with them, I heard a shout that was quickly swept away by the wind.

“Mikko!” the shout repeated.

Wait, Bashiir. Don’t move! I turned back the way we had come, the direction I thought the sound should be coming from, although it seemed to reach my ears from a different direction each time it was repeated.