Dreigiau Book 1: The Gift of Flame

Introduction

Date: Many Passes Ago

The killing winter leapt across the land, howling around the two children like something from a campfire story. Except, there was no campfire now. Only the bleached landscape hung around them, sky and ground faded mirrors of nothingness. From time to time, a scraggly tree limb burst up through the snow drifts, like a desperate hand reaching towards the sky.

Zento heard stories of such winters, told by the Elders around the warmth of the Gathering's fire. Their legends spoke of the First Ancestor, who led the early clans into the Northland mountains and challenged the blizzard storms to battle. Though he tamed the icy winds and made a home for his clan, the frost stole the color from their hair in vengeance, forever marking them as white-haired people of the North.

While some tales flaunted the glory of heroic deeds, most stories about Killing Winters were grim, earning pursed-lipped sounds from those who lived to tell them. Zento's story was no exception.

His mother insisted that it was too late in the year to make such a risky trip across the Highlands. His father didn't listen, claiming the freezing season was still another month away. Father had landed a great deal at the final trading post, which put them behind the South Migration. The Gatherings couldn't stall their journey, and the pass through the Highlands was a tested shortcut for those left behind. As the family set out with their few belongings in tow, the weather decided to favor his mother's warnings.

Unannounced, the blizzard raged down through the pass, storm winds howling through the passes like ravenous drift-wolves. Of the six who set out on the Migration, only Zento and his youngest sister, SaRa, remained. Zento's father and older brother vanished one afternoon during a hunting expedition. Only days later, Mother caught chills that grew worse until she didn't wake up. Though Zento fought to keep the remaining children alive, the elder sister eventually succumbed to the freeze.

Heart heavy with mourning and loss, stumbling feet slogging through the cold, he forced them to keep moving through the pass. When SaRa finally fell stiff and shivering in the snow, Zento carried her on his back.

Each breath shot a stream of crackling white smoke in the air. All Zento could feel was a stinging numbness both inside and out that even the warmth of their bodies pressed together could not dispel. Still he walked, step by tedious step. His father taught them to always move forward, to always fight, even to the last breath. This was the way of the Clans of the North.

It was nearly dark when Zento saw the distant light. At first, he thought it was snow-vision casting tricks over his eyes. However, the light remained steadfast, even as the skies grew darker and the wind's breath colder.

Though his mind was tired, the boy pondered its appearance before making his decision to follow it. The light didn't appear to be the sickly blue flames of the Ghost Clan, a dangerous people known for practicing the frightening Deep Magics. Nor did it seem to be the cold flame of a Mist Mote, which lured many unsuspecting travelers to their death within the snow-filled hollows. There the Mists would claim their spirits, taking them into the lands of Unrest.

This light was golden. Something about it called to Zento and filled him with the strength to answer the call. With endurance he didn't realize he possessed, the boy pushed through the drifts, carrying the weight of his sister on his back. The snow grew abruptly shallow and in mid-step, the toe of Zento's fur-lined boot caught on stone. He stumbled, fighting to keep his balance, but SaRa's weight was so great upon him that he instantly found himself sprawled, face-first upon the stone.

For a long moment he simply laid still, his breath streaming ice-decorations on the naked rock under his cheek. Lifting his green eyes, Zento realized that they had stumbled into a cave. Though it looked very deep and dark, he could sense the potential warmth where the stone walls provided shelter against the frigid winds.