It was too cold. But more than anything, it was too bright.
Maithea had heard a lot of things about the Colorless Land, but not that it was never night there. What exactly they had done to it, she didn't know. But there was no sun here that could rise or set; the sky was always the same shade of white, day or night, unmoving and unchanging. Clouds, maybe, but for clouds too bright and too uniform.
Fog might be nearer the mark. Layers and layers of that glowing fog that accompanied the Colorless wherever they went, isolating them from the world outside.
Sleeping, of course, was next to impossible. Not that there was much time to sleep to begin with. The Colorless granted them the barest minimum of everything: food, water, and sleep time all seemed carefully calculated, and anyone who couldn't manage on those rations was left behind. More than once she and Nellary had seen one of the older, weaker villagers collapsing in the snow during work, ignored by the Colorless and eventually abandoned. Several times they had tried to rescue them, only to be stopped and made to continue their work.
And work they did, like there was no tomorrow. The Colorless People made them. There was always something to do: constructing buildings, felling trees, paving roads, making weapons and armor. The villagers were set on the different tasks according to their skills and strength, but little joy did they find in them. There were barely any breaks, and whenever they finished a task early in the hopes of getting to rest longer, they found the next one already waiting.
"I've had enough of this place," Nellary muttered one evening when they managed to get close enough to talk. "People are dropping like flies. Aren't we supposed to be their hostages? Shouldn't they keep us safe till they can exchange us for whatever they want?"
"I don't know," Maithea replied. "Earlier someone said they might save the people who collapse after all, but hide it from us. Or maybe they're trying to pressure the king."
"And we can do nothing." Nellary set her jaw, glaring at the fine mist, almost unnoticeable, that hung all about the air. "It's hard enough just keeping your sanity with this...this stuff all about!"
Maithea placed a hand on her arm. "Don't shout, Nell. It'll make it worse—"
"I know that! But what am I supposed to do? Bite my tongue until it's my turn to break down? Don't make me laugh!"
"Why wither away slowly," said a voice from behind them, "when you can make it fast?"
They spun around, their gazes falling on Fayabel's face. At least, going by the voice and remaining features, it must have once been Fayabel. Now she was almost unrecognizable. Large parts of her hair were white. Her skin was so sickly pale she could be mistaken for one of the Colorless. Even her eyes had taken on an eerie grayish hue.
"Fay," Maithea said, trying to smile. "It's good to see you alive."
Fayabel gave a scoff. "Alive? Only on the outside," she said. "My children are gone. My soul is gone. What's the point in staying alive in this place? What's keeping any of us alive?"
"Your children might still be alive," Maithea suggested.
"Might be! So what? I'll never see them again. And if I do, they won't recognize their own mother!" Fayabel made a sound that should have been a laugh but came out as a strangled cough. "The sooner we all freeze to death, the better."
Maithea took a hissing breath. Nellary flinched. She, too, must have noticed it.
"The Fay I know wouldn't talk like that," she said. "You are not yourself."
Fayabel slowly lifted her head. For a moment the only emotion on her face was cold, blank apathy.
"So what," she said. "It doesn't matter who I am. Only what."
"Fay!" Maithea and Nellary exclaimed in unison.
"It doesn't matter who any of us are," Fayabel went on in that same eerie tone. "We are tools. Either we are useful, or we are discarded."
Maithea grabbed her shoulders. "Fay, stop it. You're starting to sound like them!"
Fayabel did not respond at all. Maithea's eyes flitted to Nellary in desperation.
With a short nod Nellary took aim and slapped Fayabel hard in the face.
"Snap out of it," she said. "You're not one of the Colorless. You're Fay. Don't let the monsters win!"
Fayabel blinked. The strange apathy disappeared. For a moment she almost looked like her old self again.
"I won't," she said gently, and suddenly it was the old Fayabel speaking. "But...I don't believe it's possible. Unless we're released soon..."
The despair returned to her face, wrestling with the apathy. "We won't be released," she said. "Not soon. Not ever. The king has abandoned us."
"Should I slap her again?" Nellary whispered. Maithea shook her head. Fayabel seemed in a state where no slaps could truly bring her back to reason.
"And for what?" she continued, raising her voice. "A little boy that doesn't belong to our people? The king doesn't care. This is how little we matter to him!"
Maithea's head snapped up, annoyance flaring. "Fay!"
"What? Isn't it true? All of us are worth less than this one child!" All around them people began to gather, listening to Fayabel's rant. "Say whatever you want about the Colorless, at least they value their people!"
Maithea narrowed her eyes. "If they value them that much, why did he run away?"
"Who knows! Children are brats."
"He was frightened!"
"How is that our problem? All of us would be safe if we hadn't messed with business that wasn't ours!" Fayabel's voice rang through the hall. "We should have handed him over and been done with it!"
"Shut up already!"
Everyone stared. This time it wasn't Nellary who had exploded and raised her voice. It was Maithea, glaring and shaking with barely-controlled anger.
"Would you have turned him away, then?" she asked. "Left him to freeze and starve in the wild, with winter coming? Could you have done that to a child?"
Fayabel returned her eyes with a cold fury. "It doesn't seem so bad now."
"Look at you." Maithea grabbed her face between both hands. "You talk like the Colorless. Any more of this, and you'll turn straight into one of them!"
Fayabel's face turned dangerously blank.
"I already have," she said in a voice that wasn't hers. "We all have. It's too late to fight back."
With that she turned away and disappeared into the crowd with oddly mechanical movements.
Maithea was left behind, instinctively reaching up a hand to brush over her face. It had been an eternity since she had last looked into the mirror. She wondered if she looked as bad as Fayabel. She wondered if they all did.
Looking up, she let her eyes roam around the crowd assembled around them. All of them looked tired and thin and pale. Many had lost hair, or their hair had begun to whiten in a way that did not look like normal aging. Many eyes looked dulled. Not quite as faded as Fayabel's, not yet, but Maithea felt like it was only a matter of time.
Then she glanced at Nellary. Her wife, despite or maybe because of her heated temper, still looked better than most. Her chestnut-red curls were matted and dulled, but it was impossible to tell if it came from the fog or simple lack of care. Her skin was less rosy, her freckles faded, but her eyes were still the same hazel as always, though their expression had changed with the lines of hunger and care shrinking her ever-youthful face.
"Nell," Maithea whispered, "how bad do I look?"
Nellary looked her up and down, extending a hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. "You've lost weight," she started awkwardly.
Maithea tugged at her uncomfortably loose clothes. "We all have."
"Your hair's getting white in some places."
"I guessed that."
"And you...look older." Nellary dropped her gaze to the ground. "Like you've been through, through...through nothing you ever deserved."
Maithea sighed. "We all have, Nell."
"...I know."
Silence.
"My eyes," Maithea ventured at last, dreading the answer. "Are they still...the same shade?"
Nellary looked back up. Their gazes met.
"They are," Nellary whispered at last, tears glazing her eyes. "They're so brown...so warm. I don't even remember the last time I saw something warm."
Maithea swallowed thickly. "So are yours."
The crowd had dissolved. It was time to sleep; they needed to use that time while they could. But Maithea wasn't willing to sleep yet. Not after all this.
"Nell," she whispered, "we need to do something. All these people...if this goes on, they'll turn Colorless before anyone can save us."
"I know." Nellary squeezed her hands. "But what? Unless we get out, the fog will..." Her expression turned bitter. Her voice trailed off.
"What am I saying?" she said after a pause. "There has to be a way. And if we don't find it, who else will?"
Maithea smiled up at her. Warmth spread in her chest, a sensation she had almost forgotten how to feel. Suddenly the situation seemed a little less hopeless.
"That's the spirit," she said, leaning her forehead against her wife's. "That's the spirit."
~ ~ ~
"Still no news from the King of Firland?"
The Colorless soldier, if that was possible, stood up even straighter. "None, Commander," he said. "No news of the boy or the pendant either."
"Disappointing." Hard boots clacked over the polished marble floor, the echo reverberating through the hall with an almost metallic sound. "One would think a whole village should suffice to move a king into action."
The soldier was silent. He knew better than to speak to the figure in front of him unless he was addressed.
"Or maybe," the figure continued to muse, "he is simply incapable. Humans truly are useless when they are concerned with their own thoughts and feelings instead of the greater good."
The soldier made no response. The boots continued to clack over the floor, white leather on white stone, too bright and smooth to seem to come from any living creature's hide. A blindingly white coat billowed behind.
"Perhaps," said the figure, "we should pressure them a little more."
The footsteps stopped. Pale white eyes fell on the soldier, not blank like the common folk's but filled with a cold, merciless intensity like an arctic winter storm.
"We could take another village," said the woman standing in front of him. "But I know a better idea. I think we should send out our own search parties."
The soldier was perfectly stiff. "Into Firland, Commander?"
"Firland and Elodia both. Our hidden outposts were useless." The woman glanced over her shoulder, beckoning the other captains to her. "We set out in full force this time. Search every nook and cranny. Keep it secret. Stay under cover of the fog. We can't have them think it's an invasion and prepare for an attack."
The captains and the soldier saluted in unison.
The commander gave a brief nod, then she turned to leave. "You have until sunrise to prepare," she said. "Be ready at dawn."
They saluted again, but one of the captains called after her. "Who leads the operation, Commander?"
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"The one most suited for it," she said, and her footsteps disappeared through the door and down the hall.
~ ~ ~
"You're late," a familiar voice greeted her from inside the small office as she entered.
The commander quickened her pace and closed the door behind her. "I was held up with a question," she said. "I'll take quicker steps next time."
"I factored in a small delay when I arranged this meeting." Rising from her seat, Mother glanced at the hourglass on the table. "What kept you?"
"The next step for finding the missing child," the commander replied. "And the pendant, of course."
"A search mission?"
"Yes. Undercover. The fog must be thick enough now." The commander sat down at the table, eyeing the hourglass. "We leave at dawn."
"We?" Mother repeated. "So you lead them?"
The commander nodded. "Tasks like this are my job. A stealth mission will be a good opportunity to test my strength."
"I see." Mother sat back down, her voice quiet. "Should I join?"
The commander shook her head. "Not yet. You're needed here for now. How are the village children faring?"
"Surprisingly hardy," Mother replied, and the faintest hint of frustration dipped into her voice. "I already upped the dose of mist, but they refuse to fade. From what I hear the adults are easier targets."
"No wonder," said the commander, "they can have higher doses after all."
Mother sighed. "I'm already on the highest allowed one. Any more, and their development is stinted to the point where they become useless."
"Troublesome."
"Very. But until our researchers find a better way, this is all we can do." Mother cracked a faint smile. "Although it's still an easy task compared to yours."
The commander narrowed her eyes. "Difficult tasks must be completed too. Those who show weakness under pressure aren't worth the air they breathe."
There was a moment's silence. Mother's eyes rested on the commander's face. The commander stared at the hourglass.
"You hope to find the Courage pendant too," Mother said at last, "don't you?"
"Of course," said the commander without lifting her eyes from the hourglass. "We'll need it in the war. I will need it."
"Remember what I told you. If you can't find it, be ready to make do with the sword."
"I know that."
Another pause. Mother reached across the table to lift the commander's face, bringing her gaze away from the hourglass.
"Don't spend your strengths recklessly," she said. "Remember, your main task is not to retrieve the pendants. Your main task will be leading the army."
"I know," said the commander. "But my original task was to lead the army with the pendant."
Pulling herself free from Mother's hand, she rose, placing a hand on her neck as if searching for something that was supposed to be there but wasn't. "I must have it back," she said. "Otherwise I will never regain my original title."
Mother glanced at her, then at the hourglass, then back at her. "Leaving already?" she said. "We still have time."
"And?"
"And who knows when we will see each other again."
The commander hesitated for a moment, then she sat back down. "You're right," she said in a quieter voice than before. "I was thoughtless. We still have many things to discuss."
Mother cracked a smile.
"Thank you for your time...Champion."
"That isn't my title right now," the commander answered, though she gave a small smile. "Wait a little longer. If all goes right, it will be again soon."