Chapter 1989: A Messenger Begins Her Journey (Part Two)

"Sanguine Harvest: Bloodline of the Ancestor."

Answaen’s voice filled the forest for a hundred paces in every direction, and within that circle, nothing dared to move. The light of torches seemed dimmer, and the sky that had been creeping ever so slowly towards dawn paused and retreated.

For one frozen moment, every eye stared, completely transfixed at the finger Answaen held like a hook over Quaniit’s horn and the lurid, crimson glow that enveloped it.

Then, with the speed of a striking snake, the finger descended, striking Quaniit’s brow at the base of his horn.

-THUNK-

The sound of her claw piercing his flesh and striking bone was unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing, but the sound was quickly overwhelmed by the blood-curdling scream that followed.

"AAAAA! AAAA!!!! AAAAAAAGGGRRRRRRR!!!!!"

Quaniit felt like a thousand tiny fish hooks had found their way into his veins and in an instant, they all pulled at once. Ripping, tearing pain that flowed from his toes, through his ankles and up his legs. Hot, burning agony that flared at his fingertips and burned toward his heart. And throughout it all, a stomach-turning sense of pulling, as if his whole body was dangling from his horn and that horn was about to be ripped free.

"AAANNCESTOOOORRR!" Quaniit cried as the agony consumed him. He tried to raise his hands, or to lurch to his feet... Something, anything to escape the pain, but his limbs paid no heed to his desires. His arms hung limp at his side, and if he hadn’t already been kneeling, his knees would have buckled and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Less than five paces away, Nuniq cowered behind her Uncle Naaric’s leg. She wanted to run away and hide, but she dared not move. She wanted to look away from the screaming man who no longer looked as strong or as proud as he had just moments ago.

More than anything, she wanted to escape from the cold, emotionless gaze of the Immortal Ancestor who seemed to feel nothing at all as Quaniit roared in pain at her feet.

Around the clearing, the great hounds tethered to the sleds flattened their ears against their skulls and pressed their bellies to the snow, whining low in their throats. Near the sleds, one of the Frost Walkers took half a step toward the kneeling man, then stopped as though his feet had frozen to the ground.

The pile of furs Quaniit had dropped still lay where it had fallen, already dusted with fresh snow.

Slowly, while Quaniit screamed, a deep crimson color began to bleed into his icy blue horn. It started at the base, like drops of blood dripped into crystal-clear water, and flowed upward to the tip of his horn.

The process wasn’t fast. It lasted at least a hundred heartbeats, maybe two hundred. No one bothered to count. Eventually, the base of Quaniit’s horn turned clear again... Not the pure, icy blue it had been before, but something completely devoid of color, like the most perfect of icicles or fine glass.

And at the top of his horn, gathered at a single point between the tip of his horn and Answaen’s claw, was a shining drop of crimson blood, radiating an icy-blue aura so pure and crisp that the air around it froze in a cloud of icy mist.

-FLUMP-

Quaniit’s body slumped to the ground, falling sideways in the snow to land in an undignified heap. Once he’d fallen, he did not move again. Few focused on the dead man. Instead, most eyes followed the glowing drop of blood as Answaen turned her attention to the man who had earned this boon.

"Kneel, Naaric," Answaen said in a voice that was colder than the snow on the ground or the ice hanging from the trees. "Kneel, and receive your reward."

Naaric took a step forward, but when he went to take a second step, he found his niece, Nuniq, clinging to him with all of her strength.

"You need to let go, Snowflake," Naaric said, gently stroking her hair before giving her a loving, gentle tap on the tip of her purple horn. "Stay right here. I’ll be right back."

"But, Uncle, she..." Nuniq said, only for Naaric to interrupt her with a finger pressed over her lips.

"Say nothing," Naaric said. "Be brave, Nuniq. The Immortal Ancestor has a gift for me; I have to receive it. It might hurt, but you have to be brave and stay here. Remember, the Immortal Ancestor needs your help too. You will be honored, your parents will be honored, and our family will never go hungry again because you helped the Immortal Ancestor today, but you must not run away," he emphasized.

Slowly, letting go one finger at a time, Nuniq let go of her uncle and stepped back, allowing Naaric to walk forward and kneel at Answaen’s feet. She wanted to run away. The Immortal Ancestor was the scariest person she’d ever seen, but she trusted her Uncle Naaric, so she stood there, clutching at the soft fabric of her azure dress while she prayed that her Uncle would be fine.

Answaen wasted no time on words when Naaric knelt before her. She brought the glowing drop of crimson blood to the tip of his horn and allowed the drop to burst the instant the point of his horn pierced it.

Suddenly, a wave of piercing, icy cold flowed down Naaric’s horn, dyeing the whole of his horn crimson. The power carried by that drop of blood slammed into his skull like a wreath of icicles, all stabbing inward. More than anything, he wanted to scream. To cry out in pain as the torment surged lower, racing toward his heart before each heartbeat pumped fresh agony through his body, until he could feel icicles piercing outward from every vein in his body.

But Naaric made no sound. If he screamed now, Nuniq would run. If she ran, she would die. He would die. His whole family would die. This moment would turn from triumph into ruin if one little girl, just twelve winters old, grew too frightened to stay where he’d left her.

So Naaric clamped his jaw shut and curled his hands into fists so tight that the tips of his claws pierced the thick skin of his paws. He shook with the force of holding back his screams, but he dared not let out a single sound.

Then, as everyone watched, the crimson blood that covered his horn sank into it, leaving behind a horn bearing a spiral pattern of deep purple and icy blue that no one watching had ever seen. Each color looked perfect and pure, held in balance with the other. It wasn’t like the dull, muddied horns of those who failed to keep their bloodlines pure. Instead, it was as if Naaric held two perfect, pure bloodlines at once...

For Naaric, the feeling turned from agony to ecstasy in less than a heartbeat. Suddenly, the icicles were no longer ripping and tearing through his veins; they were part of him. A part of him that would answer to his will as easily as the dancing snow.

"I. AM. REBORN!" Naaric shouted, overcome by emotion. Power swirled around him, sending snow dancing in a tight spiral, while a ring of icicles exploded from the ground around him in a display of power that would have been impossible for the man who had held his trembling niece just moments ago...