Chapter 1990: A Messenger Begins Her Journey (Part Three)

"I. AM. REBORN!"

Naaric’s shout echoed off the trees, shaking snow from their branches and shattering icicles that clung to their boughs.

Several of the Frost Walkers standing nearby, many of whom had known Naaric for many years, stared in awe as the quiet, unassuming elder of his village exhibited a power that felt, for a brief moment, every bit as strong as Quaniit’s... Maybe even stronger.

Not long ago, he’d been among the weakest of the elders, chosen to carry news to the Immortal Ancestor not because he was respected or powerful, but because few would complain if the Immortal Ancestor killed him when she heard his news. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

Some had speculated that she would feast on his blood before hurling his body off the Summit of the World. Others were convinced that she wouldn’t let a trace of his weak blood pass her lips. No one had expected to see him remade before their eyes, receiving a boon the likes of which they’d never dared to imagine.

But the cost of that boon was just as apparent. Quaniit had done nothing to deserve his fate. Nothing other than bearing a strong gift and a pure bloodline that was useful to the Immortal Ancestor.

For that alone, he’d died, and any of them could be next.

"Such are the boons of serving well," Answaen told the horrified crowd of onlookers. "Prove your worth with your deeds, and you will be rewarded as well. If you think your natural gifts are reason enough to be valued, think again," she said with a pointed glance at the fallen Quaniit. "I care only for how well you serve. Wasted gifts can be given to one who is more worthy."

"We, we understand," one of the nearby Frost Walkers said, dropping to both knees and bowing so low that the tip of his horn touched the snow. "We understand, and we obey," he said, motioning at the others to follow his gesture.

He understood very well. They could all be useful to the Immortal Ancestor. Some of them might be little more than food for her on this journey. Others would serve as glorified pack animals. But no matter how they served, if they weren’t useful to her with their deeds, she would extract whatever benefits she could from their blood and give it to someone who proved more useful than they’d been.

Suddenly, it felt like they’d entered a competition none of them had ever imagined when they were called on to follow her across the continent, and if they fell too far behind their peers, the consequences would be dire.

"We understand and we obey," the remaining Frost Walkers echoed, kneeling on the forest floor and pressing the tips of their horns to the snow.

"Good that you do," Answaen said. "Make ready; time is short," she said, glancing toward the lightening sky in the east.

"Nuniq," the vampire said, turning her attention to Naaric’s young niece. "Come. It is your turn to receive a great honor."

Nuniq stood rooted to the spot where Naaric had left her, looking from her uncle to the Immortal Ancestor and back again. Briefly, her eyes slid to the fallen figure of Quaniit and his horn that looked... empty, like perfect, clear ice. Was that what the Immortal Ancestor was about to do to her? Or would she become like Uncle Naaric, with a horn unlike any she’d ever seen?

"Naaric," Answaen said impatiently.

Naaric moved immediately, crunching across the snow until he reached Nuniq’s side.

"Come," he said, scooping her up in his arms the same way he did when they played among the snow hares at home in their mountain village. "The Immortal Ancestor is waiting, and she needs your help."

"What, what will she do?" Nuniq asked, trembling in Naaric’s arms.

"I do not know," Naaric admitted. "But she told me that it would be a great honor. That’s why I chose you when she asked for the most worthy among your young girls. This is a good thing for our family, Nuniq, and a good thing for you. Be brave," he reminded her before setting her down on the snow at Answaen’s feet.

Two faint, bloody handprints could be seen on her azure dress where Naaric had held her, but thankfully, Nuniq didn’t seem to notice.

"Fetch my Frozen Refuge," Answaen commanded, speaking loudly enough for the other Frost Walkers to hear. "Bring it to me at once. Dawn is almost upon us."

Instantly, several Frost Walkers sprang into motion, racing for the sled that carried a long, rectangular coffin formed of dark, Eternal Ice. No light penetrated to the interior of the coffin, and glittering runes older than their mountain homes covered the surface of it. The pony-sized hounds with their gleaming red eyes dashed across the snow, eager to rejoin their imperious mistress and bring her the treasure on the sled.

"Stand back, Naaric," Answaen commanded. "Clear everyone else away. I am not to be disturbed. I am not Satyrus. Emulating his Gift is not easy, even for me," she said.

Moving with a slow, steady precision, Answaen placed the palm of her left hand to the tip of her iridescent horn and pressed, spilling her ancient, powerful blood and dying her own horn crimson.

"Sanguine Sanctum." Answaen intoned as she continued to press, forcing her hand further and further down until her horn had pierced through the back of her hand, and still she pressed, sliding her hand down her horn one agonizing inch after another.

Her face looked calm and impassive despite what must have been excruciating pain, but she didn’t stop until her bloody palm lay flat against her brow.

Then, she stunned everyone watching by kneeling in front of Nuniq as she pulled her hand free of her own horn and slid it down the young girl’s, threading Nuniq’s purple horn through the bloody wound in her palm and dyeing the horn a deep crimson.

"Refuge from the Abyss," Answaen intoned.

There was a brief thump of power, felt more than it was heard, and a ripple of crimson energy enveloped Nuniq, flowing from the bloody palm-print on her brow all the way down to her feet. And then... silence.

Answaen didn’t move. She stayed there, perfectly still with her hand pressed to Nuniq’s brow until the young girl herself moved, lifting the Immortal Ancestor’s hand off her horn and letting it fall to Answaen’s side.

"Naaric," Nuniq said in a voice that was cold and emotionless. "Place my body in the Frozen Refuge," she commanded. As she spoke, she held up one hand, inspecting it with eyes that glowed with a dull, crimson gleam before a small, satisfied smile appeared on her lips.

For more than a thousand years, Answaen had spent almost every day hiding from the Abyss in the deepest corners of her mind, taking refuge in the memories of days long lost to history. But there were other places one could hide from the Abyss... far more useful places, especially when making a journey like this one.

"Hurry," Answaen commanded in Nuniq’s voice. "Daylight is coming, and I will not tolerate delays!"

"Yes, Immortal Ancestor," Naaric said, swallowing heavily as he finally understood what Answaen had meant when she said that she needed a young girl to serve her during the day. Nuniq wouldn’t be an attendant guarding the chamber of Eternal Ice where Answaen’s body slept...

She would be a vessel for the ancient vampire, allowing her to walk and move about the world in the light of day.

Answaen watched calmly as her body was placed reverently within the Frozen Refuge, sealing it safely away from the light of day. Then, she turned her gaze east, watching a sight she hadn’t seen in more than a century, since the last time she’d used the Sanguine Sanctum to hide from the gaping maw of the Abyss.

"You may think yourself powerful, Little Nyrielle," she said, smiling with the young girl’s face. "But Master Shubnalu only taught you a fraction of his art before you left. If you think that taking in a pet witch as your Seneschal gives you the strength to refuse his arrangements, you’re sadly mistaken," she said as she watched the sun break above the snow-covered hills to the east.

"I hope you haven’t forgotten the lessons Master taught you about obedience," she said as she began walking to one of the sleds that would serve as her carriage for this part of the journey. "I would hate to damage the little witch you’ve taken in before Master has a chance to inspect his prize..."

Behind her, Quaniit’s body was slowly vanishing under freshly fallen snow. A few Frost Walkers moved toward it, drawing knives from their sheaths as they prepared to recover his horn so that it could be placed in an Ancestral Cave when they finally returned home.

"Leave it," Answaen commanded. "His horn is empty. Don’t waste your time," she said as she took her seat in the sled, pulling furs over the petite body she’d taken refuge in. "Unless you want to join him?" Answaen asked when she saw the other Frost Walkers hesitating.

"No, no, Immortal Ancestor!" they said, bowing their heads low and rushing to obey her orders... exactly as they should.