Ice-Bound Promise [Wattys 2023 Shortlister]

19

19

Únik's unease did not lessen as they travelled at a slow pace across the plains, the mountains ahead seeming to remain far out of their reach. They continued to find more bones and Únik gave them a wide birth as often as she could. She already felt as though she had disturbed them enough, keeping Barsa by her side, denying him the opportunity to find more bones to chew upon.

Shihiri didn't appear to care about the bones, striding along as though she walked in any other place, only watching her feet in order to not trip over the bleached skeletons. Hatyara walked with her head swivelling from side-to-side, as though searching for something and then, after several miles, she stooped, picking something up from the ground. A necklace.

"'And in the final days of the last Upheaval, the peoples of Pithnar became drawn to one place, their eyes reaching to the skies where Patron fought Patron and the world blackened.'" She spoke the words with an odd reverence, hushed, reciting something from memory. "'And beneath a sky ripped asunder by the might of the immortals, the blood, the flesh, the very essence of all the Pithnaran peoples were then taken to fuel the wrath of of beings beyond imagining, their bones falling where they stood.'"

A shiver ran down Únik's back as she listened to Hatyara's words. She looked around and imagined a field of people gathered, forced to give their lives for a battle they could not even begin to understand. Everyone had heard tales of the Upheavals, but they had all occurred so long ago, they had passed into myth and legend. The last Upheaval had, according to the stories, happened over a thousand years ago.

Even Shihiri had adopted a more cautious eye as she stared at the necklace dangling from the ice-blue, tiny hand of Hatyara. After a while, Hatyara folded the chain of the necklace into the palm of her hand until only the intricate pendant still swung free.

"What was that from?" Walking to Hatyara, Shihiri reached a hand towards the pendant and then drew her fingers back, not wishing to touch it.

"It's from 'The Canticle of the Lost'. My tutors had me read it many times." Turning the pendant, Hatyara looked at the reverse. "It told of the last Upheaval, how Ūtharan's were blessed by the Patrons. Emerging from the chaos unscathed. Other nations were not so lucky."

"And you think this, all these poor souls, are the Pithnaran people?" Not wanting to touch the pendant, herself, Únik dipped her head to look at the design.

"I think so. This is the Seal of Pithnar. Look, the four wings in the shape of a diamond." With a finger, Hatyara turned the pendant once more, showing the master craftsmanship of the pendant, then turned it again. "And here, on the back, a language from before the gift of the Common Tongue. I recognise some of it, but I couldn't translate it if I tried. It's not only an unused language. It's a language of the dead."

This information only served to fuel Únik's unease. Not only did they walk among the bones of the dead, but upon lands ravaged by beings as near to gods as the world of Ch'Ack held. Of course, Únik knew, as did everyone, that gods had once existed and died to save the world from the Great Dragon, forming a single being from their many, Vaiah, to defeat the beast.

The Patrons stepped into the void left by the gods, taking the power of worship for their own designs. The Patrons were not, however, gods and were beset by the emotions and petty desires of all creatures. Their bickering and wars tore the world apart many, many times over the ages. Únik never thought she would ever see evidence of an Upheaval, but she looked upon it now.

"Forget it. It's a distraction, nothing more." Making a dismissive sniff, Shihiri turned away, pointing the way ahead. "I want to reach that copse of trees before we set up camp. Let the past stay in the past and the dead stay dead. We have our own lives to think about."