Maximum Ice (19 page)

Wolf climbed into the forward car of the sled. She eyed the rear sled, where Wolf had cleared a space for her to ride. It would be a full day’s ride, Wolf said. A long time to sit, devoid of conversation.

“Wolf,” she said. She approached him, looking up at him as he stood in the sled. “Perhaps you’d be glad of some company, there in your car?” She smiled.

When he didn’t respond, she thought she might have misspoken. Though she hoped she was done with translations, she
activated her ear lex and tried out her query again. No, she had it right the first time.

“After all, it’s a long trip with no one to talk to.”

A smile poked at one corner of his mouth. “Quietness is underrated.”

“Trade, perhaps?”

His eyes narrowed, and he pawed at his beard, looking over the considerable stash of booty he had already extracted as payment for her transport to the Keep.

“We’re done trading.”

She laughed. “Oh, Wolf, there is always something one wants.” Lest he misunderstand what sort of thing she was willing to give, she added: “I have good food, packaged for travel. Quite delicious. And foot warmers, socks that stay warm no matter what the temperature.”

He stared at her feet suspiciously.

Yes, now that she was started in this direction, it was an excellent idea. Wolf wasn’t altogether bad company. And, superstitious as he might be, he knew more than she did about the land and about the sisters she would deal with. She touched the diamond studs in her left ear, thinking how she would arrange her seat just so, in the driver’s sled, so she could look out over the windshield…

“Stones,” he said.

“Beg your pardon?”

He brought his hand up to touch his left ear.

She stared at him. “Those are not for trade.”

He nodded, then turned away.

“Flashlight, sunscreen, dark glasses…” she recited the alternatives.

He didn’t look at her. “Stones.”

He was insufferable. The fellow had no inkling that he had
just asked for her entire fortune in exchange for a simple berth on a sled.

“These are just stones.” She pointed to the black mountain peaks. “Like those, just dead rocks.”

“Trade,” he said again.

“What, all of them?” she said in exasperation.

“One.” He gestured to his compartment. “We will talk. No need to be quiet on such a long trip.”

She narrowed her eyes, gathering patience. One of her diamonds… an astronomical fare, even for the least of her four stones.

“My mother gave me these,” she said, taking a different tack. Her mother had passed on to Zoya the matrilineal diamonds in full, without ever having lost, sold—or traded—a single one for worldly advantage. Yet Zoya found herself considering the proposal. Here was a man on whom her success now depended. A man who knew of the world, in ways she didn’t. But should. And if she were to give up her stones, could it be for a better cause?

She walked forward to the driver’s sled. “One stone,” she said, her voice faltering. She pointed to the small one at the tip of her row of diamonds.

Wolf shuffled forward, peering closely at her ear. She saw the flash of the diamonds light up his eyes. He pointed to the large diamond that anchored her earlobe.

Her voice dropped an octave. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Small one, then,” he said, as though she had just cheated him.

She ran back to the cargo sled and gathered her things, those items that might be useful once they were under way When they had finished arranging the driver’s sled, Zoya sat down to unscrew the backing from the diamond stud.

He accepted it from her, taking it securely between two
blunt fingertips. As her heart sank, he plopped it into his jacket pocket like a wad of chewing tobacco. Then, for the first time in their brief acquaintance, he smiled, a powerful smile that brought fire to his eyes for a moment. But she had a hard time, just then, smiling back.

And they were off.

Zoya adjusted herself upon the seat, finding it remarkably comfortable. It should be, given the price she had paid. Beside her Wolf chose to stand, as he so often did, and, foot to accelerator, he eased the sled onto the track that the Ice Nuns’ sled had left behind.

They picked up speed, and soon were cruising easily through the valleys of Ice. Under the shelf of Ice lay the waterways of a previous age, straits with names that no longer applied: Georgia, Haro, San Juan. Now it was simply the Val Paz.

She looked up at Wolf. “What is the Keep of the nuns like?” He’d said he’d traded there.

“Big.”

She waited, but he stuck by that version.

From what Anatolly said, the nuns saw Ice less as a problem than a resource. Where the preserves mined it for urban salvage, the Keep mined it for information. If it was information on how to stop Ice’s growth, then the Rom shared a goal with the nuns. But if thwarting Ice was the nuns’ mission, they had certainly not gotten far.

“Do the nuns talk to Ice?”

Sometimes he answered, sometimes he ignored her. At last he said, “They don’t tell me what they do.”

“Sister Patricia Margaret will be surprised when I show up,” Zoya said, thinking of her rebuff from the woman.

“They know you’re coming.”

She turned to Wolf.

“Radio,” he said, stating the obvious.

So the nuns wouldn’t be surprised to see her, and perhaps not pleased, either. “What is the mother superior like?” she asked. “Have you met her?”

Wolf slowed the sled and looked at the ground beside the runners. Then he resumed speed, scanning the hillocks of Ice. Zoya got in the habit of watching the crests of hills, enlisted in the search for snow witches, hoping not to see one. Especially not one like the first she’d seen, red rags flapping around his body like strips of flesh…

When he answered, she had almost forgotten her question.

“She’ll pay anything for what she wants.”

For snow witches.
The man did like his blood price.

“Will you sell Snow Angel to them?”

“No.” He barely opened his lips to let the word slip out.

They cruised on for many minutes, with only the hum of the electric motor for company. At last Zoya said, “Tell me a story, Wolf.”

He gave her a sour glance. But now she knew he was capable of a smile.

“Such good stories you tell, Wolf.” What did you think, I’m here for the view?

His shoulders hunched up, and he exhaled a long sigh. Perhaps he was beginning to wonder if he’d gotten the worst of the bargain.

But from her viewpoint, a story would be a good way to begin a journey. And she wanted value, by God, for that diamond.

She looked up at him, hoping he had another story in him.

He did. He began:

“Once upon a dark time, much like today only different, the child Shinua—” He looked down at Zoya to see if she remembered the name.

She nodded, waving him on, turning off her lex. She wanted
to enjoy the cadence of his words without the ghost of the translator always dividing her attention.

“The child Shinua was left in the keeping of Old North, who promised the Queen of Light that she would hide the child until the day when the queen came back.”

The sled’s engine purred like a big cat, and Zoya felt her spirits lift. She hoped it would be a long story

After concentrating on his driving a few moments, Wolf continued: “The witch, Old North, wasn’t used to children, and she was glad she wouldn’t have to care for the brat, only hide him somewhere where he would be safe from the Dark Prince. Besides, she was old, and she didn’t want to listen to a lot of prattling and unnecessary talk.” He looked down at her to emphasize that point.

“He cried, saying good-bye to his mother. Then Shinua gave his hand to Old North, and she led him away into the hills. He was brave, and wasn’t afraid that he must go to sleep for a very long time, but he thought he might be lonely. He asked Old North if she would keep the humans and animals too in her snowy protection, so that he would have company.

“Now, Old North was ugly, but she was no fool. She knew the child had powerful relatives and might have something of value to bargain with. Old North asked him how he would pay for such a large favor. But all Shinua had was a string onto which he’d threaded beans of various colors. When Old North saw how little he offered, she knocked it from his hands. So the beans scattered across the world. In each place a bean fell, an animal, bird, or fish fell into a sleep, and when the snow began falling, all the animals slept, and humans too.

“After Old North laid the boy in his icy bed, she retraced her route to her hut. On the way she began to worry about what she had done. She thought—knowing something of magic— that the beans might sprout and cause her trouble.”

Zoya nodded. Yes, those beans. She could guess they’d not lie fallow for long. She liked the story, and appreciated how Wolf had chosen one on trading.

He continued: “Retracing her steps back to where she left the child, she looked for the beans. Too bad, she had scattered them a long way. But it happened that a few wrinkled beans had fallen nearby, and those she scooped up since she could find no others.

“When she got back to her hut, she put them in a covered bowl in a dark corner of her kitchen, where they got neither sun nor water. Since Old North was getting dusty in the head herself, she forgot all about them. Then, one day when she cleaned house she found the beans in their bowl and threw them into her yard.”

Aha, Zoya thought. Now the trouble begins.

“At the first rains, the beans sprouted, but like Old North, they had frozen hearts. Old North looked out her window and saw that there were children in her dirt yard, but, as you will remember, she didn’t much like children. Anyway, there were too many of them to feed, so she drove them away, saying they must fend for themselves.

“They ran off from her anger, and as they ran they grew up, and turned into ugly shapes. Even as they ran away, Old North hated to hear their noisy yelling, so she put a spell on them, that they should never speak. Now the bean-people spread out across the world, hungry, angry, and silent. And so the snow witches came into the world, where they still remain.”

Zoya sighed. It was so like the old stories. The endings were seldom happy.

She looked at her storyteller. “Perhaps Old North will have a change of heart.” It would be nice for the bean-children to have a second chance.

“Hearts don’t change,” Wolf said.

She sighed, turning to stare out at the barrens. It would take a little more work to get good conversation from the fellow.

Sister Verna lay propped up in her bed, asleep sitting up, with toast crumbs on the front of her nightgown. An empty teacup had fallen to the side of her thin body

She startled awake, seeing her visitor.

“Mother Superior…” She fumbled for her glasses.

Solange smelled a whiff of perspiration, and went to the window to open it a crack. Unfortunately Sister Verna’s chambers faced the refuse pile at the south end of the Keep, so the outside air was not an improvement. Past the refuse stretched the eternal barrens. Usually a daunting view, the plains of Ice now seemed more hopeful… not glaring, but glowing. Ready to speak.

Swan had likely slept in Ice, slept since the First World. Where else could he have come from, he and his key to the Enunciation?

“Mother Superior, I didn’t expect anyone.” Sister Verna was still pawing for her glasses on the nightstand.

Solange approached the bed. She picked up the glasses and placed them carefully on sister’s face.

“Oh thank you, Mother Solange. I certainly didn’t expect
you.
I’ll get up.”

“No, Sister, calm yourself. I’ll sit by you for a moment.” Solange drew up a chair. Sister Verna was retired, with unfavorable quarters, but the old woman didn’t seem to mind. She was bedridden with arthritis off and on, yet still visited the astronomy unit on the Keep’s roof several times a week. Although astronomy wasn’t a priority, Solange encouraged the sisters to
follow favorite pursuits. It did no harm, and could pay off—as recently when Verna’s unit detected the ship in orbit.

Solange picked up the teacup and placed it on the night-stand. Sister followed this movement with dismay

“I hope I didn’t spill.”

“The cup was empty.”

Sister sighed, with apparent satisfaction, as though spilled tea were her greatest worry these days. As perhaps it was.

A shaft of light from the westering sun crawled up the deep reveal of the window, crudely measuring the onset of night. Solange would be awake late into this night, and not because of a guest in her bed. Conversations with
Star Road
filled her mind. Several conversations now, that mapped the territory she wished to explore: the politics of the ship. Which they called simply Ship, it being their world until now.

This was the territory: a monoculture, distinctly Romany and middle European, Old Catholic, quasimilitary governance tempered with elective processes. Fractious politics like small, contained explosions kept the civic environment vital, and a deep-seated religious viewpoint glued them together in common cause. Overall, a remarkable nomadic folk migration, intended to find a hospitable new world, but failing in that goal. A return voyage made more urgent by dwindling birth rates. Current administration: Anatolly Razo, elderly captain with a brittle attitude; a younger, and influential first mate with more flexibility. Ship’s critical concerns: Ice, ethnic preservation, and the combination of the two. Current strategies: attack Ice’s encryption; understand earth’s social structures; open dialogue with the Sisters of Clarity—thus Zoya Kundara’s mission. Long-term goals: a hasty conclusion to seek restoration of the First World.

Missing information:
Star Road’s
state of technology for interface with Ice.

“Sister Verna.” Solange said. Sister was drifting off again. Perhaps she was not so overawed by mother superior’s visit after all. Solange found that refreshing. People tended to fawn.

Sister opened her eyes. “Yes?”

“Are you comfortable?” Perhaps she was hitting the pain meds too hard.