Beneath The Ice

By John Cuturic

Snow Rose series book 1. The clans of the north make their home in tunnels and caverns beneath the ice, in the harsh cold. For a generation, they've been at peace. But peace always comes to an end. On the day of her coming of age, Tyra Half Moon loses her hand. But her problems have only begun. After she loses her entire clan, she and her friend Kani are caught in the beginning of a new war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Cuturic
• Release date: Jun 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311672308

Book preview

Beneath The Ice

by

John Cuturic

Dedicated to my father, Andrej.

Copyright 2014 John Cuturic

Cover photo Ice Swirls courtesy of Jennifer Boyer (https://www.flickr.com/photos/jenniferboyer/). Image used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/). Image copyright original photographer. Disclaimer: original photographer has no connection to the contents of this book. Image was somewhat modified.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

A Wray Publishing book

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Table of Contents

Part One:

Chapter 1: Tyra

Chapter 2: Healing

Chapter 3: Kani

Chapter 4: Work to Do

Chapter 5: Betrayal

Chapter 6: Despair in Defeat, Celebrate in Victory

Part Two:

Chapter 7: Setting Out

Chapter 8: Ice Walker

Chapter 9: Cloud of Smoke

Chapter 10: Supplies

Chapter 11: Shaking

Chapter 12: Arrival

Part Three:

Chapter 13: Cold Morning

Chapter 14: Negotiations

Chapter 15: Beginning of the Battle

Chapter 16: End of the Battle

Epilogue: Snow Rose

PART ONE

Entering Society

Chapter 1: Tyra

#

Tyra lay in the back of the little room, shivering. The walls around her were ice, thick enough that they were pure white. Only dim light filtered through into here. The only clothes they'd allowed her were a cotton shift that felt thinner than paper and a pair of socks covered with holes. She didn't have anything to cover her, and the cold had pierced right through to her bones hours ago. She had her eyes closed, and her teeth chattered no matter how hard she tried to keep them still.

Just... a little bit more. Right...? Everyone had to go through this when they turned 14. Her father, Chief Baral, even her. Tyra could do it too.

It couldn't be too much longer. She moved a bit further toward the center of the room, feeling the cold in the marrow of her bones. In her brain. Her thoughts had frozen over long ago. She just had to wait until the end of the night, until she could move again. Tyra had fought for hours, what felt like days, but the fire inside her was burning low. She'd give soon. She didn't want to, but she would. She had felt like giving in for hours now. Maybe she'd even die of the cold.

That was when the door on the other side of the room slid open, the ice coming free. The wave of air from outside that suddenly flowed into the room felt like it came straight off a campfire. She got to her knees, looking to see who'd come for her.

Her father. She knew it would be her father. But if it turned out to be someone else, then that would mean they'd found out what she'd done. Tyra closed her eyes for a second, listening to the footsteps. Then opened them.

Her father came in. Tyra tried not to let relief show on her face. She couldn't have moved her face, though, even if she'd wanted to.

Maybe it wouldn't have looked too out of place... She lowered her head to look at the ground, bowing her neck. She had to fight with the cold--she was almost too stiff to keep kneeling. She clasped her hands together, tightly. Father.

He nodded. Look up.

So she did. It was a relief to see his face again. His black mustache and beard covered most of his face, and he had a scar over one eye. It scared some of the children, but Tyra had gotten used to it long ago.

Right then, he wore a heavy coat and pants that made her jealous. She tried to press down those feelings, just the kind she didn't need now.

So...? Father said. He didn't seem too worried for her.

Tyra had to work her jaw for a few seconds before she could speak. It felt creaky, and it was difficult for her to make it move. She worked the creak out of it, and felt everything click back into place. I s-survived the n-n-n-night, she said. She couldn't stop her teeth from chattering even now, and her voice came out weaker than she'd expected. Weak, stupid, and soft. She tried to make it harder. I seek a place by your fire...

Good, Father said, coming forward to offer her a hand. Raise your head, there, girl. You're doing fine. But it's not over yet. You know that, too.

Tyra lifted her head, nodded. Yes, sir. She took her father's hand, though she shouldn't have needed to. Anyway, she did. She needed his help to get back to her feet. She felt like she might collapse, but she couldn't lean on him on the way out.

So, she let go of his hand, snatching hers back like it might break off. Maybe it would, with all this cold... I am going to get frostbite at this rate, Father.

I've heard it before. His voice was softer than the words. He turned and headed out the door, into the room beyond. The warmth there pulled Tyra along, and she needed it, else she would have collapsed and fallen in the ice cell. Nothing Father did showed that he knew. That would be good... if no one ever found out.

Twelve hours earlier, before Tyra had entered confinement, Kani had slipped her a roll. It had been warmed by a campfire. Tyra'd had it under her clothes when they pushed her in here.

Everything had happened in a blur. She had never found a way to tell the people leading her down that she had it. She didn't want them to think that she'd planned to cheat, after all. And then, when she got to the cell, she'd thrown it into a corner, hoping to just forget about it.

She wasn't allowed to have food in here. But at the worst point in the night, about halfway through, she felt like she was about to curl up and die from the cold. She couldn't help going to the roll--even though it had cooled, mostly--and taking a bite.

And after that, she had had to eat the whole thing, and try to hide it... all because she couldn't keep herself under control.

If I didn't take it, that would be better. Tyra covered her left eye with her hand, biting her lip. If only I didn't take it... She could still taste it now.

What if they found the crumbs or something? Tyra had been in trouble before, but never something like this. This ritual was supposed to be sacred. The spirits must be angry with her, even if her father didn't know...

She should probably confess, but she was afraid. So she kept her mouth shut. And I won't... say anything. That's probably for the best...

As she walked out, she let the warmth flow into her, taking deep breaths. The cell she'd stayed in was at the end of Binding Cave, the one used only for this ceremony. Only for the Naosikuk. Tyra hadn't even met a spirit yet, but one would be waiting in the main part of the cave.

This room was much bigger than the one Tyra had been confined in. But before she could see much else, she had to blink against the light. It filtered down through the ice, into the ice caverns. The cold still thrummed through here. The blue ice walls of the room didn't sweat at all.

But Tyra didn't look at them for long. A crystal dangled from the ceiling in the center of the room, shining stronger than the diluted sunlight. She had to stand almost directly under it. If it fell, it would crush her. Good. Always look on the bright side.

Tyra blinked her eyes. When she could see through the light, she saw where the chiefs were sitting. Her father stepped out to stand off to the side. He couldn't be a part of the Naosikuk, other than to bring her back from the ice cell.

The table that the chiefs sat behind gleamed in the light. She could see it was actual, solid wood. Carved to look like flowers on the sides, with extra flourishes on the corners, wide enough to seat 10 or 12 people on each side.

But it only held four now. They spread out along one side of it, sitting in carved chairs made of wood just like the table. Tyra took a step out into the room, barely hesitating. She hoped she was barely hesitating.

She could see the chiefs. She looked at them, side to side, though she knew she really shouldn't. Directly across from her in the center, there was hers. She recognized the leathery face right away. Baral was creased and hard, his dark eyes seeming beady now as he half-glared at her. Of course, he always did that when he saw children come out of the cell. He must always do that. Nothing could be strange now.

His ears almost twitched at her, and his necklace of beads and fur fell in coils all the way to his lap, over his white fur coat. How warm must he be, in that?

Tyra stepped forward and slowly lowered herself to her knees, trying to pull her thin dress to cover more of her.

Next to Baral sat a bigger man. Baral was taller than most men, but Aisivak dwarfed him just sitting there.

His shoulders strained against a coat that stories said he'd had to skin five bears to get enough good material for. Some people called him Five Bears Aisivak. His dark red beard hung wildly enough to make him look like a bear, now, and he held a club dangling across his knees. He glared at Tyra. She worried. Did he smell something on her, dishonesty? Some spirits could do that. But she hadn't told a lie.

If he had found something out, though, he could always crush her. Why had he brought his club? It's... he probably always brings it. Well, if that was unusual... her father would have realized, at least...

Next to Aisivak sat another chief, a man Tyra didn't recognize as well. He was young, almost too young for Tyra to believe he could be there. However much she studied his blond hair, she didn't see any streaks of gray, and he didn't have a single wrinkle on his face.

But he didn't have any fat there, either. It had all disappeared into sharp outlines, till Tyra almost felt she could see his bones. He wore a hood and cape over his coat. White fringes on the end of his cape trailed on the ground. He had a strange twist to his mouth--he looked happy about something.

On the other side of Baral, the far side of the table, sat a man who looked ancient. After a second, Tyra placed him. He had to be Nuqaq, the oldest chief in the north. At least, Tyra doubted an older one could still be alive.

When Nuqaq had become a chief, Tyra's father hadn't even been born yet. Nuqaq's skin hung in bags down his face, and his wisps of hair were sharp white. His beard ran down to his lap and beyond, and his white eyebrows were thick enough to make his eyes look small. He didn't have any expression on his face, though he pressed his hands together on the surface of the table. The leather bracers around his wrists quivered a bit.

Tyra gulped. Somehow, she hadn't said her part yet. No wonder the chiefs were angry at her. She lowered her head. Hello. I'm Tyra Karlovak Half Moon. She risked a glance up at Baral. Half Moon came from him, his clan. I have survived the night. And now I seek, um--

Cease this, said a reedy voice. Tyra looked up.

Nuqaq had spoken, and he looked to his side, at Baral. We have a problem to get out of the way before this can continue. Baral Half Moon, you know this. I pronounce her guilty.

G-guilty?

Baral lifted his chin, setting his hands on the table. I hardly see the need for this.

I pronounce her guilty, too, chimed in the young chief. Baral Half Moon, take care of this. This is no affair of mine, and you know it.

I d-didn't-- Tyra was just stuttering. She didn't even know what to say.

The chiefs ignored her. Aisivak, Baral said, turning to the big man at his side, you must--

This brings shame to you, Baral, Aisivak said, his voice rumbling. Tyra almost felt it in her bones. They'd frozen solid again, and she couldn't move. Like a rabbit facing a bear across a plain of snow. She could see where this was going. Especially on this day, her--

I know. Baral twisted up his face. I don't like this. But say it, if you feel you have to.

I pronounce her guilty, Aisivak said, not hesitating that Tyra could see. Baral Half Moon will set the punishment for his own. Is this acceptable?

The young man rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. This is a waste of my time. See that she pays for it, Baral.

Guilty, guilty, guilty, Nuqaq said. Hah, hah, hah. I wonder if she's guilty? When he looked at Tyra, his eyes narrowed a bit. She felt like she was a mouse he was considering killing. Baral.

Baral sighed, lowering his left hand and drawing it up again. He lifted a roll out of his lap and tossed it on the floor at Tyra. Eat it.

She looked down at it, and it almost set her stomach growling. If it really did, forget it, she would just lie down right here.

At least that stayed quiet. Tyra covered her left eye. Um, I... Was there any way out? No, not that she could see. So she forced a smile. I'm not going to eat that off the floor, if that's what you're asking.

Aisivak almost stood up, slamming his hands on the table. Silence, girl, and do what he says!

Tyra winced. Just when she'd started feeling braver, the thunder from his voice had made her afraid again. But...

Nuqaq cleared his throat. She's showing some pride, at least. Baral, I do not feel--

Yes. Baral raised his eyebrows. I did not mean for her to eat it. Karlaq, clear it away. Do with it what you will.

Hearing her father's name jolted Tyra. She'd forgotten, of course. He was there to see all this. How much could he know?

She glanced up at him, only willing to look with the corner of her eye. From the way his face had turned to stone, it looked like he hadn't known anything before the chiefs started talking.

She felt herself blush. It surprised her it hadn't come before.

Her father walked out to the center of the room, his shoes padding on the ice. To Tyra, he seemed to move slowly on purpose. Once he reached the roll, he bent down and picked it up, glaring at it the entire time. Tyra looked off to the left. She would have stuck her head in the ground instead, if she could.

What are they talking about? he said, voice pitched low. Tyra knew the chiefs could hear it. But they didn't intervene. She could see. This was also part of the punishment, so they'd let her do it.

She lowered her own voice, too. I took one of those in with me. I... She wanted to say it had happened too fast, been too confusing, and she had had no way to help it.

Those were excuses. She wouldn't let herself make excuses, not now. Bad enough that she'd been caught. When she saw Kani next... But in a way that was also an excuse. Kani shouldn't have passed it to her, but Tyra shouldn't have taken it.

Perhaps someone had seen her taking it there, or perhaps someone had seen her eating it in the room. At this point, it really didn't matter either way. Tyra forced herself not to make any excuse. I guess you could say that I didn't understand my roll in the ceremony.

Father blinked at her, then narrowed his eye. Tyra, do you understand how serious this is!

I'm trying not to. But when he put it like that... She closed her eyes. Y-yes.

He growled something under his breath and turned away. He didn't say anything. Not even that they would talk about this later. He was turning his back on her. ...And he was probably disappointed... it didn't leave much in her for the chiefs' punishment to hurt.

So she turned back to them. All right... there are a few of the Clan Half Moon punishments that I've always thought sounded interesting. Dipping in ocean water... um, the one with the seals--

Cease this, Nuqaq said, waving his hand at Tyra. It surprised her, but she did. Baral?

In the old way, then. Bring it out, Baral said. He sank a little in his chair, fingering the beads of his necklace. From the look on his face, his eyes half-closed and his mouth turning down at the corners, he was about to do something he didn't want to do. Perhaps something the other chiefs had forced him to. Tyra didn't like the thought of that. He seemed to be her ally more than any of the rest of them.

You bring it out, Aisivak said. This is your responsibility, Baral.

Baral gave him an almost exasperated look. Well... Tyra would never use the word exasperated for a chief. But Baral didn't look happy. He lifted himself out of his chair and walked back towards the stairs. He moved briskly, but running wouldn't have been dignified.

As it was, he gave Tyra plenty of time to anticipate the punishment. She'd heard stories of some. Stories of people who had to hold ice against their ears and eyes until it burned. Stories of people locked in boxes and lowered to the bottom of the sea with just a trickle of water coming in. Stories of people with skin flayed off and teeth picked at with a chisel.

And then there were the other punishments, the ones that stayed in the shadows, that no one talked about. Those would be worse. Tyra wouldn't have any idea what was going to happen. But the jokes bled out of her, one by one. She didn't have anything left but dread weighing her stomach down more and more.

She didn't imagine what Baral eventually brought down.

A long machine, it looked like, low to the ground but on wheels. Light, because Baral had carried it down the stairs to this level alone. But he set it down and rolled it once he got to level ice. Tyra saw a blade and a push-down handle. Tracing the mechanism with her eyes, she saw the handle could release the blade so it'd fall, heavily. Most of the thing was just one long groove, with buckles and straps.

Buckles and straps. Buckles and straps, and straps on the far end of the machine. It confused Tyra. Baral brought it all the way around to the front of the chiefs' table, his face grim. Tyra looked at her father, to see if he knew, how worried he was. He had his back turned.

Her spirit fell further. Baral rolled the machine past her, sideways. He looked at her, his face grave, but something about the way his nose wrinkled looked apologetic instead of disgusted. Lift your arm into here, he said, like this. Just stick your hand out.

Tyra realized. Her eyes started to sting, but she forced herself not to cry. She shifted from kneeling to sitting, and lay her arm on the machine like Baral had indicated, letting him guide her into place. As he started closing the straps over Tyra's arm, the forearm, elbow, and upper arm, tightening them till they felt like they might cut off circulation, Tyra couldn't help wiggling all her fingers.

Baral looked at her, his face drooping. He could probably see that she knew. ...He shifted her hand into place on the machine, pushing her fingers down, and he secured straps over her hand and just above her wrist. Her wrist settled into a groove that felt like it had been built with her in mind. So that it sat right under the blade. The machine shifted under Tyra, putting the handle in easy reach.

It was like they'd built this for Tyra, just Tyra to use. It fit perfectly. She wouldn't have to stretch to hit the lever. Thank you for your consideration. She bit her lip, closed her left eye. Was this going to be... the only way?

Baral reached under it and clicked the wheels so they wouldn't roll.

Hit the lever yourself, Baral said, stepping away from the machine. It will cut off your right hand. That, and nothing less, is the punishment. Understand the sacredness of this day, and the sin you have committed. The shame you've brought to your clan, as well, and your father. You are not yet an adult, but today, out of all days, you should have acted as one.

Moving stiffly, Baral headed behind the table. He stopped for a second. Keeping his back turned to her, he said, I have seen this before. I recommend that you hit the lever quickly and let it be over.

Aisivak grunted something under his breath. Approving or angry, Tyra couldn't say. She surveyed the chiefs now that she was looking at the table. The young chief stared at Tyra, one hand running through his blond hair, but she could see in his eyes that she didn't matter much to him. He looked past her, already thinking of other things.

Aisivak glared at her, his shoulders absolutely square. Nuqaq, now rubbing his bracers together, looked at her in the manner of a seagull at a little fish. Studying.

Baral took his place among them. If he'd had any sympathy for her before, it'd disappeared somewhere in that walk. Now he looked as hard as any of them. His hand twitched on the collar of the white fur coat.

Tyra didn't see any sympathy, anywhere. But she closed her eyes. She couldn't help it. I... I, does it have to... to be this way?

Her voice was small. The young chief couldn't hold back a laugh. Well, it sounded like he didn't try.

Come, Tyra Karlovak, Aisivak said. Where did all your bravery go?

Tyra gulped. I... does it really...

Yes, Baral said. Yes, it has to.

Tyra opened her eyes again.

She looked away from them, at the handle. Her mouth grew dry even thinking about it. Had she done anything worth this? Did she have to do it? She wanted to cry again. Angrily, she forced the tears down. Stalling wouldn't help her in the long run.

So... she stared at the machine. Her world narrowed to herself and the handle. It shone dully under the crystal, wood formed into one solid circle. A rod joined it to the rest of the machine, where it would free the blade. She licked her lips. Father, watch.

Hoping he would be, she lifted her hand and brought it slamming down, moving quickly, before she could think about it, hitting the handle. It thunked down.

At that point, she couldn't do anything about it. The machine clicked, and the blade whistled down towards Tyra. She knew it wouldn't be any regular metal. It would be metal enchanted by the shaman. It severed her wrist cleanly, slicing right through the bone. The hand slipped out into a little tray on the far side of the machine, making a wet sound.

The pain almost blinded her. Tears did start flowing then, and she thrashed in the machine, moaning. She should have been able to handle it. It should have been nothing after the cold of the confinement room. But she showed this kind of weakness... She pounded her left hand on the ground, tears started to track her face, and she felt like it wouldn't ever end. She felt the straps coming off her arm, felt someone lifting her out.

Her father. Baral came with him, holding a bandage for her. It went on awkwardly, sliding along the side of her arm and winding down across the wrist. As he forced it on, it hurt more and more. Tyra couldn't help trying to pull away. They had to hold her down to get it on her.

With the bandage on, blood stopped flowing, but Tyra hardly felt any better. She still cried as Baral moved her, propping her up on her knees. Tyra thought she felt her father's hand, squeezing her shoulder. Her vision had been bleary before, from the night without sleep. Now it also blurred with pain. But through it she could see the silhouettes of the chiefs. Baral joined them again, crossing his arms. We will proceed, now. The ceremony.

Tyra heard the words. She didn't really understand what they meant. She could still feel the ghost presence of her hand, but she couldn't feel the ground with it, the ice underneath her. She could taste her own vomit, and she wondered if she could hold it down. Her father stepped away from her.

Nothing happened for 25 years as Tyra's arm screamed pain and death at her. But her father brought out the Argakkuk, a grown woman, Liak Half Moon. She stood next to Tyra, wearing nothing more than Tyra did. Tyra still cried, but she wanted to cry harder. Liak had stayed strong all night, in the other cell. Why couldn't Tyra have?

She must speak the words, Nuqaq said. Tyra saw his silhouette examining a fingernail. If she does not at least do that, how can we go forward in good conscience?

Nuqaq, what do you suggest? Baral said. I don't know if you've noticed, but she just--

Tradition, Nuqaq said, his voice the point of an icepick. Think about tradition.

Nuqaq, Aisivak said, think about it. There's got to be a limit. Right now--

She must say the words, the young chief put in, the one with the bony face. It takes four. I will not witness this if she doesn't say--

Tyra didn't even remember what she was supposed to say.

Tyra, Baral said. I must ask you to...

She grit her teeth, closing her left eye, then both her eyes. What is it, what am I supposed to say again...

She's not going to be able to do it, Baral said.

If she can't do it, then you can exile her, the young chief said. That's no worse than she deserves.

I agree, Nuqaq said. If we can be finished here, I have business in my camp.

Shouldn't you be satisfied by now! Baral said. The only reason we punish someone is so we can forgive her afterward, isn't that right?

Certainly. Everything's forgiven, Nuqaq said. But now we must hold her to the same standard as everyone else. Why, if you don't, then--

A spark of memory came, through the pain. Tyra cut him off. "Hello. Yes, I'm Tyra Karlovak Half Moon. I survived all last night. And, haha, I survived even more this morning. And now I've come for the Naosikuk. I trust myself to Liak Half Moon. Let it be so."

Nuqaq made a surprised sound in his throat. But, after a second, he said, Well. Let it be so.

Let it be so, Baral said.

Let it be so, Aisivak said.

The young chief toyed with his hood for a second, Tyra saw, through eyes starting to clear. If her hand hadn't stopped hurting, at least she'd become numbed to it. Tyra thought he was looking for a way to get out of saying it. Well, the price has been paid. In that case... Let it be so.

Liak gave Tyra her left hand, and Tyra took it. Liak moved on her knees around in front of Tyra, offering her right hand. Tyra lifted her arm as best she could, though it hurt when Liak took hold. They formed a circle that way. Liak looked down at the bandage over Tyra's right arm, the stump, and pressed her lips