Awake to darkness and to fear

Awake to self and friendship dear.

And then the diamond shattered. Pieces of it flew everywhere, into his body, into his throat, cutting off his scream…

Ferrian jolted awake in panic, scrabbling at his throat. He could not breathe, there was pain splintering down his neck. It felt as though it had been crushed.

It took him a moment to realise that he had regained consciousness, that the crystal and the white light and the unearthly woman's voice had been nothing more than a dream. There were no shards embedded in him.

However, any relief he might have felt at this realisation barely got a handhold. There was something wrong, he knew it instinctively. The pain persisted; it was definitely real, growing stronger as his senses started functioning again. Something was wrapped around his throat…

Blinking into the darkness to dispel the remnants of his disconcerting dream, he raised a hand tentatively. His fingers encountered something hard, smooth, and scaly…

It felt like a claw.

His heart nearly stopped. A claw?!

Then a sound came from frighteningly close by: a slow, grating, whispering wheeze. It was terrible, like the death gasps of a giant snake.

Ferrian felt all the blood drain out of his veins. Something was carrying him.

Something that wasn't Human.

His breathing quickened and his throat constricted, causing it to ache further. He fought the massive wave of panic rising in his chest. An awful picture formed in his mind of the Muron that the Freeroamers had crippled and left for dead. They had stabbed out its eyes and burned it to the bone and murdered its companion, and somehow, doggedly, the abominable creature had managed to track their party through the mist and rain. It must have discovered Ferrian helpless and unconscious on the road…

Easy prey.

Ferrian tried to remain calm, to put his thoughts into some sort of rational order. But he was still shaken from the dream and the stench of charred flesh and blood on the creature was causing him to gag… and his mind simply snapped. He screamed, although his throat was so dry and cramped that it came out as little more than a whispered wail. He tore at the claw with both hands, struggling violently, frantic to get free, maddened with terror…

The Muron snapped at the boy's face, its jaws passing so close that Ferrian felt its fangs brush his nose.

Instantly, he went still as though paralysed.

For a long time afterwards, Ferrian did not dare to move or make a sound. He hung limp and passive in the creature's grasp, arms dangling loosely by his sides. Only his heart continued to race inside his chest like a frightened animal seeking a way to escape.

Ferrian was cold. His clothes had not dried in the slightest, and the wind passing through them froze his skin; the curse of his Winter lingered chilly in the air, but at least the rain had stopped and the stormy gusts were dying down. He had not stopped shivering since he had awoken, and wished frequently that he hadn't, that he was still trapped in a terrifying nightmare.

But no matter how hard he wished it to be true, the Muron would not shatter into fragmented recollections along with the crystal.

On the inside, he felt even worse. The pain of his cramps he could deal with, ignore, even, but despair and loneliness were chiselling away at his soul as though he were a statue made of ice.

Staring listlessly into a blank, starless sky, he wondered why the thing hadn't eaten him yet. What could it possibly want? Had it mistaken him for the servant it had come to capture? He thought it unlikely that the Muron couldn't tell the difference, especially considering it had navigated the forest perfectly proficiently with its remaining senses.

No, Ferrian thought miserably, it knows exactly what it's doing, even if I don't. As it carried him, it lurched ponderously but purposefully through the undergrowth, with no regard to stealth or concealment. Ferrian couldn't imagine anything that would dare approach a Muron in the dark in any case, even if it was severely injured.

Every now and then, the creature would pause to sniff the air, or perhaps it was listening to some far-off noise beyond the boy's hearing. Ferrian could do nothing but wait and stare at its indistinct shadow, listen to its horrible breathing and the snap of twigs beneath its feet, and hope dimly that an opportunity to escape might eventually present itself.

Though he tried to prevent it, his thoughts kept slipping back to the Freeroamers.

For a time, he was haunted by the possibility that the Muron had found his companions, as well, and hurt them… or worse. But eventually he reassured himself that Captain Sirannor would never have let the Muron get away a second time, he would have found a way to kill it once and for all, even if he had to stab it in the head with sticks.

So there was a high probability, then, that the Freeroamers had no idea of the predicament that Ferrian had got himself into.

Ferrian sighed and closed his eyes, wondering if they had even bothered to come looking for him after he stormed off, leaving them in the middle of the highway. He wouldn't blame them if they hadn't, especially after the way he had spoken to them. Aari was desperately ill, they needed to get him to Sunsee as quickly as possible, they didn't have time to waste wandering off after a fool temperamental boy.

He fought back tears. He was still angry with the Freeroamers, still torn that they had misled him about something so important, but nevertheless, he was missing them badly.

They had all risked their lives and fought so hard for him. Ferrian had never asked for their help, they had offered it freely. In Aari's case, eagerly.

Aari.

No one had sacrificed more in the course of this increasingly ill-fated journey than the Angel had. He had faced his greatest fear and paid a horrendous price for it, and yet he never complained. Always, he remained outwardly positive, even though he must have felt as though the world was crashing down on him. Even with crippled wings he had been determined to keep going.

Could Ferrian really be so selfish as to throw that sacrifice away?

Commander Trice and Sirannor, too, they had done everything in their power to protect him. He recalled his bitter suspicion that they were trying to get rid of him, to land him in prison: that they had escorted him on this journey only to see him gone from the Outlands.

Now, the idea seemed ludicrous. I've been too judgemental, he admitted to himself with a crushing sense of guilt. I shouldn't have reacted so harshly.

He realised, also, that he had deceived himself with his earlier assessment. He could not complete this quest on his own. He had not the strength nor courage nor intelligence, nor indeed, any right to reject help freely given.

He had underestimated the value of friendship.

"I'm… sorry," Ferrian whispered so that only the wind heard his words. "Grisket, Sirannor… help me. Please."

He must have dozed off for awhile, for when Ferrian opened his eyes again, he could see clearly. The sun spilled over the mountains directly ahead of them, burning through a still-hazy sky. The air was warmer, too, he had stopped shivering and his clothes were finally beginning to dry out where beams of light fell upon them. Ferrian craned his head back as far as the Muron's grip would allow, seeking a reprieve from the stink of it, trying to inhale the fresher, eucalyptus-scented air. He tried to avoid looking at the Muron. In the light of day, every sickening detail of the black creature that carried him was revealed, and it made him queasy. Flies buzzed around its ruined eye sockets. Its jaws were half-open, panting.

The Muron walked relentlessly onwards, though its feet were beginning to drag in the leaf litter.

This gave Ferrian a small measure of hope. It was weakening. If luck were with him, it would collapse before it reached its destination, and then he might be able to pry himself free. But for the moment, he found himself faced with a more immediate problem: he was desperately thirsty, and hungry. The lack of nourishment and bright light on his face was making him light-headed.

Eventually, after swallowing back his fear several times, he resolved to try speaking with the creature.

"Where… where are you… taking me?" he said hoarsely, wincing; talking was painful.

To his relief, the Muron did not snap at him again. In fact, it ignored him completely.

"I need…" Ferrian tried again.

"You will… tell… them…" the Muron rasped suddenly.

"W-what?" Ferrian stammered. "Who?"

The Muron's jaws worked up and down as though it, too, was having difficulty speaking. "My kindred."

Ferrian's spine turned to ice again, despite the sun. "T-tell them what?" Ferrian replied. "I don't know anything…"

The Muron's talons tightened around his throat, squeezing the breath from him as though it had a mind to snap his neck in two. Ferrian choked in fear, scrabbling futilely at the iron-like claws.

It let him panic for a few moments, then loosened its grip, just enough to allow him to gasp for air. "You will tell them… everything!" it hissed maliciously. "I will be… avenged!"

Ferrian struggled to think through the pain. Avenged? So, it's taking me back to the rest of its flock, where it expects me to tell them where the Freeroamers and Cimmeran have gone, so that they can hunt my friends down and kill them. Presumably because it's too badly injured to enact vengeance on its own…

"I will never," he panted, "tell you or your foul kind anything!"

Again, it squeezed his throat, so hard that he nearly blacked out. It rasped something in what Ferrian assumed was its own vile language, or it could have been clearing its throat for all he knew.

But the sound it made after was unmistakably laughter.

The sun drifted slowly higher overhead, brightening the world. The dampness of the land evaporated in ghostly wisps, like the souls of the earth coming out to play. The heavy fog that had stifled the coast the previous day was gone, blown away by the breeze. Only a few ragged clouds lingered, brooding watchfully over the sea to the west, as though waiting for the mysterious white light to call them back.

Ferrian was beginning to feel ill. His hunger and thirst increased until they consumed his thoughts. His vision was blurry and he was having trouble staying conscious. Remembering how easily Aari had fallen sick and afraid of developing a fever, he forced himself to converse with the Muron again.

"I… need water," he croaked.

The Muron ignored him.

"Please…" He broke into a fit of coughing that was only partly faked. "I won't… survive for long without… water and food. I'll be of no use to you."

The Muron made an unpleasant noise in its throat that Ferrian took to be a growl of disgust. It seemed to recognise the truth of his words, however, for it stopped and lifted its head, turning it slowly from side to side, apparently trying to locate something.

Insects hummed in the warm silence. A few flies landed on Ferrian's face and he brushed them away, thankful that at least his hands were free.

Finally, the Muron turned slightly to the north and resumed walking.

About a hundred yards farther on it stopped again and abruptly released Ferrian's feet, dropping him to the ground. Its other hand remained firmly in place around his neck.

In front of Ferrian was a tiny rain-gully filled with silty water and weeds. The Muron shoved his head into the water, forcing him to drink, but his face was completely submerged, he could not drink and breathe at the same time. He began to choke.

Hearing the boy's distress, the Muron lifted its arm a little, so that his head was just above the water. Still coughing and gasping, Ferrian scooped up the brown water in shaking hands, drinking as much as he was able. It was gritty and unpleasant, but he was so parched that he would have drunk anything.

The Muron knelt by the gully and drank as well, lapping water in great gulps. It seemed just as dehydrated as he was. When it had finished, it did not get back up straight away. Instead, it rested on its haunches, panting, listening.

Ferrian took the opportunity to rub his aching legs, cringing at the bruises left by the Muron's claws. He pulled a handful of gum leaves off a branch hanging by his shoulder and crushed them in his hands. They would have made a good tea if he'd had the means to do so, but otherwise they were not particularly edible. He held them to his face and breathed deeply, their aroma helped to ease his dizziness a little.

He glanced up at the Muron, his eyes wary silver glimmers beneath his dripping hair, wondering once again where it was taking him. Cimmeran had said that Lord Arzath had sent the Murons. Did it intend to cart him all the way back to its master's castle on foot? He swallowed against his scratchy throat and decided to risk speaking again.

"If you're taking me back into the mountains, you'll never make it," he told the Muron. "You'll have to go through the Break, and there's no forests to hide in there. Humans are passing through all the time and someone will see you. They'll see you and kill you."

The Muron turned its head towards him and Ferrian cringed, preparing himself to be throttled yet again. But the creature just regarded him silently with its empty black eye sockets.

"I am not going to the mountainsss," it whispered.

Ferrian watched the flies swarming over its face and looked away with a shudder. Uncertainty, like the insects, crawled through his mind. "Wh-where then?" he asked.

The Muron's lips curled back in a frightening sneer. "Wait and sssee!"

Abruptly, it stood up, pulling the boy with it. As it made to grab his legs, Ferrian tried to squirm away, although his movements were severely limited by the Muron's grasp. "I can walk on my own!" he insisted. "Unlike you, I'm not a cripple!"

With a rapid movement, the Muron's hand went to his face, instead. Ferrian gasped and shrank in terror as it positioned its vicious talons directly above his eyes, poised to pluck them out. "That can be changed ssso easssily…"

It moved its grotesque face a breath from Ferrian's. "Would you like to sssee what I sssee?" it whispered.

Ferrian could not speak. He could not tear his gaze from the talons. The tips were so close to his irises that he dared not even blink.

The Muron flexed its claws and caressed Ferrian's face. He was forced to endure its chilling touch; he could not turn his head aside. "Sssuch falsse bravado is amusssing," the creature mused, "but will gain you nothing."

With a sudden lurch, Ferrian was thrust ahead as the Muron started walking. He had no choice but to walk with it.

Immediately, he regretted his decision: his legs were badly cramped and every step was agony. Inwardly, he cursed his pride. He was struggling to keep up with the Muron's loping strides, but he knew that if he stumbled and fell, the creature would not stop to help him up.

He was determined not to give it the pleasure of proving it was right.

Ferrian wondered, as he was half-dragged, half-jogged at the Muron's side, what would happen if the Winter showed itself again at this very moment. He wondered if, for once, there was actually a way to use it to his advantage.

Specifically, he began to contemplate if he should try to summon it.

Perhaps it was simply a delusion brought on by an exhausted, desperate mind. In any case, it was an unsettling thought that made his heart race. Never in his life had he ever, even for an instant, considered intentionally calling the Winter into effect. He had spent all his energy running away from it, doing everything possible to avoid it, and sometimes, in his most despairing moments, hoping that it would simply wear off one day.

It had not, of course. In spite of his efforts, it only seemed to be getting worse.

He glanced down at his hands, picturing the moment he had first discovered the white light, nearly two weeks ago; such a short time, yet so distant. It had terrified him then; it still did, the cold bright glow that emanated from somewhere within his body…

Was the Muron afraid of magic?

There was no reason to believe the creature knew anything about his curse. He couldn't remember having discussed it in any detail with anyone since they had encountered the Murons in the forest. He had not even told Cimmeran. If he could call forth a blinding flash of light unexpectedly…

And then he remembered that the Muron was blind.

He slumped, his hand dropping despondently to his side. Any thoughts of startling the Muron or distracting it with magic evaporated.

He stared at the ground, so consumed with his thoughts that he nearly tripped over a tangle of roots. Still, he continued to puzzle over the idea, trying to think of any other way the Winter might be useful. Perhaps, he mused, he could take the summoning further and call back the storm? It might slow the Muron's progress, buy him some time.

But was it worth the effort?

What was the price of attempting something so potentially dangerous?

More than anything else, he was afraid that if he willingly induced the Winter, he might change the nature of the curse. He knew nothing whatsoever about magic or how it worked, he didn't even know why he was cursed in the first place. What if he managed to conjure a massive storm and it wouldn't go away again? Being stuck in a permanent Winter was too horrifying to contemplate.

He sighed. He didn't know if such a thing were possible, anyway, or how he would go about doing it even if it were. Best not to meddle with magic – especially curses – without being certain of the consequences.

For a time, he let his thoughts wander to the sorcerer… what had Cimmeran called him? Lord Requar. This man was the sole reason for Ferrian's journey: to find a cure for the Winter. If he could just meet this sorcerer, everything would be all right.

The reasonable part of his mind told him that such a hope was naïve, but he refused to release his grip on it. Lord Requar was his only light in the darkness.

He was still thinking about the likelihood of actually meeting him when the Muron collapsed.

It happened completely without warning; they had just emerged from the forest and passed through a sunburnt field into a cool, dark stand of ti-trees, when the Muron buckled, releasing its grip on him and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Ferrian was so taken aback that for a moment he just lay where he had fallen, rubbing at his throat, gulping deep breaths of air, relieved that he was able to breathe properly for the first time in hours.

Then it occurred to him that there was nothing preventing his escape. The Muron lay sprawled beside him on the bark-strewn ground, panting heavily, apparently too weak to get to its feet. Seizing the chance, Ferrian scrambled to his feet and turned to run…

…only to skid to a dead halt.

Four Murons stood around the clearing, black, silent statues amidst the gangly white trunks. All of them looked healthy and exceedingly lethal: their eyes glowed brightly and their scales glinted in thin strands of sunlight that filtered down through the thick, bushy canopy.

Ferrian froze where he stood, eyes wide.

The Muron on the ground did not get up to greet its fellows, or acknowledged them in any way. It continued to labour painfully for breath, its chest heaving, drooling weakly.

The Muron closest to it looked down and growled something in its own language. When the crippled creature did not respond, it repeated the words in the common Human dialect. "Your call wasss weak," it hissed. "You are… weak."

"Brought… him…" the crippled Muron whispered, its voice trailing off into an agonised whine.

The Muron who had first spoken looked up at the boy, staring at him intently. Ferrian gasped and jumped as one of the others grabbed his tunic from behind. The first Muron glanced back at its wounded cousin and sneered. It reached down and picked the creature up by the neck, exactly the same way that Ferrian had been restrained.

"A-avenge… me…" the blind Muron whispered.

The Muron appraised its injuries coldly. "You allowed Humansss to do thisss to you?" it said. "You are worsse than a weakling! You do not desserve vengeance! Did the boy tell you anything of value?"

"No…"

"That iss fortunate." Without another word, it took hold of the Muron's upper jaw in one taloned hand, its lower jaw in the other, and twisted sharply.

Ferrian looked quickly away, but could not avoid hearing the bones crack. He fought to keep from being sick.

The Muron tossed the limp body aside and turned its attention back to the Human. It began to stalk towards him.

Ferrian struggled, trying to rip out of his captor's hold, but its talons were curled in his clothing too tightly. He tried not to glance at the advancing Muron's claws, which glistened darkly.

It paused before him and grabbed his arm, growled briefly at the others, then began walking again, pulling him after it so forcefully that he tripped and fell over. Terrifying snarling and crunching sounds erupted behind him as he was dragged out of the grove into the hot sunlight.

The Muron dropped Ferrian in the dust and stood over him, a huge, imposing shadow against the blue sky. He tried to get up, but it stood on his hand. "Where iss the ssservant?" it demanded quietly.

Ferrian closed his eyes and said nothing.

The Muron shifted its weight and Ferrian cried out as pain lashed up his arm. "Cimmeran," the Muron said. "You know where he isss, don't you? Tell me."

Swallowing heavily and blinking back the tears in his eyes, Ferrian stammered: "N-no."

Again, the Muron crushed his hand, this time so hard that Ferrian felt something break. "Tell me," it repeated.

"NO!" Ferrian screamed, struggling to speak through the agony. "Leave me… alone! I don't… know any servant, I don't know what y–"

The Muron backhanded him across the face, slamming him to the ground. "Your liesss are worth lesss than your life, you wretched weakling fool!" it hissed. "You will tell me what I wisssh to know, or you will tell my massster!"

Ferrian did not respond, so flooded with pain he could barely hear the creature's words.

The Muron snarled and spat in irritation. "Pitiful Human!" It snatched him up and tucked him under its arm. "Grayshak!" it barked at the grove. One of the Murons skulked out of the trees, licking its jaws.

"I am returning to the casstle with the boy," the first Muron declared. "When you have finisshed feeding, continue the sssearch. Cimmeran iss closse now, very clossse, sssomewhere to the wesst. Kill whomever you pleasse, but be ssure the ssservant comess to no harm."

When Grayshak had ducked his head in compliance, the Muron took at once to the sky.