This must be the coldest winter the world has ever seen. If the water in my eyes freezes, will I be unable to blink?
Mince stood with a bucket in hand and stomped on the river with his frozen feet—solid as stone. He heard no cracking, nor the gurgle of liquid lapping beneath the surface. There would be no water again, which meant another miserable day warming cups of snow under their tunics. Hadrian had ordered them not to build a fire and Renwick was adamant about obeying. The task was unpleasant, but they could make do. Mince was not sure how much longer the horses could go without.
Lack of water was not the horses’ only problem. Even though the boys had tethered them in a tight pack, and built a windbreak from pine boughs and thickets, the animals were still suffering from the cold. Ice formed on their backs, icicles hung from their noses, and that morning Mince had seen two of them lying down. One was producing a small puff of white mist at frighteningly long intervals. The other did not appear to breathe at all. The ones lying down were the horses on the outside of the pack—the ones exposed to the most wind.
The Big Freeze, as Kine had named it, had occurred three days earlier and come upon them overnight. The previous day they had run around in warm sunshine, playing tag without scarves or hats; then the sky had turned gray and a frigid air blew in. That morning Elbright had returned from fetching the water reporting that only a narrow stream ran down the center of the river. The day after, the river was gone completely—replaced by a smooth expanse of white. That afternoon when the snow started to fall, the flakes were no larger than grains of sand.
The five boys had been living in a snow cave beneath the eaves of a holly tree, and when the freeze came, they dug their shelter deeper and built a windbreak by covering the opening with lashed pine boughs.
Time passed slowly after the Big Freeze. With the temperature so bitter, they no longer went out except to relieve themselves. The only fun they had had was when Brand discovered the trick. He got up miserable, shivering, and cursing, and in a fit of frustration, he spit. It was so cold that the liquid cracked in the air. They spent the next few hours trying to see who could get the loudest snap. Kine was the best, but he had always been the best spitter. As fun as cracking spit was, it pushed away the boredom only temporarily and they tired of the game. As the cold wind blew, and the temperature continued to drop, Mince could not help wondering how long they would have to stay.
He should have headed back to the Hovel, what they began calling their snow cave, but instead scanned the length of the broad white trail that ran north and south like a shining crystal road. Mince was trying to see if some portion was clear. Perhaps there was a place where the current prevented the ice from forming. He looked for a change in color, but there was nothing but a never-ending expanse of white. Still, something caught his eye. Far to the north he saw movement.
A long gray line crossed the river. There were people, tall and slender, wearing identical cloaks. He stared, amazed at the sight, and wondered if perhaps they were ghosts, for in the stillness of the winter’s morning he heard no sound of their passing. Mince stood staring but it was not until he saw a glint of armor that it occurred to him what he was actually seeing. The revelation froze him as instantly as if he were spit turning solid in the morning air.
Elves!
As he watched the spectral cavalcade, they marched three abreast in the muted light, passing like phantoms on the ridge. They rode on steeds that even at a distance Mince could tell surpassed any breed raised by men. With broad chests, tall ears, proud arched necks, and hooves that pranced rather than walked, these animals were ethereal. Their bridles and equestrian gowns were adorned in gold and silk, as if the animals were statelier than the noblest human king. Upon them, each rider wore a golden helm and carried a spear with a streaming silver banner licking the air.
The sound of music reached his ears—a wild, capricious but beautiful euphony that haunted his spirit and caused him to unwillingly take a step forward. Joining the sound was the wonderful lilt of voices. They were light and airy and reminded Mince of flutes and harps speaking to one another. They sang in a language Mince could not understand, but he did not need to. The melody and plaintive beauty of the sound carried him with it. He felt warm and content and took another step forward. Before long, the music faded, as did the sight of them as they finished crossing the river and disappeared into the foothills.
“Mince!” He heard Elbright and felt hands shaking him. “He’s over here! The little idiot fell asleep on the ice. Wake up, you fool!”
“What’s he doing way up here? I found the bucket a half mile back.” Kine’s voice was more distant and out of breath.
“It’s almost dark. We need to get him back. I’ll carry him. You run ahead and tell Renwick to get a fire started.”