Chapter 1927: Summoning the Frozen Forest (Part Two)

Water had never responded well to Ashlynn’s call, and nowhere had that been more true than in the frigid, ice-bound world of the High Pass. There, water was not only cold, but it was also sterile and bereft of the energy of life. Perhaps the Mother of Storms could have drawn strength from the heaps of snow that covered the mountaintops, but Ashlynn never could.

Things were different here. While water still slipped through her grasp with frustrating ease, the same could not be said for Heila when she reached out for the power Ashlynn needed.

Less than half a league away, the River Luath flowed by Lothian City, teeming with life and vibrant energy. From banks covered in stands of tall rushes to the moss that covered stones on the shore and all of the things that spent their entire existence beneath the water’s surface, the river provided a virtually limitless source of power waiting for a witch to tap it.

Heila reached out with one hand, and the roots of her shining willow tree shifted, diving into the soil and stretching out toward the river and the currents of vibrant energy flowing there. Then, Heila placed herself like a gate in a sluice, slowing the flow of energy into their circle to ensure that it neither overwhelmed Ashlynn or Hauke nor damaged the river itself.

They would take only the power they needed and not a drop more.

Once Heila had started the flow of energy from the river, Ashlynn lowered her wand with a decisive motion.

The swirling confluence of energies, shimmering willow-green, deep emerald, and that biting, frigid blue, descended through her arm and surged out the gnarled tip of the Ancient Oak branch. It was hard not to get swept away with the current of so much power, and for a moment, she felt like she’d come loose from the ground, as a branch swept off the shore by the river’s surging flood.

Behind her, the runes of Hauke’s sword flashed brightly, and the rigid, icy structures he’d built not only guided the flow but also gave her something to hold on to, letting the power pass while she remained anchored in place.

The moment she felt back in control of herself and the power of the river, Ashlynn aimed the point of her wand at the frozen earth in the center of the track and let the words of power she’d prepared roll off her tongue.

"From frozen ground let orchards climb,

A grove of glass in winter’s time,

No straight path through, no honest lane,

But crooked ranks on frozen plain,

Rise up in trunk and bough and bower,

And bloom for us this bitter hour."

For a span of several heartbeats, nothing stirred. On the slopes, a scattering of people began to whisper, wondering if something had gone wrong.

Then the earth itself provided an answer.

It manifested as sound first. A deep-seated vibration that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. On the terraced slopes, the common folk felt it through the straw and their blankets before it reached their ears; a low, grinding groan like a massive millstone revolving deep within the soil, vibrating through two thousand pairs of boots. Children who had been restless and fidgety suddenly went still as statues in their parents’ arms.

Then the frost surged into motion.

It radiated away from the stone platform in a pale, icy bloom, racing across the ground faster than a man could sprint. It threw out patterns of frozen ferns and feathers, mirroring the intricate designs that frost left on a windowpane on cold winter nights.

Only these patterns of frost were fifteen feet wide and expanding by the second. Within three heartbeats, it reached the inner rail. Those in the front rows recoiled in alarm, only to find the creeping cold stopped as abruptly as if it had struck an invisible wall, leaving them to stare down at the line etched before their toes.

"It isn’t cold," one man shouted, his voice cracking with tension. "Look, it hasn’t any chill at all," he said, holding his hand out toward the frost that had stopped just inches away. Once his hand crossed the invisible line that marked the boundary of Ashlynn’s witchcraft, however, he snatched his hand back and rubbed it vigorously, rushing over to the bonfire.

"Serves you right for sticking your head where it don’t belong," another man shouted while several laughed at his misfortune.

Still others reached out for themselves, as if they couldn’t believe that the air on the other side of the line could be that much colder than it was on their side. And each and every one of them snatched their hands back in amazement and a slight bit of pain when they experienced the truth of Ashlynn’s witchcraft for themselves.

"Don’t you go touching that," a mother scolded her young son, swooping in to scoop him up from the ground when he tried to touch the patterns of frost on the ground. "Empress Ashlynn is protecting us, she is, keeping us safe from the witchcraft and stopping it at the rail," she said, pointing at the rail where the frost had stopped.

"If you go touchin’ what you shouldn’t, it’s your fault for getting hurt, an’ I won’t let that happen, you hear?" Sainy told her son. "Now get back on the blanket with me an’ watch close so you can tell your father what you saw," she said as she returned to her seat, wishing for what felt like the seventh time tonight that her husband hadn’t sworn that he’d have nothing to do with witchcraft.

He was probably at home now, packing up their things to run away if he wasn’t getting drunk at some bar. But Sainy had heard enough people call the new Empress a Saintess, and she heard how Empress Ashlynn had struck down her husband for running around on her, trying to woo her sister and fathering a child with another woman.

A woman like that, a woman who struck down the greatest swordsman who ever lived in Lothian because he’d been a vile, womanizing brute... That was a woman Sainy had to see for herself, and her eyes opened wide as the ice on the field began to shimmer and glow with a light even brighter than the streamers of light flying above...