EDGE OF FEAR
PART ONE of the EDGE series
Tobi is a good boy
I do not own Game of Thrones
ONE: THE COLD ONES
In the middle of the tall, frozen tress, she could sense the presence of the Cold Ones, even in the chill northern air. The white snow crunched loudly beneath her boots, even the sound of her breathing seemed loud. It steamed out in a curling mist around her. Above, a crow cawed, the sound screeching, echoing through the clearing as it flew.
Laurie's hand gripped the hilt of her father's sword, as she neared the clearing of dense, bark stripped trees. It felt heavy in her hand, not like when she was a child and the sword was too heavy for her to lift, but because it was one of the few things she had now to remember him by and it was those memories that were laid heavily within it. It was an old, notched thing, the hilt worn down through years of use. Her father had been kind to her, in his own way, but also harsh, because the world she was borne into was harsh, and so she must be too.
Splatters of bright blood adorned the trees' trunks, flecks on the snow-covered ground beneath. Long silver chains of ice hung from the thin branches, ringing eerily as she passed through them.
Here, the presence of the Cold Ones grew stronger still.
Their presence felt like a constant heavy shadow, here in the lands beyond the Wall. Her body was weary with the weight of it, but she carried on, feeling with her other senses other than the physical. She had trained to endure it- the terror and anguish and death that screamed and tore into the very fabric of her mind.
Laurie focused her mind, her hands curling inwards. The silver chains tinkled and hummed, as if sensing her presence amongst the clearing. There was power here, power of an older sort.
The cold biting through her thick grey robes was not the normal cold of a winter chill. This she could tell was the sign of the Cold One's power.
Then, she saw it.
There was a body of a man was sprawled out in the snow. He was dressed in the black of the Night's Watch, almost looking like the body of a huge crow upon the snow.
Warily, she edged towards the dead man. Her movements, though quiet to most men, seemed loud in the silence of the frozen trees. She could feel her heart thudding loud, louder, as she neared the man.
Piss and blood stained the snow around him a crimson red. The copper stench of blood clung in the air. In the man's right hand, was a twisted metal blade, the hilt firm within his grip.
Only something unnatural could have the strength to twist a metal blade so.
The man's eyes were bulbous, staring out into the great forest in terror. But he was young, younger than most that joined the Watch, so had not yet seen the terrors of the Night. An older Ranger or Watcher would have run away, not faced the Cold Ones, or hid until they passed, and then raised the warning upon the Wall. Or perhaps they would have done, in ages past, when they had the tools and the knowledge of the Cold Ones, that this man could have faced them and lived to tell the tale, but those days were gone and the knowledge all but forgotten.
All gone and forgotten but a few like her.
All she could see was terror and her own pale face, stretched thin with a hunger for life, reflected. She was the same age as the dead man but did not feel it. In this moment, she felt older than she should, knowing that this should be her father here- but her father is not here- she can only do this now.
She shivered, not from the cold, but because of the unnerving stare of the dead man.
His body had been turned, as if in a hurry. Another person had been with the man, one who had the good sense to run.
It was the Wilding's custom to burn bodies, and this body had not been burned.
Nor had the eyes been closed, as was the Watch's custom for those who were found dead in the snow.
The snow and cold would bury the body anyway, so graves were pointless, here in the wastes of the North. Ice was already forming over the exposed part of his body. Snow was already forming a coffin of sorts around him, pooling around the edges of his body.
She knelt, feeling the sticky blood and piss cling to her trousers on her knees.
He must have been killed not too long ago.
With her gloved fingers, she carefully closed the man's eyes. His flesh had already gone cold. There was a deep terror in them, still. Death had not faded his fear of whatever had killed him- likely a solider of the Cold Ones, or perhaps one of the Cold Ones, she could not tell, not even with her other senses- they were too jumbled and tangled in amongst each other for her to read.
Scanning the forest floor, she could just make out the tracks leading towards the Wall. She pressed her hand into the impression that they left, feeling the warmth that would still be left there.
They were at least two days old, at least.
At this rate, she would never be able to reach on foot whoever the man was and question him.
Something told her that she must hurry. A voice, perhaps her father's in the back of her mind, urging her to follow the footsteps.
She made her way back to her horse, a small, furry beast of a mare. The mare's hooves were padded thick to reduce the noise, and no bells hung from its' tack. It was grey and plain, like her garb, and once on the mare, she would seem to disappear in amongst the grey whiteness of the land. Great branches rustled and twanged as she made her way out of the clearing.
Laurie swung herself into the saddle, pulling on the reins, following the footprints in snow, towards the Wall and the Lands Beyond.